for the time in the memory of the oldest official at the Habrew immigrant Aid and Sheltering Society, the door opened yesterday without revealing the patien presence of Rebele Kapustsky. As farback as any member of the Hias organization can recall, including the old days when the society was iocated on East Broadway, the doors were never opened on a Sunday morning withjout finding the pious-looking old man waiting to be admitted.
Rebele Kapustsky’s visits had grown into the nature of a ritual They were as regular and as inevitable as day and night. When he failed to show up yesterday morning, perturbatoin was registered on many faces.
Rebbele Kapustsky had been first in line at the Hias office every sunday moring. As the doors wung open he would murmur his greeting and enter. With studied care he w2ould life his feet up the few steps that lead into the main ball as if counting the effort it cost him. Once at the top he would hesitate for a few noments. catch his breath and advance toward the reception clerk who guards the door of the information room.
PARTNERS IN CRIME
The Clerk would eye him gravely. ”Have you a question, father?” he would ask in the tone of conspirator it was an old formula, for Rebele and he were like partners in crime. Rebele invariably replied”
”I have a question I have a wife living in Smolensk, Russia. So many are the mons and uns that have passed since I beheld my dear on’s of her love for me I would think myselffprgpttem by now. As you can see I am an old old man. Were I to die tomorrow it would not be of age, though, but Ioneliness. I would want to arrange for my wife’s passage to America.”
At that the cierk, nodding his sympathy. gave him tieket number one, found a seat for him in the information room and left him sitting quietly, passing the time away by curling his Payis with a gnarled finger or runing the legth of his iron grey beard.
But Rebel dossn’t stay that way long. No sooner is the rome filled than he is up and about. His favorite position is at the interviewing desks, where he alone is tolerated besids the person being interviewed, and where he bears everything that is being said. He comforts everyone.
BASHFUL REBELE
When the clock nears four, he is the only one left in the room. It is nevitable It almost seems planned.
”Number one,” comes his call. ”You have a question to ask, father?”
”I have a question to ask,” he repeats. Again he tells his table in Yiddish, but somehow it does not run so smoothly this time. A certain timidity creeps into his voice. He shifts from one foot to the other, like a schoolboy.
“Oh, yes/’ he Is told, “I remember your case now, Mr. Asofsky Is taking care of it personally. Here he comes now. Mr. Asofsky!”
“Good afternoon, father/’ politely greets Mr. Asofsky. “As to your case we are working on it very hard-“
The old man’s face draws Into a severe frown. The glances he directs at the Hias general manager are full of anger and reproach. He is about to open his sharply compressed lips In retort.
“-But,” continues Mr. Asofsky knowingly, “due to unfortunate difAcuities that have arisen, I might as well tell you it might be a long,’ long time before you see your wifef father.”
Rebele t Kapustsky suddenly smiles. He tries hard to look sorrowful at the news but doesn’t quite succeed- He says, “Thank you,” but as he leaves the Hias for another week, he can be heard chuckling, “Hah, a Mehchia!”
There was no need’ for worry about the Rebele yesterday, however. He arrived at the Lafayette street building somewhat breathlessly in the afternoon, radiating an atmosphere of suppressed excitement. He shrugged aside queries with a smile and bustled into the information room to make his weekly application. But things won’t be the same at the Hias now. If the Rebele can disappoint “his public, anything .can happen.
The Archive of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency includes articles published from 1923 to 2008. Archive stories reflect the journalistic standards and practices of the time they were published.
