Emma Goldman in 1892.
(Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis [Amsterdam])
It was also not necessary for Emma to say that my father didn’t want to work. If Emma didn’t want to explain, or couldn’t psychologically, that he was helpless because of the education he received and because of the circumstances in which he lived, she didn’t have to bring it up. It was completely unnecessary to include it in her memoirs. I’d like to dwell more extensively on my sister and her illness. But first, I must go back and tell you in detail about the commune, which really led to Anna’s illness.
When Emma Goldman lived with us and sewed clothes with my sister, we were all good friends—we even used to go to meetings together. During that time, I worked in a corset factory and was a very frail girl. Our financial situation was not very good; we simply couldn’t support ourselves well. I used to come home from work crushed and exhausted, and very rarely would I find supper. Tailoring brought in very little. But all of this didn’t trouble me much; my spirit was occupied entirely with other things.
Johann Most, 1890s.
(Joseph A. Labadie Collection, University of Michigan Library)
My Acquaintance with Most
Even before Emma came into our lives, I was familiar with Johann Most—I had read a short excerpt of his life-story—and had attended his meetings.21 The gentlemen at Sachs’ restaurant had told me a few things about Most’s life, and once he had even spoken to me. That was soon after I had arrived in America, shortly after Chicago’s terrible Haymarket tragedy, where five anarchists were hanged and three imprisoned with no evidence of their guilt.22 This isn’t the right place to take up that story—enough has been written about it. I mention this incident in the American labor movement, in passing, in order to explain how I got involved in the movement, and how I would meet Most.
I began to read short pamphlets about the movement and also about its patriarch—the father of the anarchist movement in America, Johann Most—and I would go see him and hear his lectures. From the beginning, Most made a very good impression on me, though he wasn’t very attractive, with a disfigured face. I already knew about his bodily defects, and I didn’t much mind his physical appearance. I immediately noticed his big blue eyes, which looked to me like two great, beautiful stars in the sky. In my eyes, Most looked like the crucified Jesus with a crown of thorns on his head. He spoke German, and though I didn’t understand much German at the time, I understood enough of his speech to be extremely enthusiastic. I took off my hat and listened to him with my entire soul. He noticed me, the little figure and her enthusiasm. I thought to myself: the Messiah who will save the suffering humanity has arrived.
One time Most finished a speech, descended from the platform and started to come my way. I was shocked and overwhelmed when he stopped beside me, Helene Minkin! I wasn’t used to people stopping by or taking an interest in me.
“Well, little girl, did you understand my speech?” he asked. I didn’t know what he wanted with me, and my knees began to shake.
“Oh, a little bit,” I answered. “I don’t understand enough German.”
He smiled at me and said: “Oh, it will come. I’ll teach you German and help you.”
A whole group of gentlemen had gathered around us. They were astonished to hear what was said, and smiled. I was in seventh heaven. My feet didn’t touch the ground on the walk home, and from then on, with great diligence, I studied the “worker question,” the movement, and the bitter struggle between capital and labor. Always hovering before my eyes was the image of Johann Most with his big sparkling blue eyes and his enthusiastic voice, which thundered and calmed at the same time. In this mood, I became very friendly with Emma Goldman, especially when I found out that she was also interested in the “worker question.”
Emma and Her New Friends
At that time, Emma had become acquainted with Alexander Berkman and Fedya, who was a painter (his name was actually totally different, but since Emma didn’t call him by his real name in Living My Life, I’ll use the name she did). Emma also got to know Most. Since I was short of stature, everyone considered me a child. I was actually younger than them by several years, and I looked even younger than I was.
Soon after, Emma, Berkman, and Fedya became close friends and established a commune. At that time, my sister Anna and I lived in a furnished room and worked. We were under a lot of pressure, financially, since Anna often didn’t have work, and I didn’t earn enough and often didn’t have work either. I was sick and overworked much of the time. I lived poorly, didn’t eat enough and also didn’t sleep enough, because after work I would attend meetings until late at night. So I was overtired, overexcited, and couldn’t sleep. I aspired to take on a more active role in the movement; I wanted to give my life meaning. In general, I was very nervous, restless, and unhappy with my life—with everything and everyone. Often when I hadn’t gone to a meeting and my sister wasn’t home, I felt what is called in English “blue”—kaletutne, in simple Yiddish. I would throw myself on the bed and cry. Just like that, I’d cry for no a reason.
My sister was preoccupied with herself at that time: she belonged to a choir and a drama club, and she was out every evening. I wasn’t interested in any of this, because I couldn’t sing, and I wasn’t interested in joining the drama club because I was very shy. I was often too tired to read, rarely understood and didn’t have anyone to help me understand what I did read. I wasn’t used to spending time with people, and I felt very insecure. I didn’t speak with Most after that first evening since I avoided him, not wanting him to think that I was throwing myself at him.
Once, when I was alone in my room reading on the bed and crying, Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman came in (they would often visit us and this strengthened our friendship and acquaintance). Emma sat down beside me and took me in her soft, warm, maternal arms.
“What is it with you, Estherke, my dear child?” I felt as if I were lying in the arms of a devoted mother. I clung to her tightly and cried some more. I answered that I didn’t know why I was crying and felt so depressed. I didn’t enjoy life; it was so sad to live in this world.
Emma kissed and stroked me as one does a sick child and, with a smile, she glanced at Berkman who answered with a cynical smile. Naturally, I didn’t understand his smile at that time, but later, much later, I began to.
I went to a café with them, where we met other folks. We spoke about the movement, about Johann Most, and I became a little livelier. Afterwards, we went back to their commune. Emma suggested that I live with them in the commune and work in the movement with them.
There was always something to be done for the movement: helping to arrange meetings, passing out pamphlets, selling literature. I joined them in the anarchist commune.
The Commune
The commune was on 13th Street. We had three rooms: a bedroom, where Emma and I slept; a living room, where Berkman and Fedya slept on a sofa bed; and a kitchen.23 I worked at a corset factory, and each week gave Emma an envelope with my wages. Berkman also worked (I no longer remember what he did, but he didn’t earn much). From time to time, though not often, Fedya would sell one of his paintings. Emma looked after the house, though of course, we all helped with the housework. At night we would wash the dishes, do the shopping, and sometimes I would also help with the laundry, which I had never done before until Emma taught me how to rinse and hang it up on the line.
My sister Anna wasn’t happy that I had gone to live in the commune because I was still so young; she feared that