Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I am a tailor.”

  “What is your brother’s address?”

  Elias told him, and the man shook his head sadly and said, “Will all of your family work with you?”

  “I told you, I don’t know what Avir has arranged for us.” Elias seemed confused.

  “Do you have at least twenty-five dollars apiece with you?”

  “Only twenty-five? Yes,” Elias said.

  “May I see it?”

  Rebekah removed her jacket and handed it to her father. With his fingernails he pulled some threads and opened a seam in the left side of the lining, then reached in and removed the packages of bills.

  The inspector thumbed through the money and nodded. “Don’t put it back into the jacket,” he said. “Put it where you can reach it easily. There will be an American Express office near the railway ticket office on the first floor where you can exchange your money into United States currency.”

  Are we that close to passing the inspection? Rebekah wondered, and her heart jumped with excitement. She held out her arms for her jacket, and with it her father automatically handed her the packets of money. Rebekah tucked the money down into the deep pockets in her skirt.

  Before long it was her turn. She could tell that the inspector mostly wanted to discover if she had any mental problems. She answered his questions quickly and in English, so the examination was a short one.

  While the inspector was busy writing information on the government form, Rebekah became aware that at the next desk a young woman sat huddled over, barely mumbling answers to another inspector’s questions. The inspector who was attempting to question her finally slid a group of wooden blocks in front of her. “Can you match these?” he asked.

  As she looked up and stared blankly, he explained, “There are two circles, two rectangles, and two of a number of other shapes. To begin, can you put the circles together? The squares? Please put them where they belong.”

  The woman gingerly picked up a square block. She stared at it for a long while, then put it next to a circle. Then she put her hands in her lap and hunched over, staring at them.

  “Thank you,” the inspector said. With a weary sigh he pushed the blocks to one side, picked up his chalk, and drew an X on the left shoulder of her coat.

  He motioned to an assistant, who helped the woman up and led her away. Rebekah shivered and hugged her arms, trying to get warm. An X and an X with a circle around it—those must be mental misfits even the Mother of Exiles couldn’t accept.

  The inspector hesitated when he questioned Mordecai. “Has the physical disability in your right leg ever made you unfit for any kind of work?”

  “Farm work, yes,” Mordecai answered and smiled. “But where are there farms in New York City?”

  “What work do you plan to do in New York?”

  “I am a scholar. I study the Talmud.”

  The inspector frowned. “Will you have a job that pays a salary?”

  “No. That is, I don’t think so, unless Avir has found some form of employment for me.”

  “What is your age, Mr. Levinsky?”

  “Sixty-two.”

  This time the inspector scowled as though Mordecai had given a wrong answer. “What work does your son do?” he asked.

  “He is involved in sewing garments.”

  “In a factory?”

  “No. He has never mentioned a factory. He has written something about his own small business where he is in charge.” Mordecai spoke proudly, but the inspector again shook his head.

  “A sweatshop,” he muttered.

  “What is that?” Mordecai asked.

  The man didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Who paid for your passage?”

  “My sons, Avir and Elias, did.”

  The inspector leaned forward and peered at Mordecai. “You couldn’t pay the fare yourself? There seems to be a possibility that you could become a public charge.”

  “No!” Mordecai and Rebekah shouted together.

  “Your son Avir lives in a section of the city which is crowded with people struggling to make a living, as your family will discover. We can’t count on him to keep you from needing public assistance.”

  “He won’t need public assistance,” Rebekah insisted. “We’ll all work. We’ll take care of him.”

  “The Board of Special Inquiry will have to decide that,” the inspector said. He immediately became busy signing papers and stamping them. He handed a fistful to Elias and said, “You, your wife, your daughters, and your sons have been accepted.”

  “What will happen to Mordecai?” Leah cried.

  The inspector pinned a yellow ticket on Mordecai’s coat and said to him, “Go through that door to my left. You will be taken to rooms where you will undergo further examinations. If you pass them, you can rejoin your family.”

