by Jos
“Starving!”
“Good. The beetroots were going very cheap on the market yesterday which is why I decided to make them into soup. You know me for a bargain! So how about a bowl of soup and a slice or two of challah?”
“My mouth’s watering already!”
“And to finish off,” Essie said, tying her apron, “I’ve saved you a piece of apple cake. There’s hardly ever any leftovers here, even the mice and cockroaches have a hard time!” she laughed. “Come, let’s eat.”
“Mmm! It’s all so good,” Becky said between mouthfuls.
“Well?” Auntie Essie asked, when they had finished and cleared the table. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”
“Something terrible’s going on at home.”
“Terrible? What d’you mean?”
“Yesterday morning Bubbe suddenly announced that we need a new mother,” she said slowly, playing with a few stray challah crumbs on the table while she tried to steady her voice. “Last night Papa brought a strange man home with him. I didn’t like him. He kept schmoozing all the time. Bubbe didn’t tell me he was coming but she must have known. Papa’s so quiet all the time, and… and…” her lips trembled, “I want to know what’s going on,” she gulped, fighting back her tears.
Auntie Essie gave her a big kiss and hugged her closely. “Don’t cry, Becky darling. Come, let’s gets warm by the fire.” When they were comfortably settled Auntie Essie told her: “Your guest last night was Abe Klein. Everybody knows him, he’s a matchmaker.”
“A matchmaker? What’s that?”
“A matchmaker is a person who arranges marriages.”
“He arranges marriages?” Becky repeated. In spite of the heat from the fire, she felt an icy chill trickle slowly down her back.
“Abe’s job is to get to know Jewish men and women who want to get married,” Auntie Essie explained. “Young and old, poor and not so poor, widows and widowers. When he finds two people who he thinks will suit each other, he introduces them, hoping they will make a good match. That’s why he’s called a matchmaker, you see.”
“Why does Papa need a matchmaker? Why can’t he choose someone himself?”
“Don’t be foolish, child. He can’t just speak to a strange woman without knowing anything about her, or if she comes from a good family. It’s just not done. He has to be properly introduced. That’s why your father’s spoken to Abe Klein.”
“Did you and Mama have a matchmaker in Russia?”
“Of course we did. Your father and Uncle Joe were friends of our cousins, which made things easier when the matchmaker introduced us. Our parents gave us their blessing.” Auntie Essie smiled. “They say a good marriage is a match made in heaven!”
“Why does Bubbe want Papa to marry again?”
“Bubbe’s in a lot of pain with arthritis. You can see how hard it is for her to get up and down stairs. She’d love to go on looking after you and Yossie, but she can’t.”
“Does he want to get married again?”
“No one can ever replace your mother, that’s for sure,” Auntie Essie sighed, “but Bubbe’s getting worse and your father has to face facts.”
There was no holding back now.
“But what about Yossie and me?” Becky sobbed. “Suppose we don’t want a new mother, suppose we hate her!”
Auntie Essie cupped Becky’s face in her hands and looked into her eyes, which brimmed with tears.
“Becky, darling, don’t upset yourself. Your Papa loves you both very much, he wouldn’t want to make you unhappy for all the world. You’ll just have to trust him.”
Flat 74 Rothschild Buildings,
Brick Lane,
Whitechapel,
London.
Saturday, 7th November 1908
Dear Mama,
When I got home from Auntie Essie, I was just going upstairs when I heard a door slam and voices. One of them was the strange guest. I hid in a corner of the stairwell so he wouldn’t see me. He came downstairs with the lady who sat next to Bubbe in shul this morning. I got a whiff of herrings as she went by. You know I can’t stand that smell.
Now – for the Secrets Of My Heart! The strange man is Abe Klein who is a matchmaker. Papa is thinking of getting married again. I am in the depths of despair and my eyes are all red and puffy from crying. Please tell God I don’t want that herring smelling lady to be our new mother.
I miss you very much. God bless.
Yours faithfully,
Rebecca Feldman.
Chapter 3
Bubbe muttered to herself as she fumbled in her purse.
