Yossi's Goal (2 page)

“Oh, Yossi!” Mama gasped, and Yossi could see that even she was dazzled. “Put it on.”

It fit perfectly. Yossi fastened all the toggles and put the hood on and off and on again. He thrust his hands into the pockets and hugged the coat to himself.

“Imagine casting off such a coat,” Mama said incredulously.

Mrs. Belnick shrugged. “Perhaps the child outgrew it. You know how boys grow.” She smiled, and Yossi sensed that she was relieved that finally someone was happy to accept one of the donations.
Happy!
He never wanted to take the coat off, not even to let Mama sew the torn pocket.

“Now, finally, for you,” Mrs. Belnick said, nodding at Daniel, “a nice warm sweater.”
She pulled a thick gold and green woolen sweater out of the bag. “There's a hole in the elbow,” she went on, poking her finger in, “but nothing that a little darning won't fix—”

“I don't want it,” Daniel said.

“I'm sure your mama can mend it for you—”

“I won't take it.” Daniel folded his arms.

“Now, Daniel—” Sadie began.

“No!” Daniel snapped. “No, Mama,” he went on in a lower voice, “you can call it charity or
tzedakeh
or whatever you like, but I'm not taking it. You know where these things come from? From our bosses, the factory owners, and their wives and children. Let them pay us a decent wage instead, and I'll buy my own sweater. Until then, I'm not wearing their castoffs!”

Sadie looked mortified. “Please, Daniel, don't make a fuss.”

“I'm sorry, Mama, and no offense to you, Mrs. Belnick. But I won't take the sweater. I'd rather freeze!”

Suddenly Yossi felt uneasy. Now that
Daniel put it that way, he didn't like taking handouts either. Should he give back the coat?

The trouble was, he needed it. They all needed the hand-me-downs.

None of them had expected to find things so hard in Canada. All the way across Europe, as Yossi and his family and fellow villagers ran from town to town, hiding in forests and barns and cellars, fleeing the soldiers and angry mobs, they had held the image of Canada in front of them. All during the months-long sea voyage, they'd dreamed about the better lives they'd have. Canada—a beautiful place of forests and rivers. Canada—the land of opportunity, where a family could work hard and prosper. Canada—a free country, where you didn't have to be afraid because of your religion or your beliefs.

Some land of opportunity!

Free, yes. There were no soldiers dragging Jews out of their beds and beating them or worse. You could worship as
you pleased, say what you thought, even print your opinion in the newspaper.

But what good was freedom, Yossi wondered, if you were only free to be poorer than before? From the time that he and the others were disgorged from their steamship on the banks of the Saint Lawrence River, they'd found themselves huddled in a squalid neighborhood at the foot of The Main, the busy boulevard that ran north from the river's docks. There, thousands of Jewish refugees from Eastern Europe lived in broken-down tenements. Rents were so high that people were forced to live two, sometimes three, families to a household. That was why there were two families squeezed into Yossi's third-floor flat. The four Mendelsohns slept in one bedroom. The Bernsteins—mother and son—occupied another. All of them shared the tiny room that served as kitchen, dining room and parlor. Along with dozens of neighbors, they used an outdoor privy and pumped cold water from a hand pump on the street.

Papa and Daniel worked in a garment factory—sweatshops, they were called— alongside hundreds of other men, hunched over electric sewing machines for twelve hours a day. Miriam and Mama and Sadie did the same thing at home, taking turns at a rented machine and doing handwork on the side. Yossi and his friends helped their families out by lugging bundles of cut-out garment pieces to homes to be sewn and then lugging the finished garments back again. All for a couple of dollars a week for a family. Barely enough to live on, never enough to save, to move to a bigger flat, to buy warm clothes.

Which was why they had to take handouts.
Tzedakeh
, Mrs. Bernstein called it. Castoffs, Daniel said.

