The immigration line was like all of the others she had experienced along her journey, and the young teenager knew exactly what was expected of her. First she had tidied her hair and smoothed her clothing as best as she was able. She checked her reflection in a window and pinched her cheeks to bring a healthier hue to her sallow complexion. She took time to adjust her hat on her black thick hair. She loved the hat. It was a gift from Mrs. Babcock, her employer in London. The hat made her feel grown up and gave the impression that she looked like a somebody instead of a greenhorn. She stood up straight and determined she would walk as the English walked. They moved with a purpose and a style that said they were people who mattered. She picked up her carpetbag and with her head held high, strode forward into the line before the immigration agent. She, too, would be a somebody. Now was as good a time as any to step into her new identity. The agent was all business and it was clear he had no enthusiasm for his job.
“Name?”
“Maisie Rosedale.”
“Country?”
“England.”
“What city?”
“London.”
“Religion?”
She hesitated.
“Religion?” He repeated and looked up at her.
“Anglican,” she answered clearly.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m stopping here at Winnipeg.”
“Any family with you?”
“No.”
“Family here?”
“Well, um. I’m afraid not.”
“You have work?”
“Yes. I will be working as a maid.”
“Where will you stay?”
“I have lodging on Patrick Street.”
“A young girl like you? You’re going to a boarding house?” He shook his head. “Make sure a good woman is running it.” With that he stamped her papers and yelled, “Next!”
Maisie Rosedale was off to find her future in Canada. She clutched her bag to her chest to defend it against pickpockets and felt her heart flutter as she pushed her way through the hawkers and confidence men who worked the sidewalk near the train station. She found her way along to Main Street and walked quickly past the saloons and rough looking hotels, turning onto Henry Avenue. When she passed the Shaarey Zedek Synagogue at King Street, she knew she was very close and quickened her pace. The directions and map from her uncle were exactly right. She went past the Chinese laundry on Patrick Street and found the house with the hollyhocks, just as he said she would. Excitement rose within her as she climbed the three little steps to knock on the front door. It opened and standing before her was a young woman who looked strikingly like herself.
“Hello?” said the efficient girl in the apron. “I’m sorry we don’t serve supper until five o’clock, miss.”
Malka stared back and was speechless.
“Could you come back …” Ziporah’s hand flew to her cheek. “Malka?” The two girls froze and stared at each other.
Malka’s head bobbed up and down and the teenagers hugged each other, shrieking with joy.
“We thought your train was coming next week! We would have been there to greet you. Oh, please come in and sit down. I’m so happy. Mama, come quick. It’s Malka!”
“Dear child!” Hannah came running and stopped in her tracks on seeing her niece for the first time, then grabbed her up in an embrace. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she swayed gently with the girl wrapped warmly in her arms.
“Malka, darling little Malka, how long I have waited to see you.” She pulled away and held her out at arms length to get a good at the young girl. “Look how beautiful you are. Just like your sweet mother was. Come, child, let me hold you some more.”
Hannah sobbed with joy and a surprised Malka was left reeling with the happy realization she was an orphan no longer. She had family who accepted and wanted her. With her aunt holding her and stroking her like a long lost kitten, suddenly all of the strength went out of the weary traveler, and she gave way to the tears she had fought to keep from falling for so many years.
Malka’s arrival turned the house upside down as one by one the family members came home and flew into the happy welcome of the long-awaited cousin from London. Baruch was astonished at how similar in appearance his teenage granddaughters were.
“Well, of course,” said Baba. “Two beauties, just like their grandmother!”
Everyone laughed and the Zigman home took on a special holiday feeling despite the clamor of business as the evening customers filed in for dinner. Hannah and Ziporah whirled about the kitchen, bringing large bowls of food onto the long table that ran the length of the small front room as the parade of evening clientele came and went.
Energized by the warmth of family surrounding her, Malka insisted on helping with the meal. Hannah and Bayla were thoroughly impressed with how much she knew and how well she worked, not once complaining of being tired from her long journey. With all forty-three of the evening café customers fed through five different sittings, the family finally gathered at their own supper table to learn about their enchanting niece with the English accent.
Zaida Baruch shook his head with amazement. He led the prayers of thanks and Hannah quickly ladled soup into bowls.
“It really is a special blessing that our mothers were sisters, and our fathers were brothers,” said Malka. “I heard that dozens of times from my parents, but now I really understand it. It makes me feel like a sister, not a cousin. Thank you for bringing me here to be with you, Uncle Zev. The people I worked for were very nice, but it has been a long time since I felt I had a family.”
“So this way we can make fun of you like a sister?” asked Isaac.
Ziporah gave him a playful shove. “At least give her some time to recover from her train ride, not to mention that voyage on the steamship!”
As the bread was passed and the soup bowls refilled, lively conversations flowed over the table in English and Yiddish punctuated by much teasing and laughter, as was the custom of the Zigman family. Everyone was talking at once, and Malka found the noise and confusion and warmth utterly wonderful.
Little Mendel, quiet and pale, couldn’t stop staring at her sitting next to him. Shyly, he slipped his hand into hers and she smiled into his eyes.
