english writing for american studies 2222222

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Excerpts from Out of the Shadow (1918)

Rose Cohen

In 1891, the Czar’s persecution of Jews forced Rahel Golub’s father to flee Russia for the

United States. Months after his arrival in New York City, twelve-year-old Rahel sailed for

America to help him earn the money needed to bring over the rest of the family. In 1918,

Rahel—now, Rose Golub Cohen (1880-1925)—wrote about her experiences in her

autobiography, Out of the Shadow. Below are some excerpts from her story.

[After a rough journey on a steamer from Hamburg, Germany, Rahel and her young Aunt

Masha arrived at Castle Garden, the entry point for immigrants at New York City, on July 1,

1892]

From Castle Garden we drove to our new home in a market wagon filled wit h immigrants'

bedding. Father tucked us in among the bundles, climbed up beside the driver himself and we

rattled off over the cobbled stone pavement, with the noon sun beating down on our heads.

As we drove along I looked about in bewilderment. My thoughts were chasing each other. I felt

a thrill: "Am I really in America at last?" But the next moment it would be checked and I felt a

little disappointed, a little homesick. Father was so changed. I hardly expected to find him in

his black long-tailed coat in which he left home. But of course yet with his same full grown

beard and earlocks. Now instead I saw a young man with a closely cut beard and no sign of

earlocks. As I looked at him I could scarcely believe my eyes. Father had been the most pious

Jew in our neighbourhood. I wondered was it true then as Mindle said that "in America one at

once became a libertine"?

Father's face was radiantly happy. Every now and then he would look over his shoulder and

smile. But he soon guessed what troubled me for after a while he began to talk in a quiet,

reassuring manner. He told me he would take me to his own shop and teach me part of his own

trade. He was a men's coat finisher. He made me understand that if we worked steadily and

lived economically we should soon have money to send for those at home. "Next year at this

time," he smiled, "you yourself may be on the way to Castle Garden to fetch mother and the

children." So I too smiled at the happy prospect, wiped some tears away and resolved to work

hard.

* * * * *

….I was dazed by all there was to see. I looked with wonder at the tall houses, the paved streets,

the street lamps. As I had never seen a large city and only had had a glimpse of a small one, I

thought these things true only of America. …

One night father came home from work a little earlier than usual and took us to Grand Street. I

was dazzled by the lights, the display in the jewelry shops and dry goods store windows. But

nothing surprised me so much as the figures in the hair dresser's window. One was a blonde, the

other a brunette. One was in pink, the other in blue. Their hair was beautifully curled and

dressed, each one with a mirror in one hand and the other held daintily on the back of the hair,

went slowly turning around and around and smiling into the mirror.

At first I could not believe that they were not alive until father and Aunt Masha laughed at me.

It seemed to me nothing short of a miracle to see how perfect the features were, the smile. And

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I thought, "Oh, America is truly wonderful! People are not shovelling gold in the streets, as I

had heard, but still it is wonderful." When I told it to father he laughed. "Wait," he said. And

then he took us to "Silver Smith Charlie's saloon" and I saw the floor studded with half dollars!

From Mrs. Felesberg we learned at once the more serious side of life in America. Mrs.

Felesberg was the woman with whom we were rooming. A door from our room opened into her

tiny bedroom and then led into the only other room where she sat a great part of the day

finishing pants which she brought in big bundles from a shop, and rocking the cradle with one

foot. She always made us draw our chairs quite close to her and she spoke in a whisper scarcely

ever lifting her weak peering eyes from her work. When she asked us how we liked America,

and we spoke of it with praise, she smiled a queer smile. "Life here is not all that it appears to

the 'green horn,' " she said. She told us that her husband was a presser on coats and earned

twelve dollars when he worked a full week. Aunt Masha thought twelve dollars a good deal.

