Your email is not valid
Recipient's email is not valid
Submit Close

Your email has been sent.

Click here to send another

Pioneer Women

There are many stereotypes of Jewish women, and mail-order bride isn’t one of them. But in the 19th century, some left Eastern Europe for the American frontier, where they married men they’d never met.

Print Email
Rachel Calof. (Collage: Tablet Magazine; Calof: Jewish Women's Archive; stagecoach: Library of Congress.)

The phrase “mail-order bride” always conjured certain associations for me—desperate, uneducated, sexually submissive women, and the desperate, misogynistic men who order them—but Jewish wasn’t one of them.

Then, a few years ago, in a quiet moment, I was Googling myself—as if you’ve never done it—when, along with an L.A. real-estate agent and a Brooklyn social worker, another, more curious Anna Solomon appeared. This Anna Solomon was featured on a website about Jewish women pioneers to the American West, a category I’d never known existed. Along with Anna—who, with her husband, Isadore, founded the town of Solomonville, Ariz., in 1876—a number of other Jewish women were toughing it out on the frontier, including Rachel Bella Kahn, who came to America in 1894 as a mail-order bride for Abraham Calof of Devil’s Lake, N.D.

A Jewish mail-order bride? I was intrigued. I quickly became obsessed. That obsession became fodder for my soon-to-be-published first novel, The Little Bride.

I soon learned that at the age of 60 Rachel Bella Calof, by then living in St. Paul, Minn., bought a “Clover Leaf Linen” writing tablet and began to write a longhand account of her pioneer days. My Story, her wonderfully strange memoir eventually published in 1995, riveted me. Calof had traveled from Russia to America to endure a hardscrabble existence on the Great Plains, surviving tornadoes, rattlesnakes, drought, near-starvation, and homesickness while living in a one-room hut with chickens underfoot and in-laws in the next bed.

There was nothing easy about Calof’s American existence, but life for Jews in Eastern Europe during the 1880s and 1890s was often worse. Escalating anti-Semitic violence and poverty drove hundreds of thousands of Jews to flee, most of them to the New World. Thousands of Jewish women were trafficked into prostitution in places like Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, and South Africa. Many were sold into virtual slavery without their knowledge or consent, and nearly all of them—even those who’d worked as prostitutes in Europe—wound up entirely dependent on and in debt to their (also Jewish) pimps and madams.

Mail-order brides, by contrast, presumably emigrated of their own free will. They had some sense of where they were going. (Though Rachel Calof didn’t know North Dakota from New York, according to her memoir.) Some had exchanged pictures with their husbands-to-be, and many had the comfort of being related, however distantly, to their fiancés. They might be cousins—or at least they knew someone who knew someone who was a cousin. The journeys, with all sorts of unknowns, might have been terrifying, but in the end they were going to perform the most blessed mitzvot: to marry and multiply.

There are no statistics on the number of Jewish women who came to the United States in this manner. Because so few told their own stories, we know little about them. As a fiction writer, I found this lack of information appealing; there was little to know and plenty to imagine. For my protagonist, Minna Losk, I chose Odessa as a starting point. From there, I sent her on a journey to an unnamed, dry, and very rocky part of South Dakota, where she tries to adapt to her new life: wife of an Orthodox man twice her age and stepmother to two boys her age, one of whom she finds more than a little attractive. All this is my version—collected, as my fiction is, from scraps of memory and consciousness too distant for me to even name—of what it might have been like to be a Jewish mail-order bride on the frontier.

But I also uncovered some facts. It’s likely that the majority of Jewish mail-order brides wound up somewhere in the West, given the abundance of single men who’d gone ahead to settle land under the Homestead Act. Some of these men had intended to become farmers when they left Europe; they belonged to Am Olam, the socialist agrarian movement that believed the answer to anti-Semitism lay in making Jews self-sufficient, productive, physically robust members of society. Other men arrived in America with no intention of leaving its cities but soon changed course in the face of overcrowded tenements and lack of opportunity. Wealthier, more established German Jews—concerned for the new immigrants as well as for their own hard-won reputations as enlightened, assimilated Americans—responded by encouraging their impoverished Yiddish-speaking brethren to head west, funding their tools and travel, and providing them with basic training via schools like the Baron de Hirsch Agricultural College, in Woodbine, N.J., and the National Farm School, near Doylestown, Penn. “Instead of slaving in the sweat shops,” the New York Times reported in 1897 about National Farm School graduates, they will “be glad to do better work and live happier lives on farms.”

It’s conservatively estimated that 8,000 Jews settled in America’s heartland from 1880 to 1940, according to Sanford Rikoon, who edited Calof’s My Story. That number doesn’t include the tens of thousands of Jews who broke land in other areas of the country, either independently or as part of communal agricultural colonies. Such settlements included Sicily Island, La., planted in 1881; Beersheba, founded in Kansas in 1882; and New Odessa, Ore., established in 1883. Some pioneers were women, like Anna Solomon, who arrived in Arizona already married and with three children. But many were men, alone, who sooner or later found themselves in need of a good wife.