“Here Becky,” she said, “take this money and get me a few things from Mrs Haffner’s shop on your way home from school.”
“Why can’t I go to Zev’s place across the road? Why do I have to shlep all the way to a different shop?” Becky asked.
Bubbe ignored her. “Mrs Haffner’s shop is just round the corner from Essie and Joe’s place. You can’t miss it. Be a good girl and write a shopping list for me,” she asked, handing her a stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper.
Becky wrote down all the items as Bubbe called them out. The last one was pickled herrings.
“Ugh, herrings! I can’t stand the smell! They turn my stomach.”
“Nonsense, child!” Bubbe scolded. “Herrings are good for you and they’re cheap. We lived on bread and herrings when things got bad for us Jews in Russia, which was most of the time,” she sighed. “Yossie, listen to me. Go to the shop with Becky after school, then she’ll take you on to your cheder class. Learning Hebrew there is so important.”
“Do I have to go?” Yossie sulked.
“Of course you must go. Where else can you learn to read the Torah so one day you’ll be a great rabbi?”
“I don’t want to be a…”
“Bubbe,” Becky interrupted, giving Yossie a ‘not now’ warning glance. “We’re going to be late for school.”
“Have you got a towel and soap for the public baths?”
“Its all in my bag,” Becky answered, as she kissed her grandmother. “Quick, Yossie. Come on.”
Every weekday morning the Rothschild Buildings burst into life with deafening sounds of doors banging, mothers yelling and children shouting to each other as they poured out of their apartments. The moment Becky opened their door they were swept along like a tidal wave with the crowd of children, clattering down the stone steps in a mad dash to get to school on time. Becky suddenly found herself going too fast to stop and collided with a young girl. They landed in a sprawling heap.
“Ouch! Just look what you’ve done, Yossie!” Becky cried out, clutching her grazed knee and torn stocking.
“It’s your fault, you pushed me!”
“I did no such thing! Oh, I could kill you for this,” she stormed, trying to pull the edges of the hole together. “My only decent pair of stockings and look at them now – ruined! I’ll have to cobble the hole together somehow and I hate darning.” She got up and limped over to the girl who was brushing dirt off her skirt.
“I’m sorry,” Becky apologised, “I didn’t mean to push you over. I couldn’t stop myself in time. Are you okay?”
The girl rubbed her elbow and winced.
“It’s nothing much, just a bit sore that’s all. I heard you say Yossie. Is he your brother?”
Becky nodded. “Yes, except for the times when I wish he wasn’t!” she answered, glaring at him.
“Well, you must be Becky! I was hoping to meet you, though I didn’t expect it to be like this,” she grinned. “I’m Miriam Lazarus. Everyone calls me Mirrie.”
“Where are you living?”
“On the fourth floor. Number 139.”
“That’s Mrs Kaminsky’s isn’t it?”
“Yes, she’s my great aunt. My mother and I are living with her. D’you know her?”
“Course I do. Everyone knows Mrs Kaminsky. We call her Mrs K. She’s very kind, she helped to look after us when my mother died. Are you coming to school? I�
�ll…”
“Becky,” Yossie butted in, “before you two start gossiping like old women, I’m going to catch up with the boys.”
“Mind your manners and don’t be cheeky.” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s cross the road first. Now listen to me Yossie, don’t you dare try riding on the back of those carts or else I’ll tell Papa. It’s very dangerous. Last week a young boy was nearly killed doing that. Okay? I’ll see you later.”
“Where’s the school?” Mirrie asked as they walked along together.
“Not far now. We go to the bottom of the next street and then it’s just around the corner.”
Mirrie giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I met a nice lady on the boat who told me that I would never get lost in this part of the East End of London ‘cos everything’s ‘just around the corner,’ the schools, the shuls, the shops, the library, the markets. I thought she was joking, but she was right.”
“Not quite. She forgot to include the public baths,” Becky added. “They’re not really ‘just round the corner,’ but near enough. Oh yes and by the way, it’s women’s turn on Thursdays and men on Fridays. When did you get here, Mirrie?”