Again Mrs. Felesberg smiled. "No doubt it would be," she said, "where you used to live. You

had your own house, and most of the food came from the garden. Here you will have to pay for

everything; the rent!" she sighed, "for the light, for every potato, every grain of barley. You see

these three rooms, including yours? Would they be too much for my family of five?" We had to

admit they would not. "And even from these," she said, "I have to rent one out."

Perhaps it was due to these talks that I soon noticed how late my father worked. When he went

away in the morning it was still dark, and when he came home at night the lights in the halls

were out. It was after ten o'clock. I thought that if mother and the children were here they would

scarcely see him.

One night when he came home and as he sat at the table eating his rice soup, which he and Aunt

Masha had taught me to cook, I sat down on the cot and asked timidly, knowing that he was

impatient of questions, "Father, does everybody in America live like this? Go to work early,

come home late, eat and go to sleep? And the next day again work, eat, and sleep? Will I have

to do that too? Always?"

Father looked thoughtful and ate two or three mouthfuls before he answered. "No," he said

smiling. "You will get married.”

So, almost a week passed and though life was so interesting, still no matter where I went, what

I saw, mother and home were always present in my mind. Often in the happiest moments a pain

would rise in my throat and my eyes burned with the tears held back.

* * * * *

….After dinner we went out into the street. I walked beside father, clasping his hand tightly. I

looked about and wondered how people could find their way without seeming to think about it.

All the streets, all the houses, seemed so very much alike.

Father stopped at a fruit stand and told me to choose what I wanted. There was nothing strange

to me in that. At home when we sold fruit, as we did sometimes during the summer, Jewish

people came on Saturday to eat apples or pears for which they paid the following week. So I

thought it was the same here.

I looked and looked at the fruit: "What shall I take?" Apples, oranges, plums, pears — all were

arranged in neat pyramids, all looked good and very tempting, surrounded by fresh green

leaves, glistening with drops of water. I looked at the strange fruits also. I saw long finger like

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things with smooth yellow skins, and grapes which I knew by name only. In a glass case on a

square of ice there were some slices of watermelon.

"What shall I take?" I asked, turning to father. "Anything you like," he smiled encouragingly. I

decided on a slice of melon. I looked up into father's face. I felt proud of him that he had credit

at so beautiful a fruit stand.

As I received the melon in my fingers I saw father take his hand out of his pocket and hold out

a coin. I felt the blood rush to my face. I stood staring at him for a moment. Then I dropped the

melon on the pavement and ran. Before I had taken many steps I realized that I was running

away from home and turned back.

In passing the stand I did not look to see if father was still there but ran on. "My father has

touched coin on the Sabbath!"

These words rang in my ears. I was almost knocked over by people into whom I ran but I paid

no attention. Others stopped to watch me curiously as I ran by. It seemed to me that it was

because they knew what I had just seen and I ran on with my cheeks flaming. Suddenly it

seemed to me that I had been running a long while and I felt that I should be near home. I

stopped and looked about, but I could not see the house anywhere. I ran further, looking about

wildly and trying to remember things so as to locate myself. Suddenly I came upon a

dressmaker's sign which I recognized. I hurried into my room, closed the door carefully, and

threw myself down on the cot, burying my face into the pillow. "Father carries money about

with him on the Sabbath. Oh, the sin! Oh, poor grandmother," I thought, "how would she feel if

she knew. Brother is only seven years old and already he is so pious that he wishes to remain

with a learned Jew in Russia, after mother goes to America, that he may become a great Rabbi.

How would he feel? How would they all feel?"

Then I remembered Yanna, who, on hearing that father was in America, and feeling that

perhaps we were too happy over it, came one day to torment grandmother. "The first thing men

do in America," she had said, "is cut their beards and the first thing the women do is to leave off

their wigs. “And you," she had said, turning to me venomously, "you who will not break a

thread on the Sabbath now, will eat swine in America." "Oh, God," I thought, "will it really

come to that? shall I eat swine?" After what I had just seen nothing seemed impossible.

In utter misery I turned and felt about with my burning cheek for a cooler place on the pillow.