In some ways, the mail-order-bride business was not so different from the matchmaking, formal and informal, that had been the norm in Jewish communities for generations. Elizabeth Jameson, the historian who wrote the afterword to Calof’s memoir, told me that arranging for a mail-order bride is just “a long-distance extension” of the matchmaker’s, or shadchan’s, traditional services. “See Fiddler on the Roof,” she said.

And yet, imagine: A mail-order bride leaves not only her family, but her community, her country, her culture. She travels across a continent, then an ocean, to a place where she doesn’t know the language, let alone the customs, let alone how to navigate the opportunists thronging at the docks, waiting to prey on young, innocent women. Then she travels halfway across another continent. What if her husband is cruel? What if he doesn’t please her, nor she him? What if, God forbid, she can’t bear children after all? There are no airplanes. She has no money. She doesn’t even know how to post a letter home. Going back is simply not possible.


Today, Jewish brides are once again available for order—this time on the Internet, via sites like Here you can find Lady Olena, 46, from Kiev: She is divorced and has one child. Her description includes the sentences: “I take another man even at a loss” and “Do not throw a puppy or kitten in the street.” Then there is Lady Elena, from Moscow: She’s 29, fluent in English, and can tongue a grape, if her profile photo is to be believed. There’s one bride-in-waiting in Haifa, and one in Los Angeles, but the majority seem to come from Eastern Europe, just as they did more than a century ago. When asked to describe their ideal husband, many of the women emphasize reliability and kindness.

I tried to find out where these women usually wind up, but Svetlana, who runs the site, wouldn’t answer my questions. (“Money is nice,” she told me, suggesting what might make her more forthcoming.) It seems entirely likely that some of these women, if not the entire enterprise, are not quite what they present themselves to be. Such schemes have historical precedence. “In turn-of-the-century Chicago alone, police broke up as many as 125 fraudulent marriage agencies,” Kristoffer Garin wrote in Harper’s in 2006, “seizing and burning ‘wagon loads’ of photographs of fictitious brides.”

Indeed, mail-order brides have played a significant role in American life and myth since colonial times. So, why should we be surprised that some of these brides, fictitious or not, might be Jewish? I’m not the only one; many of people who hear the premise of my book repeat the words back to me: “a Jewish mail-order bride?” The idea makes them uncomfortable, I think, not just because it’s unsavory, but because it implies victimhood.

But Rachel Calof didn’t allow herself to become a victim. She managed to stay sane, despite an unusually cruel mother-in-law. She despaired at the “rude shanty” that became her home, but then she laboriously improved it, covering the cracked walls in clay. She lit her family’s Sabbath meal with candles she made from rags, mud, and butter.

Meanwhile, other Jewish pioneer women, equally strange to this country, found their own way. Their stories can be found in a wide range of texts, including And Prairie Dogs Weren’t Kosher, by Linda Mack Schloff, Dakota Diaspora, by Sophie Trupin, and the Jewish Women Pioneers website, which details extraordinary moments in these women’s lives. Anna Marks shot her gun to defend the ground she’d claimed for her store in Eureka City, Utah. In Santa Fe, Betty Spiegelberg defied her husband’s orders to stay in the house and rescued a young girl slave who’d been kidnapped and abused. And in Arizona, Anna Solomon sent her oldest son riding around nearby states to round up Jewish husbands for his sisters while she ran the Solomon Hotel—where “continental pastries” were served each morning with the help of a Chinese cook named Gin Awah Quang.

These Jewish women were enterprising, bold, and stubborn—and they were not alone. Across the plains, German and Finnish and Romanian women were doing versions of the same things, just as immigrant women today continue to do, whatever their marital circumstances. They survey their surroundings, consider their options, and get to work: creating domestic order and beginning the long process of becoming American.

Anna Solomon has published essays and stories in the New York Times Magazine, Kveller, One Story, the Missouri Review, the Georgia Review, and elsewhere, and has twice been awarded the Pushcart Prize. Her first novel, The Little Bride, will be published by Riverhead on September 6.

Print Email

Daily rate: $2
Monthly rate: $18
Yearly rate: $180

Tablet is committed to bringing you the best, smartest, most enlightening and entertaining reporting and writing on Jewish life, all free of charge. We take pride in our community of readers, and are thrilled that you choose to engage with us in a way that is both thoughtful and thought-provoking. But the Internet, for all of its wonders, poses challenges to civilized and constructive discussion, allowing vocal—and, often, anonymous—minorities to drag it down with invective (and worse). Starting today, then, we are asking people who'd like to post comments on the site to pay a nominal fee—less a paywall than a gesture of your own commitment to the cause of great conversation. All proceeds go to helping us bring you the ambitious journalism that brought you here in the first place.

Readers can still interact with us free of charge via Facebook, Twitter, and our other social media channels, or write to us at Each week, we’ll select the best letters and publish them in a new letters to the editor feature on the Scroll.

We hope this new largely symbolic measure will help us create a more pleasant and cultivated environment for all of our readers, and, as always, we thank you deeply for your support.

Life was extremely hard back then, as it is in this economic Depression we’re in. Anna’s piece is, IMO, excellent.

