Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “Baby? Oh, he’s not mine,” Rebekah answered. “I’m holding him for his mother.”

  The woman smiled and stepped aside to greet a man who was carrying a large box filled with neatly folded items of clothing. On top of the box, immediately catching Rebekah’s attention, rested a beautiful and simple black straw hat with a flat round brim and a wide white ribbon tied around the crown. It wasn’t a fancy hat with feathers or flowers or veils—the kind of hat a mature woman would admire. It was a hat like some of those Rebekah had seen on the street, perfect for a young woman—like herself.

  The man carried the box into another room, and Rebekah fingered the pennies in her pocket again. The clothing was obviously used. She doubted it was for the nurses who worked at the Settlement. Maybe it was for the patients and their families. Maybe it was for sale. If so, how much would a hat like that cost? The used-hat peddlers on Hester Street tried to sell their hats for a quarter apiece, but often accepted much less. But she had only two cents, and surely a beautiful hat like that would cost much more.

  Rebekah cautioned herself to forget the hat, but when the woman in the blue suit returned to the waiting room, Rebekah shifted the little boy to one hip and hurried toward her. “The clothes the man just brought—are they for sale?”

  “For sale?” The woman shook her head. “No. We are a nursing clinic, but occasionally someone wants to donate clothing to those in need and, not knowing where else to take it, brings it here.”

  “Oh,” Rebekah said. “The hat on top of the box … the beautiful hat … I hoped it might be for sale.”

  At that moment the mother of the baby arrived and swept her child into her arms. “Thank you for helping me,” she said to Rebekah. “You don’t know how frightened I was. I wish for you a lifetime of blessings.” She turned and hurried toward a nurse who was waiting.

  The woman in the suit smiled at Rebekah and said, “With the blessings should go a pretty hat.” She stepped back and studied Rebekah’s plain brown dress. “A pretty girl like you who might want to be in fashion should wear the hat with a shirtwaist and skirt.”

  “But I don’t …”

  “It’s quite likely I can give you what you deserve, just wait a moment.”

  Rebekah found herself back on the street holding a paper-wrapped bundle. She held it carefully, thrilled to own a white cotton shirtwaist, a black serge fitted skirt, and the beautiful straw hat. When she got home, instead of going to the workroom, she tucked the bundle into the bottom of the armoire—a secret only she would know. She didn’t want her mother objecting. She’d wait to wear the clothes when it was the proper time … when she, Rebekah Levinsky, was a student.

  Giddy with happiness, Rebekah smiled and felt a new surge of hope.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ADDING to the joy of the day, a letter arrived from Rose. Rebekah read it over and over again.

  “And what has happened to the girl, Rose, who danced in front of everyone?” Leah asked.

  Rebekah giggled. “The train ride to Chicago had its problems. Rose routed a robber who was trying to steal her suitcase. She gave him a fine clout on the head while stomping on his toes.”

  “Ach!” Leah said. “A young girl without protection! What was her uncle thinking of? If her mother only knew …”

  “Rose calls Chicago, ‘a monstrous big place.’ She’s written about seeing her father and brothers again.”

  “They are in good health, I trust?”

  Rebekah folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. “I guess so. Rose’s father is a bricklayer, with steady work because so many buildings are being constructed. Her brother Michael has learned the trade of pipe fitter and is doing well. She said her brother John is working in the office of someone called an alderman. It must be a high position because the alderman commands a great deal of respect according to Rose. As a favor to John his boss was able to get Rose a job as a sales clerk. She works in a small dry goods store and is happy about that. She had been so sure that the only position she could get would be what most Irish girls in Chicago settle for—a maid for rich people. Rose said their father is so proud of John he can’t stop bragging about him.”

  “I’m glad Rose had good news to relate,” her mother said, smiling.

  Rebekah didn’t repeat to her mother what Rose had confided about her brother John: “I know Johnny well, and I remember that always, if mischief was afoot, he was not only involved in it, but he got me in trouble, too. My father doesn’t seem to see that Johnny keeps late hours, coming and going no one knows where, and I suspect that once again my brother has been drawn toward the mischief. I just hope I’m wrong.”