  If? Rebekah reached out for her grandfather, but an assistant was already leading Mordecai through the door, and Mordecai, his head bowed and his shoulders sagging, did not look back.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE Levinskys were directed to the dining hall, a large room filled with rows of long wooden trencher tables and benches. None of them had eaten for a long time, and in spite of Leah’s tears and the family’s worry about Mordecai, they wolfed down the sardines, the boiled potatoes and carrots, and the thick slices of fresh rye bread.

  But Rebekah’s thoughts were a torment. How could the inspector even consider the possibility that Mordecai might need public assistance? What did he mean when he spoke about Uncle Avir’s neighborhood and mentioned a sweatshop? Avir had written only about how well he and Aunt Anna lived in the United States.

  “What shall we do?” Leah asked. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Nothing but wait until we are told the board’s decision,” Elias said glumly.

  Rebekah sat up stiffly, as she remembered the woman who had come to speak to them. “There is something we can do,” she told her parents. “Esther Greenberg told us the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society would help us. All we have to do is find her. She’ll know how we can help Grandfather.”

  Leah stopped crying. “In this huge crowd, how will we find her?”

  Rebekah hesitated only a moment before she swung her feet over the bench. “There must be someone in charge, Father. Should I ask one of the guards?”

  “Your English is best, so go ask,” her father consented.

  Rebekah asked a passing uniformed guard. “Wait here with your family,” he ordered. “We’ll tell Mrs. Greenberg that you want to talk to her.”

  Rebekah and her family waited for Mrs. Greenberg nervously, but it wasn’t until Jacob had gulped down a second plate of food that Mrs. Greenberg appeared in the dining hall.

  Taking time for only a hasty greeting, Leah explained the situation and asked in Yiddish, “Can you help Mordecai?”

  “He is my father,” Elias told Mrs. Greenberg. “He won’t become a public charge. I can take care of him.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Mrs. Greenberg told them.

  “Could we see Grandfather? Could we talk to him?” Rebekah asked.

  “The Board of Special Inquiry will not allow immigrants to talk to friends or relatives until they’ve made their decisions,” Mrs. Greenberg answered. “But I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  Leah gave a long sigh of relief, but Mrs. Greenberg said, “I don’t want to give you false hope, Mrs. Levinsky. There is no telling what the board will decide. It is made up of three inspectors, not always the same ones. Some of them tend to be lenient, but others are very hard on people with physical disabilities. Lately, there has been a great deal of public objection to allowing so many immigrants into the United States, and the inspectors on the board have been more strict than usual.”

  “Why do they object to us?” Rebekah asked.

  “They are afraid of having to support you,” Mrs. Greenberg answered. She rested a hand on Rebekah’s should
er. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll see what the situation is, and I’ll join you on the first floor. Take the stairs at the far end of the inquiry room. When you reach the first floor, pass the railroad ticket office and go to the waiting room. You’ll find benches there where you can rest while you wait.”

  The Levinskys had reached the first floor and were on their way toward the waiting room when Rebekah spied Kristin and her parents and Rose and her uncle, who were carrying their baggage and making their way toward the opposite end of the hall. With a cry, she ran toward them and reported what had happened to Mordecai.

  While Rose and Kristin dropped their bundles and hugged Rebekah in sympathy, Mrs. Swensen grew teary-eyed and said, “Oh, Rebekah, I’m sure they’ll allow your grandfather to stay.”

  Mr. Carney broke in. “Everything depends on politics and politicians. It’s who you know that counts.”

  “Uncle Jimmy!” Rose scolded, and he gave a sheepish grin.

  “Sorry, Rebekah. I should think before I speak. Well, consider what I said to be just my own opinion and no one else’s and hope for the best. Your grandfather’s a smart man. He’ll come through all right.”

