The New Land | Page 4

then, our own people, who were with us in joy and
sorrow. But here, Jacob Aboaf and I are merely tolerated by the
burghers. True, they allowed us to land when we came from Jamaica on
the 'Pear Tree.' They have allowed me to trade with the Indies--as well
they might, for even Peter Stuyvesant himself dare not say that we two
Hebrews have ever been guilty of dishonesty in our trading ventures.
But we are not at home here as we were in Holland or Jamaica; we are
aliens and strangers and now comes this last insult to our people--to
refuse them the right of residence here."
Frau Barsimon nodded gravely. "Yes, I know well why your heart is so
bitter with disappointment when you think that it is almost time for our
Samuel's barmitzvah and that save our neighbor, Jacob Aboaf, there
may be none of our own people here to help us rejoice when Samuel
becomes a 'Son of the Law.' And yet," she spoke cheerily enough,
rocking the rosy baby upon her knee, "and yet, who knows but that by
next Shabbath our Jewish friends will be granted the right of settling
here? And if they are still here when Samuel's birthday comes," she
nodded brightly to the wondering boy who had remained near the table,
drinking in every word, "you will have a minyan (ten men required for

a Jewish ceremony) to hear you recite your barmitzvah speech and eat
the feast I shall prepare for them." She sprang up suddenly, the baby
tucked under one arm as she began to pile dishes with her free hand,
scolding the slave girl as energetically as she worked for not having the
table cleared. For if Frau Barsimon ever allowed herself the luxury of a
moment's rest or gossip, she never failed to regain lost time by working
twice as hard--and noisily--as soon as she took hold again.
"Father," asked Samuel, forgetting the cakes and ale of his barmitzvah
party for a moment, "just why won't they let the Jews who came from
South America last fall live in New Amsterdam like the rest of us? In
Holland the Dutch were always kind to our people and in the Indies
they allowed you to trade in peace."
Barsimon did not answer until the slow-handed, sharp-eared little slave
girl had followed his wife into the kitchen. When he spoke his voice
was tinged with a harsh bitterness. "Wiser men than you have asked
that question, my boy, and no one has yet found an answer. True,
Holland and those lands ruled by the Dutch have been places of refuge
for us. No wonder that the poor souls who left Brazil in the 'St.
Catarina' hoped to receive honorable treatment here at the hands of the
burghers. It may be that they fear the rivalry of our brethren in trade, if
more of us be allowed to take up residence in New Amsterdam. And
perhaps," he spoke with a sort of grudging honesty, "perhaps, one can
scarcely blame the worthy burghers for mistrusting the newcomers and
refusing to grant them welcome. They were unfortunate enough to have
been robbed at Jamaica where they rested on their journey; when they
reached here there was the disgrace of an auction in which their goods
were sold to pay for their passage, and two of the passengers, David
Israel and Moses Ambrosius, were held for security. You remember
how a law suit was brought against them by Jacques de la Motthe,
master of the vessel, for this same passage money; and although the
matter is now settled, some of our honest citizens are not ready to
welcome strangers who they believe are little better than vagabonds
and paupers."
"But, father," protested the boy, "a goodly number out of the

twenty-seven who came on the 'St. Catarina' last autumn have received
gold from their brethren in Holland. All except the very poorest one.
And I heard mother telling Frau Aboaf that you could ill afford giving
all you did to help the poor widow on board the 'St. Catarina' and----"
"Jacob Aboaf and I have done but little,"--half-growled Barsimon, as
though ashamed of the charity he was always ready to do by stealth.
"And they were our brethren." He became silent again, striding to the
window and scowling out into the bright spring sunshine. At last: "But
perhaps we have managed to serve them with our pens as well as gold.
Jacob Aboaf and I, with a few of our good Dutch townsmen, have
written to the directors of the Dutch West India Company in
Amsterdam, praying that these Jews, now forbidden lodging here, be
allowed the rights and privileges, of all good citizens. The directors
should listen to our plea, for a large amount