Immigration With A Side OF Love
The immigration story I am about to share with you is about Morris Moldow, my great great grandfather on my mother’s side. He emigrated from Russia to the United States in 1890 because of bloody pogroms against Jews in his hometown. For this reason many Russian Jew’s immigrated and entered the United States by storm, helping the immigration total in the U.S. jump to 3,687,546 people. Here is his story.
Life was ugly for a Russian Jew in the 1800s. The Orthodox Christians in Russia were ruthless in their treatment of the Jews; they killed us, took our property and our land, and made life unbearable for us. That’s why so many Eastern European Jews immigrated to the United States, including myself.
I was twenty when I bought a ticket for the steerage compartment of a large steamship bound for America. We were only allowed a small bag so I packed just the essentials; my copy of the Torah, a couple family photos, money, my passport and other legal documents, and just the clothing on my back. I said goodbye to my mother and father and headed off to start a better life in New York City.
The morning was cold and foggy when I boarded the great ship and I had to wait in several lines before actually boarding. Upon reaching the front were officers giving us health inspections and making sure we had passage onto the ship. I was one of the last men to board the ship, and when I did I quickly ran to the deck of the boat to wave goodbye to my family, who was still waiting at the docks.
As I walked through the long hallway to where my designated bunk was, I noticed the different families and groups of people; even before we got far from the mainland people had already separated themselves into ethnic groups. Because so many men and women had traveled from other countries to board this magnificent ship, they had already begun to socialize with people from their own countries.
When I got to my bunk I met a young man a couple years older than myself. He introduced himself as Abram. As we talked I learned that we were both escaping Russia for the same reason, the religious persecution of the Jews. We became very good friends as we fantasized about our futures in the United States. He was a pretty good artist and I insisted that he could make a job out of his talent. It wasn’t until halfway through the voyage that Abram got sick from the thousands of rats that carried diseases through the lower parts of the ship.
After a long week and a half we finally made it to Ellis Island, but Abram knew that he would never be let in as his condition had worsened. We said our goodbyes and I made my way to my new life. I waited in lines for hours while many people wearing sharp uniforms yelled at us in a language I did not understand. But after waiting in the long lines, going through the fierce medical examination and the complex legal interviews, I was let in to start a new life in the United States of America.
I followed the other Russian Jewish immigrants before me and settled in the Lower East Side of New York City. The streets were lined with pushcarts and all the stores were Jewish-owned and run. It reminded me so much of home. I was very homesick in the beginning, especially since just a few weeks after I arrived, the biggest Russian holiday was happening, The New Year! Just like at home the streets were lined with people all parading and celebrating the coming of a new year and new beginnings.
I started my own laundry company out of my small residence. I was one of the only ones for a mile or two, so I had great business. My most regular customer were my semi-wealthy neighbors from across the cobblestone street. Everyday the man of the house, William Brenen, would come by in his suit with a small bag of clothing. We would talk for a couple minutes before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a timepiece and said that he had to get to the University, where he taught. Then the next day I would drop his cleaned laundry off at his residence. One day something different happened. Instead of Mr. Brenen, a rather young and pretty girl knocked upon my door.
“Hello, Sir” she said when I answered the door, “ I have Mr. Brenen’s laundry.”
“Thank you, Miss” I replied while I reached for the bag of clothing she held out. “You must be his beloved daughter, that he talks so much about”
“Yes Mr. Moldow,” she said in a proper voice, “He isn’t feeling well today, and he asked me to bring the bag of laundry over.”
“Well, thank you and I hope to see you again. Tell your father I give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery,” I said before closing the door.
I went back to business as usual, and opened the bag to dump out the wash, as I did a small bracelet fell out; it was a gold chain with a heart at the end, and it looked very expensive. It was the perfect excuse to see her again, I needed to return the bracelet.
I half walked, half ran down the long staircases before reaching the street that separated her father’s residence from mine. I walked across it, acting very calm, and knocked at on the door. It took a few seconds, which for me seemed to tick on forever, before the beautiful girl came to answer the door.
“Hello again Mr. Moldow,” she said, in a polite, small voice.
“You seem to have accidentally placed this in the laundry bag, Miss Brenen” I replied while holding up the golden bracelet, “I was just returning it.”
“Why thank you, kind sir” she said.
“You're welcome.” And that’s when her mother came to the door. “Hello Mrs. Brenen, I do hope your husband is feeling better.”
“Yes, he should be back on his feet by tomorrow,” she said. “I see you have met my daughter, Pauline.”
“Yes Ma’am,” I said barely able to contain my smile. “Well, I better be off, I will have the laundry done by tomorrow.” As I turned to walk away, I felt a longing in my heart and anticipation to see the beautiful Pauline Brenen once again.
I kept my promise, but I also kept a piece of clothing or two, so I could return it to her the next day. Each time Pauline and I exchanged a few more words, glances and smiles. After a couple weeks of this, her father asked me into his office.
“Pauline has just turned the correct marrying age, and it has come to the attention of my wife and myself that the two of you seem to get along quite well,” he said with a grin. “I feel that you would make a good husband for her.”
I could not contain my smile. “If you accept her hand in marriage,” he continued. “I would be proud to call you my son-in-law.”
And so it was. Pauline and I would marry in the spring and the two of us would live our lives together.
