Bread Givers. Anzia Yezierska

      “Here’s your chance to get a man for her without the worry for a dowry. If God is good, he might yet send you a rich boarder——”

      From the kitchen came Father’s voice chanting:

      “When the poor seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I, the Lord, will hear them. I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.”

      Mother put her hand over Muhmenkeh’s mouth to stop her talking Silent, breathless, we peeked in through the open crack in the door. The black satin skullcap tipped on the side of his head set off his red hair and his long red beard. And his ragged satin coat from Europe made him look as if he just stepped out of the Bible. His eyes were raised to God. His two white hands on either side of the book, his whole body swaying with his song:

      “And I will bring the blind by a way that they know not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them and not forsake them.”

      Mother’s face lost all earthly worries. Forgotten were beds, mattresses, boarders, and dowries. Father’s holiness filled her eyes with light.

      “Is there any music on earth like this?” Mother whispered to Muhmenkeh.

      “Who would ever dream that in America, where everything is only business and business, in such a lost corner as Hester Street lives such a fine, such a pure, silken soul as Reb Smolinsky?”

      “If he was only so fit for this world, like he is fit for Heaven, then I wouldn’t have to dry out the marrow from my head worrying for the rent.”

      His voice flowed into us deeper and deeper. We couldn’t help ourselves. We were singing with him:

      “Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains; for the Lord hath comforted his peoples.”

      Suddenly, it grew dark before our eyes. The collector lady from the landlord! We did not hear her till she banged open the door. Her hard eyes glared at Father.

      “My rent!” she cried, waving her thick diamond fingers before Father’s face. But he didn’t see her or hear her. He went on chanting:

      “Awake! Awake! Put on strength, O arm of the Lord: Awake, as in ancient days, in the generations of old. Art thou not he that hath cut Rahab and wounded the dragon?”

      “Schnorrer!” shrieked the landlady, her fat face red with rage. “My rent!”

      Father blinked his eyes and stared at the woman with a far-off look. “What is it? What do you want?”

      “Don’t you know me? Haven’t I come often enough? My rent! My rent! My rent I want!”

      “Oh-oh, your rent?” Father met her angry glare with an innocent smile of surprise. “Your rent? As soon as the girls get work, we’ll pay you out, little by little.”

      “Pay me out, little by little! The cheek of those dirty immigrants! A fool I was, giving them a chance another month.”

      “But we haven’t the money.” His voice was kind and gentle, as hers was rough and loud.

      “Why haven’t you the money for rent?” she shouted.

      “The girls have been out of work.” Father’s innocent look was not of this earth.

      “Hear him only! The dirty do-nothing! Go to work yourself! Stop singing prayers. Then you’ll have money for rent!” She took one step towards him and shut his book with such anger that it fell at her feet.

      Little red threads burned out of Father’s eyes. He rose slowly, but quicker than lightning flashed his hand.

      A scream broke through the air. Before we had breath enough to stop him, Father slapped the landlady on one cheek, then on the other, till the blood rushed from her nose.

      “You painted piece of flesh!” cried Father. “I’ll teach you respect for the Holy Torah!”

      Screaming, the landlady rushed out, her face dripping blood as she ran. Before we knew what or where, she came back with two policemen. In front of our dumb eyes we saw Father handcuffed, like a thief, and taken away to the station house.

      Bessie and Fania came home still without work. When they heard that Father was arrested it was as though their heads were knocked off.

      Into this thick sadness, Mashah came, beautiful and smiling, like a doll from a show window. She hung up her hat with its pink roses on her nail on the wall, and before she had time to give a look at her things in the box, to see that nobody had touched them, she rushed over to the mirror, and with her smile of pleasure in herself, she said:

      “A man in the place where I was looking for work asked to take me home. And when I wouldn’t let him, still he followed me. The freshness of these men! I can’t walk the street without a million eyes after me.”

      Silence and gloom were her only answer.

      Mashah stopped talking; turning from the mirror, for the first time gave a look at us.

      “What happened? It’s like a funeral in the house.”

      “The landlord’s collector lady was here—and——”

      “Well? What of it?”

      “She was hollering for the rent.”

      “Then why didn’t they pay her the rent?” asked the innocent doll face. “Don’t everybody pay rent?”

      Mother began to scream and knock her head with her fists. “A stone! An empty-headed, brainless stone I had for a child. My own daughter, living in the same house with us, asking, ‘Why did the landlady come? Why don’t they pay her the rent?’”

      Not listening to Mother’s cursing and screaming, Mashah looked about for something to eat. The stove was cold. No food was on the table.

      “Why ain’t there something to eat? I’m starved.”

      Then Mashah caught sight of two quarters on the table that Muhmenkeh had left when she came to comfort us.

      “What should I buy for supper?” Mashah asked, reaching for the money.

      Before she could get to the quarters, I leaped to the table and seized one of them.

      “Mammeh!” I begged. “Let me only go out to peddle with something. I got to bring in money if nobody is working.”

      “Woe is me!” Mother cried. “How can I stand it? An empty-head on one side and a craziness on the other side.”

      “Nobody is working and we got to eat,” I kept begging. “If I could only peddle with something I could bring in money.”

      “Let me alone. Crazy-head. No wonder your father named you ‘Blut-und-Eisen.’ When she begins to want a thing, there is no rest, no let-up till she gets it. It wills itself in you to play peddler and waste away the last few cents we got.”

      “As long as we’re not working,” said Bessie, “whatever Sara will earn will be something. Even only a few cents will buy a loaf of bread.”

      Without waiting for Mother to say yes, I ran out with the quarter in my hand. I saw Mashah go to a pushcart of frankfurters. But I, with my quarter, ran straight to Muhmenkeh.

      “I got to do something,” I yelled like a fire engine. “Nobody is working by us. Nobody! Nobody! What should I buy to sell quick to earn money?”

      Muhmenkeh thought for a minute, then said, “I got some old herring left in the bottom of this barrel. They’re a little bit squashed, but they ain’t spoiled yet, and you’ll be able to sell them cheap because I’ll give them to you for nothing.”

      “No—no! I’m no beggar!” I cried. “I want to go into