“Last week. I’ll never forget that terrible journey as long as I live. The sea was rough, the boat tossed up and down all the time and Mama was so seasick that she thought she was going to die. She’s much better now, but she couldn’t come with me today. I’m so nervous.”
“Why?”
“I’m scared stiff – a new girl in a new school and I don’t even speak English very well. My mother’s been teaching me, but Yiddish is so much easier, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn English very quickly and anyway, most of the teachers can speak some Yiddish. We’ve taught them!” Becky grinned. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask Miss Bennet if you can be in my class.”
“Thanks Becky, I’d like that. What’s she like?”
“I think Miss Bennet is the best teacher in the school. She’s strict but she’s kind, too. I’m trying for a scholarship, so she gives me extra homework. I want to be a teacher as good as she is when I’m grown up.”
“Mama keeps telling me that I’ll soon make new friends, well I have now, haven’t I?” Mirrie asked shyly.
“Course you have! I promise not to knock you down again!”
“Can you come up tonight and meet my mother? She could mend that hole in your stocking quick as anything.”
“I’ll try. I’ve got to go shopping after school, then I have to meet my grandmother at the public baths tonight.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll ask Bubbe if she owes Mrs K a bit of tea or sugar – she usually does. That way I’ll have a good excuse to come up.”
“What’s the matter?” Becky asked her brother as they came out of school. “You look very pale. Are you sick or something?”
No answer.
“Is someone bullying you? Come on Yossie, you can tell me y’know.”
“I hate Hebrew classes,” Yossie cried, “and I hate Rebbe Finegold. He’s always pinching us or pulling our ears. I wish I wasn’t Jewish, then I wouldn’t have to go.”
“Don’t you dare say things you don’t mean. Just think how upset Papa and Bubbe would be if they’d have heard you.”
“I don’t care,” Yossie shouted defiantly. “The gentile boys are so lucky. They don’t have to go to cheder to learn Hebrew every day after school except Fridays. They just go home. I even have to go on Sunday mornings as well. It’s not fair,” he snivelled.
Becky put her arm round his shoulders. “Rebbe Finegold’s got no right to pick on you. Papa said that you can read Hebrew really well now. I’ll speak to him, okay?”
“I don’t want to be a rabbi when I grow up,” Yossie whimpered. “I keep telling Bubbe but she won’t listen to me.”
“Don’t cry anymore and I promise you I’ll talk to Papa. Look! There’s Mrs Haffner’s shop. Cheer up and I’ll buy you something nice to nosh.”
The shop was packed with gossiping women and noisy children who got under everyone’s feet. Becky couldn’t see the counter for the crush. One side of the shop was lined with crates of eggs, sacks of cabbages, carrots, potatoes, flour, sugar, rice, lentils, dried peas, beans, barley and porridge oats. On the other side were rows of wooden barrels brimming with pickled cucumbers, pickled red cabbage, green olives, black olives, and pickled and salted herrings. Becky felt her stomach churn. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t help staring at the fish, some packed tightly in layers of coarse salt and some floating in brine, their shiny scales and glassy red eyes gleaming. She looked up. Dangling above her were ropes of onions, garlic and every kind of kosher sausage and salami. The smells were overpowering.
Yossie nudged his sister. “I’m hungry. When is it going to be our turn?”
“Not long now, thank goodness.”
They moved nearer to the counter. “Next customer please,” the shopkeeper called out.
Becky looked at her and gasped in horror. She was standing face to face with – the herring lady!
Flat 74 Rothschild Buildings,
Brick Lane,
Whitechapel,
London.
Thursday 12th November 1908
Dear Mama,
Do you remember what you told me about oy vey? Well this is BIG TROUBLE! No wonder Mrs Haffner smells of herrings, she sells them! Bubbe sent Yossie and me to her shop on purpose. She’s ugly, she’s got a wart on her face with hairs sticking out of it and a wobbly double chin. She humiliated (a Miss Bennet word) me in front of everyone in the shop.
