March 8
I’m beginning to think that Benny may be right. I met him on the street yesterday on the way back from the big library. He was carrying boxes of buckles back to the factory from a buckle wholesaler on Spadina. We were walking down College Street, and we noticed there was a policeman walking behind us. Benny said we should speed up. I didn’t see why we should, but he started walking faster so I had to, too. Then the policeman came right up and kicked me in the behind and said, “Move over, you no-good little kike. Do you think you own the sidewalk?” Those are his exact words. I will remember them forever. Then he just gave us a dirty look and went on down the street.
Benny was furious. I had to hold onto his coat to stop him from running after the policeman and yelling at him and getting thrown into jail or something.
I wasn’t angry, just humiliated. I told Benny I was all right, but I couldn’t wait to come home and come down to the cellar where I could cry in peace. I am never going to tell anyone else about it, either. If anyone knew, I would die.
Kike is an awful word. How could a policeman do that to me? So what if he didn’t know I’m a girl? I’m a British citizen, aren’t I?
And how did he know I was Jewish? Do I look Jewish? I guess I do. And I’m proud of it, too. I’m proud to be a kike, even if it’s an awful, nasty thing for someone to call you.
But maybe Pa doesn’t know everything. Maybe just sticking to your own kind isn’t enough.
March 9
Today in school we were supposed to be working on our arithmetic problems but I got distracted and started thinking about not sticking to your own kind, because of course we always do. I mean, I talk to Rivka and some of the other Jewish girls all the time, but none of us ever talk to any of the goyishe girls. And of course they never talk to us, they just look down their noses at us when they pass by like they were smelling a bad smell or something. I guess we do the same to them, too, but still. Some of those girls have been in my class right through school all the way from Junior One, and I know their names from the roll call and what colour their hair is and what kinds of dresses they wear, but that’s all I know about them. I know more about the Jewish boys, for heavens’ sake, and of course we hardly ever talk to any of them, either.
Maybe it would be interesting to know some of the goyishe girls, even just a little. The one I’d really like to know is Myoshi Ukeda. I know she lives just a block away, over on Bellevue, because I see her walking there on the way home from school. And she looks so strange and interesting and exotic, like Madame Butterfly in the opera in the book Sophie got from the library about operas. I wonder what it’s like in her house and what kind of food they eat.
She’s the only Japanese girl in the whole neighbourhood. I don’t think she even has any sisters or brothers. She always plays by herself and walks home by herself. She must be so lonely.
But of course I can’t just go up to her and start talking. What would she think? What would Rivka or the other girls think? And I could never talk to Myrtle MacDonald, even if we like the same things, because who knows, a goyishe girl like her might come from a family who thinks Jews should all be rounded up and sent back to the old country. She might think so herself. I could never do it. I guess I don’t even really want to.
But still, I sort of wish I did.
If I did and that horrible policeman saw us, he’d have a conniption fit.
March 14
According to Benny, the Zhurnal agrees with him that it’s going to be really bad for the Jews in Germany now that horrible Hitler person has won the election there, and also bad for us here. He got me really worried, so I decided to go ask Sophie about it. Sophie is so smart, and she reads lots of books and magazines, and she always thinks she knows everything. I would have asked her before, but she was so mopey all the time and you could never get a word out of her except “Go away and leave me alone.” I’m so glad she’s starting to be herself again, even if she is always telling me to stand up straighter and making sure I have my homework done so I can get good grades and be the first one in the family to finish high school and maybe even go to college. It’s just like it used to be. Oh well.
Anyway, Sophie told me Benny was all wrong and I shouldn’t listen to him. She says she heard people on the radio saying that Hitler in Germany will be just like Mussolini in Italy and he’s organized and efficient and getting the trains to run on time and more countries should have leaders like him. She says Hitler says bad things about Jews, but so do the goyim here and nothing really bad ever happens. It’s all just talk.