As I did so I remembered that the pillow was one which mother gave me from home. I slipped

my arms under it and pressing my lips to it I wept. “No, I shall not eat swine, indeed I shall

not!”

* * * * *

On the following day father came home at noon and took me along to the shop where he

worked. We climbed the dark, narrow stairs of a tenement house on Monroe Street and came

into a bright room filled with noise. I saw about five or six men and a girl. The men turned and

looked at us when we passed. I felt scared and stumbled. One man asked in surprise: "Avrom,

is this your daughter? Why, she is only a little girl!"

My father smiled. "Yes," he said, "but wait till you see her sew." He placed me on a high stool

opposite the girl, laid a pile of pocket flaps on the little narrow table between us, and showed

me how to baste.

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All afternoon I sat on my high stool, a little away from the table, my knees crossed tailor

fashion, basting flaps. As I worked I watched the things which I could see by just raising my

eyes a little. …

The machines going at full speed drowned everything in their noise. But when they stopped for

a moment I caught the clink of a scissors laid nastily on a table, a short question and answer

exchanged, and the pounding of a heavy iron from the back of the room. Sometimes the

machines stopped for a whole minute. Then the men looked about and talked. I was always

glad when the machines started off again. I felt safer in their noise.

Late in the afternoon a woman came into the shop. She sat down next to Atta and began to sew

on buttons. Father, who sat next to me, whispered, "This is Mrs. Nelson, the wife of the big

man, our boss. She is a real American."

She, too, was pretty. Her complexion was fair and delicate like a child's. Her upper lip was

always covered with shining drops of perspiration. I could not help looking at it all the time.

When she had worked a few minutes she asked father in very imperfect Yiddish : "Well, Mr.

———, have you given your daughter an American name?"

"Not yet," father answered. "What would you call her? Her Yiddish name is Rahel." "Rahel,

Rahel," Mrs. Nelson repeated to herself, thoughtfully, winding the thread around a button; "let

me see." The machines were going slowly and the men looked interested.

The presser called out from the back of the room: "What is there to think about? Rahel is

Rachel." I was surprised at the interest every one showed. Later I understood the reason. The

slightest cause for interruption was welcome, it broke the monotony of the long day.

Mrs. Nelson turned to me: "Don't let them call you Rachel. Every loafer who sees a Jewish girl

shouts 'Rachel' after her. And on Cherry Street where you live there are many saloons and

many loafers. How would you like Ruth for a name?"

I said I should like to be called Ruth.

* * * * *

Father made the life for me as easy as he could. But there were many hardships he could not

prevent.

We began the day at six in the morning. I would stand dressing with my eyes closed and feel

about for my buttons. But once I was out on the street and felt the moist early morning air I was

wide awake at once. …

Father used to buy me an apple and a sweetened roll. We ate while we worked. I used to think

two cents a good deal to spend for my breakfast. But often I was almost sick with hunger. At

noon we had our big meal. Then father would send me out for half a pound of steak or a slice of

beef liver and a pint of beer which he sometimes bought in partnership with two or three other

men. He used to broil the steak in the open coal fireplace where the presser heated his irons,

and cut it into tiny squares. He always picked out the juiciest bits and pushed them to my side

of the plate, and while there was still quite some meat he would lay down his fork and push his

chair away from the table with an air as if he had had more than enough. He also got me to

drink beer. Before long I could drink a full glass. But I did not like it. One day it made me quite

sick. After that I refused to drink it.

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I liked my work and learned it easily, and father was pleased with me. As soon as I knew how

to baste pocket-flaps he began to teach me how to baste the coat edges. This was hard work.