“Can I ask you a question, cousin Malka?”
“Yes, of course, Mendel.”
“Malka, when you talk in Yiddish you sound like us. When you speak in English you sound like the fancy people. You don’t sound like you are like us at all. You don’t sound Jewish. How come?”
In an instant, all eyes were on Malka and the table went silent.
“I’ve never known anything else,” she blushed. “I was born in Spitalfields, which is a very Jewish area of London. Most everyone there speaks Yiddish, as did my parents, of course. Later, when my parents died, I was working for Dr. Babcock, and no one in that house spoke Yiddish. I learned to speak English from them. I learned a lot from the housekeeper and from the children as well. They shared their books with me and taught me to read in English,” she said softly. Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap.
“They were good to you, these people?” Hannah could plainly see that she was missing her adopted London family.
“Very good. I was more fortunate than most. Is it terrible that I sound English when I speak?” Malka searched for assurance in their faces.
“Not at all. In a city like Winnipeg, you will learn quickly that you have been blessed with a gift,” said Zev.
“What do you mean?”
Isaac jumped in. “There are two kinds of people here, the English and everyone else. If you are English you get a good job. If you’re not, life is not so easy.”
“And what is wrong with being Isaac Zigman?” asked his grandfather sternly.
“Isaac Zigman would like to be a lawyer and for that you need to go to university,” he answered respectfully. “According to my friends, Zaida, if you have a Jewish name you are not on the top of the list to be
accepted.”
“Nonsense.”
“Isaac, don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow. You don’t know yet that you will have a problem with being accepted at university,” Mama said.
“And you will give up your dream so quickly?” asked Zev. “Because it is hard, you won’t try? That doesn’t sound like the boy who almost killed himself just to own a bicycle.”
“Papa, all I’m saying is that when the time comes that I finish high school and go to university, no one is going to be quick to welcome a Jew if they have English students to choose instead. It’s the way it is. I’m just being realistic.”
Zev shook his head at the realization of how far ahead they were by the simple fact they were no longer under the rule of Russia. “Isaac. It seems to me you are perhaps one of the smartest boys in your high school. You are just fourteen.”
“So is Malka,” interrupted Ziporah.
Zev nodded at his niece. “Yes, Malka, too, is fourteen already. So grown up for one so young. What I was going to say is many things can happen in a few short years, Isaac. I would be proud to have my sons all go to university. I will work and save. You will work and study. Maybe even to be a lawyer, hmm?” Zev couldn’t hide his pride in his children and their ever-improving status.
“And what about your daughter? Will she go to university, too?” Ziporah knew her father’s hopes for her, too.
“Perhaps, if it is what you must do,” Papa smiled. “And Malka, too. You are the fifth child in our family now.”
He put a sugar cube between his teeth and raised his glass of tea. Hannah could see that Zev was unusually happy and that it was more than Malka’s arrival that was in his thoughts. It was as if he had something to say but was waiting. She reached over and affectionately patted her husband’s hand. He smiled back and winked at her. Yes, he had something to say.
Aaron had been listening to all of this talk of hopes and dreams with great interest. He, too, hoped to go on to university and was starting to understand that without all of the sacrifices made by his parents and grandparents he would still be in Russia and there would be no discussions about education at all.
“Thank you, Zaida,” he said quietly to his grandfather.
“For what?” Baruch asked, surprised.
“For bringing us to Canada,” said Aaron. The old man nodded and squeezed his grandson’s hand.
“Hear, hear!” said Isaac and raised his glass of tea and they all joined in with their good wishes for Zaida, that he should live for a hundred and twenty years.
“Zaida, do you have a dream?” Aaron asked.
Baruch’s wrinkled face split into a smile. “Yes. A new dream I have. But first you must know how much happiness it brings to me to see Malka here with us. I am overjoyed, and it is for me a dream come true to see her smiling, loving face.” He patted Malka’s hair and again her eyes welled with tears.
Baruch turned to Bayla and took her hand. Bringing it to his face he kissed it and locked his eyes onto hers, as a young man on bended knee might look at the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
“Yes, a new dream, I have. I would like to make aliyah with my wife. I would like to move across the ocean to the Promised Land, and to be living in Yerushalayim, Jerusalem, with your Baba.”
No one spoke. Jerusalem! The weight of the love and the strength of the moment unified them and confirmed their success in the new world.
For a time, Baruch and Bayla talked of their plans and the many conversations Baruch had had with other Winnipeg Zionists who had relatives now living in Eratz Yisrael, the state of Israel. He told how plans were already being made for two prominent citizens, Dov Beryl and Rachel Weidman, to make the great move after almost twenty years in Canada. Their family was now firmly established in Winnipeg with their sons, Mordecai and Hiram Leib, operating a successful grocery wholesale business and very ably looking after their growing families. The older couple would finish the journey they began in Bialystock with one more move to the land of their ancestors. It was an inspiration to the entire community, Zaida explained.
Malka was utterly floored by the idea that these families, who had worked so hard to leave Russia and put down roots in Canada, would want to again uproot their lives and travel thousands of miles.
