Page 52 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Moshe Itzel and his brood

Sabbath day and were saved by these men after a lot of hard work.
Of all my father’s brothers and sisters, Berl was the only one that our
family liked. He resembled my father so much they almost looked
like twins. When we kids saw one of them come walking toward
home from town we used to run to meet our father and were often
disappointed by meeting Berl instead.
My uncle Yudel was a morose and miserly person who never
made up with the rest because he made money selling kerosene in
barrels. His wife was from Warsaw. She painted her face, dressed in
red and green clothes, and penciled her eyebrows, just like
Halloween. Her dresses were just like the Floradora girls, dragging on
the ground, and she wore a veil on her face. She seldom talked to
anyone. All the other Rothstein women dressed simply, so she looked
like a caricature. My mother could not stand her, because my
grandfather was pleased with her—she flattered him.
In a quarrel with her, my mother in anger told her that she looked
like a prostitute. My grandfather took the side of Yudel’s wife and
bawled out my mother, so my mother told him he was an old fool.
That caused an explosion. Our family became isolated from the rest
of the families, and made everlasting enemies. My father had to stand
with his wife and children. When Rachel, the youngest sister of my
father, was married, we did not go to the wedding—even though we
lived next door in the same building. The whole Jewish
neighborhood tried to make peace, but my mother would not give in.
Yudel’s wife brought suit against her for slander, and my mother was
fined ten days in jail. She could have avoided it by asking Yudel’s wife
to forgive her, but she would not be persuaded. Chaia and Hannah
were left to mother us boys while she was in jail. It was an awful
sacrifice, but my mother had an iron will and felt like being a martyr.
Although the elders did not talk with each other because of this,
the youth played together out in the yard and fields. I was about ten
years old at that time. Rachel, the last of Moshe Itzel’s daughters got
married, as I mentioned. Before that, she had been a good-looking
girl with rosy cheeks, a broad smile, and dimples. She was choosy
about a husband, and she was about twenty-four when the
matchmaker found a young man in some other town. One of
Rachel’s parents went there to see him, and then he came with his
48