12. Emigration tragedies

Recently, I happened to read an article in a Yiddish newspaper about emigration. The author said so easily, so casually that actually there is no emigration at all now; where is there for Jews to go? What is the point of all the committees that are supposedly taking care of Jewish emigrants and helping to create opportunities for immigration?

I read the article right after I had returned from a trip to Poland to visit the Jewish emigration offices. I thought about how good it would be if a large number of American Jews could be brought there, at least for a couple of hours, to sit and look into the eyes of the men, women, and adolescent girls and boys. They would read in their eyes such desperation, sorrow, and worry, such a longing for rest and a sure source of bread. They would immediately understand how massive and how urgent the emigration question is for the millions of Jews from Poland, Romania, Lithuania, Latvia, and certainly Russia as well, if only it were possible to leave.

It would be sufficient for the American Jews to sit there for a little while and look into the eyes of these many living souls being extinguished by destitution and adversity, yet fiercely longing to tear themselves from their predicament, to leap out of the chasm of poverty and reawaken their creative forces and energy. I would sit them down at the reception desk and let them look through a few of their document packages.

Every one of them would recognize that the 40,000 Jews currently emigrating each year generate a thousand times more work, more suffering, more hardship, more hustling, more tears, more hassles and headaches, than a million Jewish emigrants did before the war. Every emigrant creates a mountain of hardships, from extricating a simple document from a police clerk to pushing through the narrow gates of the destination country.

Before the World War, all the hardships related to crossing the border; the tsarist regime also forbade emigration from Russia. Once people crossed the border, they were as free as birds and could travel wherever they desired. Visas were not necessary. Now, however, the consulates of the destination countries have become sites where poor emigrants are harassed. They are genuine Inquisition institutions where they put emigrants through the wringer and subject them to hellish torment.

Let us consider a few real-life examples. Here is a fifteen-year-old girl. Her name is Rivke Blumvald and she comes from Shedlets. Her parents escaped to Russia when the Germans occupied Shedlets in 1915, leaving their several-month-old daughter with relatives. After the war ended, the relatives also departed for Russia, but since they knew nothing about the child’s parents, they left her behind in Shedlets. A family took her in out of pity for the “orphan” whose parents were still alive.

After much correspondence and searching, HIAS managed to find the child’s parents in America, where they had immigrated after the war.1 A stroke of luck! A cause for celebration! But the consul does not want to permit the “orphan” to finally see her parents and embrace her own mother after 15 years of wandering among strangers.

There arises the problem of documentation proving that this Rivke Blumvald really is the daughter of the Blumvalds in the United States. The whole story with escaping to Russia, leaving behind a child, living with strangers for 15 years, miraculously finding the parents all of a sudden—this all sounds to the consul too much like a legend for him to believe it straightaway. Rabbis must testify under oath and mountains of papers must be provided from various police departments and courts. Finally, God softens the consul’s heart and he agrees to give her a visa.

There is cause for celebration after all! All the employees of the emigration bureau are ready to dance for joy along with the girl. They know very well the suffering and anguish of this child, who has never known the feeling of having a father and mother. But a person plans and God laughs. At the last minute, there is a new ordeal—her eyes are not entirely healthy and must be treated for several months. More hardship, more tears. But the committee is keeping her hope alive, and I am certain that she will eventually enter Columbus’s Garden of Eden. Rivke Blumvald will make it to her parents in America.

In recent years, a couple of thousand Jews have immigrated to South Africa each year. Then, South Africa—with enough land for tens of millions of people—suddenly became too cramped, so they put a stop to immigration. But for the couple of weeks when people could still slip into that Garden of Eden, it is hard to convey what went on in small-town Jewish communities and emigration offices. It was like a large-scale fire broke out. Hundreds of telegrams flew from South Africa to Kovne and Warsaw, and from there to the towns, where hundreds of wives raced to join their husbands, and children their parents. One can say with certainty that the emigration offices rescued many people. They practically pulled boat tickets out of thin air. They often simply forced the consuls to give people visas. They also helped with money for boat tickets and the sums that immigrants were required to have on arrival. In short, they rescued and pushed through as many Jewish emigrants as they possibly could during those couple of weeks.