Her uncle stepped in to explain.
“You are following what is going on with Theodor Hertzl?”
“I know who he is, of course, and that he is working very hard for the Jewish people, but I am afraid I don’t know very much about him,” she responded.
“Malka, there is much talk in Canada of the work of Dr. Hertzl, who is leading the Zionist movement to encourage Jews to claim their homeland,” Zev explained. “There is growing support for the Jewish colonies in Palestine. Your zaida has been very active with the men here in Winnipeg who are involved in the Zionist cause.”
“All the way from Canada, people are working for this dream of a Jewish homeland?” Malka was surprised.
“Oh, yes,” Zaida answered. “It is very important to Jewry in Canada that this should happen. A strong organization was started in Montreal by a great rabbi named Clarence de Sola,” he said, passion rising in his voice as he spoke. “You see, in Canada the Jewish community connects very well from one city to the next, despite the thousands of miles across the Dominion. Here in Winnipeg we have many leaders, like Mr. Ripstein, Mr. Finkelstein and Mr. Weidman, who are working hard for this Zionist cause. They travel to these meetings in Montreal and in Europe, and in this way they are helping Winnipeg Jews participate in the world congress to establish this homeland. In time, many Jews will move to Palestine. You will see.”
“I wish you good luck with your dream, Zaida,” said Malka.
By this time little Mendel, Baba’s special little boy, had climbed into her lap with worry on his face.
“You would leave us, Baba and Zaida?” he asked.
“I will go where God leads me and with his blessing, so too, will go my beautiful wife, but it is not in a big rush that we are going, Mendel.” Baruch patted his grandson on the head.
“What is your dream, Malka?” Isaac asked.
“Oh, my. I think I am living my dream, to have so much family around. It is hard to tell you how this feels to me to have a place in a family, to live in Canada where you can have a life, maybe one day even a romance and a husband.” She looked down, suddenly feeling embarrassed at having spoken out about such personal desires.
“Of course you will have a romance and a husband!” announced Hannah and everyone laughed. “Such a pretty girl, just like my Ziporah. You both will have many suitors, I am sure.”
“Malka, I can only wish you good luck in making your life in Canada,” Zev said. “You, too, should have an education if that is what you wish.”
“You are too generous, Uncle Zev. In the meantime, I will find work,” said Malka with certainty.
“Well, we saw for ourselves tonight that you have many skills,” said Hannah.
“Isaac is right,” Ziporah jumped in. “You can work anywhere. You pass as English,” she said with admiration.
“I was thinking of getting a job in a big house with lots of servants to work in housekeeping or cooking,” Malka said. “I would look to have my lodging there also, to not be a burden to you here.”
“Excuse me, cousin,” said Isaac. “I mean no disrespect to you, but do you think they would hire a girl named Malka Zigman to work in one of those fancy houses?”
“Well, no, I don’t think so,” she admitted and was immediately embarrassed. So direct was this family in what they had to say! English people would never sit down to a family conversation like this. She rushed on and just blurted out her plan.
“I have made up a new name, just for the purpose of having a job. I hope you all understand.”
“What name did you choose?” Ziporah thought this wonderfully intriguing.
“Maisie Rosedale,” said Malka.
“Oy,” said Hannah. “What is that name?”
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“Well, Maisie was the name of the housekeeper in Dr. Babcock’s home. She was of great help to me, and I feel comfortable borrowing her name.”
“What about Rosedale?” asked Isaac.
“I heard it on the train. Apparently it is a very nice neighborhood in Toronto.”
“Maisie Rosedale,” Ziporah said. “It sounds like an important name. Could we call you Maisie, too?”
“I would like that. Yes, if you would like.” She glimpsed Aunt Hannah’s frown and brightly added, “Of course, I don’t mind being called Malka as well.”
Her Uncle Zev interrupted and reached for Malka’s hand.
“What a blessing to have you here with us. Whether you call yourself Malka or Maisie or Millicent is of no matter. We will call you family. Even if you work outside, I must have you know that there is always room in our house for you. I promised this to my brother, may he rest in peace. You are to me, as one of our children. It will be that way all of my life.”
“There is plenty of room in the kitchen next to the stove, where I make my bed,” said Ziporah. “There is enough space for you to sleep there, too.”
Quite overwhelmed by all the kindnesses she’d been shown, Malka was again close to tears. “You are all very nice to want to help me, but I must do my share to look after myself. Do you think it would be hard to find such a job?”
“I think you will be in great demand. Many homes are looking for this kind of worker. But it is a different world out there,” said Hannah.
Malka could plainly see that her grandfather was troubled. Despite her young age, she had become something of an expert at reading trouble. “Is it bad, to have this plan, Zaida? To lie this way? To have even another name to go with the lie?”
He stroked his beard and thought for a time before he spoke. “Dear child. In life we make decisions that sometimes make us appear on the outside to be something we are not. This is not always bad. This is sometimes survival, yes?” He waited and she nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I see in the way you say your prayers you have a sense of what it means to be a Jewish woman. I would only say to you that if you go into the world as English, just be careful to not lose what you are hiding on the inside.”
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