{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_33707/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_33707","id":"gutenberg_33707","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33707","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Jewish fiction","Jews -- Fiction","Short stories, Yiddish -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nYIDDISH TALES\n\nTRANSLATED BY\nHELENA FRANK\n\n[Illustration: colophon]\n\nPHILADELPHIA\nTHE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA\n1912\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1912,\nBY THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis little volume is intended to be both companion and complement to\n\"Stories and Pictures,\" by I. L. Perez, published by the Jewish\nPublication Society of America, in 1906.\n\nIts object was twofold: to introduce the non-Yiddish reading public to\nsome of the many other Yiddish writers active in Russian Jewry, and--to\nleave it with a more cheerful impression of Yiddish literature than it\nreceives from Perez alone. Yes, and we have collected, largely from\nmagazines and papers and unbound booklets, forty-eight tales by twenty\ndifferent authors. This, thanks to such kind helpers as Mr. F. Hieger,\nof London, without whose aid we should never have been able to collect\nthe originals of these stories, Mr. Morris Meyer, of London, who most\nkindly gave me the magazines, etc., in which some of them were\ncontained, and Mr. Israel J. Zevin, of New York, that able editor and\ndelightful _feuilletonist_, to whose critical knowledge of Yiddish\nletters we owe so much.\n\nSome of these writers, Perez, for example, and Sholom-Alechem, are\nfamiliar by name to many of us already, while the reputation of others\nrests, in circles enthusiastic but tragically small, on what they have\nwritten in Hebrew.[1] Such are Berdyczewski, Jehalel, Frischmann,\nBerschadski, and the silver-penned Judah Steinberg. On these last two be\npeace in the Olom ho-Emess. The Olom ha-Sheker had nothing for them but\nstruggle and suffering and an early grave.\n\n[1] Berschadski's \"Forlorn and Forsaken,\" Frischmann's \"Three\nWho Ate,\" and Steinberg's \"A Livelihood\" and \"At the Matzes,\" though\nhere translated from the Yiddish versions, were probably written in\nHebrew originally. In the case of the former two, it would seem that the\nYiddish version was made by the authors themselves, and the same may be\ntrue of Steinberg's tales, too.\n\nThe tales given here are by no means all equal in literary merit, but\nthey have each its special note, its special echo from that strangely\nfascinating world so often quoted, so little understood (we say it\nagainst ourselves), the Russian Ghetto--a world in the passing, but\nwhose more precious elements, shining, for all who care to see them,\nthrough every page of these unpretending tales, and mixed with less and\nless of what has made their misfortune, will surely live on, free, on\nthe one hand, to blend with all and everything akin to them, and free,\non the other, to develop along their own lines--and this year here, next\nyear in Jerusalem.\n\nThe American sketches by Zevin and S. Libin differ from the others only\nin their scene of action. Lerner's were drawn from the life in a little\ntown in Bessarabia, the others are mostly Polish. And the folk tale,\nwhich is taken from Joshua Meisach's collection, published in Wilna in\n1905, with the title Ma'asiyos vun der Baben, oder Nissim ve-Niflo'os,\nmight have sprung from almost any Ghetto of the Old World.\n\nWe sincerely regret that nothing from the pen of the beloved\n\"Grandfather\" of Yiddish story-tellers in print, Abramowitsch (Mendele\nMocher Seforim), was found quite suitable for insertion here, his\nwritings being chiefly much longer than the type selected for this book.\nNeither have we come across anything appropriate to our purpose by\nanother old favorite, J. Dienesohn. We were, however, able to insert\nthree tales by the veteran author Mordecai Spektor, whose simple style\nand familiar figures go straight to the people's heart.\n\nWith regard to the second half of our object, greater cheerfulness, this\ncollection is an utter failure. It has variety, on account of the many\ndifferent authors, and the originals have wit and humor in plenty, for\nwit and humor and an almost passionate playfulness are in the very soul\nof the language, but it is not cheerful, and we wonder now how we ever\nthought it could be so, if the collective picture given of Jewish life\nwere, despite its fictitious material, to be anything like a true one.\nThe drollest of the tales, \"Gymnasiye\" (we refer to the originals), is\nperhaps the saddest, anyhow in point of actuality, seeing that the\nRussian Government is planning to make education impossible of\nattainment by more and more of the Jewish youth--children given into its\nkeeping as surely as any others, and for the crushing of whose lives it\nwill have to answer.\n\nWell, we have done our best. Among these tales are favorites of ours\nwhich we have not so much as mentioned by name, thus leaving the gentle\nreader at liberty to make his own.\n\nH. F.\n\nLONDON, MARCH, 1911\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGEMENT\n\n\nThe Jewish Publication Society of America desires to acknowledge the\nvaluable aid which Mr. A. S. Freidus, of the Department of Jewish\nLiterature, in the New York Public Library, extended to it in compiling\nthe biographical data relating to the authors whose stories appear in\nEnglish garb in the present volume. Some of the authors that are living\nin America courteously furnished the Society with the data referring to\ntheir own biographies.\n\nThe following sources have been consulted for the biographies: The\nJewish Encyclopaedia; Wiener, History of Yiddish Literature in the\nNineteenth Century; Pinnes, Histoire de la Litterature Judeo-Allemande,\nand the Yiddish version of the same, Die Geschichte vun der juedischer\nLiteratur; Baal-Mahashabot, Geklibene Schriften; Sefer Zikkaron\nle-Sofere Yisrael ha-hayyim ittanu ka-Yom; Eisenstadt, Hakme Yisrael\nbe-Amerika; the memoirs preceding the collected works of some of the\nauthors; and scattered articles in European and American Yiddish\nperiodicals.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPREFACE 5\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENT 8\n\nREUBEN ASHER BRAUBES\nThe Misfortune 13\n\nJEHALEL (JUDAH LOeB LEWIN)\nEarth of Palestine 29\n\nISAAC LOeB PEREZ\nA Woman's Wrath 55\nThe Treasure 62\nIt Is Well 67\nWhence a Proverb 73\n\nMORDECAI SPEKTOR\nAn Original Strike 83\nA Gloomy Wedding 91\nPoverty 107\n\nSHOLOM-ALECHEM (SHALOM RABINOVITZ)\nThe Clock 115\nFishel the Teacher 125\nAn Easy Fast 143\nThe Passover Guest 153\nGymnasiye 162\n\nELIEZER DAVID ROSENTHAL\nSabbath 183\nYom Kippur 189\n\nISAIAH LERNER\nBertzi Wasserfuehrer 211\nEzrielk the Scribe 219\nYitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber 236\n\nJUDAH STEINBERG\nA Livelihood 251\nAt the Matzes 259\n\nDAVID FRISCHMANN\nThree Who Ate 269\n\nMICHA JOSEPH BERDYCZEWSKI\nMilitary Service 281\n\nISAIAH BERSCHADSKI\nForlorn and Forsaken 295\n\nTASHRAK (ISRAEL JOSEPH ZEVIN)\nThe Hole in a Beigel 309\nAs the Years Roll On 312\n\nDAVID PINSKI\nReb Shloimeh 319\n\nS. LIBIN (ISRAEL HUBEWITZ)\nA Picnic 357\nManasseh 366\nYohrzeit for Mother 371\nSlack Times They Sleep 377\n\nABRAHAM RAISIN\nShut In 385\nThe Charitable Loan 389\nThe Two Brothers 397\nLost His Voice 405\nLate 415\nThe Kaddish 421\nAvrohom the Orchard-Keeper 427\n\nHIRSH DAVID NAUMBERG\nThe Rav and the Rav's Son 435\n\nMEYER BLINKIN\nWomen 449\n\nLOeB SCHAPIRO\nIf It Was a Dream 481\n\nSHALOM ASCH\nA Simple Story 493\nA Jewish Child 506\nA Scholar's Mother 514\nThe Sinner 529\n\nISAAC DOB BERKOWITZ\nCountry Folk 543\nThe Last of Them 566\n\nA FOLK TALE\nThe Clever Rabbi 581\n\nGLOSSARY AND NOTES 589\n\n\n\n\nREUBEN ASHER BRAUDES\n\nBorn, 1851, in Wilna (Lithuania), White Russia; went to Roumania\nafter the anti-Jewish riots of 1882, and published a Yiddish\nweekly, Yehudit, in the interest of Zionism; expelled from\nRoumania; published a Hebrew weekly, Ha-Zeman, in Cracow, in 1891;\nthen co-editor of the Yiddish edition of Die Welt, the official\norgan of Zionism; Hebrew critic, publicist, and novelist;\ncontributor to Ha-Lebanon (at eighteen), Ha-Shahar, Ha-Boker Or,\nand other periodicals; chief work, the novel \"Religion and Life.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE MISFORTUNE\n\nOR HOW THE RAV OF PUMPIAN TRIED TO SOLVE A SOCIAL PROBLEM\n\n\nPumpian is a little town in Lithuania, a Jewish town. It lies far away\nfrom the highway, among villages reached by the Polish Road. The\ninhabitants of Pumpian are poor people, who get a scanty living from the\npeasants that come into the town to make purchases, or else the Jews go\nout to them with great bundles on their shoulders and sell them every\nsort of small ware, in return for a little corn, or potatoes, etc.\nStrangers, passing through, are seldom seen there, and if by any chance\na strange person arrives, it is a great wonder and rarity. People peep\nat him through all the little windows, elderly men venture out to bid\nhim welcome, while boys and youths hang about in the street and stare at\nhim. The women and girls blush and glance at him sideways, and he is the\none subject of conversation: \"Who can that be? People don't just set off\nand come like that--there must be something behind it.\" And in the\nhouse-of-study, between Afternoon and Evening Prayer, they gather\nclosely round the elder men, who have been to greet the stranger, to\nfind out who and what the latter may be.\n\nFifty or sixty years ago, when what I am about to tell you happened,\ncommunication between Pumpian and the rest of the world was very\nrestricted indeed: there were as yet no railways, there was no\ntelegraph, the postal service was slow and intermittent. People came\nand went less often, a journey was a great undertaking, and there were\nnot many outsiders to be found even in the larger towns. Every town was\na town to itself, apart, and Pumpian constituted a little world of its\nown, which had nothing to do with the world at large, and lived its own\nlife.\n\nNeither were there so many newspapers then, anywhere, to muddle people's\nheads every day of the week, stirring up questions, so that people\nshould have something to talk about, and the Jews had no papers of their\nown at all, and only heard \"news\" and \"what was going on in the world\"\nin the house-of-study or (lehavdil!) in the bath-house. And what sort of\nnews was it _then_? What sort could it be? World-stirring questions\nhardly existed (certainly Pumpian was ignorant of them): politics,\neconomics, statistics, capital, social problems, all these words, now on\nthe lips of every boy and girl, were then all but unknown even in the\ngreat world, let alone among us Jews, and let alone to Reb Nochumtzi,\nthe Pumpian Rav!\n\nAnd yet Reb Nochumtzi had a certain amount of worldly wisdom of his own.\n\nReb Nochumtzi was a native of Pumpian, and had inherited his position\nthere from his father. He had been an only son, made much of by his\nparents (hence the pet name Nochumtzi clinging to him even in his old\nage), and never let out of their sight. When he had grown up, they\nconnected him by marriage with the tenant of an estate not far from the\ntown, but his father would not hear of his going there \"auf Koest,\" as\nthe custom is. \"I cannot be parted from my Nochumtzi even for a minute,\"\nexplained the old Rav, \"I cannot bear him out of my sight. Besides, we\nstudy together.\" And, in point of fact, they did study together day and\nnight. It was evident that the Rav was determined his Nochumtzi should\nbecome Rav in Pumpian after his death--and so he became.\n\nHe had been Rav some years in the little town, receiving the same five\nPolish gulden a week salary as his father (on whom be peace!), and he\nsat and studied and thought. He had nothing much to do in the way of\nexercising authority: the town was very quiet, the people orderly, there\nwere no quarrels, and it was seldom that parties went \"to law\" with one\nanother before the Rav; still less often was there a ritual question to\nsettle: the folk were poor, there was no meat cooked in a Jewish house\nfrom one Friday to another, when one must have a bit of meat in honor of\nSabbath. Fish was a rarity, and in summer time people often had a \"milky\nSabbath,\" as well as a milky week. How should there be \"questions\"? So\nhe sat and studied and thought, and he was very fond indeed of thinking\nabout the world!\n\nIt is true that he sat all day in his room, that he had never in all his\nlife been so much as \"four ells\" outside the town, that it had never so\nmuch as occurred to him to drive about a little in any direction, for,\nafter all, whither should he drive? And why drive anywhither? And yet he\nknew the world, like any other learned man, a disciple of the wise.\nEverything is in the Torah, and out of the Torah, out of the Gemoreh,\nand out of all the other sacred books, Reb Nochumtzi had learned to\nknow the world also. He knew that \"Reuben's ox gores Simeon's cow,\" that\n\"a spark from a smith's hammer can burn a wagon-load of hay,\" that \"Reb\nEliezer ben Charsum had a thousand towns on land and a thousand ships on\nthe sea.\" Ha, that was a fortune! He must have been nearly as rich as\nRothschild (they knew about Rothschild even in Pumpian!). \"Yes, he was a\nrich Tano and no mistake!\" he reflected, and was straightway sunk in the\nconsideration of the subject of rich and poor.\n\nHe knew from the holy books that to be rich is a pure misfortune. King\nSolomon, who was certainly a great sage, prayed to God: Resh wo-Osher\nal-titten li!--\"Give me neither poverty nor _riches_!\" He said that\n\"riches are stored to the hurt of their owner,\" and in the holy Gemoreh\nthere is a passage which says, \"Poverty becomes a Jew as scarlet reins\nbecome a white horse,\" and once a sage had been in Heaven for a short\ntime and had come back again, and he said that he had seen poor people\nthere occupying the principal seats in the Garden of Eden, and the rich\npushed right away, back into a corner by the door. And as for the books\nof exhortation, there are things written that make you shudder in every\nlimb. The punishments meted out to the rich by God in that world, the\nworld of truth, are no joke. For what bit of merit they have, God\nrewards them in _this_ poor world, the world of vanity, while yonder, in\nthe world of truth, they arrive stript and naked, without so much as a\ntaste of Kingdom-come!\n\n\"Consequently, the question is,\" thought Reb Nochumtzi, \"why should\nthey, the rich, want to keep this misfortune? Of what use is this\nmisfortune to them? Who so mad as to take such a piece of misfortune\ninto his house and keep it there? How can anyone take the world-to-come\nin both hands and lose it for the sake of such vanities?\"\n\nHe thought and thought, and thought it over again:\n\n\"What is a poor creature to do when God sends him the misfortune of\nriches? He would certainly wish to get rid of them, only who would take\nhis misfortune to please him? Who would free another from a curse and\ntake it upon himself?\n\n\"But, after all ... ha?\" the Evil Spirit muttered inside him.\n\n\"What a fool you are!\" thought Reb Nochumtzi again. \"If\" (and he\ndescribed a half-circle downward in the air with his thumb), \"if\ntroubles come to us, such as an illness (may the Merciful protect us!),\nor some other misfortune of the kind, it is expressly stated in the\nSacred Writings that it is an expiation for sin, a torment sent into the\nworld, so that we may be purified by it, and made fit to go straight to\nParadise. And because it is God who afflicts men with these things, we\ncannot give them away to anyone else, but have to bear with them. Now,\nsuch a misfortune as being rich, which is also a visitation of God, must\ncertainly be borne with like the rest.\n\n\"And, besides,\" he reflected further, \"the fool who would take the\nmisfortune to himself, doesn't exist! What healthy man in his senses\nwould get into a sick-bed?\"\n\nHe began to feel very sorry for Reb Eliezer ben Charsum with his\nthousand towns and his thousand ships. \"To think that such a saint, such\na Tano, one of the authors of the holy Mishnah, should incur such a\nsevere punishment!\n\n\"But he stood the trial! Despite this great misfortune, he remained a\nsaint and a Tano to the end, and the holy Gemoreh says particularly that\nhe thereby put to shame all the rich people, who go straight to\nGehenna.\"\n\nThus Reb Nochumtzi, the Pumpian Rav, sat over the Talmud and reflected\ncontinually on the problem of great riches. He knew the world through\nthe Holy Scriptures, and was persuaded that riches were a terrible\nmisfortune, which had to be borne, because no one would consent to\ntaking it from another, and bearing it for him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAgain many years passed, and Reb Nochumtzi gradually came to see that\npoverty also is a misfortune, and out of his own experience.\n\nHis Sabbath cloak began to look threadbare (the weekday one was already\npatched on every side), he had six little children living, one or two of\nthe girls were grown up, and it was time to think of settling them, and\nthey hadn't a frock fit to put on. The five Polish gulden a week salary\nwas not enough to keep them in bread, and the wife, poor thing, wept the\nwhole day through: \"Well, there, ich wie ich, it isn't for myself--but\nthe poor children are naked and barefoot.\"\n\nAt last they were even short of bread.\n\n\"Nochumtzi! Why don't you speak?\" exclaimed his wife with tears in her\neyes. \"Nochumtzi, can't you hear me? I tell you, we're starving! The\nchildren are skin and bone, they haven't a shirt to their back, they can\nhardly keep body and soul together. Think of a way out of it, invent\nsomething to help us!\"\n\nAnd Reb Nochumtzi sat and considered.\n\nHe was considering the other misfortune--poverty.\n\n\"It is equally a misfortune to be really very poor.