Not a Nickel to Spare

by Perry Nodelman

  Rivka must have been pleased I liked her new dress so much, because she let me borrow one of her Eaton’s Beauty Dolls — she has three of them! She let me have Agatha, the one with blond hair and a beautiful yellow silk dress. I guess it was nice of her to let me play with Agatha, but still, Agatha is Rivka’s oldest doll and Rivka made me pretend that Agatha was the maid for the other dolls. And she wouldn’t even let my dolly Matilda be a maid. Rivka is nice, I guess, but she has no imagination.

  Benny came over after supper. After spending two whole hours pretending to serve tea and cookies to Rivka’s bossy dolls, I was happy to have someone sort of sensible to talk to.

  Benny has another new job. It’s at Woodbine Racetrack, of all places, and he won’t tell me what it is. I bet it’s because he’s ashamed. What kind of job could there be at a racetrack that you shouldn’t be ashamed of? Everyone knows that only gonifs and trombeniks and other criminals hang out at racetracks.

  At least he isn’t talking about Germany so much anymore.

  October 7

  Another week is over, and Pa still can’t find a job. There are signs all over saying Jews Need Not Apply, but Pa says he doesn’t care, because he wouldn’t work for people who weren’t Jewish anyway. What he says he doesn’t understand is why Jewish people can’t find a job for him. Even if it is a Depression, Pa says, people should look after their own. Ma says he’s right and he should ask one of her brothers for a job, but Pa won’t do it. He says the Freedmans all look down on him because he’s poor. They don’t even care that he’s a Cohen. Pa is so proud of being a Cohen because the Cohens are the tribe of priests and that should count for more than just money. But Uncle Bertzik and Uncle Velvel are Freedmans and it doesn’t count to them.

  Pa is spending a lot of time in the cellar, smoking and feeling sorry for himself. Ma won’t let him smoke upstairs because it makes her feel nauseous and the smoke gets into the curtains, and now it’s getting too cold for him to go outside. He’s always here in the cellar when I want to write in my scribbler. The only reason I can do it right now is that it’s Shabbes tonight and it’s dark already and Pa’s at the shul. I feel terrible about writing on Shabbes. I wish Pa would find a job.

  October 10

  It’s so strange. Ma and Pa got so upset about Sophie and Steven because Steven wasn’t Jewish and she was turning against her own religion. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I hate to say it, but I’m starting to wonder why it even matters. I really do. Sophie’s not a man, after all, and as far as I can tell, being religious is only important for men.

  Sure, Ma does go to shul almost every Saturday. But usually all she does is sit up there on the second floor with the other women and knit and talk while the men are busy downstairs being religious and praying away like crazy. And they pray in Hebrew, of course, and none of us can understand Hebrew except Pa. Not even Ma — she just knows Yiddish and a little bit of English, because she’s a lady and not a man. Only boys go to cheder to learn Hebrew after regular school because only boys have to learn how to pray.

  Except for praying over the candles on Shabbes, of course, and that’s easy. I’ve never actually done it myself, but I’ve heard Ma do it so often I bet I could learn to do it in about ten minutes if I had to.

  So why does it really matter if Sophie marries a goy?

  Pa sure thinks it does. He says we should stick to our own kind, and I guess he’s right. And I do like being Jewish. When Ma lights the candles on Shabbes it makes me feel so peaceful. And it would be horrible being something else and having to eat bacon and other trayf all the time.

  Sometimes life is so confusing.

  Or maybe I’m just confused because it’s Yom Kippur today and we aren’t supposed to eat anything all day long because it’s the day of atonement and we have to make up for all the bad things we did in the last year by not eating. I don’t know exactly how not eating helps. It just makes my head hurt. I guess it’s like being punished, and I guess I deserve it this year. I really should have told Ma and Pa about Sophie and Steven. What was I thinking?

  Ma says we can have something to eat if we get really hungry, because the important thing is that we tried. But she never ever eats anything on Yom Kippur, and neither do Sophie or Dora, so I’m not going to either. At least not before Gert does.

