An Immigrant’s Story

Foreward

These are immigrant’s stories. Each one of the lives you will read about are personal
reaccountings of the trials and tribulations that have been faced by naturalized citizens. Each
part will be a new life, new stories, new struggles, and new ways to overcome obstacles. Names
may have been changed, names may have been omitted but that does not decrease the objective.
Storytelling has been a tradition in many cultures that has been used to pass down morals, ideas,
and life lessons. With that being said, these stories, these lives you are about to enter have been
written with the intention to teach. Teach others of struggles naturalized citizens are facing as
well as how they overcame them, how they grew to be successful in the United State’s society.

These stories have been written with the point of view of the storyteller when given but in a few
cases, they are told as a narration.

At the moment, this document is living; it is being edited constantly to add new information and
new stories with the goal that one day it will be published in hopes of spreading awareness and
start a chain reaction in the United States. As there are only a few stories included so far, there is
an intent to further increase the number of citizens written about.
Part One: Candelario Ramirez Reyes & Consuelo Nunez Reyes

At just the young age of 11, a boy named Candelario was given the role as “the man of

the house.” At just the young age of 11, a boy named Candelario would be working in the fields

of the United States of America to provide for his family. He would end up crossing the border

illegally at first, working in the fields and sending back any money he could to his family. He

worked long days and was only getting paid less than a few dollars a week. This went on from

age 11 well into his adult years.

Any chance he would get, Candelario would travel back home and over time he got to

know Consuelo Nunez. They ended up getting married in 1953 and moved to Tijuana, Mexico, a

border city. Consuelo provided for their growing family as best she could in Mexico while her

husband was off in the United States really working to gain equal opportunities as everyone else

was given. In 1966 Candelario gained citizenship and moved Consuelo and their four kids,

Olivia, Richard, Sergio, and Greselda to Los Angeles, California through chain migration.

Throughout Candelario’s life in America, he became very interested in learning english

and made it his mission to become fluent in english. By using cassette tapes, Candelario learned

english and spoke english rather than spanish with his children so not only they would learn but

he could practice. His determination to learn english proved successful as Candelario moved his

family to Anaheim California to work in a higher paying job. Although he could support his

family, there was still a need for help financially in his family so Consuelo ended up taking odd

jobs around. It has been said that Consuelo worked in a factory to produce plastic gloves,

babysat neighborhood kids, and even as a maid in some occasions. Candelario and Consuelo
were not the only one working to provide for their family, once their children became old enough

they were also out in the workforce providing money for their family. Although Consuelo never

spoke english, her children did. Candelario and Consuelo’s six children were United States

citizens and were enrolled into school. There they took english classes and were able to become

bilingual at very young ages to help translate for their mother.

Although the family worked hard to provide for themselves, they were often faced with

struggles economic wise as well as socially. Financially, the Reyes family could not support

luxuries and did not live in the safest parts of towns. There were conflicts surrounding them

everyday based on social discrimination and even the area they lived in. Faced with challenges

each day, the Reyes family worked hard to earn money to support themselves and provide for the

life they deserved

The following story is a compilation of stories.
Glass shatters, spraying across the floor. My brother whimpers as he hides his face in my neck.

“Shh, shh.” I whisper to him. “Its okay Yaakov, we’re okay. Everything will be okay.”

“I’m scared Aliza.” He whimpers.

“Shh, shh.” I calm him again, I see feet pound on the floor. I hear angry voices. “Be silent
Yaakov.”

More shouting and more glass on the ground. I hear shouting in victory, and a thud on the floor.
I pray that it is not what I think. I clutch my brother closer to me. Somehow he falls asleep, I
try to match my breaths to his but the shouts of the angry germans keeps echoing despite them
passing a long time ago.

The sun peeks through the slates of the wall, I set my brother down. Crawling out from the
entrance careful of the broken glass from the windows. Carefully I picked my way over to a
different portion of the wall, I swallow in fear. Its broken and the slates in the wall where strewn
on the floor.