I'd rather freeze
. Yossi tried out the phrase in his mind. He pictured himself thrusting the coat back at Mrs. Belnick and declaring in noble tones, “No charity for me. I'd rather freeze!”

But then he hugged the coat to himself.
He'd never owned such a thing. He pictured the old tattered coat he'd brought with him from Braslav, with its too-short sleeves and thin lining and frayed cuffs. He imagined how warm and cozy he'd be in his new coat this winter, how dazzled his friends would be by the smart hood and the clever toggles.

Would it do any good if he refused the coat? Would it help anything if he froze? If he got sick, like Papa, and couldn't do his job and contribute the few pennies he made to the family?

Of course not.

Feeling only slightly uneasy, Yossi snuggled deeper into the thick warm wool of his beautiful new coat.

“Today,” Papa announced one Saturday morning soon after Mrs. Belnick's visit, “since our Rebbe is sick, why not go to a proper
schul
for Shabbas services? We'll go to Congregation Sha'ar Hashonayim.”

Yossi gaped. He'd never been there, but he knew that Congregation Sha'ar Hashonayim was one of Montreal's oldest—and grandest—synagogues.

“Are you crazy, Avram?” Mama said. “We don't belong there. It's for Uptowners.”

“So? We're all Jews, aren't we?” Papa said.

“Right,” Daniel said with a grin. “Those rich snobs can't keep us out.”

Ever since they'd arrived in Canada, the Mendelsohns and the Bernsteins had been gathering with other Braslav families on Saturday mornings in the tiny flat of their old Rebbe. The Rebbe didn't have a
schul
or a congregation of his own here in Canada, but he was still a Rebbe, and it gave the Braslav folks comfort to have him lead them in Sabbath prayers. Yossi had never imagined going anywhere else—least of all to the uptown schul. But the Rebbe had a cold, and they needed to go somewhere.

Mama argued that they'd be out of place, but Papa insisted. So off they went, Yossi proudly wearing his new winter coat, for it was early December and a light dusting of snow had fallen the night before.

As they walked north up The Main, Yossi noticed that the houses grew ever grander, changing from the broken-down tenements of the immigrant district to nicer-looking apartment buildings with painted window frames, then to modest
brick homes and finally to mansions with wrought-iron gates surrounding sculpted bushes and vast lawns. He was just about to ask Papa who lived in such fancy homes, when one of the gates opened. A family came out, a father, a mother and two children, and started walking in the same direction as Yossi's family. All were richly dressed. All were carrying Hebrew prayer books.

Jews! Jews lived in that house!

Yossi turned to Papa. “Papa—can it be?” he whispered.

Papa nodded. “Jewish factory owners and merchants,” he said in a low voice. “They came over long ago, established themselves, started businesses. They learned English, learned the English ways. That was how they were able to fit in with the wealthy people, the leaders. So they prospered.”

Daniel, who had been walking ahead with Miriam, turned around. “Steiner lives up here,” he said bitterly. “One of these palaces must be his.”

“Imagine!” Mama said, shaking her head.

When they arrived at the synagogue, Yossi shuffled with Papa and Daniel into one of the wooden pews on the main floor, while Mama and Miriam and Sadie went up to the balcony, where the women prayed. Yossi looked around—and immediately felt overwhelmed. Row after row of velvet-covered pews filled the enormous sanctuary, and the ceiling soared high overhead. Scarlet and gold tapestries depicting the Star of David decorated the
bima
, the raised platform at the front. The ark containing the Torah, or holy scrolls, even had jewels on it!

Yossi had never seen a
schul
like it. Back home in Braslav, the
schul
had been a hut with simple wooden benches, and the Torah had been kept in a plain pine cupboard. What did Yossi know from jewels and velvet?

As Yossi, Papa and Daniel seated themselves, the elegant man next to Yossi took one look at his shabby trousers and worn
boots and moved slightly away. The look on his face seemed to say, What are
you
doing here?

Mama's right
, Yossi thought with dismay.
This place isn't for the likes of us
.