\"\n\nAnd this also he found stated in the Holy Scriptures.\n\nIt was King Solomon, the famous sage, who prayed as well: Resh wo-Osher\nal-titten li, that is, \"Give me neither _poverty_ nor riches.\" Aha!\npoverty is no advantage, either, and what does the holy Gemoreh say but\n\"Poverty diverts a man from the way of God\"? In fact, there is a second\nmisfortune in the world, and one he knows very well, one with which he\nhas a practical, working acquaintance, he and his wife and his children.\n\nAnd Reb Nochum pursued his train of thought:\n\n\"So there are two contrary misfortunes in the world: this way it's bad,\nand that way it's bitter! Is there really no remedy? Can no one suggest\nany help?\"\n\nAnd Reb Nochumtzi began to pace the room up and down, lost in thought,\nbending his whole mind to the subject. A whole flight of Bible texts\nwent through his head, a quantity of quotations from the Gemoreh,\nhundreds of stories and anecdotes from the \"Fountain of Jacob,\" the\nMidrash, and other books, telling of rich and poor, fortunate and\nunfortunate people, till his head went round with them all as he\nthought. Suddenly he stood still in the middle of the room, and began\ntalking to himself:\n\n\"Aha! Perhaps I've discovered a plan after all! And a good plan, too,\nupon my word it is! Once more: it is quite certain that there will\nalways be more poor than rich--lots more! Well, and it's quite certain\nthat every rich man would like to be rid of his misfortune, only that\nthere is no one willing to take it from him--no _one_, not any _one_, of\ncourse not. Nobody would be so mad. But we have to find out a way by\nwhich _lots and lots_ of people should rid him of his misfortune little\nby little. What do you say to that? Once more: that means that we must\ntake his unfortunate riches and divide them among a quantity of poor!\nThat will be a good thing for both parties: he will be easily rid of his\ngreat misfortune, and they would be helped, too, and the petition of\nKing Solomon would be established, when he said, 'Give me neither\npoverty nor riches.' It would come true of them all, there would be no\nriches and no poverty. Ha? What do you think of it? Isn't it really and\ntruly an excellent idea?\"\n\nReb Nochumtzi was quite astonished himself at the plan he had invented,\ncold perspiration ran down his face, his eyes shone brighter, a happy\nsmile played on his lips. \"That's the thing to do!\" he explained aloud,\nsat down by the table, blew his nose, wiped his face, and felt very\nglad.\n\n\"There is only one difficulty about it,\" occurred to him, when he had\nquieted down a little from his excitement, \"one thing that doesn't fit\nin. It says particularly in the Torah that there will always be poor\npeople among the Jews, 'the poor shall not cease out of the land.' There\nmust always be poor, and this would make an end of them altogether!\nBesides, the precept concerning charity would, Heaven forbid, be\nannulled, the precept which God, blessed is He, wrote in the Torah, and\nwhich the holy Gemoreh and all the other holy books make so much of.\nWhat is to become of the whole treatise on charity in the Shulchan\nAruch? How can we continue to fulfil it?\"\n\nBut a good head is never at a loss! Reb Nochumtzi soon found a way out\nof the difficulty.\n\n\"Never mind!\" and he wrinkled his forehead, and pondered on. \"There is\nno fear! Who said that even the whole of the money in the possession of\na few unfortunate rich men will be enough to go round? That there will\nbe just enough to help all the Jewish poor? No fear, there will be\nenough poor left for the exercise of charity. Ai wos? There is another\nthing: to whom shall be given and to whom not? Ha, that's a detail, too.\nOf course, one would begin with the learned and the poor scholars and\nsages, who have to live on the Torah and on Divine Service. The people\ncan just be left to go on as it is. No fear, but it will be all right!\"\n\nAt last the plan was ready. Reb Nochumtzi thought it over once more,\nvery carefully, found it complete from every point of view, and gave\nhimself up to a feeling of satisfaction and delight.\n\n\"Dvoireh!\" he called to his wife, \"Dvoireh, don't cry! Please God, it\nwill be all right, quite all right. I've thought out a plan.... A\nlittle patience, and it will all come right!\"\n\n\"Whatever? What sort of plan?\"\n\n\"There, there, wait and see and hold your tongue! No woman's brain could\ntake it in. You leave it to me, it will be all right!\"\n\nAnd Reb Nochumtzi reflected further:\n\n\"Yes, the plan is a good one. Only, how is it to be carried out? With\nwhom am I to begin?\"\n\nAnd he thought of all the householders in Pumpian, but--there was not\none single unfortunate man among them! That is, not one of them had\nmoney, a real lot of money; there was nobody with whom to discuss his\ninvention to any purpose.\n\n\"If so, I shall have to drive to one of the large towns!\"\n\nAnd one Sabbath the beadle gave out in the house-of-study that the Rav\nbegged them all to be present that evening at a convocation.\n\nAt the said convocation the Rav unfolded his whole plan to the people,\nand placed before them the happiness that would result for the whole\nworld, if it were to be realized. But first of all he must journey to a\nlarge town, in which there were a great many unfortunate rich people,\npreferably Wilna, and he demanded of his flock that they should furnish\nhim with the necessary means for getting there.\n\nThe audience did not take long to reflect, they agreed to the Rav's\nproposal, collected a few rubles (for who would not give their last\nfarthing for such an important object?), and on Sunday morning early\nthey hired him a peasant's cart and horse--and the Rav drove away to\nWilna.\n\nThe Rav passed the drive marshalling his arguments, settling on what he\nshould say, and how he should explain himself, and he was delighted to\nsee how, the more deeply he pondered his plan, the more he thought it\nout, the more efficient and appropriate it appeared, and the clearer he\nsaw what happiness it would bestow on men all the world over.\n\nThe small cart arrived at Wilna.\n\n\"Whither are we to drive?\" asked the peasant.\n\n\"Whither? To a Jew,\" answered the Rav. \"For where is the Jew who will\nnot give me a night's lodging?\"\n\n\"And I, with my cart and horse?\"\n\nThe Rav sat perplexed, but a Jew passing by heard the conversation, and\nexplained to him that Wilna is not Pumpian, and that they would have to\ndrive to a post-house, or an inn.\n\n\"Be it so!\" said the Rav, and the Jew gave him the address of a place to\nwhich they should drive.\n\nWilna! It is certainly not the same thing as Pumpian. Now, for the first\ntime in his life, the Rav saw whole streets of tall houses, of two and\nthree stories, all as it were under one roof, and how fine they are,\nthought he, with their decorated exteriors!\n\n\"Oi, there live the unfortunate people!\" said Reb Nochumtzi to himself.\n\"I never saw anything like them before! How can they bear such a\nmisfortune? I shall come to them as an angel of deliverance!\"\n\nHe had made up his mind to go to the principal Jewish citizen in Wilna,\nonly he must be a good scholar, so as to understand what Reb Nochumtzi\nhad to say to him.\n\nThey advised him to go to the president of the Congregation.\n\nEvery street along which he passed astonished him separately, the\nhouses, the pavements, the droshkis and carriages, and especially the\npeople, so beautifully got up with gold watch-chains and rings--he was\nquite bewildered, so that he was afraid he might lose his senses, and\nforget all his arguments and his reasonings.\n\nAt last he arrived at the president's house.\n\n\"He lives on the first floor.\" Another surprise! Reb Nochumtzi was\nunused to stairs. There was no storied house in all Pumpian! But when\nyou must, you must! One way and another he managed to arrive at the\nfirst-floor landing, where he opened the door, and said, all in one\nbreath:\n\n\"I am the Pumpian Rav, and have something to say to the president.\"\n\nThe president, a handsome old man, very busy just then with some\nmerchants who had come on business, stood up, greeted him politely, and\nopening the door of the reception-room said to him:\n\n\"Please, Rabbi, come in here and wait a little. I shall soon have\nfinished, and then I will come to you here.\"\n\nExpensive furniture, large mirrors, pictures, softly upholstered chairs,\ntables, cupboards with shelves full of great silver candlesticks, cups,\nknives and forks, a beautiful lamp, and many other small objects, all\nof solid silver, wardrobes with carving in different designs; then,\npainted walls, a great silver chandelier decorated with cut glass,\nfascinating to behold! Reb Nochumtzi actually had tears in his eyes, \"To\nthink of anyone's being so unfortunate--and to have to bear it!\"\n\n\"What can I do for you, Pumpian Rav?\" inquired the president.\n\nAnd Reb Nochumtzi, overcome by amazement and enthusiasm, nearly shouted:\n\n\"You are so unfortunate!\"\n\nThe president stared at him, shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.\n\nThen Reb Nochumtzi laid his whole plan before him, the object of his\ncoming.\n\n\"I will be frank with you,\" he said in concluding his long speech, \"I\nhad no idea of the extent of the misfortune! To the rescue, men, save\nyourselves! Take it to heart, think of what it means to have houses like\nthese, and all these riches--it is a most terrible misfortune! Now I see\nwhat a reform of the whole world my plan amounts to, what deliverance it\nwill bring to all men!\"\n\nThe president looked him straight in the face: he saw the man was not\nmad, but that he had the limited horizon of one born and bred in a small\nprovincial town and in the atmosphere of the house-of-study.\n\nHe also saw that it would be impossible to convince him by proofs that\nhis idea was a mistaken one; for a little while he pitied him in\nsilence, then he hit upon an expedient, and said:\n\n\"You are quite right, Rabbi! Your plan is really a very good one. But I\nam only one of many, Wilna is full of such unfortunate people. Everyone\nof them must be talked to, and have the thing explained to him. Then,\nthe other party must be spoken to as well, I mean the poor people, so\nthat they shall be willing to take their share of the misfortune. That's\nnot such an easy matter as giving a thing away and getting rid of it.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course....\" agreed Reb Nochumtzi.\n\n\"Look here, Rav of Pumpian, I will undertake the more difficult\npart--let us work together! You shall persuade the rich to give away\ntheir misfortune, and I will persuade the poor to take it! Your share of\nthe work will be the easier, because, after all, everybody wants to be\nrid of his misfortune. Do your part, and as soon as you have finished\nwith the rich, I will arrange for you to be met half-way by the\npoor....\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nHistory does not tell how far the Rav of Pumpian succeeded in Wilna.\nOnly this much is certain, the president never saw him again.\n\n\n\n\nJEHALEL\n\nPen name of Judah Loeb Lewin; born, 1845, in Minsk (Lithuania), White\nRussia; tutor; treasurer to the Brodski flour mills and their sugar\nrefinery, at Tomaschpol, Podolia, later in Kieff; began to write in\n1860; translator of Beaconsfield's Tancred into Hebrew; Talmudist;\nmystic; first Socialist writer in Hebrew; writer, chiefly in Hebrew, of\nprose and poetry; contributor to Sholom-Alechem's Juedische\nVolksbibliothek, Ha-Shahar, Ha-Meliz, Ha-Zeflrah, and other\nperiodicals.\n\n\n\n\nEARTH OF PALESTINE\n\n\nAs my readers know, I wanted to do a little stroke of business--to sell\nthe world-to-come. I must tell you that I came out of it very badly, and\nmight have fallen into some misfortune, if I had had the ware in stock.\nIt fell on this wise: Nowadays everyone is squeezed and stifled;\nParnosseh is gone to wrack and ruin, and there is no business--I mean,\nthere _is_ business, only not for us Jews. In such bitter times people\nsnatch the bread out of each other's mouths; if it is known that someone\nhas made a find, and started a business, they quickly imitate him; if\nthat one opens a shop, a second does likewise, and a third, and a\nfourth; if this one makes a contract, the other runs and will do it for\nless--\"Even if I earn nothing, no more will you!\"\n\nWhen I gave out that I had the world-to-come to sell, lots of people\ngave a start, \"Aha! a business!\" and before they knew what sort of ware\nit was, and where it was to be had, they began thinking about a\nshop--and there was still greater interest shown on the part of certain\nphilanthropists, party leaders, public workers, and such-like. They knew\nthat when I set up trading in the world-to-come, I had announced that my\nbusiness was only with the poor. Well, they understood that it was\nlikely to be profitable, and might give them the chance of licking a\nbone or two. There was very soon a great tararam in our little world,\npeople began inquiring where my goods came from. They surrounded me with\nspies, who were to find out what I did at night, what I did on Sabbath;\nthey questioned the cook, the market-woman; but in vain, they could not\nfind out how I came by the world-to-come. And there blazed up a fire of\njealousy and hatred, and they began to inform, to write letters to the\nauthorities about me. Laban the Yellow and Balaam the Blind (you know\nthem!) made my boss believe that I do business, that is, that I have\ncapital, that is--that is--but my employer investigated the matter, and\nseeing that my stock in trade was the world-to-come, he laughed, and let\nme alone. The townspeople among whom it was my lot to dwell, those good\npeople who are a great hand at fishing in troubled waters, as soon as\nthey saw the mud rise, snatched up their implements and set to work,\ninforming by letter that I was dealing in contraband. There appeared a\nred official and swept out a few corners in my house, but without\nfinding a single specimen bit of the world-to-come, and went away. But I\nhad no peace even then; every day came a fresh letter informing against\nme. My good brothers never ceased work. The pious, orthodox Jews, the\nGemoreh-Koeplech, informed, and said I was a swindler, because the\nworld-to-come is a thing that isn't there, that is neither fish, flesh,\nfowl, nor good red herring, and the whole thing was a delusion; the\nhalf-civilized people with long trousers and short earlocks said, on the\ncontrary, that I was making game of religion, so that before long I had\nenough of it from every side, and made the following resolutions: first,\nthat I would have nothing to do with the world-to-come and such-like\nthings which the Jews did not understand, although they held them very\nprecious; secondly, that I would not let myself in for selling\nanything. One of my good friends, an experienced merchant, advised me\nrather to buy than to sell: \"There are so many to sell, they will\ncompete with you, inform against you, and behave as no one should.\nBuying, on the other hand--if you want to buy, you will be esteemed and\nrespected, everyone will flatter you, and be ready to sell to you on\ncredit--everyone is ready to take money, and with very little capital\nyou can buy the best and most expensive ware.\" The great thing was to\nget a good name, and then, little by little, by means of credit, one\nmight rise very high.\n\nSo it was settled that I should buy. I had a little money on hand for a\ncouple of newspaper articles, for which nowadays they pay; I had a bit\nof reputation earned by a great many articles in Hebrew, for which I\nreceived quite nice complimentary letters; and, in case of need, there\nis a little money owing to me from certain Jewish booksellers of the\nMaskilim, for books bought \"on commission.\" Well, I am resolved to buy.\n\nBut what shall I buy? I look round and take note of all the things a man\ncan buy, and see that I, as a Jew, may not have them; that which I may\nbuy, no matter where, isn't worth a halfpenny; a thing that is of any\nvalue, I can't have. And I determine to take to the old ware which my\ngreat-great-grandfathers bought, and made a fortune in. My parents and\nthe whole family wish for it every day. I resolve to buy--you understand\nme?--earth of Palestine, and I announce both verbally and in writing to\nall my good and bad brothers that I wish to become a purchaser of the\nware.\n\nOh, what a commotion it made! Hardly was it known that I wished to buy\nPalestinian earth, than there pounced upon me people of whom I had never\nthought it possible that they should talk to me, and be in the room with\nme. The first to come was a kind of Jew with a green shawl, with white\nshoes, a pale face with a red nose, dark eyes, and yellow earlocks. He\ncommenced unpacking paper and linen bags, out of which he shook a little\nsand, and he said to me: \"That is from Mother Rachel's grave, from the\nShunammite's grave, from the graves of Huldah the prophetess and\nDeborah.\" Then he shook out the other bags, and mentioned a whole list\nof men: from the grave of Enoch, Moses our Teacher, Elijah the Prophet,\nHabakkuk, Ezekiel, Jonah, authors of the Talmud, and holy men as many as\nthere be. He assured me that each kind of sand had its own precious\ndistinction, and had, of course, its special price. I had not had time\nto examine all the bags of sand, when, aha! I got a letter written on\nblue paper in Rashi script, in which an unknown well-wisher earnestly\nwarned me against buying of _that_ Jew, for neither he nor his father\nbefore him had ever been in Palestine, and he had got the sand in K.,\nfrom the Andreiyeff Hills yonder, and that if I wished for it, _he_ had\n_real_ Palestinian earth, from the Mount of Olives, with a document from\nthe Palestinian vicegerent, the Brisk Rebbetzin, to the effect that she\nhad given of this earth even to the eaters of swine's flesh, of whom it\nis said, \"for their worm shall not die,\" and they also were saved from\nworms. My Palestinian Jew, after reading the letter, called down all bad\ndreams upon the head of the Brisk Rebbetzin, and declared among other\nthings that she herself was a dreadful worm, who, etc. He assured me\nthat I ought not to send money to the Brisk Rebbetzin, \"May Heaven\ndefend you! it will be thrown away, as it has been a hundred times\nalready!