Rachel's Hope Read Online Free PDF Page B

said. “And there’s the corset.” She rummaged through another display. “The S-shaped corset is two dollars right now.”
    Rachel’s face fell. “I don’t have enough money.”
    â€œFor the corset?”
    â€œFor any of it.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” said the woman brusquely. She took the garments from Rachel.
    Rachel watched as the woman put the clothing back in the display and moved onto another customer. Three dollars and fifty cents , thought Rachel. At the rate I’m saving, I’ll be old and gray before I can afford such nice clothes. She returned to Menahem, still waiting in line, paid for his breeches, shirt, sweater, shoes and socks, and trudged home. The coins in her pocket jingled as she walked, an annoying reminder of her inability to afford stylish clothing. Though she was free to be whatever and whoever she wanted to be in America, the bitter chains of poverty still held her captive.
    âš“ ⚓ ⚓
    Temple Sherith Israel rose grandly a hundred and forty feet above California Street, crowned with a dome that shone as the sun set. With more than a thousand seats, it was a complete contrast to Rachel’s shul in Kishinev, a small, one-room building as plain and simple as black bread.
    Rachel and her family were at a Friday evening service at Sherith Israel. They sat with Mr. Bloom, proprietor of the kosher grocery, and his congenial wife, Esther. Rachel glanced sideways at her sister. Nucia’s forehead was creased with perplexity as the passionate, olive-skinned rabbi gave his sermon in English. Fortunately, the Blooms translated the words into Yiddish for Rachel and her family.
    This Reform Sabbath service bore little resemblance to the services they had attended in Russia or even in Shanghai. The prayers were mostly in English, not Hebrew. Men and women sat together, and the wearing of yarmulkes —skullcaps worn by Jewish men at most religious services—was optional. In fact, as Rachel surveyed the backs of men’s heads in front of her, she saw only a few covered heads.
    Rachel had insisted on attending Sherith Israel, though it was a good distance north of Market Street, because of its Reform service and Rabbi Nieto’s reputation for interesting sermons. Only she hadn’t been completely honest with Nucia, telling her that Sherith Israel was an Orthodox synagogue and, therefore, worth the forty-five minute walk each way. Nucia said they couldn’t take the trolley because it was shabes , but Rachel had seen many members of the congregation get on the trolley after each service.
    Rachel returned her gaze to Rabbi Nieto, standing at the pulpit, framed within an elaborately carved arch. Gas lamps, the only source of light, hung on both sides of the pulpit, and immense organ pipes descended from the high ceiling. The bold opulence amazed Rachel. In San Francisco, Jews could build grand buildings like Sherith Israel with its plush red-velvet seats, impressive organ, and bright stained-glass windows. Here, one could show pride in being Jewish.
    After the service, they stepped out of the synagogue onto California Street with the Blooms, discussing the rabbi’s lecture on how Judaism must keep up with the times.
    â€œI think the rabbi is right,” said Rachel. “Judaism needs to become more modern, if it is going to survive here in America.”
    â€œI agree,” said Jacob. With his clean-shaven face and short hair, he barely resembled the person he’d been in Shanghai. He looked more American than Russian, and his jovial personality had flourished since he’d started working for himself. “I used to resent all the rules and traditions that controlled me like a strap.”
    â€œBut encouraging unmarried men and women to socialize, is this really necessary?” asked Nucia. “And telling us that we needn’t dress as we did in the old world, that I can remove my headscarf and still be