Corpse Woman

From Rosh Hashanah last fortnight until Yom Kippur last week, hundreds of thousands of Jews in Manhattan freed themselves from mundane cares, piously to pass the Jewish time of self-examination. God was balancing His books, which would be closed on the Day of Atonement. But in the teeming lower East Side one family sat in sorrow. They slit their garments. No chair or sofa would they sit on: only rough boxes. They were "sitting shivah"--mourning a dead daughter.

To the Jewish Conciliation Court, an unofficial body composed of Magistrate Louis B. Brodsky. Rabbi Alexander Basel and Contractor Sam Lippman, had come one Nathan Goldberg, his wife, his daughter Rachael, 21, and a young Italian named John Costello. The Goldbergs wished Rachael "to quit loving that Italian boy." Magistrate Brodsky called Costello to the bar. He was a cabinetmaker. He made $25 a week. Three hours ago, he said, he had married Rachael.

Rachael grew pale, wept. Her mother, her face hidden by a shawl, screamed hoarsely and fled the courtroom. Nathan Goldberg sobbed: "She is dead for me. I have nothing to do with her no more. Her three dresses hang in the closet. Tomorrow I burn them and we sit shivah. She is dead from now on. . . ."

"Why does my father say that?" cried Rachael. "He called my sweetheart vile names. . . . He said he would burn my eyes out, and my sweetheart said he would cut my father's throat. And he's going to burn my dresses. He didn't buy the dresses. I did. I paid for them with money I worked like a dog for. Why doesn't he leave us alone?"

Gently, Magistrate Brodsky told Nathan Goldberg there was nothing to be done. Goldberg stumbled homeward, wailing: "She is through with life. She is buried, do you hear! She can never come home no more!"

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