I ran away today. I finally did it. I have been waiting three years for this moment, and now I am wondering the streets of New York City aimlessly in search of the women’s rights picketers. I never realized how large this city actually was, it's my first time away from my street.
You see I am a Hassidic Jew, and we follow very strict customs compared to the rest of the world. We act and dress as our ancestors did many hundreds of years ago, and we stay in a small part of Brooklyn called Crown Heights. The Rebbe, our leader forbids most people, especially women from leaving our home in fear that will we become part of the Other Side. I accepted that at face value because I believed that the outside world had nothing to offer, until that one day I got hold of an issue of The New York Times.
My father began to travel for the Rebbe when I turned fourteen years old. He was required to keep up with current events, in order to be informed of his future travels, so he began to receive the weekend edition of The New York Times. He strictly forbid my brothers and I from seeing the newspaper, he would say that they would corrupt our minds. My father being a loyal Jew, wanted to raise us to grow up like him and my mother.
My problem was that whenever someone told me not to do something I was only able to think about it. I created many stories in my mind of what information the newspaper could contain that would be so horrible. I envisioned it being filled with stories of murder and passion, with robberies and even news of the president. The possible contents of the paper became the hottest story at the lunch table.
My curiosity of the outside world came true one day when I arrived home from school early due to a snow storm. My mother was out shopping, and my father was away in Boston on one of his trips for the Rebbe. Having the place to myself for a while was a nice feeling. As I was about to sit down with the Torah and a cup of tea I heard a knocking on the door, and I sprang up to answer it.
“Good afternoon, young lady,” the mail carrier kindly greeted me.
“Hello Marcus. Are you here to deliver the mail, it usually does not come on Sundays?” I asked him quizzically.
“Oh no, my dear Regina, I am here to deliver the paper. Is your father home?” He explained to me.
“No he is out on a business trip to Boston, I will take it for him if you like,” I said with restrained excitement.
“That would great, tell your father I said hello,” he agreed.
“Ok I will. Bye now,” I replied as I almost slammed the door in his face. I stood there looking around the apartment with my hands trembling over the newspaper. I could finally figure out the mystery we have all been dying to know about. I slowly brought my eyes down to the rattling paper and read the bold headline, Women’s Rights Activists Are Assembling.
The only thing that I can remember from that point was thinking, “women have rights.” Throughout my whole life I have taught to be submissive and that the father rules the household. I never knew that a woman could speak out what was on her mind. Inspired from that article I began to speak my mind. It was not the most successful thing I have ever done to say the least. I was being sent home from school for my behavior and strong opinions. My parents were constantly punishing me and asking the Ribbono Shel Olom if a demon had gotten inside me.
All the time I was battling with the community I was continually gathering articles from The New York Times, on the women’s rights issues, and saving all the money I could get on my hands. At that time I did not want to run away, I just wanted to take a trip to Central Park and picket with the great women. The real trouble did not start until a few months before my eighteenth birthday.
It is customary in my religion to arrange a marriage between two people when they are only small children, and they are to marry when they become the age of eighteen. With the rioting women in Central Park becoming my role models, I did everything in my power to persuade my parents not to marry me. I told them that I want to stay free and become an individual. They did not take that news very well. I was told that I had no choice but to marry this man whether I wanted to, or not. This fighting went on every day, until I finally decided to do something about it.
I had money saved up throughout the years and I was going to run away and become one of the women I have been adoring all through my teenage years. On the night of Shabbos, I wrote my parents a note, packed my bags, and took the subway into Times Square.
That takes me to where I am now. New York is such a spectacular place. I have lived in this city my whole life, but I never knew of the treasures that it held. There were cars driving all around, women dressing in fringe-like dresses with elegant head pieces walking down the street with men dressed in navy blue striped suits. As I looked around I saw no one in black clothing and earlocks.