The double ply of overcoat cloth stitched in with canvas and tape made a very stiff edge. My

fingers often stiffened with pain as I rolled and basted the edges. Sometimes a needle or two

would break before I could do one coat. Then father would offer to finish the edge for me. But

if he gave me my choice I never let him. At these moments I wanted so to master the thing

myself that I felt my whole body trembling with the desire. And with my habit of personifying

things, I used to bend over the coat on my lap, force the obstinate and squeaking needle, wet

with perspiration, in and out of the cloth and whisper with determination: "No, you shall not get

the best of me!" When I succeeded I was so happy that father, who often watched me with a

smile, would say, "Rahel, your face is shining. Now rest a while." He always told me to rest

after I did well. I loved these moments. I would push my stool closer to the wall near which I

sat, lean my back against it, and look about the shop. …

* * * * *

On Friday I worked only the first half of the day, then I would go home to do the washing and

cleaning in our room. All morning I would count the hours and half hours and my heart beat

with joy at the thought that I would soon leave the shop. When at last I heard the noon whistle

from the big paper factory on Water Street I used to bend my head low to hide this joy. I felt

ashamed at my eagerness to leave off work. When I came out into the street I had to stand still

for a while and look about. I felt dazed by the light and the air and the joy of knowing that I was

free. For at these moments I did not remember the work at home. I would start to walk along

slowly, linger under the trees, of which there was one here and there on Cherry Street, and

watch the children on the way home from school to lunch. In their white summery dresses and

with books under their arms, they appeared to me like wonderful little beings of a world

entirely different from mine. I watched and envied them. But I often consoled myself with the

thought, "When our children come they too will ' go to school." …

On Saturday father and I used to go to see Aunt Masha. The first time we went and asked to

see her, her mistress opened a door in the back of the store and called in a shrill voice,

“Jen-nie--, Jennie.” To my surprise it was Aunt Masha who came out.

* * * * *

[Rahel’s father wrongly thinks she has been seeing a boy in the apartment.] And now a

different life began for me. Father thinking that he had given me too much freedom and had

spoiled me went to the other extreme. He began to treat me so severely that I could scarcely lift

my head. He suspected me at every step and found fault and blamed me for everything that

happened.

One Saturday while standing out on the stoop I saw one little girl show a cent to another and

boasting that she was going to buy candy. Seeing money handled on Sabbath had long lost its

horror for me. It occurred to me that I too would like to have a cent with which to do just as I

pleased. I went up at once to our room and asked father as he lay resting on the cot. He looked

at me silently for a long moment. Then he rose slowly, took out his pocket book, took a cent

from it, held it out to me, and said with a frown that reminded me of Aunt Masha, "Here, and

see that this never happens again."

I felt as if the coin were burning my fingers. I handed it back quickly, left the room and walked

about in the streets. I felt mortally hurt. I felt that I was working from morning till night like a

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grown up person and yet when I wanted one single cent . When evening came I went home,

cooked the rice and milk, as usual, put it on the table and then sat down away from it at the

farthest end of the cot. Father ate a few spoonfuls and then commanded: "Sit down at the table

and eat your supper."

"I am not hungry," I answered. And indeed I was not. I could never eat when I was miserable.

The food always seemed to stick in my throat. Father commanded, "Eat whether you want to or

not. Eat because I say so!" Again I repeated that I was not hungry. He looked at me and said:

"Oh, you are sulking? Very well, we shall see." Without haste he laid down his spoon, took

down our coarse linen roller towel which I brought from home, twisted it carefully into a rope

and came over to me. Poor father, I know now that he hated to hurt me and took long to prepare

to give me time to change my mind. "Will you eat?" he asked. I coughed to steady my voice

and said "No." He struck me across the back. My only thought now was not to cry out. "On the

right is the little old woman and her family, on the left the Felesbergs. They will hear me. I'll

never be able to raise my head before any of them again." And I prayed for strength.

Father never did anything by halves. I felt the towel across my back again and again. Finally he

threw it down and said, panting for breath, "Girl, I'll break you if you don't change." And I said

in my heart, "My father, we shall see!"

He turned out the gas, went out, slamming the door after him so that the windows rattled.

When it was all quiet, a door opened in our room and Mrs. Felesberg came in with a light and a

bottle of vaseline.

