The Dominion of Canada is a shining jewel in the British Empire with a strong future. Among the loyal subjects who dwell here, there are many heroes. Choose a hero in Canada and explain how he is important to the future of the Dominion. This person can be someone you have read about in the newspaper, a historical figure or someone in the community whom you believe to be a hero. Be sure to include many details about your hero’s life.
“Class, I have graded all the essays for the national contest,” Miss Mitchell called out as the students settled. “As promised, the one with the highest mark will be sent to England with the best essays from schools across the country for King Edward to read. Aaron, would you please read the assignment out loud.”
Aaron stood and read, fluently and easily in a strong voice. He knew immediately that he had aced the assignment. When he finished, Miss Mitchell started handing out the marked essays and excited chatter rose among the students. She shook her head slightly as she dropped his essay on his desk. He was stunned to see he had received a C.
Miss Mitchell had not intended to speak to Aaron, but could not stop herself as she was sure no one but him would hear her. “Aaron,” she said in very quiet voice. “The man you wrote about is not a hero. A hero is someone everyone knows. Your writing is excellent and deserves an A, but this is not what you were asked to write. You will be more careful next time, I’m sure.”
Jake Grady, who was sitting behind Aaron, heard every word. As Miss Mitchell continued on to the back of the classroom, Jake kicked at Aaron’s chair and guffawed. Aaron hunched down over his desk and held his temper.
“Class, I am pleased to announce that the winning essay from our school is about our first prime minister, Sir John A. Macdonald, written by Janey Shroeder,” Miss Mitchell announced in her clear voice. “Congratulations, Janey. Please come up to the front and read your essay to the class.”
As the youngest child in the Zigman family, and one who easily found himself at the receiving end of his mother’s anger, Mendel enjoyed the rare opportunities when he could watch one of his older brothers “get it” from Mama. Such an occasion presented itself after school that afternoon. Hannah was working behind the counter in the little store they had set up in the corner of the Zigman Café. Mendel was on hand to see Aaron slip into the kitchen door with a bloody nose. It wasn’t that his brother needed his mother immediately, but Mendel just couldn’t resist the sweet taste of schadenfreude that came with volunteering to be the one to bring the news to her.
“He what? He’s fighting again!” Mama was instantly in full fury as she slammed the cash register closed and shouted to Baba Bayla to take over the counter.
“It’s all right, Mama. Ziporah’s cleaning him up. He ain’t hurt too bad this time,” Mendel said, a little too sweetly.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Ziporah had reached for a clean towel and, with a furrowed brow had started to work on Aaron’s bloodied and swollen face.
“Aw, come on, I don’t even have any loose teeth. I’m all right,” Aaron fought his sister’s hold. “You should see Jake Grady. Boy, I’ll tell you, he’ll never come after me again.”
Hannah swooped into the kitchen, eyes blazing and apron flying. Steady in her flight, she folded around Aaron to scrutinize his injuries.
“You breathing? If not, I’m going to kill you.”
“I’m breathing, I’m breathing!” Aaron shrank from his mother’s powerful grip, bracing himself for her quick temper. “I’m fine. This time I really got him. There isn’t much chance I have to go back to that stupid school. I can work in the store like a man. Maybe earn a man’s wages, Ma.”
“Aaron,” Mama pleaded, choosing her English words carefully. “My dahlink little cabbage head. You are a boy. You are twelve-years-old only, and somehow you have to stay alive to go to school until you have that paper, that what do you call it? That graduating paper. You go to school, we will look after the work. Now tell me how it is you should come home with blood when I forbid you to fight and when your father tells you not to be so stupid to get involved with those bad boys.”
“It was the essay. It’s a long story, but she asked me to read it out loud to everyone.”
“So, Mazel Tov on the good work!” Her rage instantly dissipated. “Oy, to be thinking his royaltyness the King of England himself would read the work of Aaron Zigman, my son!”
“Mama, stop. Let me explain.”
But Hannah was too excited to stop. “You brought home for your mama an egg?”
“Do you mean an A, Mama?”
She swatted the back of his head. “You know what I mean, you smarty pants! Yes! An A you brought for me, yes?” Mama dragged out the A sound to make her point and Aaron put his hands up in anticipation of the next blow.
“No, Mama, I brought home a C, but she said the writing was good enough, it should have been an A, and that’s why she made me read it out loud after the winning essay was read. She did it to embarrass me, Ma. She said she wanted to teach the class how important it was to pay attention to the assignment. But, I did pay attention and I did it right. Then Mr. Sisler got involved and had something to say. It was a real mess.”
“The principal! And then a black eye on top of everything!”
“I didn’t start the fight, Mama. As soon as school let out, Jake Grady and his pals came after me. I’m sick of getting beat up, so I put my fists up the way Isaac showed me.”
“Aaron!” Mama was shocked.
“Sorry, Ma, I had to!” Aaron dropped his head and Mama looked at the clock.
“There is no time for this now and this is too much for a tired woman. Save it for supper time and we will see what the family has to say. Where is that essay?”
“I have it with my books,” Aaron said.
“Good. Bring it to the table. Now, go wash your hands. Where is that Isaac?”
