Generation Bubelah: Midwest Judaism in the 1920s

For the next blog entries I'm going to be sharing with you the oral history I did with my grandmother. Many people forget, or simply don't know, that Columbus, OH has their fair share of Jewish grandmothers. The following story will introduce you to Judaism in the Midwest and give you a sense of what it was like for a Jewish female growing up with Russian parents in the 1920s. My grandmother's story is juxtaposed with my story, to show the difference in generations and to show how Judaism has changed within my family over the years. The blog will alternate between my grandmother and my own story. 

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I was born on May 20th, 1919 in a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. I turned out to be the second eldest child, but the only daughter, of Bessie and Benjamin Greenberg. My parents were immigrants from Russia who came to the US separately in 1917. When Mama came over, she brought her three sisters, Rose, Molly, and Alta. Mama also had a brother who had decided to stay in Russia because he was in the army.  

During this time, a lot of Jews in Russia were enlisted in the army and it was safer for them to stay than for others. He didn't know what would happen to him if he left, and he was scared of what could happen to him in 'The New World.' Mama never saw her brother again. They sort of kept in touch, but Mama wasn't very good at writing. All she could do was send him money.
 
At the time it was extremely difficult to get out of Russia. Papa was still in the gymnasium (school) when he started to make plans for his trip to America. He had enlisted in the Russian army so his father wouldn't get fined or punished. After he made sure his father was safe, he escaped from Russia. Papa went through the water holding a reed so if he heard anyone or saw searchlights skimming the water he could hide underneath it and still be able to breathe. They came over like steerage.

Papa had no family in the States but he had friends who signed for him. If there was no one there to sign for you, you were out of luck. Papa couldn't read English. He thought his ticket was to New York City. When he got out in Baltimore, he handed his ticket to the men from the Jewish agency. They announced that he was on his way to Columbus, Ohio. 
 
My parents were from different parts of Russia. Mama was from Beisev, and Papa from Tolchin. By the time they came to America, they were pretty much orphans. I had no grandparents. All four had died before my parents left for America. My father's mother died when he was three and Mama told me that Miriam, her mother, was cooking in the fireplace when a lightening bolt struck her. They laid her on a hill foot first so that the electricity could run out of her and then they put a mirror up against her mouth to see if she was breathing. My parents didn't really talk about their parents much. I remember Papa telling me that his dad was a commodities broker. He would buy farm products ahead of time, and then sell them.
 
My parents met in Columbus, Ohio at an ice cream parlor and not long after their first meeting they married: Mr. and Mrs. Ben Greenberg. Papa was hard working, and he had an amazing mind. He had friends who helped him settle into the rhythm of Columbus by giving him a bunch of mops and brooms to sell. The brooms would rest on my father's shoulders while he went store-to-store and shop-to-shop. Once the weight of the brooms was gone, he would get more brooms and mops and go door-to-door. The cycle continued until he saved enough money to open a pawnshop.

When Papa came to this country he spoke very little English, but he learned very fast so he could keep the business and fit into everyday life. Mama came to this country not knowing any English. She luckily had children who could help her learn. During the day we would sit with her and take turns being the teacher, and in the evening, she went to night school and learned enough to be able to read and recite the Pledge of the Allegiance.

After months of studying and reading with us, Mama became an American citizen. Although she had no formal education whatsoever, she was smart. She had a lot of self-confidence, and though she could not speak English very well, if given the chance, she would have walked up to the President of the United States and told him what was on her mind.
 
Papa didn't become an American citizen till much later in his life. He was always scared that the American government would find out he had come over illegally from Russia and send him back.

Oh, did my folks love it here. They lived well and they lived comfortably. We had a home and we never lived in an apartment. We were one of the only families I knew that had always lived in a house. 

The best part of our house was my mother's cooking. The smell of challah baking in the oven, the gefilte fish; it was marvelous. Mama was an extraordinary cook. My mother made gefilte fish, chicken soup with matzah balls, stuffed cabbage balls, chicken, brisket, roast potatoes, salad, and always cole slaw. She baked everything. Food meant family. Wherever the food was, there were people. All of our relatives and friends would come over and kibitz. The older people would play bridge and rummy while the youngins would play hide and seek or have picture-drawing contests. 

Growing up, I never lived in a Jewish neighborhood, so it was inevitable that I would have friends who were non-Jews. I had many non-Jewish friends but I never dated them. A lot of the non-Jews in the neighborhood would try to start fights with my brothers and me. After school Ruby, Marti, David and I would walk home together and once we hit our street they would start shouting at us. They would repeat the phrase "dirty Jew" until I yelled back at them. My brothers never did anything. I was always the one to show them that we were proud of who we were. I screamed "I'm not dirty, I'm cleaner than you are." One day my remarks made them so furious that they started to beat up my little brother, David. They hung him from a pole and started to urinate on him. I chased them down the street and threatened to sit on them if they didn't stop harassing us. After that there were still comments flung here and there, but they saw my weight so they understood the message.

It was okay for us to have non-Jewish friends, but Mama and Papa made it crystal clear that we could never date them. My mother always said, "There is no question about it. If you don't go with a Jewish boy, you don't fall in love with one. And you can't fool me. I can spot a Jew from miles away."

And my father also made it very clear to Ruby, David, Marti and me that we were not allowed to date until we were sixteen. I followed the rule but my brother Ruby always had some girl draped over him. I never said anything to my dad because I had been tortured by Ruby enough to know that I should mind my own business.

Luckily, I was sixteen when I met Harold. There was another boy at the time, Russell, who kept stopping by, but Amy, who worked for us in the kitchen, never liked him. Every time Russell would come and call for me, Amy would lie and say I wasn't home, but when Harold came, she grabbed him and pulled him into the house.
 
I met Harold in the tenth grade on a hayride. I was there with some other boy and he was with another gal. I saw his eyes watching me from across the hay. The next day, Harold called and asked me to go out with him. He was my very first kiss.

One day, I was sick with something. I wasn't allowed to talk with anyone, and I couldn't go to school so I lay in my bed the entire day. The next thing I know Harold strolls into my room and he leans in and kisses me. After that, we kissed a lot. I kissed other boys too but it wasn't anything exciting. I was not very promiscuous, but the other girls in my grade were. I knew because people talk. They would drive out to Storage Dam and park. Sometimes the cops would come out and shine their headlights on them, but I never went.

Anyway, Harold didn't have a car so we couldn't go 'parking.' Sometimes we would go necking on my front porch. We would sit on the swing, and well... I was a good girl. In my family, we never discussed sex openly. I don't even think my mother knew what it was. She was very naïve.
 
Harold and I never went steady. We didn't believe in it. We would break up and get back together, then have a longer break up and get back together. I went out with other boys while we weren't dating. They weren't very exciting. Most of them had poor table manners or their lips were too big for me to see their eyes. 

Each time Harold and I would get back together he would say, "One day Miriam, I am gonna marry you." I would look him straight in the eye and say, "I don't think so."