“So these are Jacob Feldman’s wonderful children,” she shmoozed and went on and on all about us. I was so embarrassed. D’you know what I did? I noticed that one of the wooden barrels of pickled herrings had a loose knot in the wood. I kept on pushing and poking away with my pencil stub until I felt it move. No one saw me. Yossie was too busy eating the biscuits Mrs Haffner gave him. I refused. She wasn’t going to bribe me. As we left the shop I saw a trickle of brine leaking from the little hole.
Now – for the Secrets Of My Heart. I am not sorry for what I did. She had it coming.
All my love, God bless.
Yours faithfully,
Rebecca Feldman.
Chapter 4
Becky polished the Shabbos candlesticks as if she was in a trance. She had slept badly and her head ached. All because of her terrible dream – more like a nightmare, she thought. It gave her goosebumps every time she thought about it.
She was in Mrs Haffner’s shop when she heard a strange creaking noise behind her. She turned around quickly just in time to see a big wooden barrel split in two. It was full of herrings and she watched in horror as they slithered out all over the floor. Mrs Haffner screamed and chased after her. Then, just as she was about to catch her, she slipped and fell. What a sight! Mrs Haffner sprawled on her back and covered in slimy fish! Becky was frantic to escape but she couldn’t find Yossie. She looked everywhere until she found him sitting behind the counter eating bagels. They had just reached the shop door when she woke up, cold and trembling.
“You look pale Becky, are you feeling ill?” Bubbe asked. “You were tossing and turning all night. Becky, are you listening to me?”
Becky was startled from her thoughts.
“I’m fine Bubbe,” she said quickly, “I was thinking about Mirrie,” she lied. “I wish I had shiny black plaits like hers, and dark brown eyes that sparkle when she laughs.”
Bubbe frowned. “It’s unlucky to talk like that. You mustn’t envy someone else, you should thank God there’s nothing wrong with your looks. Such a nice little friend you’ve got, and so quick! Did you see the way she peeled those vegetables? Finished in no time, we were.”
She got up slowly and walked to the kitchen. “I must make the challahs and see to the chicken. Hurry up, you’ll be late for school. Yossie, come on,” she called out. “What are you doing in there?”
“What’s up, Becky?” Mirrie a
sked on their way to school. “You sick or something?”
Becky tried to smile. “Bubbe sleeps with me and she kept me awake half the night with her snoring.” Another lie. “I’m tired that’s all. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away yesterday. Thanks for helping us, Bubbe was very pleased.”
“Mama keeps telling me that she wants to meet you. Can you come up tomorrow afternoon instead? Your grandmother and your father won’t mind will they?”
“No, I don’t think so. They usually sleep on Shabbos afternoon, so I won’t be missed.” Becky bit her lip, deep in thought.
“Mirrie, will you do me a favour?”
“Course, I will. What is it?”
Becky coughed and cleared her throat. “I’ve got to take a message to my Auntie Essie.” Yet another lie, God forgive me, she said to herself. “Yossie has to meet Papa at the public baths. Can you see he gets there okay?”
“Will he mind coming with me?” Mirrie asked.
“Not if you buy him a bagel. Here’s a penny. You can always bribe my little brother with food!”
“Okay. Let’s catch him up and I’ll tell him to look out for me after school.”
All day long Becky was haunted by her nightmare. She found it hard to concentrate in class and worst of all, Miss Bennet noticed. “Rebecca can do better,” she wrote in her school book. As soon as school was over she ran all the way to Auntie Essie’s. She took two steps at a time and arrived breathless outside her door. Delicious smells of baking greeted her before she’d even knocked and walked in. Tonight it was all hustle and bustle; her cousins were helping to prepare for Shabbos as if their lives depended on it. Ruth polished the candlesticks and Malka set the table for dinner. Hester, the eldest, was bent over a sewing machine. As soon as she saw Becky, she stopped and rushed over to her.
“Becky, love, what’s up? Is Bubbe ill? You look so cold. Here, this’ll warm you up,” she said, handing her a cup of tea. “Mama!” she shouted. “Guess who’s here?”