My contribution to our class news on Mondays was, “My father went to Pennsylvania,” and on Fridays, “My father came home from Pennsylvania”
MY parents landed in America forty years ago, my father fresh out of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin in Bnei Brak. As a kollel yungerman, he’d studied hilchos shechitah, and he accepted a job offer at Empire Kosher Poultry in Mifflintown, Pennsylvania. His intention was to work at the job for one year to gain experience before returning to Eretz Yisrael.
While he was proficient in halachah, my father didn’t know a word of English. At the customs desk in the airport, when he was asked his name, he answered, “New York.”
But the language barrier didn’t deter either of my parents. They rented an apartment a short drive from Mifflintown, in Harrisburg, which then boasted a tiny Jewish settlement of 25 families, mainly Empire staff.
It was colony-style living, with community members hosting each other for Shabbos seudos and filling in the gap of family networks. Life was sweet and simple. If my parents found the isolation from family and limited kosher amenities challenging, they took comfort in the knowledge that this was temporary, for only one year, and they’d return home soon.
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