  Rebekah walked new streets, trying to learn more about the vast city of New York, but the blocks in her Lower East Side neighborhood were much the same. Windows in the crowded brick and wooden buildings had been thrown open in the warm weather, and from them came the constant buzz and hum of the machines. Small children played in the streets, but the gray patina of poverty was everywhere.

  As week followed week, and Rebekah ventured farther from her path to and from Sofia’s school, she had to run to keep from losing time at work. One afternoon Rebekah stopped abruptly as she heard the clear notes of a flute drifting from a window three stories over her head.

  “Aaron?” she whispered, and ran eagerly up the stairs to the third floor, not stopping until she reached a door on which was painted LEPSKI’S SCHOOL OF MUSIC.

  She paused to catch her breath, then knocked timidly.

  The flute music continued, so she knocked again, this time more loudly.

  The music stopped. Rebekah could hear footsteps stomping across a bare wooden floor, and the door swung open. A heavyset, bushy-bearded man, who was carrying a flute, stared down at her. “You’ve come to see about lessons?” he asked.

  “N—No,” Rebekah stammered. “I’m looking for someone named Aaron Mirsch. I thought the flute … that is, his music …”

  “I know of no one named Aaron Mirsch,” the man said and impatiently shut the door.

  Slowly, Rebekah descended the stairs, her disappointment as heavy as a stone in her stomach. It had been several months since she and Aaron had arrived in the United States. “I’ll show up on your doorstep,” Aaron had promised, but Rebekah was afraid that this promise, like those they had made to each other about their future goals, might never be kept. Because of her work she couldn’t meet people her age. Aaron was her only friend. Would she never see him again?

  Rebekah and Sofia arrived home to find that work had stopped. Their mother and aunt wept in each other’s arms, and Elias’s eyes were red and puffy. Avir sobbed loudly into a handkerchief.

  Nessin, whose head had been resting on the kitchen table, looked up at Rebekah with stricken eyes.

  “What is it?” Rebekah managed to ask, but she knew. She knew!

  Leah reached out to enfold her daughters in her arms. “Oh, Rebekah,” she sobbed. “The worst of news! Your Grandfather Mordecai—ohav shalom!—has died.”

  Rebekah felt herself plunging into a dark pit, but she clung to her mother and fought to remain conscious. “It can’t be true!” she cried. “Grandfather is coming to join us! As soon as we save enough money! Grandfather can’t die! No! No! I don’t believe it!”

  Leah helped Rebekah into a chair and handed her a glass of water. Gently she removed Rebekah’s kerchief and smoothed back her hair as she said, “It’s true. Samuel has written to inform us.”

  Sofia began to wail. Rebekah wrapped her arms around her little sister, and they wept together.

  Finally, when her tears had become only dry sobs, Rebekah slumped, exhausted, in her chair. “Mama, tell me, how did Grandfather die?” she asked.

  “Quietly, in his sleep,” Leah answered. “He had not been ill. He didn’t suffer. For this we can be thankful.”

  Rebekah didn’t feel thankful. She was ashamed of herself, but she was furious. Mordecai had promised to come. She needed him, and he had left her.


  Leah placed an envelope into Rebekah’s hand, but Rebekah shook her head angrily and tried to return it. “I don’t want to read it,” she said.

  “This is not Samuel’s letter,” Leah told her. “This is a letter Mordecai had begun writing to you. Samuel was sure you would want to have it.”

  Clutching the envelope to her chest, Rebekah slowly climbed to her feet. It was hard to move. There was no feeling in her legs or arms, and only a dark, empty hole in her mind. But somehow she made her way to the room she shared with Sofia, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened the letter.