* * * * *

[Rahel has witnessed several incidents of Irish-Americans and other people verbally and even

physically assaulting the Jews in her Cherry Street neighborhood.] I found that father was

already at home. As I came into the room I saw him sitting at the table before the little mirror

resting against the wall, clipping his beard. I was so surprised and shocked to see him actually

do this thing that I could neither speak nor move for some minutes. And I knew that he too felt

embarrassed. After the first glance I kept my eyes steadily on the floor in front of me and began

to talk to him quietly but with great earnestness.

"You had been so pious at home, father," I said, "more pious than any one else in our whole

neighbourhood. And now you are cutting your beard. Grandmother would never have believed

it. How she would weep!"

The snipping of the scissors still went on. But I knew by the sound that now he was only

making a pretence at cutting. At last he laid it down and said in a tone that was bitter yet quiet :

"They do not like Jews on Cherry Street. And one with a long beard has to take his life into his

own hands."

"But, father," I said, looking at him now, "must we live on Cherry Street?"

"Yes, we must," he said, turning to me quickly and speaking in a more passionate tone. "They

want the Jews to come and settle here. And because it is so hard to live here they have lowered

the rents. I save here at least two dollars a month. You don't understand. For mother's journey

we need not only tickets and money for other expenses, but we also need money for at least

second-hand furniture. This is not like home. There the house was our own. And for the lot and

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garden we paid one dollar a year. There, too, we were among friends and relatives. While here,

if we haven't rent for one month we are thrown out on the street. Do you understand?"

I said I understood.

* * * * *

Father began to strain all his energy to save the money to send for mother and the children. In

the shop one morning I realized that he had been leaving out of his breakfast the tiny glass of

brandy for two cents and was eating just the roll. So I too made my sacrifice. When as usual he

gave me the apple and the roll, I took the roll but refused the apple. And he did not urge me.

When a cold grey day at the end of November found him in his light tan suit quite worn and me

in my thin calico frock, now washed out to a tan color, we went to a second-hand clothing store

on Division Street and he bought me a fuzzy brown coat reaching a little below my waist, for

fifty cents, and for himself a thin threadbare overcoat. And now we were ready for the winter.

About the same time that the bitter cold came father told me one night that he had found work

for me in a shop where he knew the presser. I lay awake long that night. I was eager to begin

life on my own responsibility I but was also afraid. We rose earlier than usual that morning for

father had to take me to the shop and not be over late for his own work. I wrapped my thimble

and scissors, with a piece of bread for breakfast, in a bit of newspaper, carefully stuck two

needles into the lapel of my coat and we started.

The shop was on Pelem Street, a shop district one block long and just wide enough for two

ordinary sized wagons to pass each other. We stopped at a door where I noticed at once a brown

shining porcelain knob and a half rubbed off number seven. Father looked at his watch and at

me.

"Don't look so frightened," he said. "You need not go in until seven. Perhaps if you start in at

this hour he will think you have been in the habit of beginning at seven and will not expect you

to come in earlier. Remember, be independent. At seven o'clock rise and go home no matter

whether the others go or stay."

He began to tell me something else but broke off suddenly, said "good-bye" over his

shoulder and went away quickly. I watched him until he turned into Monroe Street.

Now only I felt frightened, and waiting made me nervous, so I tried the knob. The door yielded

heavily and closed slowly. I was half way up when it closed entirely, leaving me in darkness. I

groped my way to the top of the stairs and hearing a clattering noise of machines,

I felt about, found a door, and pushed it open and went in. A tall, dark, beardless man stood

folding coats at a table. I went over and asked him for the name (I don't remember what it was).

"Yes," he said crossly. "What do you want?"

I said, "I am the new feller hand." He looked at me from head to foot. My face felt so burning

hot that I could scarcely see. "It is more likely," he said, "that you can pull bastings than fell

sleeve lining." Then turning from me he shouted over the noise of the machine: "Presser, is this

the girl?" The presser put down the iron and looked at me. "I suppose so," he said, "I only know

the father."