“Papa?” I call out, careful to keep my voice down. “Papa?”

I don’t know how long I search, but when I find the Star of David on a nail by the door stained
red I give up hope.

With a heavy heart I walk to another section of the wall, pulling out our life savings. It is no
longer safe in Germany, I pray that I will find a way to get us to safety. We have an aunt in
America, if we can get to her I can get my brother to safety.

“Aliza?” Yaakov askes, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s papa?”

I rush to him, falling to my knees before him and bundling him in my arms. Our tears mix
together as he realizes what happened.

~~~~~

“What do you want little boy?” Asks a man, his body sticks from unwash and his teeth are black.

“I’ve heard you can help me.” I choose my words carefully.

“What do you want?”

“Entrance to America for me and my sibling.”

“That’s pricey.”

“I can pay.” I respond, clutching the money to my chest. “Can you do it?”

“I will try, I need half the payment now.”

“You will get your full payment when you provide what I need.” I say, careful to keep the
desperation out of my voice. “I am not in the business to be swindled.”

The man huffs, I swallow. “What do you want to say on your certificates?”

“Jacob Schneider, and Elizabeth Schneider.” I say, holding out two spare copies of our
identification. He stares at me, his eyes tracing over my chest and body, trying to wonder why a
boy would need a girl’s identification. “I have a sister.” I say in explanation, lowering my
voice.

“Come back in a month, and then we will discuss payment.”

“Thank you.” I say, my hand coming out to touch his shoulder. “Thank you.”

The man looks at me with eyes like broken glass. “Keep yourself safe until then.”

“You as well.” I whisper, turning.

“Wait.” He calls out. I stop.

“Do I know you?”

“No.” I keep walking, not caring that I recognized the face of my old music teacher underneath
all that filth.

In this world now, I do not have enough love in my heart to speak of the night before the glass
around germany broke.
~~Slowly a month passes, I continue to deliver messages for the Nazis. Careful never to read
them, careful never to speak out of turn. Careful. I send a letter to Mia, telling her the day and
location we will be there. I hope she will find kindness her heart for us.

“Mathais!” Call out a coworker, he ran up at me hitting my shoulder. “Come out for drinks with
us!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. It is my sister’s birthday today and we need to celebrate.” I say, slipping
from his grip, I smile at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow ya?”

He turns red, and I bat my lashes. “Goodbye Jakob.” I turn from him, walking quickly away
from him.

My heart races in my chest, today is the day. Today is the day.

Later that night I meet up with my old music teacher. I wonder what happened to him to cause
him to be a passport and visa forger. But I dismiss the thought, it is not my problem anymore.

“Hello.” I greet.

“Do you have the money?”

“Yes.” I pass him the money. He hands me the paperwork.

“Thank you.” I say, clutching the paper and running back to my apartment.

I burst through the door, locking it tight and forcing all the shutters closed. I open the door for
the compartment my brother is hiding.
“Tomorrow we will leave Germany,” I say breathlessly, his face is glowing. “We are going to
America, to Aunt Mia!”

His face is shining and he launches himself into my arms. “You did it!”

“God was kind to us.” I say, burying my face in his hair. We will live, we will be okay, we will
live.
~~~~

We travel for a few days before we reach the docks, the boat for america will be here tomorrow.
I rent out a small room in a hotel for my brother and I to sleep in for the night.
The next day, I pull on a dress. The unfamiliar cloth wrapping around my legs. I gather our
papers, money, our tickets and a small amount of food.

Together we walk to the docks, Yaakov clutches my hand tightly. “I won’t let you get lost
Bärchen.”

He glares up at me. “I am not a little bear, I am a big bear, big and strong.” He growls at me. I
laugh for what feels like the first time in months.

“Very.” I agree.

We step up to the boat. I present our tickets, visas and the paperwork proving we are not Jews
and that we can go to America.