During this time, scenes played out that were reminiscent of the story of the wealthy Jewish woman during the Roman siege of Jerusalem. She sent a maidservant to buy white bread in the market, but the servant could not get white bread, so she returned to ask if she should take half-white, and then black bread and so forth, until she ended up with nothing.2

The price of boat tickets soared. Poor Jews traveled in first class because there were no tickets for third class; by the time a woman got enough money for second class, those tickets had already been snapped up, so she had to try to find the money for first class. The same thing happened with the quantity of money immigrants were required to possess on arrival. Both the emigrants and the emigration offices were in a feverish state. Nonetheless, they pushed through even more people than they had hoped.

There stand before us two Jewish refugees from Russia who crossed the border illegally. I will spare the details of what crossing the Soviet-Polish border entails. It means being more dead than alive. They are lucky; they made it to the other side. Now they are ready to continue suffering as much as necessary, as long as they can make it to their relatives in Argentina. And that is where a series of tasks must be undertaken that, without an emigration bureau, would surely result in these Jews disappearing or getting deported back to Russia. The Polish authorities must be persuaded to allow them to remain until they depart for Argentina. Visas, boat tickets, and dozens of documents—every day a new one—must be obtained. These two Jews are practically mute, since they only know Yiddish and a little Russian. Every task is a mountain of hardships, hustling, requests, pleas, and telegrams to relatives in Argentina. With every task, two Jewish lives are literally being saved from ruin.

These are all typical cases. The two souls wandering far from home in need of rescue, the girl who has lost her parents, the couple of hundred emigrants trying to make it to South Africa before the country is closed to them—these are all everyday occurrences that can be observed in any emigration office.

It is sufficient to say that the Vilna emigration office, for example, has thus far been involved with emigrants destined for 35 countries. Jews travel to every corner of the world: Honduras, Peru, Chile, Venezuela, China, Japan, Guatemala, India, not to mention all the countries of Western Europe and the well-established destination countries, like America, Argentina, Brazil, Uruguay, and others. Simply providing information about obtaining a visa for all of these countries, with the various laws and obstacles faced upon arrival, is a task with immense social value.

No less important are the money transfers. A relative who sends his family members $100–200 directly and is not overly worried about what they will do with the money uses a private bank, rather than HIAS. But imagine a relative who is earning barely enough to live on in America. When he sends his poor relatives in Europe even $30–40, he is depriving his own children. A relative like this wants to take care of his family in Europe not with alms tossed their way, but with assistance that will get results: aid that will get them back on their own feet, or aid distributed in such a way that it will be sufficient for several months.

A Jew from a tiny town in Poland asks his relative for $50 to purchase a workshop or a small store, to build a roof for his house, to migrate to Brazil, to buy a cow as a source of income, or to provide a dowry for a daughter. Any private bank would disburse the $50 and would not go and check whether the workshop has been purchased, whether the house has been built and is just missing a roof, or whether there really is a groom for the old maid and the only thing missing is money for the dowry. The bank could not care less; it handed over the money, and the recipient can do with it whatever he pleases.

It happens very often that before the groom turns up, or before a store or workshop can be bought, the money has already been consumed, and the family again goes crying and begging for help and salvation from the American relative.

HIAS takes a very different approach to these situations. HIAS is not a bank with heartless, stiff-collared employees. It is a social bank with a heart and an understanding of the needs of both the givers and the recipients. If the rabbi does not have the engagement contract, it will not disburse the dowry; if there are no boat tickets, it will not disburse the money sent explicitly for emigration to Brazil or Argentina; if no workshop has been purchased, it will not disburse the aid meant solely for that purpose, and not for food. Here lies the great service, the major social accomplishment of money transfers via HIAS: someone can achieve a particular result for their relative. From New York, a specific goal can be set for money sent to Shnipishok or Kutne, and a faithful messenger ensures that this goal is reached.