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The cross man looked at me again and said, "Let's see what you can do." He kicked a chair,

from which the back had been broken off, to the finisher's table, threw a coat upon it and said

raising the corner of his mouth: "Make room for the new feller hand."

One girl tittered, two men glanced at me over their shoulders and pushed their chairs apart a

little. By this time I scarcely knew what I was about. I laid my coat down somewhere and

pushed my bread into the sleeve.

Then I stumbled into the bit of space made for me at the table, drew in the chair and sat down.

The men were so close to me on each side I felt the heat of their bodies and could not prevent

myself from shrinking away. The men noticed and probably felt hurt. One made a joke, the

other laughed and the girls bent their heads low over their work. All at once the thought came:

"If I don't do this coat quickly and well he will send me away at once." I picked up the coat,

threaded my needle, and began hastily, repeating the lesson father impressed upon me. "Be

careful not to twist the sleeve lining, take small false stitches."

My hands trembled so that I could not hold the needle properly. It took me a long while to do

the coat. But at last it was done. I took it over to the boss and stood at the table waiting while he

was examining it. He took long, trying every stitch with his needle. Finally he put it down and

without looking at me gave me two other coats. I felt very happy! When I sat down at the table

I drew my knees close together and stitched as quickly as I could.

When the pedlar came into the shop everybody bought rolls. I felt hungry but I was ashamed

and would not eat the plain, heavy rye bread while the others ate rolls.

All day I took my finished work and laid it on the boss's table. He would glance at the clock and

give me other work. Before the day was over I knew that this was a "piece work shop," that

there were four machines and sixteen people were working. I also knew that I had done almost

as much work as "the grown-up girls" and that they did not like me. I heard Betsy, the head

feller hand, talking about "a snip of a girl coming and taking the very bread out of your mouth."

The only one who could have been my friend was the presser who knew my father. But him I

did not like. The worst I knew about him just now was that he was a soldier because the men

called him so. But a soldier, I had learned, was capable of anything. And so, noticing that he

looked at me often, I studiously kept my eyes from his corner of the room.

Seven o'clock came and every one worked on. I wanted to rise as father had told me to do and

go home. But I had not the courage to stand up alone. I kept putting off going from minute to

minute. My neck felt stiff and my back ached. I wished there were a back to my chair so that I

could rest against it a little. When the people began to go home it seemed to me that it had been

night a long time.

* * * * *

The next morning when I came into the shop at seven o'clock, I saw at once that all the people

were there and working as steadily as if they had been at work a long while. I had just time to

put away my coat and go over to the table, when the boss shouted gruffly, "Look here, girl, if

you want to work here you better come in early. No office hours in my shop." It seemed very

still in the room, even the machines stopped. And his voice sounded dreadfully distinct. I

hastened into the bit of space between the two men and sat down. He brought me two coats and

snapped, "Hurry with these!"

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From this hour a hard life began for me. He refused to employ me except by the week. He paid

me three dollars and for this he hurried me from early until late. He gave me only two coats at

a time to do. When I took them over and as he handed me the new work he would say quickly

and sharply, "Hurry!" And when he did not say it in words he looked at me and I seemed to hear

even more plainly, "Hurry!" I hurried but he was never satisfied. By looks and manner he made

me feel that I was not doing enough. Late at night when the people would stand up and begin to

fold their work away and I too would rise feeling stiff in every limb and thinking with dread of

our cold empty little room and the uncooked rice, he would come over with still another coat. "I

need it the first thing in the morning," he would give as an excuse. I understood that he was

taking advantage of me because I was a child. And now that it was dark in the shop except for

the low single gas jet over my table and the one over his at the other end of the room, and there

was no one to see, more tears fell on the sleeve lining as I bent over it than there were stitches in

it.…

I myself did not want to leave the shop for fear of losing a day or even more perhaps in finding

other work. To lose half a dollar meant that it would take so much longer before mother and the

children would come. And now I wanted them more than ever before. I longed for my mother

and a home where it would be light and warm and she would be waiting when we came from

work….