“He told me the newspaper needed him in the composing room today after school,” Ziporah said.
“That newspaper is swallowing him up.” Mama shook her head. “Ziporah, go tell Zaida and Baba supper is ready. We will start without the big shot newspaperman. If he can’t show up for supper, maybe he can eat a newspaper.” Mama’s words trailed off into a mix of worry and annoyance about Aaron’s schooling while Ziporah hurried off to find her grandparents.
By the time the family had come to the table, Aaron’s left eye had swollen shut. He sat tall and shrugged off Baba’s sympathetic mutterings. The truth was he felt like a man for the first time in his life.
The family ate and talked about the day’s activities. Finally, at the end of the meal it was time for Aaron’s story. The sound of boots stomping at the kitchen door brought a smile to Aaron’s face. Isaac was not going to miss his moment. Usually Aaron felt his stories were never important enough to take the attention from his older brother’s re-telling of the exciting events at the newspaper. Since he had started training at the Winnipeg Star’s Linotype machine, he suddenly seemed older, someone to be more respected. Aaron was ashamed of the envy he felt as Papa and Zaida hung on Isaac’s every word. Today would be different! Let him top this one.
Isaac settled at the table with a large bowl of soup and a plate of bread before him, and Zev nodded at Aaron. The family quieted as he quickly went through the facts of the assignment. The class had been talking about how the Dominion of Canada had come to be created with the passing of the British North America Act in 1867. Miss Mitchell reviewed a number of significant events that had happened since Confederation and had introduced the contest. Then Zev asked him to read his essay to the family. “Baruch Zigman, a Hero in Canada, by Aaron Zigman,” he read, and Baba smiled.
Baruch Zigman is a hero, a leader and a great citizen for Canada and the United Kingdom. Without him and his sacrifice to face hardships to come here to this country, my family would yet be starving in Russia. I would not have the chance to be sitting and writing in English about our heroes. I would not have a life to be growing up to make of myself a somebody in a
free country where you can own a house, learn many things, and raise yourself up to be a success.
If my family would still be now in Russia, we would live in fear of violence and we would have little chance to make enough money to live. In the new country you can be safe behind your door. Baruch Zigman believes even a Jew can have a good life and a job and money and family together in Canada and can be free from trouble, even at school or outside where we play sports as long as we mind our own business. He was the person in our family who decided we would come to make a new life here and for this reason he is a hero. There are other reasons, too. I will explain them.
Canada is growing with many people from many places. It is because of the difference in what all of these greenhorns bring to Canada with what God has put into their talents and their thinking that Canada will grow to be a strong and important country. Here people can be free from starving and from governments that do not believe in freedom and opportunity for ordinary people. Here people are free to work at what they choose and free to help each other without the government or the police looking to bring you pain and punishment, and even death.
Let me tell you about Baruch Zigman. He is the father of my father. He left Russia to come to Winnipeg in 1883 when the Czar Alexander III, on whose name we spit, made it very bad for Jews to live in Russia. In case you do not study what is history in the old country, I will tell you what happened. The czar known as Alexander II was killed by a bomb. There came lots of anger and beatings and killings in our village and in many villages. It was not a Jew who brought death to the czar, but it does not matter because it is only the Jews that were blamed. I was not yet born, but Baruch Zigman says it is very important to know the story and to tell the story, and for this reason I am telling you about it in this essay.
My grandfather worked for many years by himself and then with my father, before it was possible to buy the tickets for my grandmother, my mother, my brothers and sister, and me to come to Canada.
My grandfather is also a hero because he helps people who need help. He gives them money. He gives them food. He teaches his grandchildren to respect everybody and to be good citizens and to make our place and earn our living in the new country.
I am very proud to be a grandson of Baruch Zigman. He is my hero. One day I wish to be a good man like him to help make a good future for my family and my country, Canada.
Aaron folded the paper and placed it on the table. The family sat quietly as Mama raised her apron to wipe a tear. Baruch said nothing. With his eyes cast down, he silently nodded his appreciation and cleared his throat.
Zev spoke first. “And what is the reason Miss Mitchell gave you the lower grade for this essay?”
“Miss Mitchell says a grandfather is not important enough to be a hero. She says I did not understand the assignment.”
“How did you get into a fight?” Zev asked.
Aaron clenched his jaw as he recalled the horrible afternoon. “Mr. Sisler came back at the end of the afternoon when class was dismissed. He asked me to stay and wait in the hall. Then he closed the door and had a talk with Miss Mitchell. A few minutes later they called me in. Miss Mitchell said she was ashamed, and she was practically crying. She said she made a mistake and my essay should have been chosen. But, she had announced Janey as the winner and she said hers would be the one to represent the school. She said Mr. Sisler had recommended she change my grade to an A but that that was her decision, and she said she would think about it.”
“And how did you end up in a fight?”
“Jake and his friends were waiting for me in the schoolyard. Jake said I was never going to amount to much as a Canadian because Canada needs people who want to be like the British and they don’t need Jews. I started walking away, Ma, I really did. Then he started in on Zaida and said … ” Aaron dropped his eyes. “He said something very insulting and I hit him.”
