My Grandfather's Trunk

Prologue

To anyone else, it was just a decrepit trunk.

I stood looking at it with my cousins, Mady and Jay. We had returned from their mother’s funeral. They wanted to clean out and sell the house. Because I was Mady’s ride to the airport later that day, I stood beside them in the attic, contemplating the tired trunk.

What should we do with this? Jay asked. Neither he nor Mady had any use for it.

I hate to put it in the dumpster, Mady said.

Where did it come from? I asked. I walked closer and put my hand on the lid. The trunk was roughly two feet high and almost three feet long. Once, black leather had covered the whole thing. But much of the leather had worn away, so the wood underneath was visible. What remained of the leather was cracked. I touched the rivets on the cover. A hundred of them must have been hammered into the lid alone. They made a design of four squares. More rivets ran down the side.

Grandpa Morris made it, Jay said. At least, that’s what Mom told me.

I cocked my head. Our grandfather made this? One of the few things my dad had told me about his father was that he was a trunk maker. He had died when my dad was only two.

Yup. That’s what Mom said.

Can I open it?

Sure.

Two brass latches held the lid down. I undid them. The brass hinges creaked as I pulled up, but the trunk opened easily. The inside held a tray lined with what appeared to be pink-flowered wallpaper against a vanilla background. The tray had compartments which could hold small items. When I lifted the tray out, I saw the interior of the trunk had the same faded pink-flowered wallpaper. The trunk was empty. Devoid of its maker or owner’s history. Just a musty smell wafted up.

Since I had very little to remind me of my paternal grandparents—just a few of my grandmother’s kitchen utensils—I decided I would take the trunk home with me. The inside was empty. I wanted stories to fill it—the stories of my grandparents.

Part One

Part I

Tzfat

1903–1907

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

Fourteen-year-old Esther lay next to Moshe, unable to go back to sleep.

She could see her wedding dress draped over the back of a chair. Yesterday, when she’d slipped into it for the wedding ceremony, she’d felt like a grown-up. The high neckline, trimmed with lace over its puffy bodice, accented her bosom. She’d been unable to refrain from fingering the fine embroidery on the wrist. When her mother cinched up the back, making her waist look smaller, Esther caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she felt like a queen. The dress was more beautiful than anything she’d ever owned.

Afterwards, Moshe had taken his time unfastening the ties in the back. Now the dress lay abandoned. She would wear an ordinary dress today and begin the ordinary life of a wife in Tzfat.

She rolled onto her back in the comfort of her mother’s feather-stuffed mattress. Her parents and brother had gone to her grandmother’s house, so the newlyweds could have a few days of privacy. As dawn crept in through cracks in the shutter, the rays brightened the limestone walls, and she continued playing back scenes from the wedding. She’d circled Moshe seven times, symbolically creating a magical wall to protect their marriage from evil spirits. The act also symbolized the completeness of their union.

She remembered the dancing and the joy of the music after the ceremony. She was not used to being the center of attention, so when her chair was hoisted in the air by the women, as Moshe’s was by the men, she could not suppress a smile. When he beamed at her and his hazel eyes twinkled, she felt she was the luckiest girl in Tzfat. He was handsome with his chiseled jawline and brawny chest, strong like the local limestone rocks. Moshe held out a handkerchief for her to grab, and they stayed connected even as the men and women pivoted them in a circle.

When everyone had feasted, and the guests left, Esther didn’t know what to expect. Once they were alone, he led her into the bedroom that had been set aside for them. He came up to her, held her face, and gently kissed her. She felt warmth, excitement, and fear surge through her body. She asked him to go out of the bedroom, so she could finish getting ready for him. She draped her wedding dress over a chair, kept her chemise on, and climbed into the bed.

Moshe, she said, you can come in now.