  That’s why I snuck down here to write in my scribbler, to keep my mind off my headache and my empty tummy. But now Gert is calling me to come to the shul with her. She wants to stand outside on the steps after the service and say, “I wish I never knew you” real fast to all the grown-ups as they walk past. She says they’ll think she’s saying, “I wish you a happy new year.” I hope they do, or Pa will be furious.

  October 11

  When Gert told the grown-ups she wished she never knew them, they just smiled and said, “The same to you, darling.” Gert thought it proved how clever she was for tricking them. I was about to tell her that they were really saying they wished they never knew her, either, right back — but I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut for once. Sometimes I wish I never knew Gert.

  On the way home from shul I met Benny on the street. He was walking over to Spadina to get a corned beef sandwich! And he asked me if I wanted to come and get one, too! On Yom Kippur!

  I guess it’s not surprising that Benny is such a bad Jew. His pa is, too. Benny says it’s because Uncle Max is a socialist and socialists don’t believe in silly superstitions and want to make the world a better place. Pa says it’s because Uncle Max is a no-good drunk and a gonif and a gambler.

  Benny wouldn’t even have learned Hebrew if his ma hadn’t got sick last year while his pa had gone off somewhere and didn’t come home for a long time. Nobody knows where Uncle Max went to this day. He’s been doing strange things like that ever since he came back from the war, Ma says.

  Anyway, that was when the lady came from the Jewish Children’s Aid and took Benny and Willie and Joe and put them in the Jewish orphanage because his older brothers and sisters couldn’t afford to look after them. While Benny was in the orphanage, the people there found out he never went to shul and that he wasn’t learning the prayers he had to say for a bar mitzvah even though he was almost thirteen already. Benny told them that none of his older brothers had a bar mitzvah and he wasn’t going to either, but they made him go to a rabbi to learn the prayers anyway. Benny says that the rabbi’s beard smelled awful, like mothballs, and the rabbi hit him over the knuckles with a big stick whenever he got the prayers wrong, which was all the time. Benny got bar-mitzvahed, all right, but he says it was enough religion for him for the rest of his life.

  Poor Benny. I guess I understand. But still, that doesn’t mean he has to tempt people with corned-beef sandwiches on Yom Kippur. And he shouldn’t go around forcing people to listen to his awful stories from the newspaper about how the Nazis want to kill all the Jews because they believe Jews kill Christian children and mix their blood into cakes to eat at Passover. That’s too awful to think about it. How can people believe such terrible lies and even put them in the newspaper for other people to read and pass on? I like Benny, but sometimes he makes me so angry.

  October 13

  Pa went to the court yesterday because of the accident, and he ended up in jail! Imagine — my pa, in jail with all the crooks and bad people. Pa is a Cohen! It’s awful even just thinking about it, even if he was only there for a few hours.

  Pa went by himself. Sophie tried to get him to let her come and translate for him but he said it was no place for a good Jewish woman. I bet he’s sorry he said that now.

  Pa said the judge listened to what the goyishe man with the big limousine said. Then he told Pa he had to pay a fine without even listening to Pa’s side of the story. Pa said he tried to tell the judge he was blowing the horn while he was driving the truck onto the highway, so it really wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t have to pay the fine. But I guess Pa’s English wasn’t good enough, because the judge thought Pa was saying he wouldn�
��t pay ever at all and so he told the policemen there to throw Pa into jail. So they did. Pa says it never would have happened in the old country. Of course it wouldn’t. Pa never had a truck in the old country.

  They let Pa make a phone call, but of course we can’t afford a phone anymore, so he called Mrs. Koslov at the grocery store up the street and she sent her horrible son Irving down to say that Pa was in the Don Jail and we had to bring money to pay the fine before they would let him out. That blabbermouth Irving told everyone he passed on the way here and so now everyone on the block knows all about it. Even Rivka Goldstein, and she’ll tell all the girls at school. I could kill him.