“Well, then,” Zev paused then considered the matter while he drank his tea. The family waited in silence. “First you must know I am very proud of you, Aaron,” Zev announced quietly.
“It is a wonderful essay, Aaron,” Ziporah beamed and got up to hug him.
“And the fighting?” Hannah asked loudly, with her eyebrows up.
“The fighting is a man’s business, Hannah,” Zev answered. “We will not speak any further about it.”
“Papa. I really don’t want to go back to school. I really hate it. Even if Mr. Sisler makes Miss Mitchell give me an A, it really doesn’t mean a lot to me.”
“If Mr. Sisler thinks you should have the A, then you should have it. To be given proper credit for correctly doing the assignment is very important,” Zev answered. “To graduate from high school is even more important. Unfortunately, it is not a question of what is fair, but what is necessary.”
“I hate that school.” Aaron looked at his father. “I only like my friends. Papa, would it be so terrible for me to work in the store? I could study on my own.”
Zev shook his head. “Aaron, we are still working at the synagogue toward having a school for the Jewish community, but it will be some years before we have it. For now, we must accept what we have. You must be educated.”
Isaac gave his brother a weak punch in the shoulder and forced enthusiasm into his voice.
“Your essay is very good, Aaron. You need a little help with getting the Yiddish rhythms out of your English, but you are quite a good writer.”
“Well, don’t be so overjoyed, Mr. Newspaper-Know-It-All,” Ziporah chided.
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m distracted. It is just that it is very sad that much of the trouble you write about, Aaron, is not any different now than it was twenty years ago when Zaida first left.”
“What is it, Isaac? Do you have news from the old country?” Zev asked.
“It is terrible news. There are more pogroms. This time in Kishinev.”
“Oh, dear God. No!” Hannah shouted.
“It happened last week. It’s very bad. A massacre. We printed an article from The New York Times about it today. I brought it home.”
At his father’s urging, Isaac read the article out loud.
“The anti-Jewish riots in Kishinev are worse than the censor will permit to be publish. There was a well-laid out plan for the general massacre of Jews on the day following the Orthodox Easter. The mob was led by priests and the general cry, ‘Kill the Jews,’ was taken up all over the city. The Jews were taken wholly unaware and were slaughtered like sheep. The dead number 120 and the injured about 500. The scenes of horror attending this massacre are beyond description. Babies were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob. The local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.”
Zev and Baruch talked quietly with Isaac as the table was cleared and Mendel and Aaron went off to do their homework. Soon there was a knock at the door. The men were wanted for a meeting at the synagogue to discuss raising money for those in need in the old country.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Scarlet Sin
November 16, 1903
The Linotype machine clattered away as Isaac tapped the keys. He watched with contentment as the brass matrices, each with a different letter, slid through the channels and clinked into place to form precise lines of words. In his capable hands, the machine’s astonishing arrangement of ingenious elevators and tiny conveyor belts transformed the words of copy on the scrap of paper before him into the lines of metal type, called slugs, that would be inked to become the printed words of the newspaper. To Isaac, this seven-foot behemoth, part typing apparatus and part metal foundry, was the most amazing machine ever invented; a monument to human creativity. Arms flew, wheels turned, and the smell of molten lead wafted up around him as the hulking machine swallowed the brass lines of letters and smoothly spit them out as words. One hot metal piece after another
was neatly stacked and made ready to go to print.
Isaac thought himself extremely fortunate to have been promoted from selling newspapers to working in the composing room at The Winnipeg Star. His job promotion had come out of the blue. One of the Linotype operators had suddenly left to go to The Manitoba Free Press, leaving a vacancy that needed to be filled immediately. The Star’s manager had asked Isaac to show them what he could do. He took to the work like a duck to water. An added benefit was the increase in pay that allowed him to start putting more money aside to go to university. The only downside was that with high school, homework, and the newspaper job, there wasn’t much time left for anything else. He considered it a minor inconvenience.
What Isaac liked best, however, was the opportunity to get to know the reporters and editors. As a newsboy selling the papers on the street, he almost never entered the Star building. Now that he was a composer, he couldn’t soak up the atmosphere fast enough. Isaac thought it an utterly fascinating place, filled with wildly interesting characters who talked about everything imaginable. There were no taboo subjects here. Especially intriguing in recent days was the civic election campaign, which clashed with the crusade of the social reformers and temperance leaders whose aim was to clean up Winnipeg’s immorality. With the election less than a month away, these were hot times in the big city.
“Hey, kid!” Jim McGraw, his hat pushed back on his head, shouted over the din of the machines. “Hey Ziggy! You gonna work all night?”
McGraw was a brash young reporter with a quick mind and a faster mouth. With an easy laugh and an enviable swagger, he seemed to liven up the whole newsroom the second he walked through the door. He had a boisterous, affable way about him and always greeted people loudly, as though he was truly happy to see them. His height and build seemed average, until he put his fists up. Though just a few years older than Isaac, it was clear that Jim McGraw was a seasoned man of the world. Isaac immediately liked him and the two had quickly become friends.
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