“Poor devils!” came from a richly dressed Hebrew, resplendent in his fur collar and a diamond stud. There was in his eyes a wistful, reminiscent look. Perhaps the sight of these immigrants brought back to him the day he himself had landed, barefoot and in rags, with nothing but his dreams of America.
The street was thronged with hurrying lunch seekers as we reached lower Broadway. I glanced at Moisheh’s brothers, and I could not help noticing how different was the calm and carefree expression of their faces from the furtive, frantic acquisitive look of the men in the financial district.
But the moment we reached our block the people from the stoops and windows waved their welcome. Hanneh Breineh and all the boarders, dressed up in their best, ran to meet us.
“Home!” cried the glowing Moisheh. “Mazel-tuff! Good luck!” answered Hanneh Breineh.
Instantly we were surrounded by the excited neighbours whose voices of welcome rose above the familiar cries of the hucksters and pedlars that lined the street.
“Give a help!” commanded Hanneh Breineh as she seized the bundles from Moisheh’s numbed arms and divided them among the boarders. Then she led the procession triumphantly into her kitchen.
The table, with a profusion of festive dishes, sang aloud its welcome.
“Rockefeller’s only daughter couldn’t wish herself grander eatings by her own wedding,” bragged the hostess as she waved the travellers to the feast. A brass pot filled with gefulte fish was under the festooned chandelier. A tin platter heaped high with chopped liver and onions sent forth its inviting aroma. Tzimmes—blintzes—a golden-roasted goose swimming in its own fat ravished the senses. Eyes and mouths watered at sight of such luscious plenty.
“White bread!—Ach!—white bread!” gasped the hunger-ravaged old mother. Reaching across the table, she seized the loaf in her trembling hands. “All those starving years—all those years!” she moaned, kissing its flaky whiteness as though it were a living thing.
“Sit yourself down—mutterel!” Hanneh Breineh soothed the old woman and helped her into the chair of honour. “White bread—even white bread is nothing in America. Even the charities—a black year on them!—even the charities give white bread to the beggars.”