Morris and Pauline were married for 57 years, and they had four children and two grandchildren (one of them was my grandfather Ken). If not for Morris and his immigration to the United States, my family would probably not be here today; either because of the harsh religious persecutions in Russia or because of the love tale that started my American Family. My family is proud to be American, and we never forget that our country was built off immigrants just like my great great grandfather, Morris Moldow.
Life was ugly for a Russian Jew in the 1800s. The Orthodox Christians in Russia were ruthless in their treatment of the Jews; they killed us, took our property and our land, and made life unbearable for us. That’s why so many Eastern European Jews immigrated to the United States, including myself.
I was twenty when I bought a ticket for the steerage compartment of a large steamship bound for America. We were only allowed a small bag so I packed just the essentials; my copy of the Torah, a couple family photos, money, my passport and other legal documents, and just the clothing on my back. I said goodbye to my mother and father and headed off to start a better life in New York City.
The morning was cold and foggy when I boarded the great ship and I had to wait in several lines before actually boarding. Upon reaching the front were officers giving us health inspections and making sure we had passage onto the ship. I was one of the last men to board the ship, and when I did I quickly ran to the deck of the boat to wave goodbye to my family, who was still waiting at the docks.
As I walked through the long hallway to where my designated bunk was, I noticed the different families and groups of people; even before we got far from the mainland people had already separated themselves into ethnic groups. Because so many men and women had traveled from other countries to board this magnificent ship, they had already begun to socialize with people from their own countries.
When I got to my bunk I met a young man a couple years older than myself. He introduced himself as Abram. As we talked I learned that we were both escaping Russia for the same reason, the religious persecution of the Jews. We became very good friends as we fantasized about our futures in the United States. He was a pretty good artist and I insisted that he could make a job out of his talent. It wasn’t until halfway through the voyage that Abram got sick from the thousands of rats that carried diseases through the lower parts of the ship.
After a long week and a half we finally made it to Ellis Island, but Abram knew that he would never be let in as his condition had worsened. We said our goodbyes and I made my way to my new life. I waited in lines for hours while many people wearing sharp uniforms yelled at us in a language I did not understand. But after waiting in the long lines, going through the fierce medical examination and the complex legal interviews, I was let in to start a new life in the United States of America.
I followed the other Russian Jewish immigrants before me and settled in the Lower East Side of New York City. The streets were lined with pushcarts and all the stores were Jewish-owned and run. It reminded me so much of home. I was very homesick in the beginning, especially since just a few weeks after I arrived, the biggest Russian holiday was happening, The New Year! Just like at home the streets were lined with people all parading and celebrating the coming of a new year and new beginnings.
I started my own laundry company out of my small residence. I was one of the only ones for a mile or two, so I had great business. My most regular customer were my semi-wealthy neighbors from across the cobblestone street. Everyday the man of the house, William Brenen, would come by in his suit with a small bag of clothing. We would talk for a couple minutes before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a timepiece and said that he had to get to the University, where he taught. Then the next day I would drop his cleaned laundry off at his residence. One day something different happened. Instead of Mr. Brenen, a rather young and pretty girl knocked upon my door.
“Hello, Sir” she said when I answered the door, “ I have Mr. Brenen’s laundry.”
“Thank you, Miss” I replied while I reached for the bag of clothing she held out. “You must be his beloved daughter, that he talks so much about”
“Yes Mr. Moldow,” she said in a proper voice, “He isn’t feeling well today, and he asked me to bring the bag of laundry over.”
“Well, thank you and I hope to see you again. Tell your father I give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery,” I said before closing the door.
I went back to business as usual, and opened the bag to dump out the wash, as I did a small bracelet fell out; it was a gold chain with a heart at the end, and it looked very expensive. It was the perfect excuse to see her again, I needed to return the bracelet.
I half walked, half ran down the long staircases before reaching the street that separated her father’s residence from mine. I walked across it, acting very calm, and knocked at on the door. It took a few seconds, which for me seemed to tick on forever, before the beautiful girl came to answer the door.
“Hello again Mr. Moldow,” she said, in a polite, small voice.
“You seem to have accidentally placed this in the laundry bag, Miss Brenen” I replied while holding up the golden bracelet, “I was just returning it.”
“Why thank you, kind sir” she said.
“You're welcome.” And that’s when her mother came to the door. “Hello Mrs. Brenen, I do hope your husband is feeling better.”
“Yes, he should be back on his feet by tomorrow,” she said. “I see you have met my daughter, Pauline.”
“Yes Ma’am,” I said barely able to contain my smile. “Well, I better be off, I will have the laundry done by tomorrow.” As I turned to walk away, I felt a longing in my heart and anticipation to see the beautiful Pauline Brenen once again.
I kept my promise, but I also kept a piece of clothing or two, so I could return it to her the next day. Each time Pauline and I exchanged a few more words, glances and smiles. After a couple weeks of this, her father asked me into his office.
“Pauline has just turned the correct marrying age, and it has come to the attention of my wife and myself that the two of you seem to get along quite well,” he said with a grin. “I feel that you would make a good husband for her.”
I could not contain my smile. “If you accept her hand in marriage,” he continued. “I would be proud to call you my son-in-law.”
And so it was. Pauline and I would marry in the spring and the two of us would live our lives together.
Morris and Pauline were married for 57 years, and they had four children and two grandchildren (one of them was my grandfather Ken). If not for Morris and his immigration to the United States, my family would probably not be here today; either because of the harsh religious persecutions in Russia or because of the love tale that started my American Family. My family is proud to be American, and we never forget that our country was built off immigrants just like my great great grandfather, Morris Moldow.