She watched him walk in and peeked over the sheet to see his muscled chest when he took off his shirt. He took his time with her: how tenderly he had removed the chemise and dropped it to the floor, how gingerly he touched her. As he gently kissed the nipple of one breast, she felt his urgency. She felt loved even as she feared what would happen next. He wanted her so much. She gasped in pain when he entered her—but it was brief, and afterwards, she felt precious when he said in his deep, mellow voice, Thank you, Esther, thank you. It felt natural to circle his strong back with her arms.

She blushed at the memory. Moshe was still sleeping, so she pulled her chemise on over her head, looping the straps over her shoulders. She quickly pulled up her drawers under the chemise. She put on her corset and then slipped into a long-sleeved blouse, buttoning it up. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she opened a drawer, took out her brown cotton skirt, and fastened the button in the back.

As she left the bedroom, she realized she’d have to get the sheet washed. When her mother came over later to cut her hair, maybe she’d ask her to help with the sheet. Now that she was married, custom required she cover her hair, and that would be easier if it was short. She put a scarf on her head, making sure to hide all her hair, and tied a knot in the back. Just before walking out the door, she grabbed a letter that had been sitting on the table and put it in her pocket. Trying not to make any noise, she carefully lifted a wooden bucket that hung from a nail by the kitchen door.

Outside, still basking in the delight of the previous day, she walked swiftly toward the well, swinging the empty bucket. Dawn was awash in pinks and corals. The hens had started clucking and a few roosters crowed to each other. As she pumped water, the creaking of the rusty handle joined the morning choir.

She’d met Moshe four months ago while she was shopping at the store owned by her cousin Leah, who was a little older. While Esther paid for the sugar, tea, and salt, Moshe stood next to her. When Leah reached for the other items Esther wanted, she felt him scrutinizing her. He drummed his fingers on the counter, drawing Leah’s attention back to him.

Leah, please introduce us, he said, his hazel eyes twinkling. Esther guessed he was about five years older than she was. He smiled, and she blushed, unused to such attention.

Esther, Leah said, this is my cousin, Moshe. He is on my father’s side of the family, and he has been away in Galicia for a while.

Shalom, she said, trying to hide how flattered she felt at his attention. But her curiosity pushed aside her inhibition. What were you doing in Galicia?

Buying bolts of fabric for my uncle. I work in his tailor shop.

Look, Esther, we have some, Leah said, pointing to the shelves behind her. See the new patterns? Next time you make a new dress, remember we have them.

Before Esther could respond, Moshe asked, May I walk you home?

Moshe, Leah interjected, it would not be proper for Esther unless she had a chaperone. The yentas would be talking about her for the next two weeks!

Esther added teasingly, And I hate being gossiped about. She put her purchases in her bag, smiled and said, Nice meeting you, Moshe. Turning to Leah, she added, I will tell Mama and Michoel about the invitation to Shabbos dinner."

On Friday night of that week, when they arrived at Leah’s for Shabbos, Moshe with his brother Yaakov turned up as well. Esther helped Leah and her mother serve the meal and listened while Moshe and Michoel talked about the heavy taxes the Turkish authorities had just levied. Michoel had complained that the farm yielded enough for the family and a little extra to sell, but the tax collectors came by with wagons to gather provisions for the army. She noticed that Moshe was a good listener, and after Michoel vented, Moshe explained that because his father had died and his mother depended on him for financial support, he had not yet been drafted. The family worried about what was to come, however, because the tension between Turkey and Russia was increasing.

Soon after that Shabbos dinner, the matchmaker visited her mother and stepfather to see if Moshe might be a suitable match for her. After several visits, the two became engaged.

Breaking her reverie, she picked up the bucket of water. Esther had spent her first fourteen years trying to please her mother, Miriam. All Dovid, her brother, had to do was study well and bring home good reports from the rebbe. Esther, on the other hand, received critique on her ability to cook, milk the goats, make cheese, wash clothes—everything came under her mother’s critical eyes. Would that change now that she was married? Or would her desire to please simply shift to trying to please Moshe?