\" and began once more to praise _his_ wares, his earth, saying\nit was a marvel. I answered him that I wanted real earth of Palestine,\n_earth_, not sand out of little bags.\n\n\"Earth, it _is_ earth!\" he repeated, and became very angry. \"What do you\nmean by earth? Am I offering you mud? But that is the way with people\nnowadays, when they want something Jewish, there is no pleasing them!\nOnly\" (a thought struck him) \"if you want another sort, perhaps from the\nfield of Machpelah, I can bring you some Palestinian earth that _is_\nearth. Meantime give me something in advance, for, besides everything\nelse, I am a Palestinian Jew.\"\n\nI pushed a coin into his hand, and he went away. Meanwhile the news had\nspread, my intention to purchase earth of Palestine had been noised\nabroad, and the little town echoed with my name. In the streets, lanes,\nand market-place, the talk was all of me and of how \"there is no putting\na final value on a Jewish soul: one thought he was one of _them_, and\nnow he wants to buy earth of Palestine!\" Many of those who met me looked\nat me askance, \"The same and _not_ the same!\" In the synagogue they gave\nme the best turn at the Reading of the Law; Jews in shoes and socks\nwished me \"a good Sabbath\" with great heartiness, and a friendly smile:\n\"Eh-eh-eh! We understand--you are a deep one--you are one of us after\nall.\" In short, they surrounded me, and nearly carried me on their\nshoulders, so that I really became something of a celebrity.\n\nYuedel, the \"living orphan,\" worked the hardest. Yuedel is already a man\nin years, but everyone calls him the \"orphan\" on account of what befell\nhim on a time. His history is very long and interesting, I will tell it\nyou in brief.\n\nHe has a very distinguished father and a very noble mother, and he is an\nonly child, of a very frolicsome disposition, on account of which his\nfather and his mother frequently disagreed; the father used to punish\nhim and beat him, but the boy hid with his mother. In a word, it came to\nthis, that his father gave him into the hands of strangers, to be\neducated and put into shape. The mother could not do without him, and\nfell sick of grief; she became a wreck. Her beautiful house was burnt\nlong ago through the boy's doing: one day, when a child, he played with\nfire, and there was a conflagration, and the neighbors came and built on\nthe site of her palace, and she, the invalid, lies neglected in a\ncorner. The father, who has left the house, often wished to rejoin her,\nbut by no manner of means can they live together without the son, and so\nthe cast-off child became a \"living orphan\"; he roams about in the wide\nworld, comes to a place, and when he has stayed there a little while,\nthey drive him out, because wherever he comes, he stirs up a commotion.\nAs is the way with all orphans, he has many fathers, and everyone\ndirects him, hits him, lectures him; he is always in the way, blamed for\neverything, it's always his fault, so that he has got into the habit of\ncowering and shrinking at the mere sight of a stick. Wandering about as\nhe does, he has copied the manners and customs of strange people, in\nevery place where he has been; his very character is hardly his own. His\nfather has tried both to threaten and to persuade him into coming back,\nsaying they would then all live together as before, but Yuedel has got to\nlike living from home, he enjoys the scrapes he gets into, and even the\nblows they earn for him. No matter how people knock him about, pull his\nhair, and draw his blood, the moment they want him to make friendly\nadvances, there he is again, alert and smiling, turns the world\ntopsyturvy, and won't hear of going home. It is remarkable that Yuedel,\nwho is no fool, and has a head for business, the instant people look\nkindly on him, imagines they like him, although he has had a thousand\nproofs to the contrary. He has lately been of such consequence in the\neyes of the world that they have begun to treat him in a new way, and\nthey drive him out of every place at once. The poor boy has tried his\nbest to please, but it was no good, they knocked him about till he was\ncovered with blood, took every single thing he had, and empty-handed,\nnaked, hungry, and beaten as he is, they shout at him \"Be off!\" from\nevery side. Now he lives in narrow streets, in the small towns, hidden\naway in holes and corners. He very often hasn't enough to eat, but he\ngoes on in his old way, creeps into tight places, dances at all the\nweddings, loves to meddle, everything concerns him, and where two come\ntogether, he is the third.\n\nI have known him a long time, ever since he was a little boy. He always\nstruck me as being very wild, but I saw that he was of a noble\ndisposition, only that he had grown rough from living among strangers. I\nloved him very much, but in later years he treated me to hot and cold by\nturns. I must tell you that when Yuedel had eaten his fill, he was always\nvery merry, and minded nothing; but when he had been kicked out by his\nlandlord, and went hungry, then he was angry, and grew violent over\nevery trifle. He would attack me for nothing at all, we quarrelled and\nparted company, that is, I loved him at a distance. When he wasn't just\nin my sight, I felt a great pity for him, and a wish to go to him; but\nhardly had I met him than he was at the old game again, and I had to\nleave him. Now that I was together with him in my native place, I found\nhim very badly off, he hadn't enough to eat. The town was small and\npoor, and he had no means of supporting himself. When I saw him in his\nbitter and dark distress, my heart went out to him. But at such times,\nas I said before, he is very wild and fanatical. One day, on the Ninth\nof Ab, I felt obliged to speak out, and tell him that sitting in socks,\nwith his forehead on the ground, reciting Lamentations, would do no\ngood. Yuedel misunderstood me, and thought I was laughing at Jerusalem.\nHe began to fire up, and he spread reports of me in the town, and when\nhe saw me in the distance, he would spit out before me. His anger dated\nfrom some time past, because one day I turned him out of my house; he\ndeclared that I was the cause of all his misfortunes, and now that I was\nhis neighbor, I had resolved to ruin him; he believed that I hated him\nand played him false. Why should Yuedel think that? I don't know.\nPerhaps he feels one ought to dislike him, or else he is so embittered\nthat he cannot believe in the kindly feelings of others. However that\nmay be, Yuedel continued to speak ill of me, and throw mud at me through\nthe town; crying out all the while that I hadn't a scrap of Jewishness\nin me.\n\nNow that he heard I was buying Palestinian earth, he began by refusing\nto believe it, and declared it was a take-in and the trick of an\napostate, for how could a person who laughed at socks on the Ninth of Ab\nreally want to buy earth of Palestine? But when he saw the green shawls\nand the little bags of earth, he went over--a way he has--to the\nopposite, the exact opposite. He began to worship me, couldn't praise me\nenough, and talked of me in the back streets, so that the women blessed\nme aloud. Yuedel was now much given to my company, and often came in to\nsee me, and was most intimate, although there was no special piousness\nabout me. I was just the same as before, but Yuedel took this for the\nbest of signs, and thought it proved me to be of extravagant hidden\npiety.\n\n\"There's a Jew for you!\" he would cry aloud in the street. \"Earth of\nPalestine! There's a Jew!\"\n\nIn short, he filled the place with my Jewishness and my hidden\northodoxy. I looked on with indifference, but after a while the affair\nbegan to cost me both time and money.\n\nThe Palestinian beggars and, above all, Yuedel and the townsfolk obtained\nfor me the reputation of piety, and there came to me orthodox Jews,\ntreasurers, cabalists, beggar students, and especially the Rebbe's\nfollowers; they came about me like bees. They were never in the habit\nof avoiding me, but this was another thing all the same. Before this,\nwhen one of the Rebbe's disciples came, he would enter with a respectful\ndemeanor, take off his hat, and, sitting in his cap, would fix his gaze\non my mouth with a sweet smile; we both felt that the one and only link\nbetween us lay in the money that I gave and he took. He would take it\ngracefully, put it into his purse, as it might be for someone else, and\nthank me as though he appreciated my kindness. When _I_ went to see\n_him_, he would place a chair for me, and give me preserve. But now he\ncame to me with a free and easy manner, asked for a sip of brandy with a\nsnack to eat, sat in my room as if it were his own, and looked at me as\nif I were an underling, and he had authority over me; I am the penitent\nsinner, it is said, and that signifies for him the key to the door of\nrepentance; I have entered into his domain, and he is my lord and\nmaster; he drinks my health as heartily as though it were his own, and\nwhen I press a coin into his hand, he looks at it well, to make sure it\nis worth his while accepting it. If I happen to visit him, I am on a\nfooting with all his followers, the Chassidim; his \"trustees,\" and all\nhis other hangers-on, are my brothers, and come to me when they please,\nwith all the mud on their boots, put their hand into my bosom and take\nout my tobacco-pouch, and give it as their opinion that the brandy is\nweak, not to talk of holidays, especially Purim and Rejoicing of the\nLaw, when they troop in with a great noise and vociferation, and drink\nand dance, and pay as much attention to me as to the cat.\n\nIn fact, all the townsfolk took the same liberties with me. Before, they\nasked nothing of me, and took me as they found me, now they began to\n_demand_ things of me and to inquire why I didn't do this, and why I did\nthat, and not the other. Shmuelke the bather asked me why I was never\nseen at the bath on Sabbath. Kalmann the butcher wanted to know why,\namong the scape-fowls, there wasn't a white one of mine; and even the\nbeadle of the Klaus, who speaks through his nose, and who had never\ndared approach me, came and insisted on giving me the thirty-nine\nstripes on the eve of the Day of Atonement: \"Eh-eh, if you are a Jew\nlike other Jews, come and lie down, and you shall be given stripes!\"\n\nAnd the Palestinian Jews never ceased coming with their bags of earth,\nand I never ceased rejecting. One day there came a broad-shouldered Jew\nfrom \"over there,\" with his bag of Palestinian earth. The earth pleased\nme, and a conversation took place between us on this wise:\n\n\"How much do you want for your earth?\"\n\n\"For my earth? From anyone else I wouldn't take less than thirty rubles,\nbut from you, knowing you and _of_ you as I do, and as your parents did\nso much for Palestine, I will take a twenty-five ruble piece. You must\nknow that a person buys this once and for all.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you,\" I answered. \"Twenty-five rubles! How much\nearth have you there?\"\n\n\"How much earth have I? About half a quart. There will be enough to\ncover the eyes and the face. Perhaps you want to cover the whole body,\nto have it underneath and on the top and at the sides? O, I can bring\nyou some more, but it will cost you two or three hundred rubles,\nbecause, since the good-for-nothings took to coming to Palestine, the\nearth has got very expensive. Believe me, I don't make much by it, it\ncosts me nearly....\"\n\n\"I don't understand you, my friend! What's this about bestrewing the\nbody? What do you mean by it?\"\n\n\"How do you mean, 'what do you mean by it?' Bestrewing the body like\nthat of all honest Jews, after death.\"\n\n\"Ha? After death? To preserve it?\"\n\n\"Yes, what else?\"\n\n\"I don't want it for that, I don't mind what happens to my body after\ndeath. I want to buy Palestinian earth for my lifetime.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? What good can it do you while you're alive? You are\nnot talking to the point, or else you are making game of a poor\nPalestinian Jew?\"\n\n\"I am speaking seriously. I want it now, while I live! What is it you\ndon't understand?\"\n\nMy Palestinian Jew was greatly perplexed, but he quickly collected\nhimself, and took in the situation. I saw by his artful smile that he\nhad detected a strain of madness in me, and what should he gain by\nleading me into the paths of reason? Rather let him profit by it! And\nthis he proceeded to do, saying with winning conviction:\n\n\"Yes, of course, you are right! How right you are! May I ever see the\nlike! People are not wrong when they say, 'The apple falls close to the\ntree'! You are drawn to the root, and you love the soil of Palestine,\nonly in a different way, like your holy forefathers, may they be good\nadvocates! You are young, and I am old, and I have heard how they used\nto bestrew their head-dress with it in their lifetime, so as to fulfil\nthe Scripture verse, 'And have pity on Zion's dust,' and honest Jews\nshake earth of Palestine into their shoes on the eve of the Ninth of Ab,\nand at the meal before the fast they dip an egg into Palestinian\nearth--nu, fein! I never expected so much of you, and I can say with\ntruth, 'There's a Jew for you!' Well, in that case, you will require two\npots of the earth, but it will cost you a deal.\"\n\n\"We are evidently at cross-purposes,\" I said to him. \"What are two\npotfuls? What is all this about bestrewing the body? I want to buy\nPalestinian earth, earth in Palestine, do you understand? I want to buy,\nin Palestine, a little bit of earth, a few dessiatines.\"\n\n\"Ha? I didn't quite catch it. What did you say?\" and my Palestinian Jew\nseized hold of his right ear, as though considering what he should do;\nthen he said cheerfully: \"Ha--aha! You mean to secure for yourself a\nburial-place, also for after death! O yes, indeed, you are a holy man\nand no mistake! Well, you can get that through me, too; give me\nsomething in advance, and I shall manage it for you all right at a\nbargain.\"\n\n\"Why do you go on at me with your 'after death,'\" I cried angrily. \"I\nwant a bit of earth in Palestine, I want to dig it, and sow it, and\nplant it....\"\n\n\"Ha? What? Sow it and plant it?! That is ... that is ... you only mean\n... may all bad dreams!...\" and stammering thus, he scraped all the\nscattered earth, little by little, into his bag, gradually got nearer\nthe door, and--was gone!\n\nIt was not long before the town was seething and bubbling like a kettle\non the boil, everyone was upset as though by some misfortune, angry with\nme, and still more with himself: \"How could we be so mistaken? He\ndoesn't want to buy Palestinian earth at all, he doesn't care what\nhappens to him when he's dead, he laughs--he only wants to buy earth\n_in_ Palestine, and set up villages there.\"\n\n\"Eh-eh-eh! He remains one of _them_! He is what he is--a skeptic!\" so\nthey said in all the streets, all the householders in the town, the\nwomen in the market-place, at the bath, they went about abstracted, and\nas furious as though I had insulted them, made fools of them, taken them\nin, and all of a sudden they became cold and distant to me. The pious\nJews were seen no more at my house. I received packages from Palestine\none after the other. One had a black seal, on which was scratched a\nblack ram's horn, and inside, in large characters, was a ban from the\nBrisk Rebbetzin, because of my wishing to make all the Jews unhappy.\nOther packets were from different Palestinian beggars, who tried to\ncompel me, with fair words and foul, to send them money for their\ntravelling expenses and for the samples of earth they enclosed. My\nfellow-townspeople also got packages from \"over there,\" warning them\nagainst me--I was a dangerous man, a missionary, and it was a Mitzveh to\nbe revenged on me. There was an uproar, and no wonder! A letter from\nPalestine, written in Rashi, with large seals! In short I was to be put\nto shame and confusion. Everyone avoided me, nobody came near me. When\npeople were obliged to come to me in money matters or to beg an alms,\nthey entered with deference, and spoke respectfully, in a gentle voice,\nas to \"one of them,\" took the alms or the money, and were out of the\ndoor, behind which they abused me, as usual.\n\nOnly Yuedel did not forsake me. Yuedel, the \"living orphan,\" was\nbewildered and perplexed. He had plenty of work, flew from one house to\nthe other, listening, begging, and talebearing, answering and asking\nquestions; but he could not settle the matter in his own mind: now he\nlooked at me angrily, and again with pity. He seemed to wish not to meet\nme, and yet he sought occasion to do so, and would look earnestly into\nmy face.\n\nThe excitement of my neighbors and their behavior to me interested me\nvery little; but I wanted very much to know the reason why I had\nsuddenly become abhorrent to them? I could by no means understand it.\n\nOnce there came a wild, dark night. The sky was covered with black\nclouds, there was a drenching rain and hail and a stormy wind, it was\npitch dark, and it lightened and thundered, as though the world were\nturning upside down. The great thunder claps and the hail broke a good\nmany people's windows, the wind tore at the roofs, and everyone hid\ninside his house, or wherever he found a corner. In that dreadful dark\nnight my door opened, and in came--Yuedel, the \"living orphan\"; he looked\nas though someone were pushing him from behind, driving him along. He\nwas as white as the wall, cowering, beaten about, helpless as a leaf.