  Mr. Swensen took a step forward. “We’d help you if we could, Rebekah, but there is nothing we can do.” He glanced up at the large clock on a nearby wall and added, “And now it is time for us to leave. We have to take the next ferry to New Jersey so we can arrive at the railroad terminal on time to catch our train.”

  “Rosie needs to catch that same ferry,” Mr. Carney said, and he put a hand on Rose’s arm, guiding her toward the short stairway leading down from the main level.

  Rose twisted her head toward him as the group moved along, Rebekah walked with them. “What do you mean ‘Rosie needs to catch the ferry’? We’re both taking it, aren’t we, Uncle Jimmy?”

  “Ah, now, Rosie,” he said, never breaking stride as he shoved a train ticket into her hands, “I didn’t find the time to tell you that I’ve got friends in New York City I’d like to visit for a while. You’re a big girl, almost grown, and perfectly well able to travel to Chicago by yourself.”

  “By myself?” Rose cried, her eyes huge.

  A whistle on one of the ferries at the dock just outside the building tooted three long blasts.

  “That’s our boat! Hurry!” Mr. Swensen said and loped down the stairs.

  Rebekah, Rose, and Kristin threw their arms around each other in one last, awkward hug.

  “Hurry! Kristin! Come now!” Mr. Swensen shouted.

  Mrs. Swensen grabbed Kristin’s arm and pulled her away. They dashed down the stairway, Rose right behind them.

  At the foot of the stairway Rose wailed, “Uncle Jimmy!” at Mr. Carney, but he gave her no more than a jaunty wave before he strode off to the left, disappearing through the doorway under the sign: To the New York Ferry. Rose threw one last, aching glance at Rebekah before she turned to the right and ran after the Swensens and the boat to New Jersey.

  Rebekah watched her friends disappear. There was so much she wanted to tell them, so much she hadn’t had time to say. Heedless of the baggage-laden people who pushed around her as they clumped down the stairs, she leaned her head against the wall, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

  A hand touched her shoulder, startling her, and she stiffened. “Aaron!” she cried as she looked up. “Oh, Aaron! I’ll never see Kristin and Rose again!”

  Aaron pulled Rebekah to one side, away from the traffic on the stairway, and held her so that she could cry against his shoulder.

  “Remember what you told me about making things happen,” Aaron said. “Just promise yourself that you will see them again and believe it will happen.”

  Rebekah stepped away from Aaron and wiped her eyes. “I wasn’t crying only because I had to say good-bye to them,” she said. “I’m terrified of what may happen to Grandfather.” She told Aaron about Mordecai’s detention and about Esther Greenberg’s offer to try to help.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Aaron said.

  Rebekah knew that her mother had enough worries at the moment. There was no telling what she would think or the questions she’d ask if her daughter brought a strange young man to sit with them. Nessin might tell Mama what he had told Rebekah about Aaron’s family. No.

  “I can’t let you do that,” she said. “Your father will be expecting you. He may come to meet you.”

  Aaron pulled a slip of paper from one of his pockets and held it up. “He sent me only his address and directions in finding his place,” he told Rebekah.

  “But he’ll know that your ship has docked,” Rebekah insisted. “He’ll worry if you don’t arrive. Please go, Aaron.”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Then stand at the head of the stairway and wave to me when I go. Someone told me these are called the Stairs of Separation, but they won’t be for us.”

  “Aaron,” Rebekah began, but he interrupted.

  “And smile, Rebekah,” he said. “I want to remember your smile until I see you again.”

  “Oh!” she cried. “My Uncle Avir’s address! Wait until I write it down for you.”

  “I have it,” Aaron answered. He bounded down the stairs and turned toward the left, waving and smiling at her until he disappeared through the door that led to the New York Ferry.

  Rebekah’s smile faded, and she wondered if she could ever be happy again. Tired and discouraged, she walked past the piles of baggage and past the crowd of people who were pushing their way up to the railway ticket counter. On the walls behind them she could see posters telling the wonders of other states in the United States—Nebraska, Texas, and California—so distant and strange she couldn’t even picture them.