  Everyone else was at work, so Ma and me and the little ones had to walk over to Spadina to the factory and get the money from Uncle Bertzik. Hindl complained it was too far, but Molly didn’t say anything. After we walked right through the factory with everyone staring at us — even Sophie and Dora and Gert — we found Uncle Bertzik in his office. He got mad at Ma and made her cry, but he finally gave her the money. Then Ma made me go on the streetcar all the way to the Don Jail with it to get Pa out. Pa wasn’t happy about that, but what else could Ma do? I guess she could have pawned some things, like Benny’s ma always does — Ma still has the nice silver necklace her pa gave her when she got married. But Pa would have been even angrier about that. Pa says only weaklings and gonifs go to pawnshops, not good Jews.

  I had to go on the streetcar by myself because we couldn’t afford the extra carfares and anyway, Ma couldn’t speak to the people in the jail in English and I can. I wish she could, too. Pa is right. It’s no place for a good Jewish girl.

  When I got there, it was such a huge building, and I couldn’t figure out where to go, so I asked a policeman who was standing there how to get inside. He said, “Hit a policeman,” and he started to laugh. I was so mad at him that I almost did hit a policeman. But after he stopped laughing, he took me inside to the right place and I gave the man there the money and they let Pa out. Pa was still furious. He jabbered away in Yiddish on the streetcar all the way home. Everyone was staring at us.

  October 14

  Miss Douglas gave us all poems to memorize today. I wanted to do “Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?” because it’s so, so romantic, but she gave that to one of the boys and made me take “Little Girls” by a lady poet named Laurence Alma-Tedema. It starts out like this:

  If no one ever marries me

  And I don’t see why they should

  For nurse says I’m not pretty

  And I’m seldom very good.

  If I have to recite that in front of the whole class I’ll just die.

  October 17

  We are so broke now it isn’t funny. It was bad enough before the court fine, but it’s even worse now, and Pa won’t even let Ma go ask Uncle Bertzik for some help because he’s so angry and embarrassed about Uncle Bertzik paying the fine. But the worst thing is, Miss Douglas told us last week that we should be thinking of all the poor people suffering from the Depression and she wanted everyone to bring a penny to help people less well off than ourselves, and of course we don’t have any pennies to spare. When Miss Douglas passed the jar today I said I didn’t bring a penny, but I didn’t tell her why. It’s none of her business. Miss Douglas was very angry. She said it looked like she’d have to put one of her own pennies in the jar for Sally Cohen, and she did. She said it in a very loud voice so everyone in the whole class could hear.

  I used to think Miss Douglas was nice, but now I don’t. That was a mean thing to do. And she says I have to recite “Little Girls” this week.

  October 19

  Everyone is so unhappy. Pa has no job and no money and Ma is worried all the time, and we never get anything to eat but eggs and potatoes and porridge and Sophie is still doing nothing but getting mad at Pa and moping about that awful Steven. At least she still goes to the factory.

  I am unhappy because I am worried about everybody, but especially about Benny. I don’t know why I care, but I do. Benny finally told me what he’s doing at the racetrack. He says he’s a table.

  That’s right. A table. Like what you eat on. Benny says there are men under the stands — where the people sit to watch the races — who take bets on the horses. They’re called bookies, but it has nothing to do with reading. Benny says it’s against the law to be a bookie, so they hire boys like him to stand there and hold open a newspaper, so it’s flat. Like a table. The bookie does whatever they do with money and things on top of the newspaper. Then, if someone says the police are coming, the table folds up the newspaper with all the money still inside it and pretends to be just a paperboy — which Benny really is. He got the table job from a man he was selling a paper to every day on College Street outside of Altman’s.

  Benny says he makes a lot of money being a table. He even offered me two whole dollars. That’s a fortune, and I almost took it because we need it so much. But then I remembered where the money came from and I said no, never in a million years. Benny should know better. I tried to get him to stop being a table but he just laughed. What if he gets caught?