I hope she’s right. But if she is, why is the Zhurnal writing all those scary things that Benny keeps telling me about?
March 16
It was still chilly out today. Poor Molly lost a mitten in the backyard and I had to help her find it and it took forever and I nearly froze. I wish spring would come.
We had a spelling bee after supper in the kitchen yesterday. We haven’t had one for ages and ages — not since last year before Steven. Sophie said she was having it because me being interested in Hitler was a good sign. She says I need to learn everything I can and if I do, I will go far and make the family and maybe even the whole Jewish community proud and show anti-semits like Hitler how smart we all are. So she made me and Gert spell words for her. Gert lost, of course. She couldn’t even spell minimal — she put two ns in it. Really! How could she? But I guess if I were her and I knew Sophie was just having the spelling bee for me then I wouldn’t try either. Still, I wish Dora had been there and not Gert, because my arm is so sore from all the pinches Gert gave me after. Gert would be so happy if she knew I got two wrong on a spelling test at school yesterday. I had cooly instead of coolly and wierd instead of weird. I’ll never tell her, that’s for sure. And anyway, it was an especially hard test, and Myrtle MacDonald had two wrong, too, the same two as me.
March 19
I have dancing slippers! And it’s all because of Dora. Who needs Polly Pepper when I already have Dora! Wonderful, wonderful Dora, the best sister ever!
Yesterday morning, Dora was very mysterious. She waited until Gert was in the bathroom and then she came down to my room and invited me to go out for a walk. But then instead of walking, she took me on the streetcar and we ended up downtown at Eaton’s Annex, and she said that if we could find some we could afford, she was going to buy me dancing slippers!
We were in luck! They had a whole table of dancing slippers on sale for 25¢, and we found a pair that fit me almost perfectly. They’re seconds, of course, but there’s just a small flaw in one of the seams that Ma can fix. They are perfectly lovely.
Before we bought the slippers, Dora made me promise not to tell Ma and Pa where they came from, and I said I’d say that Miss Douglas bought them for everyone in the concert. Dora almost always gives every cent she makes to Ma and Pa, and they were upset with her when she gave them less money this week than usual. She said it was because she made mistakes cutting fabric and had her pay docked, and Pa got mad and told her to try to be more careful. She was just being nice to me. If Pa only knew, he’d feel so rotten.
After we bought the slippers, we went through the tunnel between the Annex and the main store to get to the streetcar stop. There’s a place down there that sells ice-cream waffles. They make the waffles right there and they smell so, so good — almost like the Ex. I couldn’t help but mention to Dora how good they smelled, and Dora agreed — and she said there was still a little left because the slippers were so cheap, so she went up to the man and bought a waffle for each of us! They were scrumptious! I know I should feel guilty about eating them when there’s so little food for us all. But I don’t. Yesterday was the best day ever.
I guess I do feel just a bit guilty. Today for lunch I think I’m going to give Hindl my share of the cottage cheese and just have a glass of water.
March 23
I am in heaven!! The spring festival was last night, and it was truly wonderful. Being on stage is so glamorous. The
dancing dresses that Miss McTavish and the other St. Chris ladies made were all filmy and sparkly and looked like giant daffodils, and you could hardly notice the flaw in my slippers at all. Miss McTavish said we all danced divinely, and I think we did, too.
Ma and Pa weren’t there, of course. They never come to St. Chris. Sometimes I wonder why they let us all go when they won’t go themselves, but Ma just says we know who we are. Don’t she and Pa know who they are? Of course they do. Last year, I tried to get Ma to go and take English lessons there, like lots of Jewish men and women do. But she refused. She said everyone she knows speaks Yiddish, so what was the point? I bet she could learn English real fast if she wanted to. Pa, too — he can speak some English, of course, but he could learn more. Then they could talk to people who come to the door instead of depending on Sophie and me. But they’d rather just stay home.
