A young girl stood near her father on the quay of a Polish harbor, a steamer trunk at her feet. Out of her nine siblings, 12-year-old Rose was the child chosen to be sent to the golden land, America. Life in Poland was hard, hunger a constant visitor in her home. After much scraping and pinching, her family had saved enough for a single one-way ticket to the United States. And Rose, the youngest of the nine, was the lucky one chosen to go. Her father hoisted the trunk on his shoulder and walked silently. As they arrived to the dock, he laid a trembling hand on her cheek. Rosie, mein kind (my child), remember, God is watching over you every step of the way. Remember His laws and keep them well. Never forget that more than the Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jews. It will be hard in the new land. Dont forget who you are. Keep the Sabbath -- no matter what sacrifice you must make. Tatte! Tatte! (Father! Father!) Rosie buried her face in the scratchiness of her fathers coat. Tatte bent down and hugged Rose again, squeezing the breath out of her in a hug meant to last a lifetime. As the ship steamed away from the shtetl life of Poland, a fresh sea wind blew on the passengers preparing to start life anew. Life in America was new and strange. Polish mannerisms were quickly shed -- along with religion. Modesty, keeping kosher, and Torah were abandoned, together with the outmoded clothing and accent. Roses relatives insisted religion was old-fashioned, an unnecessary accessory in America. Rose, however, never forgot her fathers parting words. Every week without fail, Rose devised a new excuse for her boss to explain why she did not come to work on Saturday. One week, she had a toothache, another week her stomach bothered her. After three weeks, the foreman grew wise. He called her over. Rosie, he said in a tone that indicated he only had her welfare in mind, I like your work, and I like you. But this Sabbath business has got to stop. Either you come in this Saturday, or you can look for a new job. Rosie, sweetheart, listen to us. Its for your own good... On and on went her relatives, until Roses determination wavered. Sabbath in America was not like the warm day Rose had known at home. This week was the worst yet. She lacked the courage to face her relatives and tell them of her resolve. Instead, she left the house in the morning, pretending to be headed for work. Back and forth through the streets of Manhattan she paced. Together with the city pigeons, she rested in Washington Square Park. There she sat among the pigeons, singing the traditional Sabbath songs, with tears in her eyes and sobs between the verses. When three stars finally peeked out from the black sky announcing the end of Sabbath, the moon shone down on a weary girl and bathed her face in its glow. Rose had triumphed, but her victory would cost her dearly. She had no job and had alienated her family. She uttered Baruch HaMavdil, the blessing said upon the departure of the Sabbath. It was time to face the hardness of the world. Rose trudged homeward, dreading the nasty scene to come when her relatives learned that she hadnt been to work. As she neared home, a shout broke into her reverie. Rosie!? What... what... I mean, how are you here? Where were you? Rose looked up at her cousin Joe, her expression woebegone. Joe, what will become of me? I kept Sabbath and lost my job. Now everyone will be angry and disappointed with me, and, oh, Joe, what will I do? The words tumbled out together with her tears. Joe looked at her strangely. Rose, didnt you hear? he asked gently. Hear what? There was an awful fire in the factory. Nobody survived. There was no way out of the building. People even jumped to their deaths. Joes voice was hushed, and he was crying openly. Rosie, dont you see? Because you kept Sabbath, you are alive. Because of your Sabbath, you survived. Out of all her new friends and co-workers, Rose Goldstein was the lone survivor. The historic Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire on Saturday, March 25, 1911, claimed the lives of all 145 immigrant workers present. Because it had been Sabbath, Rose Goldstein was not there. As her father had said, more than the Jews keep the Sabbath, the Sabbath keeps the Jews. HORIZONS - The Jewish Family Journal (No. 3, 1994).
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 02:30:42 +0000
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