  The only good thing is that my flannel underpants are finally done. The seams are crooked, but maybe Ma can fix them. Thank goodness. I hope the next thing we make in Domestic Science isn’t so private.

  October 21

  Miss Douglas made me say my poem today. I did it really, really fast and I pretended to forget the part about not being pretty. Everyone could tell Miss Douglas was angry, but I don’t care. No one’s going to make me say I’m not pretty in front of everybody even if I’m not. It’s almost Shabbes, so that’s all for now.

  October 26

  I haven’t written anything in this scribbler for a while because it’s so hard to write. My hands are like ice. Sophie says the radio says it’s warmer than average, but still, the house is getting chilly now and the furnace isn’t on because Pa says we can’t afford the coal. The only warm place is beside the stove in the kitchen where I do my homework. But today I decided to sneak down to the cellar and get my scribbler and bring it up here to my room so I can get under the covers and write. If anyone comes in I’ll just say it’s homework.

  My winter blanket is so itchy. It’s the patchwork one that Ma made out of the greatcoat Uncle Bertzik wore in the Great War, but it always makes me think of Uncle Max, not Uncle Bertzik. I guess that’s because Uncle Bertzik is a mensch. Even though he owns a factory and he’s very rich, he just seems like everyone else.

  Although, come to think of it, I guess Uncle Bertzik isn’t really a mensch. He refuses to help out Benny’s ma just because he hates Uncle Max — that’s no way to treat your very own sister.

  But Uncle Max is a whole different story. He got gassed in the war and had some of his toes shot off. I’ve never seen his feet and I never want to. Anyway, Benny says that’s why his pa acts so crazy all the time. But Pa says Max was always a trombenik. He was making trouble even back in the old country before he married Auntie Esther, long before the war.

  Once last year I overheard Pa and Ma in the summer kitchen talking about when Uncle Max got drafted into the Russian army back in the old country. Pa said Uncle Max just ran away in the night with his brother’s papers without telling anybody, and his poor brother, Benny’s Uncle Peretz, had to go and serve in his place. Auntie Esther was already married to Uncle Max then, and they had Sam and Al and another child on the way — Ruthie, who is twenty-two now. But Uncle Max just left them with no money or anything and ran off to Canada.

  Auntie Esther didn’t let him get away with it. She packed up a bag and took the children and walked miles and miles to where she could get on a boat and come to Canada and find him. They got together again, and that’s when Rosie and Benny and Willie and Joe came along. And then Uncle Max ended up being in the Canadian army and being in the war anyway and losing his toes. Serves him right.

  Pa thinks Auntie Esther was meshugge for even wanting to find Uncle Max again and so does Uncle Bertzik.
But I think it’s romantic. I wish I could be as brave as Auntie Esther.

  I’ll never tell Benny about Uncle Max running away. Maybe it wouldn’t bother Benny, but if anything like that ever happened to my parents, I would honestly rather just not know. Anyway, I’m sure it didn’t. Ma and Pa knew each other in the old country, even though they didn’t get married until they came to Canada. But Pa would never run away. I’m lucky to have a pa like Pa — he’s a good pa even if he is a little strict sometimes. I wish he would find a job and b

  November 1932

  November 9

  The last time I wrote in this scribbler I had a really close call. Gert came in to get a sweater and I had to stop writing right in the middle of a sentence and hide it under the covers and I’ve been afraid to try to write anything since then. But today it seemed warm enough to come down here to the cellar again, even if the furnace isn’t on. Maybe I’m just getting used to being cold.

  There’s nothing much to write, really. I’m just going to school and looking after Molly and Hindl and doing the usual things I always do. I’ve hardly even seen Benny. He just came over once to tell me about how thousands and thousands of children marched for Hitler in Germany. I think he just comes over here to tell me scary things and make me mad, and the rest of the time he hangs out with some boys he knows from the track. Some of them aren’t even Jewish. I hope he knows what he’s doing.