Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders

German Benevolent Society, while two others had been leaders at the prestigious Concordia Club, where Jews gathered for social events throughout the year.
    â€œThe downfall of Russia has been thrown upon the screen of men’s minds,” began the chairman of this assembled group. He spoke in English but with a heavy German accent that made him hard to understand.
    Rachel sat still and rigid, to lessen her back pain.
    â€œI am inspired, and am sure you will be, too,” explained the chairman, “by this little Russian girl whose body seems inadequate for the great pulsing soul it holds.” He turned to Anna, sitting behind him and motioned for her to come forward.
    Rachel saw annoyance flicker in Anna’s eyes at being called a “little Russian girl,” but she joined the chairman on the stage and gave him a demure smile.
    â€œAfter you hear Miss Anna Strunsky speak about the plight of the Russian people, please dig deeply into your pockets to help them,” he urged.
    A couple of men chuckled. Rachel twisted her neck to look back at the audience, at least a hundred people with unreadable faces. She began to worry that Anna wouldn’t reach this crowd, that they would not be interested in what she had to say. I could never speak to a large group of people. I would probably stand there like an idiot and lose my voice.
    â€œTwo months ago, seven thousand Russians banded together and decided to cause trouble,” Anna began, her voice vibrant with passion. “Their target? Synagogues and Jews, especially rabbis. If Rabbi Nieto or Rabbi Voorsanger, pillars of our San Francisco community, happened to have been in one of these villages, they, too, would likely have been beaten to death by these savages.”
    The temple grew silent. Rachel could hear the short, faint breathing of the man behind her.
    â€œA reporter in Russia wrote that a group of Jew-baiters destroyed the altar of a synagogue and beat the rabbi until he was a pulp of unrecognizable flesh and bones.” Having gotten their attention, she paused. “With scenes like these occurring weekly throughout Russia and no intervention from the anti-Semitic Russian government, it is no wonder that the people, ordinary people like you and me, are taking matters into their own hands. The revolution in Russia is real, and it is the vanguard of a revolution all over Europe.”
    Anna told the rapt audience how this rebellion had been brewing since the dawn of the nineteenth century, when serfs were freed but remained in poverty; economic slaves without the right to own land.
    â€œThen came Vera Zasulich, the twenty-eight-year-old daughter of a captain, who shot and wounded the governor of St. Petersburg in 1878, because he had given the order to flog a political prisoner for rude behavior. A jury acquitted her. In retaliation, that became the last trial by jury in Russia.”
    Rachel could hardly believe her ears. Even though she had studied Russian history in Kishinev, she had never heard about Vera Zasulich. Such stories were not part of the school program, nor were they in textbooks that had to be approved by the government. The Russian establishment did not want to celebrate revolutionaries like her. It is ironic , thought Rachel, that I must come to America to hear true stories about Russia’s history.
    Anna asked if there were any questions before she finished. One row ahead of Rachel, a man identified himself as a reporter for the San Francisco Bulletin . He asked what Anna hoped to achieve in Russia, and scribbled furiously in his notebook as she explained how she wanted to bring attention to Russia and its ordinary citizens, who had none of the rights Americans enjoyed.
    â€˜Though Russia is far in distance,” said Anna, “its people are no different from us in their desire to feed, clothe, and educate their children. They want to live in a free society where leaders are elected and where laws are made in