Prohibition Wine: A True Story of One Woman’s Daring in Twentieth-Century America
Marian Leah Knapp, Author, Prohibition Wine: A True Story of One Woman’s Daring in Twentieth-Century America, Interviews her grandmother, Rebecca Wernick Goldberg, circa 1935.
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I never knew my grandmother – only heard her children’s memories. Rebecca was my dad’s mother who died when I was eighteen months old. As a teenage immigrant from the oppressive Russian Empire, Rebecca learned English, not in school, but through every day conversations in the tough, survival-driven world outside her home where the family spoke Yiddish.
She married in 1900 and, in 1918, suddenly became a widow with six children. Her expectation was that my father, the oldest son, would become head of the household when he finished his schooling. She was furious when he defied her wishes and left home to explore his own destiny.
She would have been unhappy about anyone making a fuss about her life when she saw it as simply doing what she had to do to make it through. Always interested in family history and the struggles of immigrants, I wrote Prohibition Wine (on sale from She Writes Press on May 25, 2021) after reflecting on the writings, interviews, and old photos passed down to me from previous generations.
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RWG: I heard you wanted to talk to me. What’s this all about?
MLK: Grandma, I am writing a book about you and wanted to know you better.
RWG: What do you want to know? I don’t have time for talk. I have a lot of work to do.
MLK: We met once when I was little. I don’t remember you but do you remember me?
RWG: Yes, I remember, but I was really angry and didn’t pay much attention to you. Your father, Louie, abandoned us when he was supposed to stay and become the head of the family. He was a big disappointment. I’m not sure how much I want to talk to you now.
MLK: I’m sad that happened, but I want to understand what it was like dealing with things you went through. Can you start by telling me about the old country?
RWG: OK, but I don’t like doing this – a waste of time. There were good things and bad things in Russia. We had friends in the village – the shtetl – near Vilna. Most of our friends were Jewish. I was fourteen when I left for America with my three older sisters. We were pretty scared making that trip, but we knew our father was waiting for us in Boston. He came earlier to get settled. He was upset when a Cossack tried to touch me. When I fought back, he was worried that we could be punished.
MLK: I know your sister, Leah, died in a fire in America. How did the family deal with that?
RWG: We didn’t talk about bad things; just kept going. Overall, our life was pretty smooth. We had a lot of relatives and we lived close to each other. Every shabbat and holidays we were together. When someone needed help, family members usually stepped up.
MLK: When it was time for you to get married, how did you find a husband?
RWG: It wasn’t easy to locate a husband. There were so many women looking. My father found a matchmaker whose job was to find likely husbands or wives. It took a lot of schmoozing and traveling around to locate possibilities. Nathan, my future husband, had been in America for a short time when the matchmaker found him in Lowell.
MLK: What was it like being married to a man that you didn’t know?
RWG: It was normal. I had to have a husband because the worst thing was to be an old maid. Nathan was a hard worker and a good man. But he could be unpredictable and had a temper. Most of the time he was fine, but if he got mad, sometimes he would hit me and your father. I didn’t think about that much. I lived with it. Maybe I had some good feelings for him, even with his mishigas – his craziness. After all, he bought land and built a house so we didn’t have to keep moving. Without the house, all of us wouldn’t have stayed together. Are we almost finished?
MLK: Just a few more questions. Did you have any happy times in your life?
RWG: I used to think that I never had a happy day, but looking back, even with all of the bad things, I did have some fun. It was good when we all ate dinner in the kitchen. It was nice when aunts, uncles, and cousins came for a few days to get some fresh air in the country. It was a lot of work, but I liked having a few minutes to talk, tell jokes, and laugh once in a while.
MLK: I know that you sold alcoholic drinks during Prohibition. What was that like?
RWG: That was another thing that was partly good and not-so-good. The not-good things were that I worried that I would get arrested and be sent back to Russia. I was breaking the law and they didn’t like Jews back then. But I realized that they didn’t know what to do with someone like me. They weren’t that smart. The good things were that I made a few friends and got a little money. My customers and I had this fun, sneaky way of talking to each other in low voices so that no one could hear. We had a bond because we had to trust each other. None of us wanted to get into trouble.
MLK: What was it like when you got caught?
RWG: First, I was worried, but people came through for me. My Boston relatives got a lawyer. Neighbors felt sorry for me because of what I went through. I didn’t want their pity, but they tried to protect me. That was nice. So, what else do you want to know?
MLK: In all of those years of hard work, did you ever get tired?
RWG: Yes, of course! What do you think?! But I would never tell anyone. I didn’t let it bother me. I had to do it as a wife, a mother, and then — no husband. Everyone was struggling. I was the same as everybody else.
MLK: As you got older did you have any regrets?
RWG: I was upset that I didn’t go to school. My brothers all graduated from high school. They were young when they got here and they were boys. I was a girl, but I should have been able to have a diploma too!
Also, I wanted to keep my children around me forever. Now, I realize that was not possible, but I had a hard time accepting that. If I had, maybe I would have gotten to know you a little.
MLK: I am so happy to have talked with you. I wanted to know you better and now I do.
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You can learn more about Rebecca’s life in Prohibition Wine: A True Story of One Woman’s Daring in Twentieth-Century America.
In 1918, Rebecca Goldberg―a Jewish immigrant from the Russian Empire living in rural Wilmington, Massachusetts―lost her husband, Nathan, to a railroad accident, a tragedy that left her alone with six children to raise. To support the family after Nathan’s death, Rebecca continued work she’d done for years: keeping chickens. Once or twice a week, with a suitcase full of fresh eggs in one hand and a child in the other, she delivered her product to relatives and friends in and around Boston.
Then, in 1920―right at the start of Prohibition―one of Rebecca’s customers suggested that she start selling alcoholic beverages in addition to her eggs to add to her meagre income. He would provide his homemade raw alcohol; Rebecca would turn it into something drinkable and sell it to new customers in Wilmington. Desperate to feed her family and keep them together, and determined to make sure her kids would all graduate from high school, Rebecca agreed―making herself a wary participant in the illegal alcohol trade.
Rebecca’s business grew slowly and surreptitiously until 1925, when she was caught and summoned to appear before a judge. Fortunately for her, the chief of police was one of her customers, and when he spoke highly of her character before the court, all charges were dropped. Her case made headline news―and she made history.
Marian Leah Knapp is a writer and community activist. Her previously published books include Aging in Places: Reflective Preparation for the Future, A Steadfast Spirit: The Essence of Caregiving, and, with Vivien Goldman, The Outermost Cape: Encountering Time. For more than ten years, she has written a regular column for the Newton TAB. When Marian was sixty-four years old, she went back to school to obtain a PhD. She passed her dissertation defense right before her seventieth birthday. Marian lives in Chestnut Hill, MA. Her next book, Prohibition Wine, is on sale May 2021.
Category: Interviews, On Writing