Who Would Be Free

Marian Spitzer’s 1924 book about a young semi-talented artistic Jewish woman who resolutely rejects marriage in order to live by herself, free, was a joy to inhale this morning. She’s beset by traps on all sides. Her mother schemes to get her to marry an acceptable Jewish man, Chester Adelstein, while Eleanor prefers the more bohemian (and unacceptable Jewish) man, Ted Levine (Jew-on-Jew hatred apparently a thing, German Jews looking down on those from Russia?), who encouraged her to go to art school instead of become a teacher. But she knows she wants to escape her parents, the regimented life, and she fights hard to do so. Although in love with Ted, he goes off to war (WW1) and she knows she’ll never see him again. Sure enough, news of his death comes on Armistice Day. She throws herself back into life again and manages to move out of her parents’ apartment, earn a small living as a graphic designer for the theater, and when she turns 21, comes into money from her Grandmother that allows her to get her own attic studio apartment for $60 a month. Another man enters the fray as soon as she becomes successful, and she nearly becomes trapped by him, too. An ultimatum to marry him right before he sails for Europe that she accepts, then spends a sleepless night worrying about. I cheered as I sat alone in my room of my own, as she comes to the decision to back out of the marriage.

The room became suddenly invested with a new value—the room that summed up, really, all that she had fought and worked for, ever. It was there, alone, that she had come into possession of her soul. And now she was giving it up—leaving it behind—sailing for Europe, marrying. It was funny, now that Steve was gone, Europe didn’t seem quite so alluring. After all, just more places, other cities, with different streets and buildings. That was one of the things about belonging just to yourself. You didn’t have to go anywhere. Or do anything. You had wonderful moments, unspoiled by anything. It occurred to her that whatever moments of absolutely unalloyed beauty and happiness she had ever known, had been in solitude—solitude of body and spirit… The peace that had once been so palpably a part of the room slowly gathered again and eveloped her. She and peace were in that room, and the rest of the world was shut outside.    THE END