Great-Grandma’s Nickel - Stories

Great-Grandma's Nickel Shana pressed her forehead against the window of her great-grandmother’s kitchen. Five stories below, cars honked and people hurried across the busy street in the pale sunlight. Spring was in the air, and tonight Shana’s favorite holiday, the Jewish festival of Purim, began. Now it was time to make hamantaschen, the traditional Purim pastries.

“I’m almost ready,” said Great-Grandma. Shana watched her unfold a faded blue apron.

“You always wear that apron when we bake,” said Shana, reaching to pull the strings around the waist of her great-grandmother’s flowered dress. “It makes me think of a warm kitchen and good smells.” She patted the apron lovingly. “But there’s something in the pocket,” she added, wiggling her fingers along the bottom of the apron. “It’s a nickel!”

"I alway keep a nickel in my pocket." “Yes, darling,” said Great-Grandma, lining up flour, butter, and sugar on the counter. “I always keep a nickel in my pocket.”

“For good luck?” asked Shana, choosing three eggs from the tray in the refrigerator.

“It’s a reminder,” said Great-Grandma. “While we chop the fruit and nuts, I’ll tell you.

“When I was a young girl like you, my family lived in Vilna, a small town in Poland. Sometimes life was hard there. My two older brothers went by ship to America to find a better life. They worked hard and built a business. When they were settled, they sent money so that my mother and father and I could come to America, too.

“I was sixteen when we came to this country. I can still remember how it felt when we first saw New York and when we saw my brothers, Sender and Jakob, again. Everything seemed so beautiful and amazing! You see, it was different from what we were used to.”

“Was it like when I moved last year?” Shana asked as she added sour cream to the butter, sugar, and eggs in the mixing bowl.

“Yes, darling, like that,” said Great-Grandma, sifting the flour. “But even more, because here in America the people spoke a language I didn’t know.

“At first I thought I wouldn’t need to learn too much of this new language. Where we lived in New York, many people came from Poland, and we all spoke Yiddish. With my Yiddish, I could make new friends and do errands for my mother. I could even read a newspaper.

“Then one day my mother asked me to help my brothers at work. Sender and Jakob had a business making coats—beautiful coats—in a shop in Manhattan. Every day they took the subway from our apartment to their store. In those days, you could ride the subway for five cents. Five cents was a lot of money! So my mother gave me two nickels, one for the ride there, and one for the ride back.
“I took the subway under the city streets all by myself and came to my brothers’ shop. I stayed all afternoon folding fabrics and sorting buttons. Sender and Jakob were very busy. At the end of the day they still had coats to finish. They sent me home to have my dinner.

“It was getting dark outside, and the street was busy with people hurrying to go home. I guess I was tired and confused. I went into a subway station and got on a car.” Great-Grandma stopped a moment with the rolling pin in her hand, remembering.

“Soon, I knew I had made a mistake. The ride was too long, and nothing looked familiar. I got off at the next stop.”

Shana was scooping fruit-and-nut filling onto small rounds of dough. She stopped, spoon in hand, and watched her great-grandmother pinch the filled dough into three-cornered fat triangles. “You must have been so scared!”

“Oh, yes, darling! I tried to ask people in the station for help, but I only knew a little English, and they didn’t understand me. And then I saw a girl. She was about my age, and she had a blue coat like the ones my brothers made. I tried to tell her that I was lost, but she didn’t understand.

"In those days you could ride the subway for five cents." Then she showed me a subway map on the wall. I found my stop and pointed to it. Nodding, the girl led me to the other side of the station, where the cars went to my stop. But now I needed another subway token, and I had already spent my two nickels. I wanted to cry! Somehow the girl in the blue coat understood. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a nickel, and put it in my hand. I didn’t know how to say thank you, so I hugged her. Then she ran to catch her subway car, and I went to find mine.”

“And you got home all right, Great-Grandma?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” said Great-Grandma. She smiled as she slid a pan of plump hamantaschen into the oven. “I was very careful. And I wasn't even very late.”

“Did you ever go on the subway again?” asked Shana, lining a basket with a soft cloth napkin for the mishloach manot, the Purim gift of food to friends. Mrs. Abrams next door would enjoy a basket of warm hamantaschen!

“Oh, yes, Shana,” said Great-Grandma, using a corner of her apron to wipe a smudge of flour from Shana’s nose. “And I studied an English book during every ride. So the subway taught me English—and one other thing.”

Shana smiled at her great-grandmother and patted the faded apron. “I know,” she said. “It taught you to carry an extra nickel in your pocket, just in case.”