asked. “They know that people have hated us for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. How is that new? It’s why we moved here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, they know it is true,” Jacob said. His throat ached each time he spoke, making his eyes water. “But there are high officials in Washington who hate us, too.”
Rebbe Grunfeld held up his hands. “Please, let’s not speak ill of our government. We need their help.”
“If they wanted to help us,” Jacob said, “they could have changed the immigration quotas back when all this madness began so the Jews in Europe would have had a place to go. My son is an American, born here in America, yet he could not get papers for his wife and child who were born in Hungary. And he would not leave them.”
“And remember that ship full of refugees that no country wanted?” Meir’s voice was growing louder, angrier. “Hitler said, ‘Go! Every Jew in Germany can leave! Good riddance to you!’ But would our government step forward and allow even one of them to come here? No. More than nine hundred Jewish passengers were left with no place to go except back to Germany. Don’t try to tell me our government is eager to help.”
“I think we should leave now,” Rebbe Grunfeld said. “Yaacov needs peace and rest, Meir, not strife. But you will think about what I asked, Yaacov? About meeting here to pray?”
Jacob nodded and walked with Meir and the rebbe as far as the door. His throat felt raw, so it was good that they left when they did. Afterward, he wandered out to the kitchen to eat a few spoonfuls of kugel, right out of the casserole dish. It tasted wonderful, just like Miriam used to make, but he could only eat a few bites. The potatoes scratched his throat when he swallowed them. He pulled a banana from one of the fruit baskets, struggling to open it with his bandaged hands before finally biting the end off and peeling it with his teeth. At least the banana was easier to swallow.
Later, he sat down at his desk and looked through his collection of old letters from his son. Jacob had put them all in order according to the dates that Avraham had written them, and he allowed himself to reread one each day. He lifted the top letter, gazing at the neat printing, remembering the rainy afternoon that he and Miriam Shoshanna had taken their son to the pier to board the ship for Hungary. He remembered the pride he had felt in his son and in his desire to study Torah – but also his overwhelming dread as he had watched him sail into the maelstrom of another European war. Jacob had come to America to escape pogroms and war and hatred. Why, then, had Hashem led Avraham back there?
Jacob struggled to pull the letter from the envelope, but finally managed by blowing into the envelope and pulling out the letter with his teeth. It was one of Avraham’s very first letters. Jacob spread it out on his desktop.
Dear Mama and Abba,
I know it has only been six months, but you will be happy to know that I feel very much at home here already. My studies are still challenging, but I am learning so much – and loving what I am learning. Each layer of text that I peel away reveals even more of Hashem’s treasures, and I have come to see that I can never mine all the richness of these jewels, even after a lifetime of study.
I also have news of another jewel that I have discovered. Samuel, my study partner, invited me to celebrate Shabbat with his family last weekend, and I met the most wonderful woman – his younger sister, Sarah Rivkah. I know this will sound unbelievable, but the moment I saw her, I understood how our ancestor Jacob felt when he saw his Rachel for the first time. Not only is Sarah beautiful, but she is sweet-tempered and righteous, as well. I would gladly serve her father for seven years to win her hand!
I know that I came here to study, and I am working very diligently at that. But I have never met a woman who has captivated me the way that Sarah Rivkah has. . . .
The
“Yes, they know it is true,” Jacob said. His throat ached each time he spoke, making his eyes water. “But there are high officials in Washington who hate us, too.”
Rebbe Grunfeld held up his hands. “Please, let’s not speak ill of our government. We need their help.”
“If they wanted to help us,” Jacob said, “they could have changed the immigration quotas back when all this madness began so the Jews in Europe would have had a place to go. My son is an American, born here in America, yet he could not get papers for his wife and child who were born in Hungary. And he would not leave them.”
“And remember that ship full of refugees that no country wanted?” Meir’s voice was growing louder, angrier. “Hitler said, ‘Go! Every Jew in Germany can leave! Good riddance to you!’ But would our government step forward and allow even one of them to come here? No. More than nine hundred Jewish passengers were left with no place to go except back to Germany. Don’t try to tell me our government is eager to help.”
“I think we should leave now,” Rebbe Grunfeld said. “Yaacov needs peace and rest, Meir, not strife. But you will think about what I asked, Yaacov? About meeting here to pray?”
Jacob nodded and walked with Meir and the rebbe as far as the door. His throat felt raw, so it was good that they left when they did. Afterward, he wandered out to the kitchen to eat a few spoonfuls of kugel, right out of the casserole dish. It tasted wonderful, just like Miriam used to make, but he could only eat a few bites. The potatoes scratched his throat when he swallowed them. He pulled a banana from one of the fruit baskets, struggling to open it with his bandaged hands before finally biting the end off and peeling it with his teeth. At least the banana was easier to swallow.
Later, he sat down at his desk and looked through his collection of old letters from his son. Jacob had put them all in order according to the dates that Avraham had written them, and he allowed himself to reread one each day. He lifted the top letter, gazing at the neat printing, remembering the rainy afternoon that he and Miriam Shoshanna had taken their son to the pier to board the ship for Hungary. He remembered the pride he had felt in his son and in his desire to study Torah – but also his overwhelming dread as he had watched him sail into the maelstrom of another European war. Jacob had come to America to escape pogroms and war and hatred. Why, then, had Hashem led Avraham back there?
Jacob struggled to pull the letter from the envelope, but finally managed by blowing into the envelope and pulling out the letter with his teeth. It was one of Avraham’s very first letters. Jacob spread it out on his desktop.
Dear Mama and Abba,
I know it has only been six months, but you will be happy to know that I feel very much at home here already. My studies are still challenging, but I am learning so much – and loving what I am learning. Each layer of text that I peel away reveals even more of Hashem’s treasures, and I have come to see that I can never mine all the richness of these jewels, even after a lifetime of study.
I also have news of another jewel that I have discovered. Samuel, my study partner, invited me to celebrate Shabbat with his family last weekend, and I met the most wonderful woman – his younger sister, Sarah Rivkah. I know this will sound unbelievable, but the moment I saw her, I understood how our ancestor Jacob felt when he saw his Rachel for the first time. Not only is Sarah beautiful, but she is sweet-tempered and righteous, as well. I would gladly serve her father for seven years to win her hand!
I know that I came here to study, and I am working very diligently at that. But I have never met a woman who has captivated me the way that Sarah Rivkah has. . . .
The
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