When we crossed the border from Germany into the Netherlands, they ordered everyone who had steamship tickets to step down from the train. We had to walk a long way to get to the inspection station, where we were checked for illnesses and had our baggage disinfected. The doctor hardly examined me at all, quickly looking down my throat and running his fingers over my scalp. But there were grown-ups who weren’t so lucky, and they wouldn’t be allowed to continue their journey.
“But here’s my steamship ticket! My brother’s waiting for me!” a man yelled in a mix of Polish and Yiddish. He lifted his suitcase onto his shoulders and shoved his way toward the door. A policeman rushed after him and dragged him back in. The man’s suit got torn and his nose spouted blood as he crumpled to the ground. I felt so sad. With his dark beard, the man reminded me of Papa. I went to his side and offered him the handkerchief that Bubbe gave me. He brightened and smiled at me. “Shayna maideleh, shayna maideleh,” he said in a gentle voice. “You are a beautiful dear maiden, just like my daughter at home.”
He told me his name was Jacob. At first, Jacob wouldn’t take the handkerchief. He said he didn’t want to dirty it, but I told him I wanted him to have it, that it was my grandmother’s gift and she’d be proud of me for helping him. By then it was night. All the people there, whether they’d passed the inspection or not, had nowhere to go, and they slept on the floor or leaning against the walls. I stayed with Jacob and felt safe enough to sleep. In the morning, we said our goodbyes and he held my head with both hands and gave me his blessing: “May you go in peace to your destination and be delivered from accidents and enemies along the way.”
I returned to the station and took the train to Rotterdam, feeling less afraid because of Jacob’s blessing. And do you know what? I think it protected me. When I arrived in Rotterdam, I noticed an old couple speaking Yiddish. The man had a white beard and wore the black suit of a rabbi, and the woman’s hair was hidden under a kerchief. I asked if they knew the directions to the port, and it turned out they had tickets for the same ship as me!
“What are you doing alone, little girl?” the woman asked.
“I am not little. I am fifteen,” I told them. All the papers say I am fifteen, so I thought I’d better keep my story straight, though I felt bad about lying to them. But then I told them the truth. “There was only enough money for one child to travel, so I’m going to help my father bring all our family to Cuba.”
“It’s a shame we are being forced out of our home,” the old woman said.
“We didn’t want to leave Poland,” the old man added. “We’ve lived all our lives there and our ancestors are buried in that soil. But it’s changed. Our children are in Mexico and it’s time for us to join them.”
I became worried. “But how can we be on the same ship? My ticket says it’s for Cuba.”
They assured me the ship would make several stops, and we set off together toward the port. Since I only had a small bag for my few necessities, I carried the woman’s heavy suitcase. Before the ocean came into view, I could feel the change in the air, and flocks of white birds appeared. They circled the sky and sang a wistful tune. I learned they were seagulls! A moment later, I saw the ocean and could not believe how huge it was! Extending to the edge of the world.
We found our ship at the dock but had to pass yet another medical exam before we could board. The old couple gave me some of their herring and potatoes or I would not have eaten. Then when they came to check our passports, my heart was thumping so loudly I was afraid a policeman would rush aboard the ship and pull me off. I wanted to set sail right away, not wait another moment. But I’m learning that everything in life happens in its own good time.
Now we are out on the high seas and there’s nothing but water surrounding us. In the morning, the ocean is blue, in the afternoon, it is green, and in the evening, it is purple. I’m grateful I’ve seen the miracle of the ocean. If I died tomorrow, I would be happy I’ve seen it. But I don’t plan on dying. I have to get to Cuba!
What takes more getting used to is the sound of the waves. Sometimes it is like the whisper of a lullaby, soft and soothing. But when the wind blows hard, the crashing waves sound like the roar of a lion. That’s when my fears about this journey become difficult to shoo away. I am crossing the ocean. But it feels as if the ocean is crossing me.
Your sister, who misses you,
ESTHER
ON BOARD THE SHIP TO CUBA
January 26, 1938
Dearest sister Malka,
I’m sure there are magnificent ships in the world, but this is not one of them. This ship is crowded and dirty and smells of rotten meat and vomit. People say the ship is too old and shouldn’t be traveling the seas anymore. I’m in steerage, which is where the poorest passengers are squeezed together. I have a berth with a straw mattress, and my life preserver is my pillow.
I share the compartment with a group of Jewish women who are soon-to-be brides. Their fiancés—whom they’ve never met—await them in Mexico. We share a washroom and lavatory, and two women always stand guard when other women are using it. We have to share the soap and even the towels and washcloths. When we boarded the ship, we were each given a spoon, a fork, a tin plate, and a tin pail—to be used for both eating and as a washbasin. So you can imagine how hard it is to stay clean!
Rita, the bride-to-be who sleeps in the bunk bed below mine, told me that their fiancés are not obligated to marry them if they find their brides-to-be unattractive. She’s worried because her face has broken out with pimples. “What if I’m left in the street all by myself?” she asks. “What will become of me?” She cries every night and extends her hand up toward my bed, and I hold on to it until she falls asleep. Oh, dear little sister, I am glad I am too young to think of marriage and that I am promised to no one but myself!
The weather’s been cold and stormy, and the blanket the ship provided is thin as gauze. I use my ragged winter coat as a second blanket. I haven’t stepped out on the deck these last two days. Those of us in steerage only get to enjoy a small corner of the deck anyway.
From our deck, we can see the enormous deck of the first-class passengers, where elegantly dressed people relax on lounge chairs and waiters serve them drinks on trays. Yesterday, a mother in steerage took her sick baby up there so he could get fresh air and they shouted at her to go back to where she belonged. That night I couldn’t sleep, thinking about what had happened and how helpless that woman must have felt. Why does such injustice exist? How did it come about that some people are rich and others poor?
Meals are terrible too. There’s rye bread, but it’s not soft and chewy like Yoelke’s bread in Govorovo. It’s hard as a brick and must be soaked in tea or it will break your teeth. We also get watery pea soup and old potatoes. The meat tastes like shoe leather, but they say it’s kosher. All I can hold in my stomach are sweet things—tea laced with sugar cubes and the coffee cakes they offer in the afternoon. Maybe it is my body’s way of preparing me for the sugar fields of Cuba!