I would offer, though, that men and women do what they must to survive–and it isn’t always pretty/pure. The idea that it’s always somehow men taking advantage of women should end. Women also take men to the cleaners. But the prism’s depiction is always one sided–women being taken advantage of. A woman fighting for a better life for herself taking risks isn’t new. An environment where this happens is shared, not one sided controlled by one gender.

In dire economic/environmental conditions people take risks leaving themselves vulnerable. It isn’t misogynist.

Cheryl Torsney says:

A former student discussed Rachel Calof in her doctoral dissertation back in the mid-nineties, when Indiana University Press originally published the memoir. Good stuff!

Eileen P. says:

We read and discussed Rachel Calof’s story in a book group I run through the temple library where I am the librarian. It was a great treat when one of her cousins showed up at the discussion and gave us first-hand testimony about Rachel’s life. I highly recommend this fascinating book!

Eileen P. says:

If you are interested in this genre,I would also recommend “AWAY” by Amy Bloom

Rosalia says:

My sweet grandma was a mail-order bride. She went from Russia to Argentina, Buenos Aires, with 16 years-old to meet my grandpa , who come from the same schtetl two years before. They lived in the same town but never met there. Sweet, corageous, hard worker and very shy, my grandma endured a difficult life. Never been happy at least she tough my mother to be free and independent.She used to tell me stories about her familiy , pogroms and poverty but very close one each other. She never
knew what happened with them after she come to Argentina.

The news peg for the Rachel Calof story is that “Rachel Calof,” the play, with original music and lyrics, is at the NYC Fringe Festival — final performance is Saturday, Aug 27 matinee. And I hear it’s very good.

Mail order brides were quite common among Eastern European ethnic Ashkenazim since the 1850s.

Jewish cantonists that completed military service without converting to Russian Orthodoxy had the right to live anywhere in the Czarist Empire and might even be granted an estate outside of Russia as well as minor noble status. Such former soldiers often negotiated mail order brides.

Jewish white slavers often preyed on women who believed they were going to marry a former soldier.

Earl Ganz says:

Another place to look is Harriet Rochlin’s “Pioneer Jews.” It’s wonderful
book full of old photo from the time. Ms. Rochlin also has published a novel about Jewish brides who were perhaps her ancestors. She lives in LA and I’m pretty sure she has a web site.

Leonard says:

When I did my volunteer time in Israel, I met other volunteers from Canada. Not all went further than Ontario, others landed in Winnipeg. Another from Moose Jaw. I was always a bit befuddled by this, and this seems quite alive in the modern matchmaker. My grandmother and her sisters, along with her mother started their American existence. My grandmother met my grandfather, and at their second meeting, he proposed. She accepted. He was American, and she wanted to live in the US. She already had a daughter, and he had three sons. It all worked out. Later, grandma was reunited with brother, who had been living in Buenos Aries. Interesting article.

Alyson says:

on september 1th the israelis are throwing an “end party” to israel.

seriously!! it’s on the israeli channel 10!

the jewish people are the first nation to celebrate the end of a country!

make sure you’re a part of this historic event and tune in!

I highly recommend this heartbreaking book for anyone who wants to learn more about this sad subject:

Bodies and Souls: The Tragic Plight of Three Jewish Women Forced into Prostitution in the Americas by
Isabel Vincent

Rosalia says:

Another great book about the same subject but written in Spanish for the brillant argentinian writer Lazaro Covadlo tells the story of the organization Zwi Migdal and the girls from Poland,Russian, Lituania, Romenia that come to be prostitutes in Buenos Aires, Rosario and other big cities of Argentina. The name of the book is “Las salvajes muchachas del Partido” Very recommended.

The Zune concentrates on being a Portable Media Player. Not a web browser. Not a game machine. Maybe in the future it’ll do even better in those areas, but for now it’s a fantastic way to organize and listen to your music and videos, and is without peer in that regard. The iPod’s strengths are its web browsing and apps. If those sound more compelling, perhaps it is your best choice. Elena

I know I’m a week late, but this is such a fabulously-written and enticing piece that it’s making my blog’s “Article of the Day”!

This is really fascinating, You’re a really skilled blogger. I have joined your feed and appear forward to seeking much more of your wonderful publish. Also, I have discussed your site in my internet sites!

You should, however, discourage children from splashing through puddles while wearing their ugg outlet store! Sheepskin does not cope well with wet weather.

Therefore, if you decide to go in for those trendy yet professional cheap uggs, you can take a look at some really economical and authentic online stores which offer great discounts.


Your comment may be no longer than 2,000 characters, approximately 400 words. HTML tags are not permitted, nor are more than two URLs per comment. We reserve the right to delete inappropriate comments.

Thank You!

Thank you for subscribing to the Tablet Magazine Daily Digest.
Please tell us about you.

Pioneer Women

There are many stereotypes of Jewish women, and mail-order bride isn’t one of them. But in the 19th century, some left Eastern Europe for the American frontier, where they married men they’d never met.

More on Tablet:

How To Make Middle Eastern Stuffed Vegetables

By Joan Nathan — Video: Filled with warm rice and unexpected spices, they’re perfect for a cool autumn night—as a side dish or vegetarian entree