Sophie was out at a meeting with Syd again, so Dora and Gert were the only ones who came. Dora said it was wonderful and worth every penny she spent on the slippers, and of course I thanked her again and again and again. Gert sat at the back and spent the whole time not paying any attention and giggling with some boys from the St. Chris woodworking club. And afterwards, all she did was make a nasty comment about my arms, just like she always does.
March 25
Benny came over with his ma for tea. He brought the front page from Thursday’s Star with him, with a huge headline at the top saying Jews Flee in Terror from Nazi Torture. There was a story about Jews being beaten and forced to drink castor oil to make them sick and another one about a Jewish man who was dragged out of his bed by Nazis and taken to a lonely spot in the woods and shot. I couldn’t tell if Benny was more upset about it happening or more happy because he was right about Hitler all along. As for me, it just makes me sick. It’s very frightening. I don’t even want to think about it. But I can’t stop.
March 28
This morning in school one of the goyishe girls, Angelina del Nardi, fainted right in the middle of History. Miss Douglas was talking about all the countries in the British Empire and Angelina just keeled over and fell on the floor. Afterwards, she told Miss Douglas it was probably because she was hungry, because it was her turn to miss breakfast this morning. She said someone in her family always has to miss it because there isn’t enough for them all. Miss Douglas looked angry, but she gave Angelina half the sandwich she brought for herself for lunch.
I feel so sorry for Angelina. We may not have much, but at least there’s always a little bit for everybody.
I wonder if the Depression is ever going to end.
April 1933
April 3
I’m so worried about Gert. She’s been sneaking out at night to meet a boy, and she says she’ll kill me if I say anything about it to anybody and I know she probably would, too, because she’s so mean.
It’s a boy named Chaim, and she met him at the spring concert. Benny knows Chaim from Altman’s and he says he’s a waste of space. He only went to woodworking at St. Chris so he could sneak out some of the tools they have there and sell them to buy cigarettes.
Gert’s way too young to be interested in boys. Especially a gonif like that Chaim.
April 7
I’m glad spring is here and the days are longer. It means I can write something on Friday after school and before Shabbes begins.
I have a lot to write, because I’ve been so worried about Gert that I forgot to put down all the things Benny has been telling me about. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. It’s all so horrible. That monster Hitler has been doing all the things in Germany that Benny said he would. Benny read in the Zhurnal that Hitler has thrown out all the Jewish doctors and lawyers and he’s making kosher meat illegal and he says he wants the whole country of Germany to be cleansed of Jews. Cleansed — that’s what he said, like we’re lice or something. On April Fool’s Day they had a boycott against Jewish stores, and they weren’t fooling. Benny says lots of Jewish people are trying to get out of Germany. If I were them I’d be trying to get out, too. I’m so worried about them, and I’m so glad we’re here.
Benny says we should be doing something about it. Lots of people are. He says there was a big rally in New York at Madison Square Garden and they filled it up with thousands and thousands of people inside and there were even more outside. And there was even a rally right here in Toronto at Massey Hall, and Benny went to it! He heard all kinds of people make speeches about how bad Hitler is. He says there were lots of goyishe people there, not just Jews. Doesn’t that mean that things are better here?
Benny says, no, it doesn’t, because there are lots of people right here in Toronto who are on Hitler’s side. He says he went to a boxing match last week between a Jewish boxer and a German one. It was in a club above a store on Spadina, and the crowd was half Jews and half Germans and there was nearly a riot. I wish Benny wouldn’t go to all those dangerous places. And I’m certainly not going to let him talk me into going with him ever, ever again. Anyway, it’ll soon be too warm to wear that stupid reefer coat, thank goodness, and so I can’t pretend to be a boy anymore. I just wish he wouldn’t go either.
It’s almost dark. Time for Shabbes.
April 12
It’s Pesach now, and Ma has been busy cleaning the whole house from top to bottom and I’ve been helping whenever I can. I wish I didn’t have so much homework. Miss Douglas gets so upset when we take time off school for Jewish holidays that she gives us all sorts of extra work. It’s totally unfair.