* * * * *

In proportion as life in the shop became harder, it also became hrder at home. I had to do the

washing and cleaning at night now. One night a week I cleaned and one I washed, I used to

hang my dress on a string over Mrs. Felesberg's stove to dry over night. In the morning I pulled

it straight and put it right on. The rest of the night I slept. During these days I could not seem to

get enough sleep. Sometimes when I remembered how a few months before mother had to

chase me to bed with cries and with scoldings it hardly seemed true. That time seemed so far

away, so vague, like a dream.

Now on coming into the room I would light the lamp and the kerosene oil stove and put on the

soup to cook. Then I would sit down with my knees close to the soap box on which the stove

stood, to keep myself warm. But before long my body relaxed, my head grew heavy with the

odor of the burning oil and I longed to lie down. I knew that it was bad to go to sleep without

supper. Two or three times father woke me. But it was no use, I could not eat then. And so I

tried hard to keep .awake. But finally I could not resist it. The cot was so near, just a step away.

I could touch it with my hand. I would rise a little from the chair and all bent over as I was, I

would tumble right in and roll myself in the red comforter, clothes and all. It was on these

nights that I began to forget to pray.

But it was only during the first part of the night that I slept heavily. After that I was half asleep,

half awake. I was in constant fear of being late to work. Often in the middle of the night I would

wake up with a start, tumble out of bed, scarcely conscious of what I was about, and run to the

clock which we put on the table for the night. There I stood peering at it unseeingly for a long

while. Gradually I would realize where I was, what I was about and that I must see the time.

And only now I could see the hands of the clock distinctly, both on the twelve perhaps. How

happy I felt when it was still so early. With what a feeling of joy and relief I lay back on the

pillow and closed my eyes. But if I happened to wake near five I would not close them again for

fear of oversleeping. That was about the time that father left. ….

* * * * *

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[Rahel did change jobs and did so repeatedly because conditions were bad and she was cheated

or harassed. She and her father joined a union, which improved their working conditions

somewhat. Nevertheless, Rahel’s health began to break down.] That night I sat up for father.

He laid the large brown loaf on the table when he came and sat down on the chair alongside of

it. I saw at once that he had something pleasant to tell. He was not smiling but his face looked

all lit up. After hearing what the doctor had had to say and cautioning me to take the medicine

regularly he began slowly, drawing out his words almost as grandmother had often done, and

smiling now quite broadly, "You know, Rahel, I think with this week's wages we have enough

money for the steamer tickets, the journey and a little over."

He put his hand deep into his pocket, took out the long baggy purse and laid it on the table.

Then he drew the white muslin curtain over the lower part of the window, and told me to lift the

lamp from the bracket to the table. He began to count and I breathlessly watched his fingers as

they turned back the bills.

"Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty," and so on he counted. Finally he said slowly, "Yes, we have

enough."

I could not realise that it was true, that we could send for them at once. Then the thought came,

"In three months they might be here!" I laid my arms on the table, buried my face in them and

began to sob. Father laid his hand gently on my head. For once he did not scold me for my

tears.

* * * * *

[Finally the rest of the family made it across the Russian border and sailed to the United

States.] …father and I again stood in Castle Garden. I do not know whether Aunt Masha was

with us or not. As I look back now I can only see father and myself, he talking to an officer and

I standing with my face pressed against iron bars. In what an agony of joy and fear I stood

there! At first I was neither surprised nor disappointed when I looked about and did not see

them at once. Feeling sure that they must be there, I could wait. Then it flashed through my

mind, "But perhaps they are not here! Perhaps they missed the steamer, perhaps they fell ill!"