With one hand, she carried the water. Her other hand rested in her pocket on a letter that had arrived yesterday. It was from Moshe’s brother, Yaakov, whom she had met at Leah’s Shabbos dinner shortly before he sailed for New York. Moshe had left it out for her to read.

She needed to rest because the full pail of water was heavy, so she sat down on a nearby rock, pulled out the letter and started to read.

Dear Moshe,

Big, smelly, exciting! This is my New York! First, I have to get used to how big

and how many people are here. When I say big, I mean big up, big wide, and big down. First, buildings here are so tall! Four floors up is average in New York. Mostly buildings go very high. Right now, they are putting up a building in the shape of a triangle. It has fifteen floors, Moshe. If I were not here, I don’t know if I could even imagine this. Villagers in Tzfat would not believe me. But take my word; it is true!

Esther lifted her eyes from the page and saw the dusty streets, the square limestone houses, and scattered palm trees. What Yaakov described took her breath away. She couldn’t imagine it. Yaakov was right; it was hard to visualize a fifteen-story tall, triangle-shaped building. She shook her head and resumed reading.

New York is also wide. On my days off, I try to walk in each direction, so I can really see this city. But it keeps going on and on. We have trains built on platforms so you can ride above the ground, but now the city goes deep too. We are building a train that travels UNDER the ground, so people can get from one place to another quickly.

They just finished a new bridge going across the river, and believe me, people are proud. It’s a big deal, Moshe. At night, we can see lights of the Brooklyn Bridge. The bridge is lit up with electricity! It is unbelievable.

Esther wondered if Yaakov was telling the truth. Tzfat had no electricity. She could scarcely picture a huge bridge, spanning a river, that could be lit up at night. Maybe he was just trying to lure Moshe to come there. She furrowed her brow and continued reading.

With all this building, there is so much work, Moshe! You must come! I will warn you of one thing, though. The city has many horses. These horses do their business wherever they want. Workers shovel every morning to get the dreck out of the way, but the smell is powerful. Be prepared. There is so much opportunity, Moshe. I have found a job in a factory. I will write more about it later. There is a little bit of friction between men who are in the union and those who are not, but it is not bad.

And there it was. He wanted them to leave Tzfat. She took a deep breath and read on.

The city takes a little getting used to. Women, for example, wear fashionable hats every day and walk unaccompanied. We have one street devoted to the theatre. I haven’t actually gone into one because I am saving my money to help you when you come. You must come, Moshe. Isadore has already booked passage. I am lonely, and I want to share all of this with you.

Your loving brother, Yaakov

It bothered Esther that Yaakov did not mention her at all, and the letter only talked about Moshe coming. As she thought about what Yaakov’s letter might mean, she looked toward the horizon. Tzfat was one of the highest points in the region. She could see across the valley to Mt. Meron. A beam of brilliant sunlight shot across the valley to light up the resplendent limestone buildings of Tzfat. The contrast between Yaakov’s description of New York City and the town in which she grew up was stark.

When Moshe told her about the letter, he had bubbled with excitement, Esther, this is so wonderful! Yaakov is settled; he has an apartment, and they need workers! She wanted to please Moshe, to like what he liked, but at fourteen, the idea of leaving Tzfat chilled her.

Could she persuade Moshe that going to America was a bad idea?

Her training had been to please her mother, but she was a married woman now, and needed to test out her status as a new bride. She trudged back to the house, walked through the arched doorway, put the bucket of water down, and lit a fire in the stove. She ladled some water into a pot and added coffee to boil. Soon, Moshe came out of the bedroom. That smells wonderful, he said, putting one arm around her. She turned toward him, and he pulled her close.

Then he sat down and buttered the bread she had put on the table. Giving them each a glass of coffee, she took out the letter, put it on the table, and smoothed it out. She did not know how to broach the subject, so she just blurted it out. I don’t understand. Tell me why you want to go to America. She sucked in a big breath and held it, waiting for his answer.