  “Your letter to me made me happy and sad,” Mordecai had written. “You are impatient with your parents because you are young. You do have a life of promise before you. Your parents, whom I know you love and respect, are more concerned with problems of the present. They are adults, with most of their lives behind them. They willingly left all that they knew in order to make a better life for their children, whose years lie ahead of them. Do not be harsh with your mother and father if they have difficulty adjusting to the ways of the New World. To travel to the United States was a hard decision to make, and it called for courage. You have courage, too, and you can make their arduous journey worthwhile by following your own dreams yet obeying your parents as a daughter must.”

  “Without your help?” Rebekah whispered. “How can I?”

  Loud voices from the kitchen startled her, and she ran toward them, wondering what had happened.

  “How can you say that we’ll not sit shiva for seven days?” Elias thundered. “Are you out of your mind, Avir? You know that we must mourn our father not for just two days but as is required by Jewish law.”

  Red patches blotched Avir’s face as he shouted back, “We cannot put life and earnings aside for an entire week. Clothing manufacturers will not patiently wait while we sit and mourn for our father. We have contracts to meet and workers to pay. If we do not meet our deadlines, we will get no more work. We’ll lose our homes. We’ll be out on the street with no jobs, no money. Do you want your family to starve to death? Our father would understand.”

  “Our faith … our tradition …” Elias waved his hands, at a loss for words.

  “In the evenings we will meet and pray,” Avir went on, his voice dropping to a normal pitch. “You and I will say kaddish as we must as respectful sons. Believe me, he will understand. God will understand.”

  Avir put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his voice heavy with urgency and tears. “And it’s important to all of us—to our survival, Elias—that you understand. Asa, Mischa, and the people who work for me—would you have them out of a job? Searching with thousands of others for work?”

  Asa broke in, his voice cracking as he pleaded, “Elias, you know that my wife is expecting a baby.”

  In the silence that followed Elias let out a long sigh. “I realize there are others to think of besides ourselves. I am not sure what God is asking of me, but we will do as you say, Avir.”

  Rebekah turned and ran back to the bedroom, flinging herself on the bed. “Oh, Grandfather! Grandfather, I need you!” she cried aloud, but she knew he would never be there to comfort her. How could she follow her dreams in such a country—a place that had promised her whole family freedom, but little by little took away everything they had held dear?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE Levinskys worked late, trying to make up for the time they had lost. Angrily Rebekah attacked the cloth she was working on, accidentally jabbing her needle into her finger hard enough to draw blood.

  It wasn’t fair for Mordecai to die! Rebekah popped her finger into her mouth to take away the pain. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the boat trip, New York—none of this really happened. Maybe it was all a nightmare, and she would wake up to find herself tucked into her soft feather bed at home.

  Asa and Mischa had left and an overtired Sofia had been tucked into bed when the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairs startled Rebekah and her parents. They turned toward the door, which Nessin flung open as he ran into the room.

  “Oh, it’s only Nessin. You frightened us,” Rebekah began, but Leah cried out and rushed toward her son.

  “You’ve been fighting again!” she said. “Look at that swollen eye!”

  It wasn’t just Nessin’s right eye, darkening with a spreading bruise, that startled Rebekah.

  Nessin didn’t try to make excuses. Suddenly, his lower lip curled out, and he whimpered like a small child. “Papa … Mama,” he said, “there was a gang fight. We had to let them know they couldn’t get away with it. And then …”

  A tear ran down his cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone had a knife. I don’t know who it was. One of the Italian boys was stabbed.”

  Leah gasped, and Elias demanded, “Nessin. Do you know—was the boy killed?”

  “I don’t think so, but the police came, and … Oh, Papa, I ran.” He flopped onto the nearest sofa, burrowed his head in his arms, and sobbed.

  Leah stared at her son in horror, but Elias laid a hand on Nessin’s shoulder and asked, “Do you know who had the knife?”

  “No. There were so many boys there.”

  “How many?”

  “About fifty, I think,” he mumbled through his tears.

  Leah clasped her hands and whispered in terror, “What will we do if the police come here?”