  When Rebekah reached the waiting room she was shocked as she saw her father’s face sag as though he were an old man and her mother droop with exhaustion. Even Nessin was subdued, and Sofia slept—Jacob’s arm around her. Silently, Rebekah sat with them. Leah didn’t speak. She simply reached out and squeezed Rebekah’s hand.

  It was a long, agonizing hour later when Esther Greenberg came to sit with them. “Your father’s case will probably come up for examination in a few hours,” she told Elias. She held out a folded paper. “I’ve written the address of the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society offices for you. It’s on Broadway in the Lower East Side of New York City, probably close to where you’ll be living. Please don’t hesitate to visit us if you need any kind of help.”

  “Thank you,” Elias answered, taking the paper and tucking it into a pocket.

  “Can we see Grandfather?” Rebekah asked. All she wanted or needed right now was for her grandfather to be released.

  “Only after his case has been decided.” Mrs. Greenberg looked away for a moment and sighed. Then her back straightened and she said, “I know this is difficult for you. It is for many people who must wait and wonder if they may stay or if they must return.”

  “Do many have to return?” Jacob asked.

  “Just a little over two percent,” Mrs. Greenberg said softly.

  “How many emigrants come to Ellis Island?” Rebekah asked.

  “Many,” Mrs. Greenberg answered. Her eyes met Rebekah’s. “Sometimes up to five thousand people a day.”

  Two percent of five thousand people? Two percent would mean at least one hundred people a day who were turned away! Rebekah’s throat grew tight, and her stomach began to hurt. Mrs. Greenberg was preparing them to accept the worst.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FOR hours Rebekah and her family waited without word, until finally another volunteer from the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society told them to follow him and took them to a room with a large cage-like section that was constructed from wide-holed wire mesh.

  Mordecai was seated with other detainees on one of the wooden benches inside the mesh, and when he saw his family he painfully got to his feet and limped over to the side of the cage. “I have been rejected,” he told them in a voice hoarse with pain. “I am being sent back.”

  “Not
to Russia!” Leah cried.

  “No,” Mordecai said. “They will let me leave the ship at Liverpool on a temporary visit. My cousins … Samuel, Abraham … they are good men. I know I can stay with them until I decide what to do.”

  As the other members of her family tried to comfort one another, Rebekah moved close to speak to Mordecai in a low voice. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the wires. “Grandfather, we will work hard and save our money and send it to you so you can travel to the United States again.”

  Mordecai shrugged and shook his head. “What good would it do? I’d be rejected again.”

  “Not if you travel in second class, instead of steerage,” she pleaded. “Buy a good suit and a hat that a second-class passenger would wear. The inspectors will accept you because they’ll think you are well off and can support yourself. Remember what we heard on the ship?”

  “Little one,” Mordecai said tolerantly, “that would take more money than the family can earn for quite some time.”

  “This will help,” Rebekah whispered. She reached into her skirt, pulled out one of the packets of money, and stuffed it through the wire mesh. “Take it, quickly! Hide it!”

  Startled, Mordecai did as she told him, but he said, “That is the family’s money. You’ll need it.”

  “Uncle Avir will help us.” Trying to keep her voice from shaking, Rebekah begged, “Grandfather, promise me that you’ll return in second class.”

  He smiled. “I’ll do my best, and I shall try to look like a gentleman.”

  Rebekah attempted to return his smile. “When you return to the United States, Grandfather, I’ll be waiting for you at the dock.”

  Rebekah knew she had to make herself believe that what she had promised her grandfather would come true. If she couldn’t believe, she’d never be able to bear parting from him.

  “Rebekah, my little scholar,” Mordecai said, “in return I ask a promise of you. Since I will not be with you to help your family become used to this new country with ways that may seem strange or even frightening, I need you to do it for me. You are a sensible girl. Even though the change will be difficult for you, as well as for your family, I know I can count on you to know what is right and to do what is best. Do I have your promise?”