This often leads to comical situations in small Jewish towns. It happens, for example, that a groom does not want to sign the engagement contract or refuses to go to the khupe3 until he has the money in his pocket. The bride’s father, on the other hand, is afraid to turn the money over. HIAS, which has been given the money for the purpose of the young woman’s marriage, is also unwilling to disburse it before the wedding. HIAS, however, is seen as absolutely trustworthy and can be taken at its word. If HIAS tells the groom that after the wedding, he will receive the dowry, everyone heads happily to the khupe and dances with joy afterwards.

Thus, HIAS is not some disinterested bank official, but a messenger that brings couples together in marriage, and likewise (forgive the comparison) separates them in divorce. A husband has been in America for several years and has lost interest in his wife back home in a Polish town, so he does not want to bring her over. He wants to obtain a divorce so that he can remarry. She demands money and he agrees. However, he stipulates that the money should only be disbursed to her when she provides a Jewish and civil divorce. He is too skeptical to provide the money and she is too skeptical to provide the divorce. HIAS steps in and untangles this difficult knot. When HIAS tells the wife that the money is with them—not with that scoundrel who abandoned his poor wife to find his happiness with other women—and that they will disburse it after the divorce, everything is resolved.

When someone sends money to pay for an orphan’s school tuition, would a private bank make sure to pay tuition every month? And when someone sends money for a Jewish woman’s operation, with the condition that the money only be given to the surgical clinic, would a bank really ensure that she had the operation, rather than using the money for other expenses?

These are all individual tribulations of American relatives trying to help their families in Europe and ensure that their money really does bring about salvation. But here is another case to consider. A landsmanshaft sends money to a town to be distributed among the neediest.4 For instance, the Zhirardov landsmanshaft sent 306 dollars for 32 people. What bank would take on this kind of responsibility? And if they sent the money by post, how much money would disappear or get sent back because the addresses were incorrect, the names did not match, or this or that impoverished person living in a hovel somewhere could not be located? HIAS sent two people from Warsaw to distribute the money among the needy people.

Fig. 8 Poster (undated), Warsaw, Poland. ©Archives of the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. The poster asks: “Do you have relatives in America, Canada, Argentina, Cuba, Mexico, or other countries? Do you want to get in touch with them and receive money, affidavits, etc., from them? Then turn to your local committee that is in close contact with HIAS. Information free for everyone. The office is located at __________ and is open from __________ to __________.” http://polishjews.yivoarchives.org/archive/index.php?p=digitallibrary/digitalcontent&id=863

It is well known that we Jews have complicated names, and these become complicated even further by relatives in America. A man might be registered as “Motl” in his passport, but his relative writes “Mordkhe.” A woman might be registered as “Taybl,” but everybody calls her “Tanye,” so her relative writes “Tanye.” Someone might be registered as “Moyshe” but his American relative feels like writing “Moses.” Of course, the post office refuses to deliver the money. A “real” bank, a bank that does not understand these Jewish notions, sends the money back to the relative in New York. A holiday is approaching. Moyshe is looking forward to a few dollars, while Taybl is sick and waiting on money from her sister. In both cases, however, the unfortunate misnomers get in the way. There is no money to be had, so they can say goodbye to the holiday celebrations and the trip to the doctor. HIAS, on the other hand, is not a real bank. It is a Jewish institution that does understand the tricks with Jewish names; it knows how “Dvoyre” becomes “Dory” and “Etl” becomes “Cleopatra.” It has enough sense to ask the town’s rabbi or doctor, and a few days later the money is disbursed.

How many tragedies are thus avoided? How many lives are saved? How many holidays are kept from ruin? And all because HIAS is not a real bank with ice-cold clerks who care only about the money, rather than giving a single thought to living people. HIAS also ensures that the money is delivered in full to the intended recipients. HIAS is a Jewish social institution that knows that real people are waiting with bated breath for a mail carrier to deliver the news that money has arrived from America.

In the current state of danger for Jews throughout Eastern Europe, rescuing several hundred or several thousand Jewish emigrants is a greater accomplishment than helping a hundred thousand Jewish migrants before the World War. Providing a poor widow, orphan, or entire family with $10 in a timely fashion is no smaller deed than sending $1,000 before the war. If one reflects on current emigration work, its value for emigrants, and the obstacles it faces, it is impossible to speak carelessly about the emigration institutions.