  Elias answered. “Nessin will simply tell them what he told us—the truth. The police in this country are not like the police in Russia. They will not take him away.”

  Nessin stopped crying. He raised his head and wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve.

  Furious at her brother, Rebekah asked the question her parents hadn’t thought of asking. “How could this have happened to you, Nessin? At this time of night you should be in class.”

  Nessin hung his head. “I haven’t been going to class. I don’t care about school. I work so hard all day … Don’t you see, I need to spend time with my friends.” He looked plaintively at Rebekah. “You were born with your nose in a book. I don’t expect you to understand. I sew all day, what good will my classes do?”

  Rage, frustration, and the pain of losing Mordecai exploded into words as Rebekah grabbed Nessin’s shoulders, shaking and berating him. “Nessin! You’re a yold! You’re meshuga! Is this all you want for yourself—a life of work in a sweatshop? You have a chance to make something of yourself!”

  Although Nessin was stronger than Rebekah, he had a hard time pulling away. “Stop it!” he yelled at her and leaped to his feet.

  But Rebekah didn’t want to stop. “Are you such a fool that you don’t see that there’s another way to live? That the only way to escape the sweatshop is with an education?”

  “What I do is none of your business,” Nessin grumbled.

  “It is my business! You’ve been given the chance for an education and turned it down, but I’ve begged … and longed for …”

  Rebekah’s voice broke with a sob, but she shook her head to clear it and snatched up a kerchief that lay on the table, tying it over her hair. “Grandfather told me to follow my dreams,” she shouted at him, “and that’s what I’m going to do. This isn’t a family I know anymore. Everything is different. Well, I’m different, too.”

  As she put her hand on the doorknob, Leah cried out, “Rebekah! What are you thinking of? You can’t go out alone on the streets at night!”

  “I must do what must be done, Mama,” Rebekah answered, and she hurried out the door, racing down the stairs.

  She ran most of the distance to Broadway, not stopping until she reached the door of the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society. Through the window she could see the brightly lit office where people clustered in groups, laughing and talking. She was not too late!

  Rebekah burst through and shut the door behind her, leaning against it.

  An older man with a short, trimmed beard, detached himself from the group nearest the door and said to Rebekah in Yiddish, “I am Stanley Lemann. How may I help you?”


  Using all the courage she possessed Rebekah blurted out, “I want to enroll in your classes.”

  Mr. Lemann nodded. “Very good. I assume you’ll want to learn to speak and read English.”

  Rebekah winced. What a miserable start she had made. In English she said, “I already speak and read English. I want to take all the courses I’ll need so that someday I can go to … to Columbia University!”

  She held her breath, but no one laughed. No one even looked surprised.

  “That’s an ambitious project,” Mr. Lemann said.

  Rebekah nodded. “I know it is, but I want an education. I’m willing to work hard to get it.”

  Mr. Lemann studied Rebekah. Then he said, “Suppose you come in tomorrow night about nine to go over the materials. We’ll find out which subjects you’ll need to study. Can you be here tomorrow?”

  Rebekah took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said.

  As a young man came up to ask Mr. Lemann a question, he excused himself and walked with the student toward his desk.

  The others in his group returned to their conversations, leaving Rebekah standing alone. She felt awkward and embarrassed, not knowing what to do next.

  She glanced at the other students and then her heart stopped. Could it be?

  Aaron Mirsch was far across the room, lost in a conversation.

  Had Aaron seen her? Rebekah put a hand to her slipping kerchief, feeling loose strands of hair straggling out around it. In panic she thought, Aaron can’t see me like this! I must look like a wild woman! She turned to escape from the room to the street and bumped straight into the arms of her father.

  “Papa!” she cried. “You followed me!”

  “It’s late,” Elias said firmly. “A young girl should not be on the streets alone.”

  As they walked toward the flat Rebekah said, “I’m sorry, Papa. Please understand why I was so angry. It just seemed so unfair to me that Nessin …” She broke off, realizing that her voice had risen. There was no point in becoming upset again.