By Harold Emanuel with an assist from Chat GPT

Samuel Lapinski’s heart raced as he sat on their bench in Manhattan’s City Hall Park, waiting for her to arrive.

Samuel was a foreman at his father’s dress factory. He left work at four o’clock on a warm June afternoon in 1910 and headed to the park. Maria Romano, a seamstress at the factory followed five minutes later and sat next to him. He brushed a strand of Maria’s long, ebony hair behind her ear, his gaze locked on her radiant, coal-black eyes.

“Poppa signed a contract for me to marry Anthony,” Maria said.

Her words hit Samuel like a punch to the gut.

“But you told me he’s a slovenly brute!” Samuel’s anger simmered beneath his words, his protective instincts flaring.

Maria nodded, her eyes cast downward. “He is. He took me to the Nickelodeon once. His hands were all over me. When I told him to stop, he slapped me. Most days he comes into the restaurant drunk.”

“Why would your Poppa let you marry such a man?” The bitterness in Samuel’s voice was palpable as he struggled to comprehend.

“Anthony’s family owns the restaurant where my Poppa works. They will give my Poppa partial ownership when Anthony and I marry.”

Samuel couldn’t bear the thought of Maria, the girl he had come to adore, being subjected to such cruelty. The anger that surged within him wasn’t just about Anthony; it was about the way their lives were dictated by the whims of others.

Samuel and Maria had been meeting in the park after work three or four days a week for six months. They talked about their hopes and dreams. Samuel wanted to leave his father’s business and pursue his passion, music. Maria was saving money to attend nursing school. They fell in love and talked about marriage, but knew it was impossible. If Samuel married a woman who wasn’t Jewish, his family would consider him dead. Maria’s relatives would disown her if she did not marry a Catholic, preferably an Italian.

Samuel took a deep breath. “When is the wedding.”

“A week from Sunday.”

Samuel placed his hands on Maria’s face and drew her to him. They kissed passionately. Maria placed her head on Samuel’s broad shoulder. They both cried.

* * *

“You did what, Poppa!” Samuel’s voice rang out, filled with disbelief and anger as he stared at his father upon returning home.

Chaim Lapinski, a stern and determined man, met his son’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I have arranged a bride for you,” he declared firmly. “You’re twenty years old, almost twenty-one. I won’t live forever. You’ll be running the factory soon. It’s time you settle down and give me grandchildren.”

Samuel couldn’t contain his frustration. “But Poppa, this is America, not like the old country. I will pick my own bride. I won’t be forced into a marriage.”

Chaim Lapinski’s face remained unyielding, his voice carrying the weight of generations of tradition. “You will do what I tell you to do. She will arrive in two days. I’ve already spoken to the rabbi. The wedding will be a week from Sunday.”

Samuel felt his world closing in around him, suffocated by the weight of his father’s expectations and the strictures of tradition. His anger simmered, but he knew that challenging his father’s decision was a battle he could not win.

* * *

Samuel and Maria met one last time on their bench the following day. Samuel told her his father had arranged a bride for him.

“We’re both marrying the same day,” Maria said. “What time is your ceremony?”

“Ten o’clock,” Samuel replied.

“Mine’s at ten thirty at St. Andrews Church. The priest said he needed time after morning mass to prepare.”

They held each other as tightly as they could and kissed one last time, tears rolling down their cheeks.

* * *

Samuel stood stone faced as he and Chaim waited for the ferry from Ellis Island. Chaim pulled a photo from his pocket that Tavara’s Poppa sent so they would recognize the girl. Samuel’s future bride, who could not have been more than sixteen years old, emerged from the ferry, carrying her clothes wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes were dull, her skin pockmarked. She wore a disheveled wig. All Samuel could think about was Maria.

Chaim approached the girl and introduced himself. She said nothing. They both realized Tavara did not speak a word of English. Chaim spoke to her in Yiddish. A thin smile crossed the girl’s face. Samuel didn’t know what he would do. Unlike his father, who had immigrated from Russia, Samuel was born in America and did not speak Yiddish. How would he communicate with this woman, who was to become his wife.

Chaim motioned to Samuel to pick up the girl’s clothing filled blanket. They walked to a rooming house where Chaim had arranged for her to stay until the wedding.

* * *

There was a knot in Samuel’s stomach on Sunday, July third when he and Chaim picked Tavara up at her rooming house just before nine o’clock to walk with her to the shul (synagogue). Knowing he would soon be married to a woman he didn’t love and didn’t know ate away at him. And worse was knowing that Maria would be marrying that brute the same day just so her Poppa could be part owner of a restaurant, made this day even worse.

Tavara wore a cotton skirt and blouse she brought with her from Russia and the shoes she had on when she exited the ferry. Chaim had purchased a white dress and matching shoes for his daughter-in-law to be and had delivered them to the Rector Street shul.

Twenty people, who Chaim had invited to join him celebrate his son’s marriage greeted them. He had urged Samuel to invite his friends. Samuel invited no one. Chaim had arranged a small reception at the Green Street Kosher Restaurant after the ceremony.

Tavara went to a side room to change into her wedding attire. Twenty minutes before the ceremony was to begin, Samuel entered the side room for the bedeken, the placing of a veil over Tavara’s face.

Samuel then took his place in the front of the shul under the chuppah (wedding canopy). Chaim stood at the rear and walked Tamara down the aisle.

The rabbi began the ceremony by reciting the blessing over the wine. He then praised God and asked that the newlyweds lead a healthy, pious life. Samuel placed a gold ring, which Chaim had purchased, on Tavara’s finger. He then read from the Katubah (marriage contract), which outlines the groom’s obligation to the bride.

The ceremony’s final act, the breaking of the glass, would consummate the marriage. Samuel lifted his heel above the glass which sat on the floor.

* * *

Maria stood with her Poppa at the rear of the church, wearing a beautiful white wedding gown.

“Why are you crying?” Mario asked. “This is your wedding day. It should be the happiest day of your life.

Maria said nothing.

Anthony stood at the front of the church, accompanied by two groomsmen. Organ music played as Mario slowly walked his daughter down the aisle. The priest invoked God’s blessing on the couple.

“You may exchange your vows,” the priest said.

Anthony took Maria’s hands in his.

* * *

Samuel’s heart suddenly began to race as he stood with the glass under his heel for what felt like an eternity, though it was merely five seconds. Rather than stomping down, he whirled around, bolted up the aisle, his steps echoing in the hushed synagogue, and out the door. He was leaving tradition and his father’s expectations behind.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted the two blocks to the church and flung the doors open.

“Maria!” he shouted.

Maria turned. A broad smile crossed her face. She pulled her hands from Anthony’s grip. Samuel, now disheveled and sweating, pushed his way through the stunned guests and wedding party. He reached Maria and grabbed her hand. The church erupted into chaos as Maria’s parents and the wedding guests reacted with shock and confusion. The priest tried to intervene, but Samuel and Maria were resolute in their actions.

Maria lifted the hem of her wedding dress as both ran up the aisle and out of the church.