\nHe came in, and stood by the door, holding his hat; he couldn't decide,\ndid not know if he should take it off, or not. I had never seen him so\nmiserable, so despairing, all the time I had known him. I asked him to\nsit down, and he seemed a little quieted. I saw that he was soaking wet,\nand shivering with cold, and I gave him hot tea, one glass after the\nother. He sipped it with great enjoyment. And the sight of him sitting\nthere sipping and warming himself would have been very comic, only it\nwas so very sad. The tears came into my eyes. Yuedel began to brighten\nup, and was soon Yuedel, his old self, again. I asked him how it was he\nhad come to me in such a state of gloom and bewilderment? He told me the\nthunder and the hail had broken all the window-panes in his lodging, and\nthe wind had carried away the roof, there was nowhere he could go for\nshelter; nobody would let him in at night; there was not a soul he could\nturn to, there remained nothing for him but to lie down in the street\nand die.\n\n\"And so,\" he said, \"having known you so long, I hoped you would take me\nin, although you are 'one of them,' not at all pious, and, so they say,\nfull of evil intentions against Jews and Jewishness; but I know you are\na good man, and will have compassion on me.\"\n\nI forgave Yuedel his rudeness, because I knew him for an outspoken man,\nthat he was fond of talking, but never did any harm. Seeing him\ndepressed, I offered him a glass of wine, but he refused it.\n\nI understood the reason of his refusal, and started a conversation with\nhim.\n\n\"Tell me, Yuedel heart, how is it I have fallen into such bad repute\namong you that you will not even drink a drop of wine in my house? And\nwhy do you say that I am 'one of them,' and not pious? A little while\nago you spoke differently of me.\"\n\n\"Ett! It just slipped from my tongue, and the truth is you may be what\nyou please, you are a good man.\"\n\n\"No, Yuedel, don't try to get out of it! Tell me openly (it doesn't\nconcern me, but I am curious to know), why this sudden revulsion of\nfeeling about me, this change of opinion? Tell me, Yuedel, I beg of you,\nspeak freely!\"\n\nMy gentle words and my friendliness gave Yuedel great encouragement. The\npoor fellow, with whom not one of \"them\" has as yet spoken kindly! When\nhe saw that I meant it, he began to scratch his head; it seemed as if in\nthat minute he forgave me all my \"heresies,\" and he looked at me kindly,\nand as if with pity. Then, seeing that I awaited an answer, he gave a\ntwist to his earlock, and said gently and sincerely:\n\n\"You wish me to tell you the truth? You insist upon it? You will not be\noffended?\"\n\n\"You know that I never take offence at anything you say. Say anything\nyou like, Yuedel heart, only speak.\"\n\n\"Then I will tell you: the town and everyone else is very angry with you\non account of your Palestinian earth: you want to do something new, buy\nearth and plough it and sow--and where? in our land of Israel, in our\nHoly Land of Israel!\"\n\n\"But why, Yuedel dear, when they thought I was buying Palestinian earth\nto bestrew me after death, was I looked upon almost like a saint?\"\n\n\"E, that's another thing! That showed that you held Palestine holy, for\na land whose soil preserves one against being eaten of worms, like any\nother honest Jew.\"\n\n\"Well, I ask you, Yuedel, what does this mean? When they thought I was\nbuying sand for after my death, I was a holy man, a lover of Palestine,\nand because I want to buy earth and till it, earth in your Holy Land,\nour holy earth in the Holy Land, in which our best and greatest counted\nit a privilege to live, I am a blot on Israel. Tell me, Yuedel, I ask\nyou: _Why_, because one wants to bestrew himself with Palestinian earth\nafter death, is one an orthodox Jew; and when one desires to give\noneself wholly to Palestine in life, should one be 'one of them'? Now I\nask you--all those Palestinian Jews who came to me with their bags of\nsand, and were my very good friends, and full of anxiety to preserve my\nbody after death, why have they turned against me on hearing that I\nwished for a bit of Palestinian earth while I live? Why are they all so\ninterested and such good brothers to the dead, and such bloodthirsty\nenemies to the living? Why, because I wish to provide for my sad\nexistence, have they noised abroad that I am a missionary, and made up\ntales against me? Why? I ask you, why, Yuedel, why?\"\n\n\"You ask me? How should I know? I only know that ever since Palestine\nwas Palestine, people have gone there to die--that I know; but all this\nploughing, sowing, and planting the earth, I never heard of in my life\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Yes, Yuedel, you are right, because it has been so for a long time, you\nthink so it has to be--that is the real answer to your questions. But\nwhy not think back a little? Why should one only go to Palestine to die?\nIs not Palestinian earth fit to _live_ on? On the contrary, it is some\nof the very best soil, and when we till it and plant it, we fulfil the\nprecept to restore the Holy Land, and we also work for ourselves, toward\nthe realization of an honest and peaceable life. I won't discuss the\nmatter at length with you to-day. It seems that you have quite forgotten\nwhat all the holy books say about Palestine, and what a precept it is to\ntill the soil. And another question, touching what you said about\nPalestine being only there to go and die in. Tell me, those Palestinian\nJews who were so interested in my death, and brought earth from over\nthere to bestrew me--tell me, are they also only there to die? Did you\nnotice how broad and stout they were? Ha? And they, they too, when they\nheard I wanted to live there, fell upon me like wild animals, filling\nthe world with their cries, and made up the most dreadful stories about\nme. Well, what do you say, Yuedel? I ask you.\"\n\n\"Do I know?\" said Yuedel, with a wave of the hand. \"Is my head there to\nthink out things like that? But tell me, I beg, what _is_ the good to\nyou of buying land in Palestine and getting into trouble all round?\"\n\n\"You ask, what is the good to me? I want to live, do you hear? I want to\n_live_!\"\n\n\"If you can't live without Palestinian earth, why did you not get some\nbefore? Did you never want to live till now?\"\n\n\"Oh, Yuedel, you are right there. I confess that till now I have lived in\na delusion, I thought I was living; but--what is the saying?--so long as\nthe thunder is silent....\"\n\n\"Some thunder has struck you!\" interrupted Yuedel, looking\ncompassionately into my face.\n\n\"I will put it briefly. You must know, Yuedel, that I have been in\nbusiness here for quite a long time. I worked faithfully, and my chief\nwas pleased with me. I was esteemed and looked up to, and it never\noccurred to me that things would change; but bad men could not bear to\nsee me doing so well, and they worked hard against me, till one day the\nbusiness was taken over by my employer's son; and my enemies profited by\nthe opportunity, to cover me with calumnies from head to foot, spreading\nreports about me which it makes one shudder to hear. This went on till\nthe chief began to look askance at me. At first I got pin-pricks,\nmalicious hints, then things got worse and worse, and at last they began\nto push me about, and one day they turned me out of the house, and threw\nme into a hedge. Presently, when I had reviewed the whole situation, I\nsaw that they could do what they pleased with me. I had no one to rely\non, my onetime good friends kept aloof from me, I had lost all worth in\ntheir eyes; with some because, as is the way with people, they took no\ntrouble to inquire into the reason of my downfall, but, hearing all that\nwas said against me, concluded that I was in the wrong; others, again,\nbecause they wished to be agreeable to my enemies; the rest, for reasons\nwithout number. In short, reflecting on all this, I saw the game was\nlost, and there was no saying what might not happen to me! Hitherto I\nhad borne my troubles patiently, with the courage that is natural to me;\nbut now I feel my courage giving way, and I am in fear lest I should\nfall in my own eyes, in my own estimation, and get to believe that I am\nworth nothing. And all this because I must needs resort to _them_, and\ntake all the insults they choose to fling at me, and every outcast has\nme at his mercy. That is why I want to collect my remaining strength,\nand buy a parcel of land in Palestine, and, God helping, I will become a\nbit of a householder--do you understand?\"\n\n\"Why must it be just in Palestine?\"\n\n\"Because I may not, and I cannot, buy in anywhere else. I have tried to\nfind a place elsewhere, but they were afraid I was going to get the\nupper hand, so down they came, and made a wreck of it. Over there I\nshall be proprietor myself--that is firstly, and secondly, a great many\nrelations of mine are buried there, in the country where they lived and\ndied. And although you count me as 'one of them,' I tell you I think a\ngreat deal of 'the merits of the fathers,' and that it is very pleasant\nto me to think of living in the land that will remind me of such dear\nforefathers. And although it will be hard at first, the recollection of\nmy ancestors and the thought of providing my children with a corner of\ntheir own and honestly earned bread will give me strength, till I shall\nwork my way up to something. And I hope I _will_ get to something.\nRemember, Yuedel, I believe and I hope! You will see, Yuedel--you know\nthat our brothers consider Palestinian earth a charm against being\neaten by worms, and you think that I laugh at it? No, I believe in it!\nIt is quite, quite true that my Palestinian earth will preserve me from\nworms, only not after death, no, but alive--from such worms as devour\nand gnaw at and poison the whole of life!\"\n\nYuedel scratched his nose, gave a rub to the cap on his head, and uttered\na deep sigh.\n\n\"Yes, Yuedel, you sigh! Now do you know what I wanted to say to you?\"\n\n\"Ett!\" and Yuedel made a gesture with his hand. \"What you have to say to\nme?--ett!\"\n\n\"Oi, that 'ett!' of yours! Yuedel, I know it! When you have nothing to\nanswer, and you ought to think, and think something out, you take refuge\nin 'ett!' Just consider for once, Yuedel, I have a plan for you, too.\nRemember what you were, and what has become of you. You have been\nknocking about, driven hither and thither, since childhood. You haven't\na house, not a corner, you have become a beggar, a tramp, a nobody,\ndespised and avoided, with unpleasing habits, and living a dog's life.\nYou have very good qualities, a clear head, and acute intelligence. But\nto what purpose do you put them? You waste your whole intelligence on\ngetting in at backdoors and coaxing a bit of bread out of the\nmaidservant, and the mistress is not to know. Can you not devise a\nmeans, with that clever brain of yours, how to earn it for yourself? See\nhere, I am going to buy a bit of ground in Palestine, come with me,\nYuedel, and you shall work, and be a man like other men. You are what\nthey call a 'living orphan,' because you have many fathers; and don't\nforget that you have _one_ Father who lives, and who is only waiting\nfor you to grow better. Well, how much longer are you going to live\namong strangers? Till now you haven't thought, and the life suited you,\nyou have grown used to blows and contumely. But now that--that--none\nwill let you in, your eyes must have been opened to see your condition,\nand you must have begun to wish to be different. Only begin to wish! You\nsee, I have enough to eat, and yet my position has become hateful to me,\nbecause I have lost my value, and am in danger of losing my humanity.\nBut you are hungry, and one of these days you will die of starvation out\nin the street. Yuedel, do just think it over, for if I am right, you will\nget to be like other people. Your Father will see that you have turned\ninto a man, he will be reconciled with your mother, and you will be 'a\nfather's child,' as you were before. Brother Yuedel, think it over!\"\n\nI talked to my Yuedel a long, long time. In the meanwhile, the night had\npassed. My Yuedel gave a start, as though waking out of a deep slumber,\nand went away full of thought.\n\nOn opening the window, I was greeted by a friendly smile from the rising\nmorning star, as it peeped out between the clouds.\n\nAnd it began to dawn.\n\n\n\n\nISAAC LOeB PEREZ\n\n\nBorn, 1851, in Samoscz, Government of Lublin, Russian Poland; Jewish,\nphilosophical, and general literary education; practiced law in Samoscz,\na Hasidic town; clerk to the Jewish congregation in Warsaw and as such\ncollector of statistics on Jewish life; began to write at twenty-five;\ncontributor to Zedernbaum's Juedisches Volksblatt; publisher and editor\nof Die juedische Bibliothek (4 vols.), in which he conducted the\nscientific department, and wrote all the editorials and book reviews, of\nLiteratur and Leben, and of Yom-tov Blaettlech; now (1912) co-editor of\nDer Freind, Warsaw; Hebrew and Yiddish prose writer and poet;\nallegorist; collected Hebrew works, 1899-1901; collected Yiddish works,\n7 vols., Warsaw and New York, 1909-1912 (in course of publication).\n\n\n\n\nA WOMAN'S WRATH\n\n\nThe small room is dingy as the poverty that clings to its walls. There\nis a hook fastened to the crumbling ceiling, relic of a departed hanging\nlamp. The old, peeling stove is girded about with a coarse sack, and\nleans sideways toward its gloomy neighbor, the black, empty fireplace,\nin which stands an inverted cooking pot with a chipped rim. Beside it\nlies a broken spoon, which met its fate in unequal contest with the\nscrapings of cold, stale porridge.\n\nThe room is choked with furniture; there is a four-post bed with torn\ncurtains. The pillows visible through their holes have no covers.\n\nThere is a cradle, with the large, yellow head of a sleeping child; a\nchest with metal fittings and an open padlock--nothing very precious\nleft in there, evidently; further, a table and three chairs (originally\npainted red), a cupboard, now somewhat damaged. Add to these a pail of\nclean water and one of dirty water, an oven rake with a shovel, and you\nwill understand that a pin could hardly drop onto the floor.\n\nAnd yet the room contains _him_ and _her_ beside.\n\n_She_, a middle-aged Jewess, sits on the chest that fills the space\nbetween the bed and the cradle.\n\nTo her right is the one grimy little window, to her left, the table. She\nis knitting a sock, rocking the cradle with her foot, and listens to\n_him_ reading the Talmud at the table, with a tearful, Wallachian,\nsinging intonation, and swaying to and fro with a series of nervous\njerks. Some of the words he swallows, others he draws out; now he snaps\nat a word, and now he skips it; some he accentuates and dwells on\nlovingly, others he rattles out with indifference, like dried peas out\nof a bag. And never quiet for a moment. First he draws from his pocket a\nonce red and whole handkerchief, and wipes his nose and brow, then he\nlets it fall into his lap, and begins twisting his earlocks or pulling\nat his thin, pointed, faintly grizzled beard. Again, he lays a\npulled-out hair from the same between the leaves of his book, and slaps\nhis knees. His fingers coming into contact with the handkerchief, they\nseize it, and throw a corner in between his teeth; he bites it, lays one\nfoot across the other, and continually shuffles with both feet.\n\nAll the while his pale forehead wrinkles, now in a perpendicular, now in\na horizontal, direction, when the long eyebrows are nearly lost below\nthe folds of skin. At times, apparently, he has a sting in the chest,\nfor he beats his left side as though he were saying the Al-Chets.\nSuddenly he leans his head to the left, presses a finger against his\nleft nostril, and emits an artificial sneeze, leans his head to the\nright, and the proceeding is repeated. In between he takes a pinch of\nsnuff, pulls himself together, his voice rings louder, the chair creaks,\nthe table wobbles.\n\nThe child does not wake; the sounds are too familiar to disturb it.\n\nAnd she, the wife, shrivelled and shrunk before her time, sits and\ndrinks in delight. She never takes her eye off her husband, her ear\nlets no inflection of his voice escape. Now and then, it is true, she\nsighs. Were he as fit for _this_ world as he is for the _other_ world,\nshe would have a good time of it here, too--here, too--\n\n\"Ma!\" she consoles herself, \"who talks of honor? Not every one is worthy\nof both tables!\"\n\nShe listens. Her shrivelled face alters from minute to minute; she is\nnervous, too. A moment ago it was eloquent of delight. Now she remembers\nit is Thursday, there isn't a dreier to spend in preparation for\nSabbath. The light in her face goes out by degrees, the smile fades,\nthen she takes a look through the grimy window, glances at the sun. It\nmust be getting late, and there isn't a spoonful of hot water in the\nhouse. The needles pause in her hand, a shadow has overspread her face.\nShe looks at the child, it is sleeping less quietly, and will soon wake.\nThe child is poorly, and there is not a drop of milk for it. The shadow\non her face deepens into gloom, the needles tremble and move\nconvulsively.\n\nAnd when she remembers that it is near Passover, that her ear-rings and\nthe festal candlesticks are at the pawnshop, the chest empty, the lamp\nsold, then the needles perform murderous antics in her fingers. The\ngloom on her brow is that of a gathering thunder-storm, lightnings play\nin her small, grey, sunken eyes.\n\nHe sits and \"learns,\" unconscious of the charged atmosphere; does not\nsee her let the sock fall and begin wringing her finger-joints; does not\nsee that her forehead is puckered with misery, one eye closed, and the\nother fixed on him, her learned husband, with a look fit to send a\nchill through his every limb; does not see her dry lips tremble and her\njaw quiver. She controls herself with all her might, but the storm is\ngathering fury within her. The least thing, and it will explode.\n\nThat least thing has happened.\n\nHe was just translating a Talmudic phrase with quiet delight, \"And\nthence we derive that--\" He was going on with \"three,--\" but the word\n\"derive\" was enough, it was the lighted spark, and her heart was the\ngunpowder. It was ablaze in an instant. Her determination gave way, the\nunlucky word opened the flood-gates, and the waters poured through,\ncarrying all before them.