Moshe finished a gulp of coffee and tilted his head quizzically, surprised by the question.

Esther, I want us to have a life. Look around. He gestured toward the door. Our prospects here are as dry as the soil.

Esther sat up a little straighter and leaned toward him. I am looking, she said earnestly. I see olive and fig trees. I have a garden that grows the vegetables we need. This is the fertile ground where we wanted to start our family. Its air is rich with the spirit of all the rabbis who lived, prayed, and died here.

That rich air also holds malaria and the water carries cholera. I had malaria. It could happen again and not only to me. To our children. And also, remember Michoel’s helplessness when the Turks came by and took however much of his crops that they wanted.

Children? Esther was just on the other side of childhood herself, so she wasn’t sure what to make of that. On one hand, the prospect of moving to a new country was exciting. But the thought of leaving everything familiar sent her mind racing about all she would lose. She barely even knew the man she’d married, and now she was supposed to leave everything and everyone behind because he wanted to explore America?

We have family here: cousins, uncles and aunties for support. Who would we have in America?

My brothers. He intended his response to be reassuring, but as soon as he said ‘brothers,’ her whole body tensed. She bit her bottom lip and thought about Yaakov’s letter.

Yaakov wants you to come, but he doesn’t say anything about me.

He knows that we don’t have the money to bring us both over at the same time. She couldn’t argue with that.

Did you notice in his letter that he doesn’t say anything about the Jewish life or what shul he goes to? Tradition doesn’t seem to matter to him.

Probably because all of that is familiar, and he wants to impress me with what is new and different. What Moshe said was plausible, but the knot in her stomach just grew tighter.

It sounds like you really want to go, she said, almost in a whisper.

"If I stay here, Esther, chances are high that I will be inducted into Abdülhamid’s army. The empire is weak, and he needs more and more men to keep it together. Trust me, the chance of our having a shalom bayis will be greater in America than in the Ottoman Empire." When Moshe uttered the words shalom bayis, Esther felt backed into a corner. Shalom bayis, a peaceful home . . . she remembered the prayer her mother would say. Hashem, may it be Your will that Your divine presence shall dwell with me and my husband, and unite over us. Place in my heart a pure and holy spirit, and distance me from all evil thoughts.

Esther knew she needed to stop worrying about Yaakov. She knew the threats from the Turks were real. She had to put Moshe and their future family first. If Moshe were conscripted, they would have no control over their lives at all. He was right. Esther couldn’t think of another argument. She had just begun married life, and already events she could not control were driving her future.

Chapter 2

Four Months Later: Separating

Moshe’s cousin, Lev, was visiting family in Galicia, and he and his wife had offered their house to the newlyweds while they were gone. Esther and Moshe sat at the kitchen table. Esther’s elbows rested on the top, her folded hands covered the lower half of her face, so Moshe could not see her frown. But Moshe was so filled with his own excitement, he was not paying much attention to her anyway.

His brother Yaakov had sent one prepaid steerage ticket to New York. Moshe held it out between his thumb and forefinger for Esther to see. She looked down at it. The words were French, so she couldn’t read them. But she knew what this ticket meant to her life, and she quickly shifted her eyes away because she did not want Moshe to see the cauldron of fear, hurt, and jealousy that bubbled inside her.

She took a deep breath. No ticket for her. She felt excluded—the opposite of shalom bayis. How could they create a loving Jewish home when he would be five thousand miles away? And for how long would they be separated? She knew there was only enough money for one ticket, but still, it stung. Moshe held the ticket tightly in his fist and smiled at Esther. His face radiated in anticipation of an adventure to come. But to her, his leaving loomed like a precipice.

I will set sail from Le Havre, France, he said, "on the ship, La Lorraine, four weeks from now. Baruch Hashem!" She could tell he was oblivious to her cascade of emotions.

