The East Enders

‘Into the heart of East London there poured from Russia, from Poland, from Germany, from Holland, streams of Jewish exiles, refugees, settlers... all rich in their cheerfulness, their industry and their cleverness. The 

majority bore with them nothing but their phylacteries and praying shawls, and a good natured contempt for Christians and Christianity.’ 

– From ‘Children of the Ghetto’ (1893) by Israel Zangwill

WHERE will we all be when the Messiah comes? I asked my son Daniel. The Litvaks and Pollucks? The Jews from Ukraine and Prussia, from Moldavia, Romania, Galicia and Austro-Hungary? The shtetl peasants, the city socialists and the frock-coated Hassidim? “They are moving towards the inevitable setting of the sun,” he replied, “heading for Germany and the Baltic, to the brink of the continent, where they take a final leap across the sea, and that is what I intend to do, too.” And when I asked him where he intended to land after making such a leap, he said, “I may go to the United States or to South Africa to look for diamonds and gold, but I will go to London first, because my money will not take me any further, and when it is time for me to send for you, it will not be so far for you to travel. And besides, my friend Shem is already there and he says he will find work for me.” All this my son told me just before he left home to avoid conscription into the Russian army, and also to get away from the attacks on Jews that we had endured. But it was nearly three years before enough money was saved for me and my two youngest sons, Daniel’s brothers, to join him in London. By this time my wife was dead. The doctor diagnosed influenza, but she had not enjoyed her life since Daniel had written to say that he was married to the daughter of a Dutch cigar maker, a Sephardim. “They are married even without our disapproval?” she had complained on hearing the news. “What else can we expect when young men run off to the land of the pig eaters?” A mother’s disappointment was the only thing we left behind when we set out with our few possessions for London. It was a long business, finding money, papers and tickets, for carts and trains and passage on a ship, dealing with agents and middle men and all the time wondering if we had put our trust in the right people, if they would run off with our money and we would never see them again. Prayers were always on our lips and we put our trust in Jehovah. But finally the city of London was in our sight. The river was so crowded with traffic, it was a miracle that boats did not constantly drive into each other, such is the chaos in the greatest city in the world. How could anybody not get lost in its streets? Ours was a weekly steamboat. Hundreds of us disembarked on to the quay beside an ancient castle and a fairytale new bridge. Rabbis and benefactors were there to find shelter for those in need. It had been a long journey. I had seen more of the world in four weeks than I had seen in my lifetime, and at every stage of it we had not known what to expect. The Board of the Guardians of the Jewish Poor in London had advertised in our papers at home, saying that if we came to England we would face great hardship and the Board would not give any relief for six months. We were checked by Customs, who made sure we had enough roubles to live on, and by the doctors who inspected us thoroughly – some passengers had already been detained in the floating isolation hospital at Gravesend. It was a miracle that among all these people on the quay, in all this crowd of so many different hats, that I saw my boy Daniel, wearing a cap and a grey coat. He waved his arms. He was excited. Well, I was excited, too, but I did not wave my arms. I had a suitcases and a small bag to carry. He greeted his brothers and I asked, “Where is your wife, the woman we have come all this way to meet? If we had known she would not be on the quayside to greet us we would not have bothered to buy our tickets.” Daniel laughed and put his arms around his brothers. “All in good time. She is busy teaching today.” He took my cases, and we walked down dirty narrow streets full of men of all kinds. We kept close to each other and still we could not avoid bumping into people. The boys held their suitcases tightly and I kept my hands in my pockets. Daniel shooed away people asking if we were looking for somewhere to stay. As we drew nearer to the lodging there were more corkscrew ringlets, more skull caps, more black coats and high hats, and when I saw some boys out under the open sky with bare heads, I heard my wife make some comments, but of course she was not there. I kept my silence. This was Daniel’s city and I would ask for explanations in due course. His garret was on the fourth floor – “as close to heaven as we could find,” he said. “Or as close to heaven as we will ever be.” The building once belonged to a French weaving master, he explained, and he had two small rooms at the front, partitioned from the former workshop, with big windows that looked onto the street. Even though they were closed you could hear the noise from below. I listened for my wife to make some comments, but of course she was not there, though I could hear her voice clearly. The neighbours came out and we were introduced. I said I must lie down after the journey, and as it was not the Sabbath until tomorrow, surely Daniel had to go back to the work that we were keeping him from. He left me alone, taking the boys with him, and I lay on one of the mattresses set out in the second room. The sheets must have come from my daughter-in-law’s dowry. They were clean and comforting and they made me feel that she cared for her new family. Later, when it was getting dark, I woke to the smell of frying fish. The young woman was standing over the stove and my sons were sitting round the table, the boys already at work, stitching garments. “Father, this is Martha,” my son said, getting up from the table. I was suddenly overwhelmed. “A woman in the house!” She held out her hand on which a small gold band sparkled. “Peace be unto you. You have come a long way.” She spoke Yiddish. Her smile was quick and easy. She had a full, happy face, which blushed when she spoke, and a lot of hair, worn loose and all her own. I thought of the lilies of Sharon and the roses of Carmel and I could hear my wife’s comments: So beautiful for a Dutch girl... Do you cook Daniel soup how he likes it? But of course she was not there. My Yiddish was not good, and my son translated from Russian as I said, “So, you are a teacher. How much is such an educated woman paid?” My son replied that she was paid three pounds a week, more than five hundred roubles. “It is the biggest school in Europe,” he added, “perhaps the world, with more than four thousand pupils, and though it is a Jewish school, they teach English.” “English?” I said. “You speak English here?” Daniel laughed. “Yes, but Yiddish is the language in the streets. Even the English who come here to talk about working conditions learn to speak Yiddish.” Martha laid the table and lit candles while we washed our hands. Then Daniel blessed the bread and Martha served the fish. I noticed all these things, and I know my wife would have noticed all these things, and I asked the question that she had asked many times: “How can an Ashkenazi Russian live with a Dutch Sephardim?” My son replied, “London is a melting pot, and love makes everything possible.” My wife could not think of a reply. After that we talked about the city, and its markets and business, about Martha’s family, Daniel’s friend Shem and the other people I would meet at the local shool, and we talked about all the things we would do the next day. Martha made some coffee and gave me some snuff, and I didn’t hear my wife’s voice again.