My mother's sister, Tema, was extremely devoted to me. This was also true of her four daughters and only son - the youngest in the family. The daughters were all married, and the boy had recently graduated from high school. My aunt considered me her "fifth daughter".
My mother's youngest brother had, at that time, already lived in America close to twenty years. He was in business, together with a partner. They were the proprietors of an "Illusion", as it was called in the old country. This was a theatre in which motion pictures were shown. I was familiar with this prior to my arrival in America. In Suwalki, I entertained many illusions about this "illusion." I imagined myself in this theatre, occupying a seat in the loge, while an assortment of young dandies streamed by, clothed in black and sporting white ties. They would smile at me as they strolled by, past the seat where I was sitting. Indeed, I felt as if I were in "seventh heaven." And I had already learned to say "How do you do. " I wished then that this dream would go on forever.
My uncle (I had already learned the word "uncle") came to see me the very first day of my arrival in Dallas. He arrived in a large automobile. He exhibited great warmth, and a feeling of closeness to me. I wondered to myself - 'why such a large machine.' It soon became apparent. His family consisted of his wife, my Aunt Fanny, and his nine children. They were blessed with four sons and five daughters. So together with my aunt and uncle, all in all, it was a conclave of ll souls. The oldest was a son of 16, and the youngest - a toddler of about one-and-a-half years old. Theirs was a very happy household.
The boys and girls all played one sort of musical instrument or another. A piano stood in a corner of the large front room. No one sat at it, yet it played mechanically, such music as I had never heard before! So I sat, entranced . . . not so much by the piano and the music, as by the tumult created by the sounds emanating from the instrument.
My Aunt Fanny was a kindly, patient woman. She let the children carry on . . . playing their horns, fifes and even beating drums, large and small, as long as they were not underfoot, and permitted her to rest a bit.
One day my uncle called me aside, in conspiratorial fashion, and confided a secret to me . . . that he had a young man who was waiting impatiently to meet me . . . a young man from a fine family. What was more important, he belonged to a group of progressive young men who were affiliated to the Workmen's Circle* . . . and they all spoke Yiddish. The Yiddish language was always very dear to me! My rejoinder to my uncle was an immediate one: "Where is this chap?" I asked. My reaction elated my uncle greatly. A short while later he phoned my Aunt Tema that he was coming over to fetch Chaya Rochel for lunch at his home, and that he would bring her back the same evening.
My Aunt was not too pleased to let me out of her sight, even if only for one evening. She was afraid I might want to dally there with those happy children. My Aunt admonished her brother that he was to bring me back that very evening, without fail. I, on my part, was rather eager to accompany my uncle in order to spend some time with the other half of my family in America. Accordingly, I donned a nice white batiste frock, adorned with pale blue which my Aunt had prepared for me . . . and I was all set to go.
Precisely at that moment we were visited by neighbors, dwellers on the same street. They were Jewish women from the same block. They did a good job of scrutinizing me. My cousins spoke to them in English. Although the language was still unknown to me, I gathered that they extolled my virtuosity as a linguist . . . telling them that I was conversant in many other languages, such as Polish, Russian, German and even French. This awakened great respect for me in the eyes of the visiting women.
While all this was taking place, my Uncle (Izzie Wyll) arrived. The farewells that took place were as if I were leaving for "Boiberick"** far away. On the way, my Uncle informed me, that the young man of whom he had spoken, was coming to his home to meet me. Well, how can one describe the agitation that beset me, in anticipation of the introduction to the one that my Uncle kept waiting for me for so long? Whoever reads these lines will have to draw their own conclusions as to the depth of my feelings.
My Aunt Fannie had prepared a meal which, in the old country, during the war years, would have been tantamount to a wedding feast. After the dishes were cleared away, a great hubbub arose. Children played pranks; children laughed . . . at what - I knew not, for their speech was alien to me. In the midst of this clamor, a young man appeared at the front door, dressed in a light-colored pongee suit, with a pongee-colored tie, light shoes, and an earnest smile upon his face. My Uncle welcomed him very courteously, brought him over to me, and said: "This is my niece, Chaya Rochel, from Poland. The one you have been awaiting so impatiently!" And to me, he said: "This is Harry Andres - get acquainted." I asked the young man to sit opposite me. I looked at him thoughtfully, and said, as if in a soliloquy . . . "The young man speaks a good Yiddish, and I like his accent." I sought no other virtues at the time.
The tumult of the children increased, and the young man grew impatient . . . and asked me very gently if I would like to take a drive with him in his car. I excused myself and entered my Aunt's kitchen to ask her to accompany us on the ride. My Aunt stared at me in astonishment . . . then commented: "In America, when a young woman is invited for a ride, it isn't nice if someone else goes along."
I was disappointed with her answer. She, realizing that I was unaccustomed to American ways, assured me that it was perfectly proper. "Furthermore, your Uncle knows this man for a long time . . . therefore you may go for the drive." I went over to the young man and repeated all that had transpired between my Aunt and myself. He thought a bit, and then thanked my Aunt for her tolerance and explanation.