For the past four months since their marriage, Esther had built her life around Moshe. She got up in the morning and fetched water—for him. She made coffee—for him. She found out the foods he loved and cooked them. He met every gesture with warmth and appreciation. He was a channel of light for her, and he treated her as precious—something Michoel, her stepfather, never showed her mother.

But the ticket Moshe held in his hand would sever all of that. She didn’t know for how long they would be separated or how New York and his brother Yaakov would change him. Esther swallowed. She wanted to chime in agreement that moving to America would enhance the well-being of their future family, but she didn’t believe it. Still, to create a shalom bayis, she was trying to be a good helpmate. Moshe was now the most important person in her life, and if this was what he wanted, she would find out how to prepare. He would leave in only four weeks.

In the next few days, she spoke to friends who had sent off a family member.

What should we pack? she asked their neighbor, Tova.

My brother wrote that in steerage there was only room for one valise, Tova said authoritatively. It’s best to bring a few clothes and tools he could use on a job.

What tools could she pack? From Yaakov’s last letter, it sounded like factory work was likely. Yet Moshe was an excellent tailor. She pictured the intricately patterned coat he had sewn for the rabbi to wear on Shabbos and broke into a proud smile. Her mind was a tumult, bouncing from one thought to another. She tried to focus on something positive about his leaving. She winced, thinking how conscription into the army was a real threat. If he left Tzfat, he could not come back; he would immediately be drafted.

The time they had left together whipped by. This trip meant a change unlike any other. How would he do? She wished she could be with him for support. Packing was support she could provide. She tucked some scissors, a measuring tape, needles, chalk, and thread into the bottom of the valise—in case Moshe got a tailor’s job. She would add two changes of clothes, his tallis and phylacteries later. Though the ticket was supposed to include food, she worried it would not be kosher, so she planned to add some cans of sardines and hard-boiled eggs just before he left.

In the interim between receiving the ticket and his imminent departure, Esther vacillated between clinging to every moment she had with Moshe and acting as if she were indifferent to his leaving. She couldn’t help that when Moshe returned from the shop, he didn’t know if he would find Esther with the shining brown eyes or silent, brooding Esther. She was fourteen, so mood swings were to be expected. But she could go from gladness to gloom to grudge in the space of a few minutes.

A few days ago, she took some food over to Shoshana’s because her boy was ill. Shoshana confided, Do you know that Hersh has not written to Dara in eight months? She thinks he’s abandoned her. She told me she’s worried that he met someone when he went out drinking after work.

Hersh is not a drinker, Esther said.

He wasn’t when he lived in Tzfat. He was pious; he worked hard; he played with little Yussela. But what’s to tie him down there? Esther couldn’t hide the look on her face, and Shoshana quickly changed the subject.

Later, as Esther walked home, she decided she would keep her face as cheerful as possible. She did not want Moshe to remember her as resentful or cold.

Now, on the last day before his departure, she put all her feelings into cooking the golden soup that Moshe loved. Starting with oil, she sautéed onions, garlic, and celery. The earthy bouquet wafted around her, and she lingered over the pot, stirring. She longed to linger with Moshe, too—if only she had a few more weeks. She wanted everything to stay as it was. She added chopped carrots, cabbage, celery root, parsnip, and potatoes, stirring as she thought how the next phase of their lives would add many ingredients as well, with much less predictable outcomes. A plume of steam erupted when she poured in the soaked beans, soup stock, and water. Finally came the spices: a little paprika, salt, pepper, and turmeric. The latter gave the soup its golden hue and a pungent aroma that drifted out the door.

If only their lives going forward retained the glow of the last few months.

When Moshe walked in the door, he said, I smelled something so delicious I ran from the Levy’s house all the way to ours. Esther smiled, stirring the soup as he put his arms around her. My balabusta, he said.

Once they sat down for dinner, Esther ate