\n\n\"Derived, you say, derived? O, derived may you be, Lord of the World,\"\nshe exclaimed, hoarse with anger, \"derived may you be! Yes! You!\" she\nhissed like a snake. \"Passover coming--Thursday--and the child ill--and\nnot a drop of milk is there. Ha?\"\n\nHer breath gives out, her sunken breast heaves, her eyes flash.\n\nHe sits like one turned to stone. Then, pale and breathless, too, from\nfright, he gets up and edges toward the door.\n\nAt the door he turns and faces her, and sees that hand and tongue are\nequally helpless from passion; his eyes grow smaller; he catches a bit\nof handkerchief between his teeth, retreats a little further, takes a\ndeeper breath, and mutters:\n\n\"Listen, woman, do you know what Bittul-Torah means? And not letting a\nhusband study in peace, to be always worrying about livelihood, ha? And\nwho feeds the little birds, tell me? Always this want of faith in God,\nthis giving way to temptation, and taking thought for _this_ world ...\nfoolish, ill-natured woman! Not to let a husband study! If you don't\ntake care, you will go to Gehenna.\"\n\nReceiving no answer, he grows bolder. Her face gets paler and paler, she\ntrembles more and more violently, and the paler she becomes, and the\nmore she trembles, the steadier his voice, as he goes on:\n\n\"Gehenna! Fire! Hanging by the tongue! Four death penalties inflicted by\nthe court!\"\n\nShe is silent, her face is white as chalk.\n\nHe feels that he is doing wrong, that he has no call to be cruel, that\nhe is taking a mean advantage, but he has risen, as it were, to the top,\nand is boiling over. He cannot help himself.\n\n\"Do you know,\" he threatens her, \"what Skiloh means? It means stoning,\nto throw into a ditch and cover up with stones! Srefoh--burning, that\nis, pouring a spoonful of boiling lead into the inside!\nHereg--beheading, that means they cut off your head with a sword! Like\nthis\" (and he passes a hand across his neck). \"Then Cheneck--strangling!\nDo you hear? To strangle! Do you understand? And all four for making\nlight of the Torah! For Bittul-Torah!\"\n\nHis heart is already sore for his victim, but he is feeling his power\nover her for the first time, and it has gone to his head. Silly woman!\nHe had never known how easy it was to frighten her.\n\n\"That comes of making light of the Torah!\" he shouts, and breaks off.\nAfter all, she might come to her senses at any moment, and take up the\nbroom! He springs back to the table, closes the Gemoreh, and hurries out\nof the room.\n\n\"I am going to the house-of-study!\" he calls out over his shoulder in a\nmilder tone, and shuts the door after him.\n\nThe loud voice and the noise of the closing door have waked the sick\nchild. The heavy-lidded eyes open, the waxen face puckers, and there is\na peevish wail. But she, beside herself, stands rooted to the spot, and\ndoes not hear.\n\n\"Ha!\" comes hoarsely at last out of her narrow chest. \"So that's it, is\nit? Neither this world nor the other. Hanging, he says, stoning,\nburning, beheading, strangling, hanging by the tongue, boiling lead\npoured into the inside, he says--for making light of the Torah--Hanging,\nha, ha, ha!\" (in desperation). \"Yes, I'll hang, but _here, here!_ And\nsoon! What is there to wait for?\"\n\nThe child begins to cry louder; still she does not hear.\n\n\"A rope! a rope!\" she screams, and stares wildly into every corner.\n\n\"Where is there a rope? I wish he mayn't find a bone of me left! Let me\nbe rid of _one_ Gehenna at any rate! Let him try it, let him be a mother\nfor once, see how he likes it! I've had enough of it! Let it be an\natonement! An end, an end! A rope, a rope!!\"\n\nHer last exclamation is like a cry for help from out of a\nconflagration.\n\nShe remembers that they _have_ a rope somewhere. Yes, under the\nstove--the stove was to have been tied round against the winter. The\nrope must be there still.\n\nShe runs and finds the rope, the treasure, looks up at the ceiling--the\nhook that held the lamp--she need only climb onto the table.\n\nShe climbs--\n\nBut she sees from the table that the startled child, weak as it is, has\nsat up in the cradle, and is reaching over the side--it is trying to get\nout--\n\n\"Mame, M-mame,\" it sobs feebly.\n\nA fresh paroxysm of anger seizes her.\n\nShe flings away the rope, jumps off the table, runs to the child, and\nforces its head back into the pillow, exclaiming:\n\n\"Bother the child! It won't even let me hang myself! I can't even hang\nmyself in peace! It wants to suck. What is the good? You will suck\nnothing but poison, poison, out of me, I tell you!\"\n\n\"There, then, greedy!\" she cries in the same breath, and stuffs her\ndried-up breast into his mouth.\n\n\"There, then, suck away--bite!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE TREASURE\n\n\nTo sleep, in summer time, in a room four yards square, together with a\nwife and eight children, is anything but a pleasure, even on a Friday\nnight--and Shmerel the woodcutter rises from his bed, though only half\nthrough with the night, hot and gasping, hastily pours some water over\nhis finger-tips, flings on his dressing-gown, and escapes barefoot from\nthe parched Gehenna of his dwelling. He steps into the street--all\nquiet, all the shutters closed, and over the sleeping town is a distant,\nserene, and starry sky. He feels as if he were all alone with God,\nblessed is He, and he says, looking up at the sky, \"Now, Lord of the\nUniverse, now is the time to hear me and to bless me with a treasure out\nof Thy treasure-house!\"\n\nAs he says this, he sees something like a little flame coming along out\nof the town, and he knows, That is it! He is about to pursue it, when he\nremembers it is Sabbath, when one mustn't turn. So he goes after it\nwalking. And as he walks slowly along, the little flame begins to move\nslowly, too, so that the distance between them does not increase, though\nit does not shorten, either. He walks on. Now and then an inward voice\ncalls to him: \"Shmerel, don't be a fool! Take off the dressing-gown.\nGive a jump and throw it over the flame!\" But he knows it is the Evil\nInclination speaking. He throws off the dressing-gown onto his arm, but\nto spite the Evil Inclination he takes still smaller steps, and\nrejoices to see that, as soon as he takes these smaller steps, the\nlittle flame moves more slowly, too.\n\nThus he follows the flame, and follows it, till he gradually finds\nhimself outside the town. The road twists and turns across fields and\nmeadows, and the distance between him and the flame grows no longer, no\nshorter. Were he to throw the dressing-gown, it would not reach the\nflame. Meantime the thought revolves in his mind: Were he indeed to\nbecome possessed of the treasure, he need no longer be a woodcutter,\nnow, in his later years; he has no longer the strength for the work he\nhad once. He would rent a seat for his wife in the women's Shool, so\nthat her Sabbaths and holidays should not be spoiled by their not\nallowing her to sit here or to sit there. On New Year's Day and the Day\nof Atonement it is all she can do to stand through the service. Her many\nchildren have exhausted her! And he would order her a new dress, and buy\nher a few strings of pearls. The children should be sent to better\nChedorim, and he would cast about for a match for his eldest girl. As it\nis, the poor child carries her mother's fruit baskets, and never has\ntime so much as to comb her hair thoroughly, and she has long, long\nplaits, and eyes like a deer.\n\n\"It would be a meritorious act to pounce upon the treasure!\"\n\nThe Evil Inclination again, he thinks. If it is not to be, well, then it\nisn't! If it were in the week, he would soon know what to do! Or if his\nYainkel were there, he would have had something to say. Children\nnowadays! Who knows what they don't do on Sabbath, as it is! And the\nyounger one is no better: he makes fun of the teacher in Cheder. When\nthe teacher is about to administer a blow, they pull his beard. And\nwho's going to find time to see after them--chopping and sawing a whole\nday through.\n\nHe sighs and walks on and on, now and then glancing up into the sky:\n\"Lord of the Universe, of whom are you making trial? Shmerel Woodcutter?\nIf you do mean to give me the treasure, _give_ it me!\" It seems to him\nthat the flame proceeds more slowly, but at this very moment he hears a\ndog bark, and it has a bark he knows--that is the dog in Vissoke.\nVissoke is the first village you come to on leaving the town, and he\nsees white patches twinkle in the dewy morning atmosphere, those are the\nVissoke peasant cottages. Then it occurs to him that he has gone a\nSabbath day's journey, and he stops short.\n\n\"Yes, I have gone a Sabbath day's journey,\" he thinks, and says,\nspeaking into the air: \"You won't lead me astray! It is _not_ a\nGod-send! God does not make sport of us--it is the work of a demon.\" And\nhe feels a little angry with the thing, and turns and hurries toward the\ntown, thinking: \"I won't say anything about it at home, because, first,\nthey won't believe me, and if they do, they'll laugh at me. And what\nhave I done to be proud of? The Creator knows how it was, and that is\nenough for me. Besides, _she_ might be angry, who can tell? The children\nare certainly naked and barefoot, poor little things! Why should they be\nmade to transgress the command to honor one's father?\"\n\nNo, he won't breathe a word. He won't even ever remind the Almighty of\nit. If he really has been good, the Almighty will remember without being\ntold.\n\nAnd suddenly he is conscious of a strange, lightsome, inward calm, and\nthere is a delicious sensation in his limbs. Money is, after all, dross,\nriches may even lead a man from the right way, and he feels inclined to\nthank God for not having brought him into temptation by granting him his\nwish. He would like, if only--to sing a song! \"Our Father, our King\" is\none he remembers from his early years, but he feels ashamed before\nhimself, and breaks off. He tries to recollect one of the cantor's\nmelodies, a Sinai tune--when suddenly he sees that the identical little\nflame which he left behind him is once more preceding him, and moving\nslowly townward, townward, and the distance between them neither\nincreases nor diminishes, as though the flame were taking a walk, and he\nwere taking a walk, just taking a little walk in honor of Sabbath. He is\nglad in his heart and watches it. The sky pales, the stars begin to go\nout, the east flushes, a narrow pink stream flows lengthwise over his\nhead, and still the flame flickers onward into the town, enters his own\nstreet. There is his house. The door, he sees, is open. Apparently he\nforgot to shut it. And, lo and behold! the flame goes in, the flame goes\nin at his own house door! He follows, and sees it disappear beneath the\nbed. All are asleep. He goes softly up to the bed, stoops down, and sees\nthe flame spinning round underneath it, like a top, always in the same\nplace; takes his dressing-gown, and throws it down under the bed, and\ncovers up the flame. No one hears him, and now a golden morning beam\nsteals in through the chink in the shutter.\n\nHe sits down on the bed, and makes a vow not to say a word to anyone\ntill Sabbath is over--not half a word, lest it cause desecration of the\nSabbath. _She_ could never hold her tongue, and the children certainly\nnot; they would at once want to count the treasure, to know how much\nthere was, and very soon the secret would be out of the house and into\nthe Shool, the house-of-study, and all the streets, and people would\ntalk about his treasure, about luck, and people would not say their\nprayers, or wash their hands, or say grace, as they should, and he would\nhave led his household and half the town into sin. No, not a whisper!\nAnd he stretches himself out on the bed, and pretends to be asleep.\n\nAnd this was his reward: When, after concluding the Sabbath, he stooped\ndown and lifted up the dressing-gown under the bed, there lay a sack\nwith a million of gulden, an almost endless number--the bed was a large\none--and he became one of the richest men in the place.\n\nAnd he lived happily all the years of his life.\n\nOnly, his wife was continually bringing up against him: \"Lord of the\nWorld, how could a man have such a heart of stone, as to sit a whole\nsummer day and not say a word, not a word, not to his own wife, not one\nsingle word! And there was I\" (she remembers) \"crying over my prayer as\nI said God of Abraham--and crying so--for there wasn't a dreier left in\nthe house.\"\n\nThen he consoles her, and says with a smile:\n\n\"Who knows? Perhaps it was all thanks to your 'God of Abraham' that it\nwent off so well.\"\n\n\n\n\nIT IS WELL\n\n\nYou ask how it is that I remained a Jew? Whose merit it is?\n\nNot through my own merits nor those of my ancestors. I was a\nsix-year-old Cheder boy, my father a countryman outside Wilna, a\nhouseholder in a small way.\n\nNo, I remained a Jew thanks to the Schpol Grandfather.\n\nHow do I come to mention the Schpol Grandfather? What has the Schpol\nGrandfather to do with it, you ask?\n\nThe Schpol Grandfather was no Schpol Grandfather then. He was a young\nman, suffering exile from home and kindred, wandering with a troop of\nmendicants from congregation to congregation, from friendly inn to\nfriendly inn, in all respects one of them. What difference his heart may\nhave shown, who knows? And after these journeyman years, the time of\nrevelation had not come even yet. He presented himself to the Rabbinical\nBoard in Wilna, took out a certificate, and became a Shochet in a\nvillage. He roamed no more, but remained in the neighborhood of Wilna.\nThe Misnagdim, however, have a wonderful _flair_, and they suspected\nsomething, began to worry and calumniate him, and finally they denounced\nhim to the Rabbinical authorities as a transgressor of the Law, of the\nwhole Law! What Misnagdim are capable of, to be sure!\n\nAs I said, I was then six years old. He used to come to us to slaughter\nsmall cattle, or just to spend the night, and I was very fond of him.\nWhom else, except my father and mother, should I have loved? I had a\nteacher, a passionate man, a destroyer of souls, and this other was a\nkind and genial creature, who made you feel happy if he only looked at\nyou. The calumnies did their work, and they took away his certificate.\nMy teacher must have had a hand in it, because he heard of it before\nanyone, and the next time the Shochet came, he exclaimed \"Apostate!\"\ntook him by the scruff of his coat, and bundled him out of the house. It\ncut me to the heart like a knife, only I was frightened to death of the\nteacher, and never stirred. But a little later, when the teacher was\nlooking away, I escaped and began to run after the Shochet across the\nroad, which, not far from the house, lost itself in a wood that\nstretched all the way to Wilna. What exactly I proposed to do to help\nhim, I don't know, but something drove me after the poor Shochet. I\nwanted to say good-by to him, to have one more look into his nice,\nkindly eyes.\n\nBut I ran and ran, and hurt my feet against the stones in the road, and\nsaw no one. I went to the right, down into the wood, thinking I would\nrest a little on the soft earth of the wood. I was about to sit down,\nwhen I heard a voice (it sounded like his voice) farther on in the wood,\nhalf speaking and half singing. I went softly towards the voice, and saw\nhim some way off, where he stood swaying to and fro under a tree. I went\nup to him--he was reciting the Song of Songs. I look closer and see that\nthe tree under which he stands is different from the other trees. The\nothers are still bare of leaves, and this one is green and in full leaf,\nit shines like the sun, and stretches its flowery branches over the\nShochet's head like a tent. And a quantity of birds hop among the twigs\nand join in singing the Song of Songs. I am so astonished that I stand\nthere with open mouth and eyes, rooted like the trees.\n\nHe ends his chant, the tree is extinguished, the little birds are\nsilent, and he turns to me, and says affectionately:\n\n\"Listen, Yuedele,\"--Yuedel is my name--\"I have a request to make of you.\"\n\n\"Really?\" I answer joyfully, and I suppose he wishes me to bring him out\nsome food, and I am ready to run and bring him our whole Sabbath dinner,\nwhen he says to me:\n\n\"Listen, keep what you saw to yourself.\"\n\nThis sobers me, and I promise seriously and faithfully to hold my\ntongue.\n\n\"Listen again. You are going far away, very far away, and the road is a\nlong road.\"\n\nI wonder, however should I come to travel so far? And he goes on to say:\n\n\"They will knock the Rebbe's Torah out of your head, and you will forget\nFather and Mother, but see you keep to your name! You are called\nYuedel--remain a Jew!\"\n\nI am frightened, but cry out from the bottom of my heart:\n\n\"Surely! As surely may I live!\"\n\nThen, because my own idea clung to me, I added:\n\n\"Don't you want something to eat?\"\n\nAnd before I finished speaking, he had vanished.\n\nThe second week after they fell upon us and led me away as a Cantonist,\nto be brought up among the Gentiles and turned into a soldier.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTime passed, and I forgot everything, as he had foretold. They knocked\nit all out of my head.\n\nI served far away, deep in Russia, among snows and terrific frosts, and\nnever set eyes on a Jew. There may have been hidden Jews about, but I\nknew nothing of them, I knew nothing of Sabbath and festival, nothing of\nany fast. I forgot everything.\n\nBut I held fast to my name!\n\nI did not change my coin.\n\nThe more I forgot, the more I was inclined to be quit of my torments and\ntrials--to make an end of them by agreeing to a Christian name, but\nwhenever the bad thought came into my head, he appeared before me, the\nsame Shochet, and I heard his voice say to me, \"Keep your name, remain a\nJew!