The character:	Gitl
The actor:	Carol Kane
The movie:	Hester Street (1975)

Films about immigrants to America tend to follow one of three paths. An American Tail and The Emigrants/The New Land both envision a challenging, often unfriendly America which can be countered with a community brought from the old country. That community, especially in a movie which has some length to it, is diffused into the continent. Another path is in Alambrista!, where immigration is akin to a prison break. The most likely conclusion is recapture, but there are clearly worse futures for the immigrant to face than merely being taken back. The third path, and the one that most closely resembles Hester Street, is represented most powerfully by El Norte. Getting to America is not easy, and staying in America is not easy, but those twin goals are both attainable. The problem is not from established Americans of a different race or ethnic group or language. The problem is from the people who have come before, the people who are happy to exploit the newest people off the boat.

As immigrants themselves, they cannot dream of attaining the power of the native-born. They may have broken the language barrier that is crippling to the characters who are not Russian mice, but “broken” is not the same as “overcome.” In Hester Street, that’s Jake (Steven Keats). In comparison to the other Jewish emigres of the neighborhood, Jake is practically all-American. He wears the right clothes, although nothing in his fashion compares to the excellence of the mustache he’s kept. He speaks English with an accent, although I suppose you could hear the less alien German rather than Yiddish in it. Still, his English is only so good, and his understanding is only so good, and his adroitness with the American systems is limited indeed.

When he tries to get Gitl and Yossele through Ellis Island, separated from each other by a chain-link fence like he’s picking out a bitch and her puppy, you get the sense that he’s the only person in that scene who is sure of his position as a human being. Yet even he finds himself confused and frustrated by the questions asked by the officer about who Gitl is and what she’s coming to America for. The officer is smug about it, mixing the forced politeness of the gig with some raised eyebrows and a leaky grin. The lesson here is that on Hester Street, Jake can act the bigshot, and there is some kind of security in being a big fish in a Yiddish-speaking pond. But there is no safety for Gitl. With virtually no English herself, absolutely bound to a young son who Jake was able to leave behind for the sake of making the foothold in America, and, most importantly, believing wholeheartedly in her husband Yankel, who no longer responds to that name, Gitl has no floor underneath her.

This may not be a popular opinion, but the point of immigration is, ultimately, assimilation. I think about John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, in which the protagonist gets sick of the United States, moves to Canada, and then basically refuses to become a Canadian. Canada being what it is, John is chastised rather than chewed out, but the point of a paradoxical mulishness stands. Or, much more grandiosely, think about a Sicilian-born couple in pre-World War I California. Giuseppe and Rosalie continued to speak Italian at home for the rest of their lives, and yet, for millions of Americans, no one could be a more obvious American hero than their eighth child, Joe DiMaggio, the military veteran and nine-time World Series champion. Assimilation is not an instantaneous process. Nor should it be. It should be inevitable, and for the vast majority of immigrants, it is inevitable. Gitl’s path to assimilation is a rocky one, rocky because she does not cotton to American styles as quickly as Jake, rockier because Jake was much happier before she arrived. At the end of the film, though, her Yossele is Joey, Gitl is as much a Yank as Jake, and the future of her line is assured. You couldn’t find a purer American hero.