“Jacob Schneider, and Elizabeth Schneider?” The man asks, his eyebrows raise.

“Yes.”
“Your brother--”

“Is german.” I break in, staring him down. I have come too far, I cannot fail now.

We lock eyes. I slip a note across the table, “I trust we have safe passage?”

He nods me forward, and Yaakov and I are on the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~We spend months at sea, Yaakov seems like he was meant for the waters,
but my stomach rebels at even the sight of food.

“Eliza!” Yaakov shouts, grabbing my hand. “I can see the coastline!”

My mouth opens in shock when I see a massive statue burst through the sky. “Are you sad?”
Yaakov asks.

“No, no,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes. “I’m just… I am just so happy!”

I grab Yaakov, spinning him around. “We’re here.”

When we get to the island it seems like millions of people ask us questions, our names, our
birth-dates, family members, if we have family here, jobs.

“What’s your country of origin?” The man asks.

“Germany.” I say, my eyes on Yaakov being questioned by his own man.

“Religion?”
“Christian.” The lie tastes like poison on my lips. I pray that God would forgive me.

They hum, and they reach for the approved-disapproved stamp. I hold my breath.

“Approved.” I sigh in relief.

Yaakov looks at me and holds his approved paper-work up.

We wait in line for the man to take down our names.

“Jacob and Elizabeth Schneider.” I say, smiling up at him with tear stained cheeks. “Do you
need me to spell it?”

The man hums. “You are now Snider, spelt Snider.” He looks up. “Go on.”

We go on like he said, stepping out our first steps on the free world. “Aliza,” Yaakov tugs at my
dress. “I’m hungry.”

“Not now Yaakov,” I hush, neck stretching out to find the aunt we’re supposed to meet.

“Aliza?” A woman asks with a wide face and kind eyes.

“Yes.”

“I am Mia,” she smiles at me. “Your mother’s sister.”

I recall her face vaguely, she had given me candy before she had left for america.
“Aliza, my brother Yaakov.” I say, clutching her hand.
“I’m glad I got your letter, I am happy you were able to escape.” She says, kissing my forehead.
“Your mother and father would be proud of how you were able to come here.”

I nod. “I miss them.”

“They are at peace.” She says. “Come, I’ll take you home, my husband and I have arranged a
job for you and school for Yaakov.”

~~~~~~~~~

I work at as seamstress, sewing and making clothes for the war effort and those who can pay. It
pays $5 a week, with my wages my aunt’s and my uncle’s we have enough for food, clothes, and
rent. Everything we need.

“Aunt Mia?”

“Yes?”

“When can we go to synagogue? I want to thank god for giving me this.”

Mia looks at me with sad mournful eyes. “Oh, child there is still hatred for jews here as in
Germany. We have to be careful.”

“But… we’re supposed to be free here?”

Tears start to drip down my face. “I know bubala, but we have to be safe.”

She takes me into my arms, singing my hymns my parents sang to me. “I miss my parents.” I
whisper.
“I know, I miss my sister too. But.” She sighs, brushing my hair back. “I will take you to
synagogue tomorrow, we’ll pray and we’ll eat good food and Yaakov will complain about being
in one place too long, ya?”

I nod at her.

The next day we walk to the synagogue, I am in my best dress and Yaakov is complaining about
how tight his collar is. But once we enter he falls silent, and we are at peace.

The weight of the last few years lift from my shoulders, peace and love washes over me as the
Rabbi’s voice flows the room. When it ends we all stand, walking out into the daylight of the
late afternoon.

“You feel better?”

“Yes.” I say reverently. “I think I am going to talk a walk.”

I walk, letting my feet choose their own route.

“My name is Aliza, I am from Germany where I have survived the Night of the Broken Glass
where I lost my father, I have brought my brother to America where he is going to school and
worship. I am a Jew, and I am proud.” I say, standing by the sea.

“I am free.”