\"\n\nAnd I knew for certain that it was no empty dream, because every time I\nsaw him _older_ and _older_, his beard and earlocks greyer, his face\npaler. Only his eyes remained the same kind eyes, and his voice, which\nsounded like a violin, never altered.\n\nOnce they flogged me, and he stood by and wiped the cold sweat off my\nforehead, and stroked my face, and said softly: \"Don't cry out! We ought\nto suffer! Remain a Jew,\" and I bore it without a cry, without a moan,\nas though they had been flogging _not_-me.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOnce, during the last year, I had to go as a sentry to a public house\nbehind the town. It was evening, and there was a snow-storm. The wind\nlifted patches of snow, and ground them to needles, rubbed them to dust,\nand this snow-dust and these snow-needles were whirled through the air,\nflew into one's face and pricked--you couldn't keep an eye open, you\ncouldn't draw your breath! Suddenly I saw some people walking past me,\nnot far away, and one of them said in Yiddish, \"This is the first night\nof Passover.\" Whether it was a voice from God, or whether some people\nreally passed me, to this day I don't know, but the words fell upon my\nheart like lead, and I had hardly reached the tavern and begun to walk\nup and down, when a longing came over me, a sort of heartache, that is\nnot to be described. I wanted to recite the Haggadah, and not a word of\nit could I recall! Not even the Four Questions I used to ask my father.\nI felt it all lay somewhere deep down in my heart. I used to know so\nmuch of it, when I was only six years old. I felt, if only I could have\nrecalled one simple word, the rest would have followed and risen out of\nmy memory one after the other, like sleepy birds from beneath the snow.\nBut that one first word is just what I cannot remember! Lord of the\nUniverse, I cried fervently, one word, only one word! As it seems, I\nmade my prayer in a happy hour, for \"we were slaves\" came into my head\njust as if it had been thrown down from Heaven. I was overjoyed! I was\nso full of joy that I felt it brimming over. And then the rest all came\nback to me, and as I paced up and down on my watch, with my musket on my\nshoulder, I recited and sang the Haggadah to the snowy world around. I\ndrew it out of me, word after word, like a chain of golden links, like\na string of pearls. O, but you won't understand, you couldn't\nunderstand, unless you had been taken away there, too!\n\nThe wind, meanwhile, had fallen, the snow-storm had come to an end, and\nthere appeared a clear, twinkling sky, and a shining world of diamonds.\nIt was silent all round, and ever so wide, and ever so white, with a\nsweet, peaceful, endless whiteness. And over this calm, wide, whiteness,\nthere suddenly appeared something still whiter, and lighter, and\nbrighter, wrapped in a robe and a prayer-scarf, the prayer-scarf over\nits shoulders, and over the prayer-scarf, in front, a silvery white\nbeard; and above the beard, two shining eyes, and above them, a\nsparkling crown, a cap with gold and silver ornaments. And it came\nnearer and nearer, and went past me, but as it passed me it said:\n\n\"It is well!\"\n\nIt sounded like a violin, and then the figure vanished.\n\nBut it was the same eyes, the same voice.\n\nI took Schpol on my way home, and went to see the Old Man, for the Rebbe\nof Schpol was called by the people Der Alter, the \"Schpol Grandfather.\"\n\nAnd I recognized him again, and he recognized me!\n\n\n\n\nWHENCE A PROVERB\n\n\n\"Drunk all the year round, sober at Purim,\" is a Jewish proverb, and\npeople ought to know whence it comes.\n\nIn the days of the famous scholar, Reb Chayyim Vital, there lived in\nSafed, in Palestine, a young man who (not of us be it spoken!) had not\nbeen married a year before he became a widower. God's ways are not to be\nunderstood. Such things will happen. But the young man was of the\nopinion that the world, in as far as he was concerned, had come to an\nend; that, as there is one sun in heaven, so his wife had been the one\nwoman in the world. So he went and sold all the merchandise in his\nlittle shop and all the furniture of his room, and gave the proceeds to\nthe head of the Safed Academy, the Rosh ha-Yeshiveh, on condition that\nhe should be taken into the Yeshiveh and fed with the other scholars,\nand that he should have a room to himself, where he might sit and learn\nTorah.\n\nThe Rosh ha-Yeshiveh took the money for the Academy, and they\npartitioned off a little room for the young man with some boards, in a\ncorner of the attic of the house-of-study. They carried in a sack with\nstraw, and vessels for washing, and the young man sat himself down to\nthe Talmud. Except on Sabbaths and holidays, when the householders\ninvited him to dinner, he never set eyes on a living creature. Food\nsufficient for the day, and a clean shirt in honor of Sabbaths and\nfestivals, were carried up to him by the beadle, and whenever he heard\nsteps on the stair, he used to turn away, and stand with his face to the\nwall, till whoever it was had gone out again and shut the door.\n\nIn a word, he became a Porush, for he lived separate from the world.\n\nAt first people thought he wouldn't persevere long, because he was a\nlively youth by nature; but as week after week went by, and the Porush\nsat and studied, and the tearful voice in which he intoned the Gemoreh\nwas heard in the street half through the night, or else he was seen at\nthe attic window, his pale face raised towards the sky, then they began\nto believe in him, and they hoped he might in time become a mighty man\nin Israel, and perhaps even a wonderworker. They said so to the Rebbe,\nChayyim Vital, but he listened, shook his head, and replied, \"God grant\nit may last.\"\n\nMeantime a little \"wonder\" really happened. The beadle's little\ndaughter, who used sometimes to carry up the Porush's food for her\nfather, took it into her head that she must have one look at the Porush.\nWhat does she? Takes off her shoes and stockings, and carries the food\nto him barefoot, so noiselessly that she heard her own heart beat. But\nthe beating of her heart frightened her so much that she fell down half\nthe stairs, and was laid up for more than a month in consequence. In her\nfever she told the whole story, and people began to believe in the\nPorush more firmly than ever and to wait with increasing impatience till\nhe should become famous.\n\nThey described the occurrence to Reb Chayyim Vital, and again he shook\nhis head, and even sighed, and answered, \"God grant he may be\nvictorious!\" And when they pressed him for an explanation of these\nwords, Reb Chayyim answered, that as the Porush had left the world, not\nso much for the sake of Heaven as on account of his grief for his wife,\nit was to be feared that he would be sorely beset and tempted by the\n\"Other Side,\" and God grant he might not stumble and fall.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd Reb Chayyim Vital never spoke without good reason!\n\nOne day the Porush was sitting deep in a book, when he heard something\ntapping at the door, and fear came over him. But as the tapping went on,\nhe rose, forgetting to close his book, went and opened the door--and in\nwalks a turkey. He lets it in, for it occurs to him that it would be\nnice to have a living thing in the room. The turkey walks past him, and\ngoes and settles down quietly in a corner. And the Porush wonders what\nthis may mean, and sits down again to his book. Sitting there, he\nremembers that it is going on for Purim. Has someone sent him a turkey\nout of regard for his study of the Torah? What shall he do with the\nturkey? Should anyone, he reflects, ask him to dinner, supposing it were\nto be a poor man, he would send him the turkey on the eve of Purim, and\nthen he would satisfy himself with it also. He has not once tasted\nfowl-meat since he lost his wife. Thinking thus, he smacked his lips,\nand his mouth watered. He threw a glance at the turkey, and saw it\nlooking at him in a friendly way, as though it had quite understood his\nintention, and was very glad to think it should have the honor of being\neaten by a Porush. He could not restrain himself, but was continually\nlifting his eyes from his book to look at the turkey, till at last he\nbegan to fancy the turkey was smiling at him. This startled him a\nlittle, but all the same it made him happy to be smiled at by a living\ncreature.\n\nThe same thing happened at Minchah and Maariv. In the middle of the\nEighteen Benedictions, he could not for the life of him help looking\nround every minute at the turkey, who continued to smile and smile.\nSuddenly it seemed to him, he knew that smile well--the Almighty, who\nhad taken back his wife, had now sent him her smile to comfort him in\nhis loneliness, and he began to love the turkey. He thought how much\nbetter it would be, if a _rich_ man were to invite him at Purim, so that\nthe turkey might live.\n\nAnd he thought it in a propitious moment, as we shall presently see, but\nmeantime they brought him, as usual, a platter of groats with a piece of\nbread, and he washed his hands, and prepared to eat.\n\nNo sooner, however, had he taken the bread into his hand, and was about\nto bite into it, than the turkey moved out of its corner, and began\npeck, peck, peck, towards the bread, by way of asking for some, and as\nthough to say it was hungry, too, and came and stood before him near the\ntable. The Porush thought, \"He'd better have some, I don't want to be\nunkind to him, to tease him,\" and he took the bread and the platter of\nporridge, and set it down on the floor before the turkey, who pecked and\nsupped away to its heart's content.\n\nNext day the Porush went over to the Rosh ha-Yeshiveh, and told him how\nhe had come to have a fellow-lodger; he used always to leave some\nporridge over, and to-day he didn't seem to have had enough. The Rosh\nha-Yeshiveh saw a hungry face before him. He said he would tell this to\nthe Rebbe, Chayyim Vital, so that he might pray, and the evil spirit, if\nsuch indeed it was, might depart. Meantime he would give orders for two\npieces of bread and two plates of porridge to be taken up to the attic,\nso that there should be enough for both, the Porush and the turkey. Reb\nChayyim Vital, however, to whom the story was told in the name of the\nRosh ha-Yeshiveh, shook his head, and declared with a deep sigh that\nthis was only the beginning!\n\nMeanwhile the Porush received a double portion and was satisfied, and\nthe turkey was satisfied, too. The turkey even grew fat. And in a couple\nof weeks or so the Porush had become so much attached to the turkey that\nhe prayed every day to be invited for Purim by a _rich_ man, so that he\nmight not be tempted to destroy it.\n\nAnd, as we intimated, _that_ temptation, anyhow, was spared him, for he\nwas invited to dinner by one of the principal householders in the place,\nand there was not only turkey, but every kind of tasty dish, and wine\nfit for a king. And the best Purim-players came to entertain the rich\nman, his family, and the guests who had come to him after their feast at\nhome. And our Porush gave himself up to enjoyment, and ate and drank.\nPerhaps he even drank rather more than he ate, for the wine was sweet\nand grateful to the taste, and the warmth of it made its way into every\nlimb.\n\nThen suddenly a change came over him.\n\nThe Ahasuerus-Esther play had begun. Vashti will not do the king's\npleasure and come in to the banquet as God made her. Esther soon finds\nfavor in her stead, she is given over to Hegai, the keeper of the women,\nto be purified, six months with oil of myrrh and six months with other\nsweet perfumes. And our Porush grew hot all over, and it was dark before\nhis eyes; then red streaks flew across his field of vision, like tongues\nof fire, and he was overcome by a strange, wild longing to be back at\nhome, in the attic of the house-of-study--a longing for his own little\nroom, his quiet corner, a longing for the turkey, and he couldn't bear\nit, and even before they had said grace he jumped up and ran away home.\n\nHe enters his room, looks into the corner habitually occupied by the\nturkey, and stands amazed--the turkey has turned into a woman, a most\nbeautiful woman, such as the world never saw, and he begins to tremble\nall over. And she comes up to him, and takes him around the neck with\nher warm, white, naked arms, and the Porush trembles more and more, and\nbegs, \"Not here, not here! It is a holy place, there are holy books\nlying about.\" Then she whispers into his ear that she is the Queen of\nSheba, that she lives not far from the house-of-study, by the river,\namong the tall reeds, in a palace of crystal, given her by King Solomon.\nAnd she draws him along, she wants him to go with her to her palace.\n\nAnd he hesitates and resists--and he goes.\n\nNext day, there was no turkey, and no Porush, either!\n\nThey went to Reb Chayyim Vital, who told them to look for him along the\nbank of the river, and they found him in a swamp among the tall reeds,\nmore dead than alive.\n\nThey rescued him and brought him round, but from that day he took to\ndrink.\n\nAnd Reb Chayyim Vital said, it all came from his great longing for the\nQueen of Sheba, that when he drank, he saw her; and they were to let him\ndrink, only not at Purim, because at that time she would have great\npower over him.\n\nHence the proverb, \"Drunk all the year round, sober at Purim.\"\n\n\n\n\nMORDECAI SPEKTOR\n\n\nBorn, 1859, in Uman, Government of Kieff, Little Russia; education\nHasidic; entered business in 1878; wrote first sketch, A Roman ohn\nLiebe, in 1882; contributor to Zedernbaum's Juedisches Volksblatt,\n1884-1887; founded, in 1888, and edited Der Hausfreund, at Warsaw;\neditor of Warsaw daily papers, Unser Leben, and (at present, 1912) Dos\nneie Leben; writer of novels, historical romances, and sketches in\nYiddish; contributor to numerous periodicals; compiled a volume of more\nthan two thousand Jewish proverbs.\n\n\n\n\nAN ORIGINAL STRIKE\n\n\nI was invited to a wedding.\n\nNot a wedding at which ladies wore low dress, and scattered powder as\nthey walked, and the men were in frock-coats and white gloves, and had\nwaxed moustaches.\n\nNot a wedding where you ate of dishes with outlandish names, according\nto a printed card, and drank wine dating, according to the label, from\nthe reign of King Sobieski, out of bottles dingy with the dust of\nyesterday.\n\nNo, but a Jewish wedding, where the men, women, and girls wore the\nSabbath and holiday garments in which they went to Shool; a wedding\nwhere you whet your appetite with sweet-cakes and apple-tart, and sit\ndown to Sabbath fish, with fresh rolls, golden soup, stuffed fowl, and\nroast duck, and the wine is in large, clear, white bottles; a wedding\nwith a calling to the Reading of the Torah of the bridegroom, a party on\nthe Sabbath preceding the wedding, a good-night-play performed by the\nmusicians, and a bridegroom's-dinner in his native town, with a table\nspread for the poor.\n\nReb Yitzchok-Aizik Berkover had made a feast for the poor at the wedding\nof each of his children, and now, on the occasion of the marriage of his\nyoungest daughter, he had invited all the poor of the little town\nLipovietz to his village home, where he had spent all his life.\n\nIt is the day of the ceremony under the canopy, two o'clock in the\nafternoon, and the poor, sent for early in the morning by a messenger,\nwith the three great wagons, are not there. Lipovietz is not more than\nfive versts away--what can have happened? The parents of the bridal\ncouple and the assembled guests wait to proceed with the ceremony.\n\nAt last the messenger comes riding on a horse unharnessed from his\nvehicle, but no poor.\n\n\"Why have you come back alone?\" demands Reb Yitzchok-Aizik.\n\n\"They won't come!\" replies the messenger.\n\n\"What do you mean by 'they won't come'?\" asked everyone in surprise.\n\n\"They say that unless they are given a kerbel apiece, they won't come to\nthe wedding.\"\n\nAll laugh, and the messenger goes on:\n\n\"There was a wedding with a dinner to the poor in Lipovietz to-day, too,\nand they have eaten and drunk all they can, and now they've gone on\nstrike, and declare that unless they are promised a kerbel a head, they\nwon't move from the spot. The strike leaders are the Crooked Man with\ntwo crutches, Mekabbel the Long, Feitel the Stammerer, and Yainkel\nFonfatch; the others would perhaps have come, but these won't let them.\nSo I didn't know what to do. I argued a whole hour, and got nothing by\nit, so then I unharnessed a horse, and came at full speed to know what\nwas to be done.\"\n\nWe of the company could not stop laughing, but Reb Yitzchok-Aizik was\nvery angry.\n\n\"Well, and you bargained with them? Won't they come for less?\" he asked\nthe messenger.\n\n\"Yes, I bargained, and they won't take a kopek less.\"\n\n\"Have their prices gone up so high as all that?\" exclaimed Reb\nYitzchok-Aizik, with a satirical laugh. \"Why did you leave the wagons?\nWe shall do without the tramps, that's all!\"\n\n\"How could I tell? I didn't know what to do. I was afraid you would be\ndispleased. Now I'll go and fetch the wagons back.\"\n\n\"Wait! Don't be in such a hurry, take time!\"\n\nReb Yitzchok-Aizik began consulting with the company and with himself.\n\n\"What an idea! Who ever heard of such a thing? Poor people telling me\nwhat to do, haggling with me over my wanting to give them a good dinner\nand a nice present each, and saying they must be paid in rubles,\notherwise it's no bargain, ha! ha! For two guldens each it's not worth\ntheir while? It cost them too much to stock the ware? Thirty kopeks\nwouldn't pay them? I like their impertinence! Mischief take them, I\nshall do without them!\n\n\"Let the musicians play! Where is the beadle? They can begin putting the\nveil on the bride.\"\n\nBut directly afterwards he waved his hands.\n\n\"Wait a little longer. It is still early. Why should it happen to _me_,\nwhy should my pleasure be spoilt? Now I've got to marry my youngest\ndaughter without a dinner to the poor! I would have given them half a\nruble each, it's not the money I mind, but fancy bargaining with me!