Although I did not feel completely comfortable, nevertheless I was convinced that it was proper to accept the proffered ride. Our conversation during the drive centered on life in Poland during the years of World War I. He spoke very knowledgeably about the situation in Europe. His Yiddish speech was flawless, without even a trace of any anglicisms. He spoke about the organization with which he was affiliated, and how they conducted their meetings in Yiddish. This, of course, met with my immediate approval. Our conversation took up the entire evening, and then he drove me home to my Aunt Tema's. I thanked him for the enjoyable ride, and he asked if he could call me on the phone the following morning. My answer was: "Why not? He then escorted me to the porch and bade me "good night."
My Aunt had waited up for me and questioned me as to what my uncle had in mind for me, so soon after my arrival in America. From what she said, I quickly gathered, that she was opposed to my becoming seriously interested in anyone. I slept quite soundly that night, with nary a thought about the young man.
After that evening, the young man telephoned me every day. He wanted to take me out, introduce me to different people who spoke my language, who were interested in Yiddish culture, Yiddish music, and Yiddish problems in general. We continued to speak to each other daily via the telephone. We spoke solely in Russian, because the entire family stood by to listen to what I had to say. They did not understand Russian. Although there were no secrets between us, I felt uncomfortable with the crowd around the telephone, even if they knew no Russian.
For a time I was reluctant to see my suitor too often. To begin with, when he would arrive at the small garden of the house, my cousins would be sitting on the threshold or lolling around on the grass near the steps. The young man had almost to straddle over their bodies. This smacked too much of the small town, even for me. Later, he introduced me to his closest companions. I was delighted to get to know them. Thus a new world unfolded for me. During all this time, I kept writing to my parents and sisters . . letters that were filled with yearning for them, describing also the wonderful treatment I was accorded by my family in America.
My Aunt and Uncle had introduced me to a very nice girl, who every evening would take me walking through the park. There was music . . . and boys and girls would happily stroll by. The girls were heavily rouged, with hair braided and wound around their ears (perhaps to drown out the tumult). In fact, the girls appeared as if .hey all came from the same mother . . . And all spoke in their own language (English) - so rapidly, that I began to believe I would never master it . . . a language, in which one has to thrust out the tongue in order to pronounce certain words.
A cultured young lady undertook to give me lessons in English. At one time she told me that I knew the language, but pretended I didn't. This was because I did know how to read. Actually I didn't understand a single word, and could not utter a syllable. The words sounded very lengthy to me. For instance, my Uncle, Sam Tabolowsky, in conversation, constantly utilized the word "alteluritno" - probably he meant "I'll tell you right now." So I asked him what it meant. His answer was that he did not understand what I was saying, and that he had never heard that 'word' before. Suddenly he pronounced the word again. I stopped him at this point and told him "Uncle, you've just said the word "alteluritno". My uncle's conclusion was that I was "slightly off." (It shouldn't happen to anyone.)
In time I became accustomed to the environment . . . and my boyfriend began to approach me in more practical terms. His speech and deportment was most pleasing to me. And then, three months after we had first met, he came to see me one day . . . his face and glance portraying an unusual boldness. He handed me a tiny jeweler's box and pleadingly asked me to open it. When I did, my heart began beating violently. My eyes caught an almost blinding flash; my heartbeat quickened unexpectedly at the sight of what appeared to be the glow of a thousand little fires. I quickly closed the tiny case and glanced at the young man in wonderment. Then I asked him to take it back, saying that I did not need such a magnificent diamond.
After a few moments of silence, we kissed for the first time... feeling our destined troth. For that special evening Hershl's closest friends had prepared a magnificent reception for us . . . something for which I was totally unprepared. At the beautifully arranged dinner, Hershl pleaded with me that I wear the ring, so that his friends might share in his joy. "I'm happy without the ring," was my response: Nevertheless, he hastily placed the ring on my finger. Oh, what a beautiful engagement that was!
When I arrived back at my Aunt's house, she was still awake and waiting up for me. I ran to her and showed her the sparkling ring. She threw her arms about me, kissed me and wept; saying "Oh, Chaya Rochel . . . if only your parents were here to see the happiness of their daughter!" My Aunt Tema was enraptured, and exclaimed: "That boy is worthy of you. I wish you eternal happiness, Chaya Rochel."It was difficult for me to fall asleep that night.
Soon after the break of day, my cousins gathered around my bed, woke me up, and began to study the ring upon my finger. They were jubilant . . . and I became aware of my great, good fortune. They all idolized Hershl, and it was all so pleasant for me. Unexpectedly, I burst into tears . . . weeping with a feeling of utmost inner joy at the realization of what had happened to me . . .
And the thought pervaded my being, that very soon I would write a joyous letter home . . . a good letter, full of surprising good news . . . that I've become betrothed and that I am very, very happy . . . !
- * A rbeiter Ring
- ** "Boiberick" - a resort city in Sholem A leichem's tales.