Then I saw them. It was as I often pictured them. Mother with baby on one arm, a bundle on the

other, and the eight year old boy at her skirt, was following a uniformed American. She walked

slowly with her head a little bent and her eyes on the ground. Her face looked so uncertain, as if

she were not yet sure whether her journey was at an end and whether this was the place where

she would meet us. After her came sister, quite bent under a bundle on her back and with the

little four year old girl holding on to her skirt. Though she was so bent under her bundle her

head was raised and her eyes were looking about eagerly. Then they met mine, and as she

recognized me she dropped her bundle and ran screaming, "Mamma, there they are! There they

are!"

A few minutes later I heard my mother's tearful joyous voice close to me, "Rahel! Rahel!"

* * * * *

[The Golubs’ reunion did not end their struggle in the United States. Out of the Shadow goes on

to relate Rahel’s health problems, her various jobs, including living with a family as a domestic

servant, the harsh experience of the economic depression beginning in 1893, and her failure to

satisfy her parents by marrying the grocer who could have helped the family get by. Here is one

more passage from of her autobiography.]

11

I found from Mr. Raisen that these books could be borrowed from soda water stand keepers, if

one left fifteen cents security and paid five cents for the reading of the book. I listened to all the

details with discouragement. For when could I hope to have twenty cents saved! Nevertheless I

began to save, or rather, I determined to put away the very first cent I had. …

At last one night I brought home my first volume. I took the lamp out of the bracket, placed it

on the table, and opened the book. I had told the stand keeper to give me anything as long as it

was with vowels. For I had only learned to read the Hebrew print that had the vowels. These

consisted in dots and lines printed under each letter. In the meantime the children gathered

around me and mother came over with her sewing and looked at me disapprovingly, sadly,

"What a child you are," her eyes seemed to say. "How little sense you have. If you had spent

this money on nourishing food." And again, "True, you did not ask for the money, you saved it.

But where did it come from?"

I understood this as plainly as if she had uttered the words. Poor mother, she was often worried

over how to live and save on our six or seven dollars and over my health. And so, partly with

the hope of cheering her up a little and partly to draw her attention away from myself and a

possible scolding, I began to read aloud. In a few minutes I looked up and saw her stitching

quickly on the little dress she was mending. I could see she was listening but the sad look had

not left her eyes. But when again I looked up the little dress lay forgotten in her lap and on her

face there was a healthy look of interest and curiosity. The only stories she had ever heard

before were from the Bible.

From that time many happy evenings were ours. Mother always listened reluctantly, as if she

felt it were a weakness to be so interested. Sometimes she would rise suddenly during the most

interesting part and go away into the dark kitchen. But soon I would catch her listening from

the doorway.

And I lived now in a wonderful world. One time I was a beautiful countess living unhappily in

a palace, another time I was a beggar's daughter singing in the street. Of course we never drew

more than one little book a week, about two hundred and fifty pages for five cents. But I got all

I could out of it.… [She looks at the last book “with vowels” on the soda stand’s shelves.]

I turned to the first page of the story and read the heading of the chapter: "I am born."

Something in these three little words appealed to me more than anything I had yet read. I could

not have told why, but perhaps it was the simplicity and the intimate tone of the first person. I

had not yet read anything written in the first person. My eager fingers turned to the title page

and I uttered the words half aloud, "David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens." "I'll take it," I

said. I laid the five pennies on the zinc covered soda counter and walked away slowly,

expecting and fearing to hear the standkeeper's voice calling after me and demanding an extra

five cents because the book was so thick. But when the danger of that was passed I fairly ran

home with my prize.

….The next book we drew was without vowels. Sister and I had never dreamed it would be so

easy to learn to read it. In a week we read it as fluently as the other. And now reading material

was not so limited. A flying newspaper in the street, a crumpled advertisement sheet, I would

smooth out tenderly and carry off home, happy in the expectation of what was awaiting me. I

tried to understand everything I read but if I could not, I read it anyway. For just to read became

a necessity and a joy. There were so few joys.