From Plotzk to Boston | Page 2

Mary Antin
I had the pleasure of encountering the gifted Polish girl, and to
a member of which this little volume is appropriately dedicated.
I. ZANGWILL.

PREFATORY
In the year 1891, a mighty wave of the emigration movement swept
over all parts of Russia, carrying with it a vast number of the Jewish
population to the distant shores of the New World--from tyranny to
democracy, from darkness to light, from bondage and persecution to
freedom, justice and equality. But the great mass knew nothing of these
things; they were going to the foreign world in hopes only of earning
their bread and worshiping their God in peace. The different currents
that directed the course of that wave cannot be here enumerated.
Suffice it to say that its power was enormous. All over the land homes
were broken up, families separated, lives completely altered, for a
common end.
The emigration fever was at its height in Plotzk, my native town, in the
central western part of Russia, on the Dvina River. "America" was in
everybody's mouth. Business men talked of it over their accounts; the
market women made up their quarrels that they might discuss it from
stall to stall; people who had relatives in the famous land went around
reading their letters for the enlightenment of less fortunate folks; the
one letter-carrier informed the public how many letters arrived from
America, and who were the recipients; children played at emigrating;
old folks shook their sage heads over the evening fire, and prophesied

no good for those who braved the terrors of the sea and the foreign goal
beyond it;--all talked of it, but scarcely anybody knew one true fact
about this magic land. For book-knowledge was not for them; and a
few persons--they were a dressmaker's daughter, and a merchant with
his two sons--who had returned from America after a long visit,
happened to be endowed with extraordinary imagination, (a faculty
closely related to their knowledge of their old country-men's ignorance),
and their descriptions of life across the ocean, given daily, for some
months, to eager audiences, surpassed anything in the Arabian Nights.
One sad fact threw a shadow over the splendor of the gold-paved,
Paradise-like fairyland. The travelers all agreed that Jews lived there in
the most shocking impiety.
Driven by a necessity for bettering the family circumstances, and by
certain minor forces which cannot now be named, my father began to
think seriously of casting his lot with the great stream of emigrants.
Many family councils were held before it was agreed that the plan must
be carried out. Then came the parting; for it was impossible for the
whole family to go at once. I remember it, though I was only eight. It
struck me as rather interesting to stand on the platform before the train,
with a crowd of friends weeping in sympathy with us, and father
waving his hat for our special benefit, and saying--the last words we
heard him speak as the train moved off--
"Good-bye, Plotzk, forever!"
Then followed three long years of hope and doubt for father in America
and us in Russia. There were toil and suffering and waiting and anxiety
for all. There were--but to tell of all that happened in those years I
should have to write a separate history. The happy day came when we
received the long-coveted summons. And what stirring times followed!
The period of preparation was one of constant delight to us children.
We were four--my two sisters, one brother and myself. Our playmates
looked up to us in respectful admiration; neighbors, if they made no
direct investigations, bribed us with nice things for information as to
what was going into every box, package and basket. And the house was
dismantled--people came and carried off the furniture; closets, sheds

and other nooks were emptied of their contents; the great wood-pile
was taken away until only a few logs remained; ancient treasures such
as women are so loath to part with, and which mother had carried with
her from a dear little house whence poverty had driven us, were
brought to light from their hiding places, and sacrificed at the altar
whose flames were consuming so much that was fraught with precious
association and endeared by family tradition; the number of bundles
and boxes increased daily, and our home vanished hourly; the rooms
became quite uninhabitable at last, and we children glanced in glee, to
the anger of the echoes, when we heard that in the evening we were to
start upon our journey.
But we did not go till the next morning, and then as secretly as possible.
For, despite the glowing tales concerning America, people flocked to
the departure of emigrants much as they did to a funeral; to weep and
lament while (in the former case
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