But then the Rebbe and cantor began to sing the Sabbath prayers, and the melodies swept Yossi up in their familiar comfort. The prayers were the same as those they'd chanted in Braslav. And the Torah—even though this one was encased in a blanket of blue silk and crowned with a golden cap, instead of wrapped in a simple cotton quilt—was still the Torah. He and his family were Jews, after all, and Sabbath was Sabbath, whether in a hut or a palace. God didn't care if they were richly dressed or clad in rags.

The service progressed as usual, and soon Yossi was joining Papa in singing the final hymn.

“
Shabbat shalom
,” the Rebbe intoned from the
bima
, and all around Yossi men shook hands and patted each other on the shoulder.

“Good Sabbath…good
Yuntov
…”

As Yossi, Papa and Daniel made their way toward the front door to wait for the women outside, along came a short man with an imposing belly, florid cheeks and a balding head. His stylish black coat hung open, revealing a shiny black waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt. A golden watch chain dangled from a pocket of the waistcoat. “
Shabbat shalom
,” he bellowed to all he passed and was greeted in return.

Yossi knew who he was—Saul Steiner, the owner of the garment factory where Papa and Daniel worked and where Yossi picked up and dropped off the bundles. Saul Steiner, who lived in one of the mansions they'd passed that morning. Yossi had seen him at a distance, across the sweatshop floor, but never up close. He doubted whether Mr. Steiner knew who he was—or who Papa or Daniel were either, for that matter.

As Mr. Steiner approached them, Papa lowered his eyes, touched his hand to his
woolen cap and said, “
Shabbat shalom
, sir.”

Mr. Steiner gave no reply. He simply looked past them as if they weren't there and moved on, greeting someone else.

Yossi's ears burned. “Papa, he snubbed you—,” he began.

Papa grabbed his arm. “Yossi,
shaaah!
”

“But Papa—”

“Not here!”

Yossi looked at Papa. His father's cheeks were red. So why hadn't he said anything? Why had he let Mr. Steiner treat him like that?

Papa never used to humble himself like this, Yossi thought. Not even back in Russia, not even to the Cossacks had Papa bowed his head.

And now, to see Papa lower himself before a man like Mr. Steiner!

They found the women and set off down the synagogue's broad steps. Yossi preened a little, wondering if anyone would notice his finery.

No one did.

Just as they reached the end of the
front walk, a group of boys ran toward them. The leader, Yossi saw, was a little older than he, a stocky boy with curly, dark brown hair and pink cheeks. He had on a smart black winter coat with brass buttons and soft leather boots that buckled above the ankles.

Leading the others, he circled close to Yossi. “You enjoying your new coat?” he said, his eyes dancing. The other boys giggled.

Yossi nodded. “Yes, I am! It's—”

The boy grabbed one of the toggles and leaned into Yossi's face. “Good, 'cause it's my
old
coat, and I don't want it anymore. My old
shmata
! I threw it away!”

He let go of the toggle and darted away, followed by his guffawing friends.

Yossi felt his ears grow warm. He started after the boy. “Why, you—”

Papa jerked him back. “Yossi, no!”

Yossi struggled to free himself, but Papa held him fast. “But Papa—”

Papa turned Yossi to face him. “Yossi, you know who that is?”

“No, and I don't care!” He broke away. Again Papa pulled him back.

“It's Max Steiner. Steiner's boy.”

“I don't care who he is. He can't get away with that—”

“Yossi, please!” Papa said.

Yossi turned to him angrily. “Papa, what's the matter with you? You never used to be like this.”

A shamed look passed over Papa's face. “It's different now, Yossi. If you go after him, I could get in trouble—”

“So? He deserves it—” Yossi strained against Papa's arms.

“Yossi! I could lose my job! Then what would we do?”

Yossi stopped straining. His body went slack. So that was it. That was why Papa hadn't said anything to Mr. Steiner. That was why he wouldn't let Yossi go after Steiner's son.