The first seder was last night. We didn’t have a chicken or anything fancy, and to begin with, it hardly even felt like Pesach. But Ma said even if we couldn’t afford fancy food we could still celebrate, and we did. Ma bought a little bit of meat to make stew from, and the butcher threw in some bones. He said it was for the dog and Ma didn’t tell him we don’t have a dog, she just said thank you and took the bones. The stew was mostly potatoes but it was delicious, and it felt so good to have everyone there all together, especially when I know all the bad things that are happening to other people like the Jews in Germany and poor Angelina del Nardi. I guess we’re lucky. This year, I didn’t ask the questions because Molly can read a little now and she got to do it for the first time.
Molly turned beet red and looked really, really nervous. She stumbled a few times, but not much. She may not be the smartest one, but she tries hard, and she has a good heart.
Molly asked the questions in English, the way I always did. Pa said she did a good job, but I could tell he was a little unhappy. Poor Pa. He always wanted a son to carry on his name, and he never got one.
April 21
Pa was laid off from Christie’s yesterday. Now what will we do for money? Ma wants to ask Uncle Bertzik to give Pa a job at the factory, but Pa won’t let her. He says he’ll go on relief before he ever takes a job from Ma’s brother. I know what that means — it means he’ll never do it. Pa thinks that only cowards and weaklings go on relief. And besides, the relief people come and inspect the house and look under the beds and open all the cupboards and make sure you’re not hiding anything before they give you even a penny. I know because Benny’s ma had to have it last year when she was sick, and the lady who came was really nasty to her and even looked in her underwear drawer. Benny says he nearly hit her.
But Pa being out of work isn’t the worst thing. The worst thing is, I went into the parlour last night to listen to the radio and Gert was there on the sofa in the dark with Chaim. They were smooching! I nearly died. They were practically sitting on top of each other. It was very, very embarrassing. Gert turned bright red and Chaim told me he’d give me a nickel if I went away. I didn’t know what to do so I just took it and went.
I was so mad at Gert that I went right to the back door and I threw the nickel into the backyard.
I should tell Ma. Or maybe I shouldn’t. She has so many things to worry about now. And Gert would be so mad if I told. It really isn’t my business. Is it? I don’t know what to do.
&
nbsp; April 23
I couldn’t stop thinking about that nickel Chaim gave me. I mean, a nickel is a nickel. Finally, I snuck out into the yard this morning when no one was watching and I found it again, hidden in the grass. I should give it to Ma except she’ll ask where I got it and then I’ll have to tell her about Gert. I don’t want to tell her. Why does everything have to happen to me?
April 26
Harvey Tischler isn’t in Benny’s band anymore, and Benny says it’s all my fault. All I did was refuse to go with them last Saturday when they played in a dance hall somewhere in the west end. I told Benny I had other things to do, but really, I just didn’t feel like it. Benny always acts like he’s my boss or something, and I don’t like it. I guess I should have gone — I had to spend the whole afternoon playing paper dolls with Molly and Hindl, and guess what? Molly wanted my paper doll to be the maid and she gave me such a sweet smile that I just couldn’t say no, even though I wanted to. Dolly Dingle is supposed to be a little girl, not a maid. Sometimes life makes me want to just scream.
Anyway, Benny says the only way the band could get to the dance hall was by getting off the streetcar and then taking a rowboat across a stream. Because I wasn’t there, Harvey had to go back across the stream three times to carry all his equipment — the others helped him with it on the streetcar, but they refused to do the stream. Anyway, Harvey got tired from the rowing and it made him so mad he quit. Poor little baby. Harvey is such a kvetcher. If you ask me, the band is better off without him. Now that spring is here and everything is beginning to thaw, his clothes must stink to high heaven. Anyway, now it’s just the sax and the fiddle and Benny in his dirty white suit. And I don’t care what Benny says, it’s not my fault.
Not a Nickel to Spare Page 8