\nWell, there, I have done my part, and if they won't come, I'm sure\nthey're not wanted; afterwards they'll be sorry; they don't get a\nwedding like this every day. We shall do without them.\"\n\n\"Well, can they put the veil on the bride?\" the beadle came and\ninquired.\n\n\"Yes, they can.... No, tell them to wait a little longer!\"\n\nNearly all the guests, who were tired of waiting, cried out that the\ntramps could very well be missed.\n\nReb Yitzchok-Aizik's face suddenly assumed another expression, the anger\nvanished, and he turned to me and a couple, of other friends, and asked\nif we would drive to the town, and parley with the revolted\nalmsgatherers.\n\n\"He has no brains, one can't depend on him,\" he said, referring to the\nmessenger.\n\nA horse was harnessed to a conveyance, and we drove off, followed by the\nmounted messenger.\n\n\"A revolt--a strike of almsgatherers, how do you like that?\" we asked\none another all the way. We had heard of workmen striking, refusing to\nwork except for a higher wage, and so forth, but a strike of\npaupers--paupers insisting on larger alms as pay for eating a free\ndinner, such a thing had never been known.\n\nIn twenty minutes time we drove into Lipovietz.\n\nIn the market-place, in the centre of the town, stood the three great\npeasant wagons, furnished with fresh straw. The small horses were\nstanding unharnessed, eating out of their nose-bags; round the wagons\nwere a hundred poor folk, some dumb, others lame, the greater part\nblind, and half the town urchins with as many men.\n\nAll of them were shouting and making a commotion.\n\nThe Crooked One sat on a wagon, and banged it with his crutches; Long\nMekabbel, with a red plaster on his neck, stood beside him.\n\nThese two leaders of the revolt were addressing the people, the meek of\nthe earth.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" exclaimed Long Mekabbel, as he caught sight of us and the\nmessenger, \"they have come to beg our acceptance!\"\n\n\"To beg our acceptance!\" shouted the Crooked One, and banged his crutch.\n\n\"Why won't you come to the wedding, to the dinner?\" we inquired.\n\"Everyone will be given alms.\"\n\n\"How much?\" they asked all together.\n\n\"We don't know, but you will take what they offer.\"\n\n\"Will they give it us in kerblech? Because, if not, we don't go.\"\n\n\"There will be a hole in the sky if you don't go,\" cried some of the\nurchins present.\n\nThe almsgatherers threw themselves on the urchins with their sticks, and\nthere was a bit of a row.\n\nMekabbel the Long, standing on the cart, drew himself to his full\nheight, and began to shout:\n\n\"Hush, hush, hush! Quiet, you crazy cripples! One can't hear oneself\nspeak! Let us hear what those have to say who are worth listening to!\"\nand he turned to us with the words:\n\n\"You must know, dear Jews, that unless they distribute kerblech among\nus, we shall not budge. Never you fear! Reb Yitzchok-Aizik won't marry\nhis youngest daughter without us, and where is he to get others of us\nnow? To send to Lunetz would cost him more in conveyances, and he would\nhave to put off the marriage.\"\n\n\"What do they suppose? That because we are poor people they can do what\nthey please with us?\" and a new striker hitched himself up by the\nwheel, blind of one eye, with a tied-up jaw. \"No one can oblige us to\ngo, even the chief of police and the governor cannot force us--either\nit's kerblech, or we stay where we are.\"\n\n\"K-ke-kkerb-kkerb-lech!!\" came from Feitel the Stammerer.\n\n\"Nienblech!\" put in Yainkel Fonfatch, speaking through his small nose.\n\"No, more!\" called out a couple of merry paupers.\n\n\"Kerblech, kerblech!\" shouted the rest in concert.\n\nAnd through their shouting and their speeches sounded such a note of\nanger and of triumph, it seemed as though they were pouring out all the\nbitterness of soul collected in the course of their sad and luckless\nlives.\n\nThey had always kept silence, had _had_ to keep silence, _had_ to\nswallow the insults offered them along with the farthings, and the dry\nbread, and the scraped bones, and this was the first time they had been\nable to retaliate, the first time they had known how it felt to be\nentreated by the fortunate in all things, and they were determined to\nuse their opportunity of asserting themselves to the full, to take their\nrevenge. In the word kerblech lay the whole sting of their resentment.\n\nAnd while we talked and reasoned with them, came a second messenger from\nReb Yitzchok-Aizik, to say that the paupers were to come at once, and\nthey would be given a ruble each.\n\nThere was a great noise and scrambling, the three wagons filled with\nalmsgatherers, one crying out, \"O my bad hand!\" another, \"O my foot!\"\nand a third, \"O my poor bones!\" The merry ones made antics, and sang in\ntheir places, while the horses were put in, and the procession started\nat a cheerful trot. The urchins gave a great hurrah, and threw little\nstones after it, with squeals and whistles.\n\nThe poor folks must have fancied they were being pelted with flowers and\nsent off with songs, they looked so happy in the consciousness of their\nvictory.\n\nFor the first and perhaps the last time in their lives, they had spoken\nout, and got their own way.\n\nAfter the \"canopy\" and the chicken soup, that is, at \"supper,\" tables\nwere spread for the friends of the family and separate ones for the\nalmsgatherers.\n\nReb Yitzchok-Aizik and the members of his own household served the poor\nwith their own hands, pressing them to eat and drink.\n\n\"Le-Chayyim to you, Reb Yitzchok-Aizik! May you have pleasure in your\nchildren, and be a great man, a great rich man!\" desired the poor.\n\n\"Long life, long life to all of you, brethren! Drink in health, God help\nAll-Israel, and you among them!\" replied Reb Yitzchok-Aizik.\n\nAfter supper the band played, and the almsgatherers, with Reb\nYitzchok-Aizik, danced merrily in a ring round the bridegroom.\n\nThen who was so happy as Reb Yitzchok-Aizik? He danced in the ring, the\nsilk skirts of his long coat flapped and flew like eagles' wings, tears\nof joy fell from his shining eyes, and his spirits rose to the seventh\nheaven.\n\nHe laughed and cried like a child, and exchanged embraces with the\nalmsgatherers.\n\n\"Brothers!\" he exclaimed as he danced, \"let us be merry, let us be Jews!\nMusicians, give us something cheerful--something gayer, livelier,\nlouder!\"\n\n\"This is what you call a Jewish wedding!\"\n\n\"This is how a Jew makes merry!\"\n\nSo the guests and the almsgatherers clapped their hands in time to the\nmusic.\n\nYes, dear readers, it _was_ what I call a Jewish Wedding!\n\n\n\n\nA GLOOMY WEDDING\n\n\nThey handed Gittel a letter that had come by post, she put on her\nspectacles, sat down by the window, and began to read.\n\nShe read, and her face began to shine, and the wrinkled skin took on a\nlittle color. It was plain that what she read delighted her beyond\nmeasure, she devoured the words, caught her breath, and wept aloud in\nthe fulness of her joy.\n\n\"At last, at last! Blessed be His dear Name, whom I am not worthy to\nmention! I do not know, Gottinyu, how to thank Thee for the mercy Thou\nhast shown me. Beile! Where is Beile? Where is Yossel? Children! Come,\nmake haste and wish me joy, a great joy has befallen us! Send for\nAvremele, tell him to come with Zlatke and all the children.\"\n\nThus Gittel, while she read the letter, never ceased calling every one\ninto the room, never ceased reading and calling, calling and reading,\nand devouring the words as she read.\n\nEvery soul who happened to be at home came running.\n\n\"Good luck to you! Good luck to us all! Moishehle has become engaged in\nWarsaw, and invites us all to the wedding,\" Gittel explained. \"There,\nread the letter, Lord of the World, may it be in a propitious hour, may\nwe all have comfort in one another, may we hear nothing but good news of\none another and of All-Israel! Read it, read it, children! He writes\nthat he has a very beautiful bride, well-favored, with a large dowry.\nLord of the World, I am not worthy of the mercy Thou hast shown me!\"\nrepeated Gittel over and over, as she paced the room with uplifted\nhands, while her daughter Beile took up the letter in her turn. The\nchildren and everyone in the house, including the maid from the kitchen,\nwith rolled-up sleeves and wet hands, encircled Beile as she read aloud.\n\n\"Read louder, Beiletshke, so that I can hear, so that we can all hear,\"\nbegged Gittel, and there were tears of happiness in her eyes.\n\nThe children jumped for joy to see Grandmother so happy. The word\n\"wedding,\" which Beile read out of the letter, contained a promise of\nall delightful things: musicians, pancakes, new frocks and suits, and\nthey could not keep themselves from dancing. The maid, too, was heartily\npleased, she kept on singing out, \"Oi, what a bride, beautiful as gold!\"\nand did not know what to be doing next--should she go and finish cooking\nthe dinner, or should she pull down her sleeves and make holiday?\n\nThe hiss of a pot boiling over in the kitchen interrupted the\nletter-reading, and she was requested to go and attend to it forthwith.\n\n\"The bride sends us a separate greeting, long life to her, may she live\nwhen my bones are dust. Let us go to the provisor, he shall read it; it\nis written in French.\"\n\nThe provisor, the apothecary's foreman, who lived in the same house,\nsaid the bride's letter was not written in French, but in Polish, that\nshe called Gittel her second mother, that she loved her son Moses as her\nlife, that he was her world, that she held herself to be the most\nfortunate of girls, since God had given her Moses, that Gittel (once\nmore!) was her second mother, and she felt like a dutiful daughter\ntowards her, and hoped that Gittel would love her as her own child.\n\nThe bride declared further that she kissed her new sister, Beile, a\nthousand times, together with Zlatke and their husbands and children,\nand she signed herself \"Your forever devoted and loving daughter\nRegina.\"\n\nAn hour later all Gittel's children were assembled round her, her eldest\nson Avremel with his wife, Zlatke and her little ones, Beile's husband,\nand her son-in-law Yossel. All read the letter with eager curiosity,\nbrandy and spice-cakes were placed on the table, wine was sent for, they\ndrank healths, wished each other joy, and began to talk of going to the\nwedding.\n\nGittel, very tired with all she had gone through this day, went to lie\ndown for a while to rest her head, which was all in a whirl, but the\nothers remained sitting at the table, and never stopped talking of\nMoisheh.\n\n\"I can imagine the sort of engagement Moisheh has made, begging his\npardon,\" remarked the daughter-in-law, and wiped her pale lips.\n\n\"I should think so, a man who's been a bachelor up to thirty! It's easy\nto fancy the sort of bride, and the sort of family she has, if they\naccepted Moisheh as a suitor,\" agreed the daughter.\n\n\"God helping, this ought to make a man of him,\" sighed Moisheh's elder\nbrother, \"he's cost us trouble and worry enough.\"\n\n\"It's your fault,\" Yossel told him. \"If I'd been his elder brother, he\nwould have turned out differently! I should have directed him like a\nfather, and taken him well in hand.\"\n\n\"You think so, but when God wishes to punish a man through his own child\ngoing astray, nothing is of any use; these are not the old times, when\nyoung people feared a Rebbe, and respected their elders. Nowadays the\nworld is topsyturvy, and no sooner has a boy outgrown his childhood than\nhe does what he pleases, and parents are nowhere. What have I left\nundone to make something out of him, so that he should be a credit to\nhis family? Then, he was left an orphan very early; perhaps he would\nhave obeyed his father (may he enter a lightsome paradise!), but for a\nbrother and his mother, he paid them as much attention as last year's\nsnow, and, if you said anything to him, he answered rudely, and neither\ncoaxing nor scolding was any good. Now, please God, he'll make a fresh\nstart, and give up his antics before it's too late. His poor mother!\nShe's had trouble enough on his account, as we all know.\"\n\nBeile let fall a tear and said:\n\n\"If our father (may he be our kind advocate!) were alive, Moishehle\nwould never have made an engagement like this. Who knows what sort of\nconnections they will be! I can see them, begging his pardon, from here!\nIs he likely to have asked anyone's advice? He always had a will of his\nown--did what he wanted to do, never asked his mother, or his sister, or\nhis brother, beforehand. Now he's a bridegroom at thirty if he's a day,\nand we are all asked to the wedding, are we really? And we shall soon\nall be running to see the fine sight, such as never was seen before. We\nare no such fools! He thinks _himself_ the clever one now! So he wants\nus to be at the wedding? Only says it out of politeness.\"\n\n\"We must go, all the same,\" said Avremel.\n\n\"Go and welcome, if you want to--you won't catch _me_ there,\" answered\nhis sister.\n\nThere was a deal more discussion and disputing about not going to the\nwedding, and only congratulating by telegram, for good manners' sake.\nSince he had asked no one's advice, and engaged himself without them,\nlet him get married without them, too!\n\nGittel, up in her bedroom, could not so soon compose herself after the\nevents of the day. What she had experienced was no trifle. Moishehle\nengaged to be married! She had been through so much on his account in\nthe course of her life, she had loved him, her youngest born, so dearly!\nHe was such a beautiful child that the light of his countenance dazzled\nyou, and bright as the day, so that people opened ears and mouth to hear\nhim talk, and God and men alike envied her the possession of such a boy.\n\n\"I counted on making a match for him, as I did with Avremel before him.\nHe was offered the best connections, with the families of the greatest\nRabbis. But, no--no--he wanted to go on studying. 'Study here, study\nthere,' said I, 'sixteen years old and a bachelor! If you want to study,\ncan't you study at your father-in-law's, eating Koest? There are books in\nplenty, thank Heaven, of your father's.' No, no, he wanted to go and\nstudy elsewhere, asked nobody's advice, and made off, and for two months\nI never had a line. I nearly went out of my mind. Then, suddenly, there\ncame a letter, begging my pardon for not having said good-by, and would\nI forgive him, and send him some money, because he had nothing to eat.\nIt tore my heart to think my Moishehle, who used to make me happy\nwhenever he enjoyed a meal, should hunger. I sent him some money, I went\non sending him money for three years, after that he stopped asking for\nit. I begged him to come home, he made no reply. 'I don't wish to\nquarrel with Avremel, my sister, and her husband,' he wrote later, 'we\ncannot live together in peace.' Why? I don't know! Then, for a time, he\nleft off writing altogether, and the messages we got from him sounded\nvery sad. Now he was in Kieff, now in Odessa, now in Charkoff, and they\ntold us he was living like any Gentile, had not the look of a Jew at\nall. Some said he was living with a Gentile woman, a countess, and would\nnever marry in his life.\"\n\nFive years ago he had suddenly appeared at home, \"to see his mother,\" as\nhe said. Gittel did not recognize him, he was so changed. The rest found\nhim quite the stranger: he had a \"goyish\" shaven face, with a twisted\nmoustache, and was got up like a rich Gentile, with a purse full of\nbank-notes. His family were ashamed to walk abroad with him, Gittel\nnever ceased weeping and imploring him to give up the countess, remain a\nJew, stay with his mother, and she, with God's help, would make an\nexcellent match for him, if he would only alter his appearance and ways\njust a little. Moishehle solemnly assured his mother that he was a Jew,\nthat there was no countess, but that he wouldn't remain at home for a\nmillion rubles, first, because he had business elsewhere, and secondly,\nhe had no fancy for his native town, there was nothing there for him to\ndo, and to dispute with his brother and sister about religious piety was\nnot worth his while.\n\nSo Moishehle departed, and Gittel wept, wondering why he was different\nfrom the other children, seeing they all had the same mother, and she\nhad lived and suffered for all alike. Why would he not stay with her at\nhome? What would he have wanted for there? God be praised, not to sin\nwith her tongue, thanks to God first, and then to _him_ (a lightsome\nparadise be his!), they were provided for, with a house and a few\nthousand rubles, all that was necessary for their comfort, and a little\nready money besides. The house alone, not to sin with her tongue, would\nbring in enough to make a living. Other people envy us, but it doesn't\nhappen to please him, and he goes wandering about the world--without a\nwife and without a home--a man twenty and odd years old, and without a\nhome!\n\nThe rest of the family were secretly well content to be free of such a\npoor creature--\"the further off, the better--the shame is less.\"\n\nA letter from him came very seldom after this, and for the last two\nyears he had dropped out altogether. Nobody was surprised, for everyone\nwas convinced that Moisheh would never come to anything. Some told that\nhe was in prison, others knew that he had gone abroad and was being\npursued, others, that he had hung himself because he was tired of life,\nand that before his death he had repented of all his sins, only it was\ntoo late.\n\nHis relations heard all these reports, and were careful to keep them\nfrom his mother, because they were not sure that the bad news was true.\n\nGittel bore the pain at her heart in silence, weeping at times over her\nMoishehle, who had got into bad ways--and now, suddenly, this precious\nletter with its precious news: Her Moishehle is about to marry, and\ninvites them to the wedding!\n\nThus Gittel, lying in bed in her own room, recalled everything she had\nsuffered through her undutiful son, only now--now everything was\nforgotten and forgiven, and her mother's heart was full of love for her\nMoishehle, just as in the days when he toddled about at her apron, and\npleased his mother and everyone else.\n\nAll her thoughts were now taken up with getting ready to attend the\nwedding; the time was so short--there were only three weeks left. When\nher other children were married, Gittel began her preparations three\nmonths ahead, and now there were only three weeks.\n\nNext day she took out her watered silk dress, with the green satin\nflowers, and hung it up to air, examined it, lest there should be a hook\nmissing. After that she polished her long ear-rings with chalk, her\npearls, her rings, and all her other ornaments, and bought a new yellow\nsilk kerchief for her head, with a large flowery pattern in a lighter\nshade.\n\nA week before the journey to Warsaw they baked spice-cakes, pancakes,\nand almond-rolls to take with her, \"from the bridegroom's side,\" and\nordered a wig for the bride. When her eldest son was married, Gittel had\nalso given the bride silver candlesticks for Friday evenings, and\npresented her with a wig for the Veiling Ceremony.\n\nAnd before she left, Gittel went to her husband's grave, and asked him\nto be present at the wedding as a good advocate for the newly-married\npair.\n\nGittel started for Warsaw in grand style, and cheerful and happy, as\nbefits a mother going to the wedding of her favorite son. All those who\naccompanied her to the station declared that she looked younger and\nprettier by twenty years, and made a beautiful bridegroom's mother.\n\nBesides wedding presents for the bride, Gittel took with her money for\nwedding expenses, so that she might play her part with becoming\nlavishness, and people should not think her Moishehle came, bless and\npreserve us, of a low-born family--to show that he was none so forlorn\nbut he had, God be praised and may it be for a hundred and twenty years\nto come! a mother, and a sister, and brothers, and came of a well-to-do\nfamily. She would show them that she could be as fine a bridegroom's\nmother as anyone, even, thank God, in Warsaw. Moishehle was her last\nchild, and she grudged him nothing. Were _he_ (may he be a good\nintercessor!) alive, he would certainly have graced the wedding better,\nand spent more money, but she would spare nothing to make a good figure\non the occasion. She would treat every connection of the bride to a\nspecial dance-tune, give the musicians a whole five-ruble-piece for\ntheir performance of the Vivat, and two dreierlech for the Kosher-Tanz,\nbeside something for the Rav, the cantor, and the beadle, and alms for\nthe poor--what should she save for? She has no more children to marry\noff--blessed be His dear Name, who had granted her life to see her\nMoishehle's wedding!\n\nThus happily did Gittel start for Warsaw.\n\nOne carriage after another drove up to the wedding-reception room in\nDluga Street, Warsaw, ladies and their daughters, all in evening dress,\nand smartly attired gentlemen, alighted and went in.\n\nThe room was full, the band played, ladies and gentlemen were dancing,\nand those who were not, talked of the bride and bridegroom, and said how\nfortunate they considered Regina, to have secured such a presentable\nyoung man, lively, educated, and intelligent, with quite a fortune,\nwhich he had made himself, and a good business. Ten thousand rubles\ndowry with the perfection of a husband was a rare thing nowadays, when a\npoor professional man, a little doctor without practice, asked fifteen\nthousand. It was true, they said, that Regina was a pretty girl and a\ncredit to her parents, but how many pretty, bright girls had more money\nthan Regina, and sat waiting?\n\nIt was above all the mothers of the young ladies present who talked low\nin this way among themselves.\n\nThe bride sat on a chair at the end of the room, ladies and young girls\non either side of her; Gittel, the bridegroom's mother in her watered\nsilk dress, with the large green satin flowers, was seated between two\nladies with dresses cut so low that Gittel could not bear to look at\nthem--women with husbands and children daring to show themselves like\nthat at a wedding! Then she could not endure the odor of their bare\nskin, the powder, pomade, and perfumes with which they were smeared,\nsprinkled, and wetted, even to their hair. All these strange smells\ntickled Gittel's nose, and went to her head like a fume. She sat\nbetween the two ladies, feeling cramped and shut in, unable to stir, and\nwould gladly have gone away. Only whither? Where should she, the\nbridegroom's mother, be sitting, if not near the bride, at the upper end\nof the room? But all the ladies sitting there are half-naked. Should she\nsit near the door? That would never do. And Gittel remained sitting, in\ngreat embarrassment, between the two women, and looked on at the\nreception, and saw nothing but a room full of _decolletees_, ladies and\ngirls.\n\nGittel felt more and more uncomfortable, it made her quite faint to look\nat them.\n\n\"One can get over the girls, young things, because a girl has got to\nplease, although no Jewish daughter ought to show herself to everyone\nlike that, but what are you to do with present-day children, especially\nin a dissolute city like Warsaw? But young women, and women who have\nhusbands and children, and no need, thank God, to please anyone, how are\nthey not ashamed before God and other people and their own children, to\ncome to a wedding half-naked, like loose girls in a public house? Jewish\ndaughters, who ought not to be seen uncovered by the four walls of their\nroom, to come like that to a wedding! To a Jewish wedding!... Tpfu,\ntpfu, I'd like to spit at this newfangled world, may God not punish me\nfor these words! It is enough to make one faint to see such a display\namong Jews!\"\n\nAfter the ceremony under the canopy, which was erected in the centre of\nthe room, the company sat down to the table, and Gittel was again seated\nat the top, between the two women before mentioned, whose perfumes went\nto her head.\n\nShe felt so queer and so ill at ease that she could not partake of the\ndinner, her mouth seemed locked, and the tears came in her eyes.\n\nWhen they rose from table, Gittel sought out a place removed from the\n\"upper end,\" and sat down in a window, but presently the bride's mother,\nalso in _decollete_, caught sight of her, and went and took her by the\nhand.\n\n\"Why are you sitting here, Mechuteneste? Why are you not at the top?\"\n\n\"I wanted to rest myself a little.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no, come and sit there,\" said the lady, led her away by force,\nand seated her between the two ladies with the perfumes.\n\nLong, long did she sit, feeling more and more sick and dizzy. If only\nshe could have poured out her heart to some one person, if she could\nhave exchanged a single word with anybody during that whole evening, it\nwould have been a relief, but there was no one to speak to. The music\nplayed, there was dancing, but Gittel could see nothing more. She felt\nan oppression at her heart, and became covered with perspiration, her\nhead grew heavy, and she fell from her chair.\n\n\"The bridegroom's mother has fainted!\" was the outcry through the whole\nroom. \"Water, water!\"\n\nThey fetched water, discovered a doctor among the guests, and he led\nGittel into another room, and soon brought her round.\n\nThe bride, the bridegroom, the bride's mother, and the two ladies ran\nin:\n\n\"What can have caused it? Lie down! How do you feel now? Perhaps you\nwould like a sip of lemonade?\" they all asked.\n\n\"Thank you, I want nothing, I feel better already, leave me alone for a\nwhile. I shall soon recover myself, and be all right.\"\n\nSo Gittel was left alone, and she breathed more easily, her head stopped\naching, she felt like one let out of prison, only there was a pain at\nher heart. The tears which had choked her all day now began to flow, and\nshe wept abundantly. The music never ceased playing, she heard the sound\nof the dancers' feet and the directions of the master of ceremonies; the\nfloor shook, Gittel wept, and tried with all her might to keep from\nsobbing, so that people should not hear and come in and disturb her. She\nhad not wept so since the death of her husband, and this was the wedding\nof her favorite son!\n\nBy degrees she ceased to weep altogether, dried her eyes, and sat\nquietly talking to herself of the many things that passed through her\nhead.\n\n\"Better that _he_ (may he enter a lightsome paradise!) should have died\nthan lived to see what I have seen, and the dear delight which I have\nhad, at the wedding of my youngest child! Better that I myself should\nnot have lived to see his marriage canopy. Canopy, indeed! Four sticks\nstuck up in the middle of the room to make fun with, for people to play\nat being married, like monkeys! Then at table: no Seven Blessings, not a\nJewish word, not a Jewish face, no Minyan to be seen, only shaven\nGentiles upon Gentiles, a roomful of naked women and girls that make you\nsick to look at them. Moishehle had better have married a poor orphan,\nI shouldn't have been half so ashamed or half so unhappy.\"\n\nGittel called to mind the sort of a bridegroom's mother she had been at\nthe marriage of her eldest son, and the satisfaction she had felt. Four\nhundred women had accompanied her to the Shool when Avremele was called\nto the Reading of the Law as a bridegroom, and they had scattered nuts,\nalmonds, and raisins down upon him as he walked; then the party before\nthe wedding, and the ceremony of the canopy, and the procession with the\nbride and bridegroom to the Shool, the merry home-coming, the golden\nsoup, the bridegroom brought at supper time to the sound of music, the\ncantor and his choir, who sang while they sat at table, the Seven\nBlessings, the Vivat played for each one separately, the Kosher-Tanz,\nthe dance round the bridegroom--and the whole time it had been Gittel\nhere and Gittel there: \"Good luck to you, Gittel, may you be happy in\nthe young couple and in all your other children, and live to dance at\nthe wedding of your youngest\" (it was a delight and no mistake!). \"Where\nis Gittel?\" she hears them cry. \"The uncle, the aunt, a cousin have paid\nfor a dance for the Mechuteneste on the bridegroom's side! Play,\nmusicians all!\" The company make way for her, and she dances with the\nuncle, the aunt, and the cousin, and all the rest clap their hands. She\nis tired with dancing, but still they call \"Gittel\"! An old friend sings\na merry song in her honor. \"Play, musicians all!\" And Gittel dances on,\nthe company clap their hands, and wish her all that is good, and she is\npenetrated with genuine happiness and the joy of the occasion. Then,\nthen, when the guests begin to depart, and the mothers of bridegroom and\nbride whisper together about the forthcoming Veiling Ceremony, she sees\nthe bride in her wig, already a wife, her daughter-in-law! Her jam\npancakes and almond-rolls are praised by all, and what cakes are left\nover from the Veiling Ceremony are either snatched one by one, or else\nthey are seized wholesale by the young people standing round the table,\nso that she should not see, and they laugh and tease her. That is the\nway to become a mother-in-law! And here, of course, the whole of the\npancakes and sweet-cakes and almond-rolls which she brought have never\nso much as been unpacked, and are to be thrown away or taken home again,\nas you please! A shame! No one came to her for cakes. The wig, too, may\nbe thrown away or carried back--Moishehle told her it was not required,\nit wouldn't quite do. The bride accepted the silver candlesticks with\nembarrassment, as though Gittel had done something to make her feel\nawkward, and some girls who were standing by smiled, \"Regina has been\ngiven candlesticks for the candle-blessing on Fridays--ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nThe bridal couple with the girl's parents came in to ask how she felt,\nand interrupted the current of her thoughts.\n\n\"We shall drive home now, people are leaving,\" they said.\n\n\"The wedding is over,\" they told her, \"everything in life comes to a\nspeedy end.\"\n\nGittel remembered that when Avremel was married, the festivities had\nlasted a whole week, till over the second cheerful Sabbath, when the\nbride, the new daughter-in-law, was led to the Shool!\n\nThe day after the wedding Gittel drove home, sad, broken in spirit, as\npeople return from the cemetery where they have buried a child, where\nthey have laid a fragment of their own heart, of their own life, under\nthe earth.\n\nDriving home in the carriage, she consoled herself with this at least:\n\n\"A good thing that Beile and Zlatke, Avremel and Yossel were not there.\nThe shame will be less, there will be less talk, nobody will know what I\nam suffering.\"\n\nGittel arrived the picture of gloom.\n\nWhen she left for the wedding, she had looked suddenly twenty years\nyounger, and now she looked twenty years older than before!\n\n\n\n\nPOVERTY\n\n\nI was living in Mezkez at the time, and Seinwill Bookbinder lived there\ntoo.\n\nBut Heaven only knows where he is now! Even then his continual pallor\naugured no long residence in Mezkez, and he was a Yadeschlever Jew with\na wife and six small children, and he lived by binding books.\n\nWho knows what has become of him! But that is not the question--I only\nwant to prove that Seinwill was a great liar.\n\nIf he is already in the other world, may he forgive me--and not be very\nangry with me, if he is still living in Mezkez!\n\nHe was an orthodox and pious Jew, but when you gave him a book to bind,\nhe never kept his word.\n\nWhen he took a book and even the whole of his pay in advance, he would\nswear by beard and earlocks, by wife and children, and by the Messiah,\nthat he would bring it back to you by Sabbath, but you had to be at him\nfor weeks before the work was finished and sent in.\n\nOnce, on a certain Friday, I remembered that next day, Sabbath, I should\nhave a few hours to myself for reading.\n\nA fortnight before I had given Seinwill a new book to bind for me. It\nwas just a question whether or not he would return it in time, so I set\nout for his home, with the intention of bringing back the book, finished\nor not. I had paid him his twenty kopeks in advance, so what excuses\ncould he possibly make? Once for all, I would give him a bit of my mind,\nand take away the work unfinished--it will be a lesson for him for the\nnext time!\n\nThus it was, walking along and deciding on what I should say to\nSeinwill, that I turned into the street to which I had been directed.\nOnce in the said street, I had no need to ask questions, for I was at\nonce shown a little, low house, roofed with mouldered slate.\n\nI stooped a little by way of precaution, and entered Seinwill's house,\nwhich consisted of a large kitchen.\n\nHere he lived with his wife and children, and here he worked.\n\nIn the great stove that took up one-third of the kitchen there was a\ncheerful crackling, as in every Jewish home on a Friday.\n\nIn the forepart of the oven, on either hand, stood a variety of pots and\npipkins, and gossipped together in their several tones. An elder child\nstood beside them holding a wooden spoon, with which she stirred or\nskimmed as the case required.\n\nSeinwill's wife, very much occupied, stood by the one four-post bed,\nwhich was spread with a clean white sheet, and on which she had laid out\nvarious kinds of cakes, of unbaked dough, in honor of Sabbath. Beside\nher stood a child, its little face red with crying, and hindered her in\nher work.\n\n\"Seinwill, take Chatzkele away! How can I get on with the cakes? Don't\nyou know it's Friday?\" she kept calling out, and Seinwill, sitting at\nhis work beside a large table covered with books, repeated every time\nlike an echo:\n\n\"Chatzkele, let mother alone!\"\n\nAnd Chatzkele, for all the notice he took, might have been as deaf as\nthe bedpost.\n\nThe minute Seinwill saw me, he ran to meet me in a shamefaced way, like\na sinner caught in the act; and before I was able to say a word, that\nis, tell him angrily and with decision that he must give me my book\nfinished or not--never mind about the twenty kopeks, and so on--and thus\nrevenge myself on him, he began to answer, and he showed me that my book\nwas done, it was already in the press, and there only remained the\nlettering to be done on the back. Just a few minutes more, and he would\nbring it to my house.\n\n\"No, I will wait and take it myself,\" I said, rather vexed.\n\nBesides, I knew that to stamp a few letters on a book-cover could not\ntake more than a few minutes at most.\n\n\"Well, if you are so good as to wait, it will not take long. There is a\nfire in the oven, I have only just got to heat the screw.\"\n\nAnd so saying, he placed a chair for me, dusted it with the flap of his\ncoat, and I sat down to wait. Seinwill really took my book out of the\npress quite finished except for the lettering on the cover, and began to\nhurry. Now he is by the oven--from the oven to the corner--and once more\nto the oven and back to the corner--and so on ten times over, saying to\nme every time:\n\n\"There, directly, directly, in another minute,\" and back once more\nacross the room.\n\nSo it went on for about ten minutes, and I began to take quite an\ninterest in this running of his from one place to another, with empty\nhands, and doing nothing but repeat \"Directly, directly, this minute!\"\n\nMost of all I wonder why he keeps on looking into the corner--he never\ntakes his eyes off that corner. What is he looking for, what does he\nexpect to see there? I watch his face growing sadder--he must be\nsuffering from something or other--and all the while he talks to\nhimself, \"Directly, directly, in one little minute.\" He turns to me: \"I\nmust ask you to wait a little longer. It will be very soon now--in\nanother minute's time. Just because we want it so badly, you'd think\nshe'd rather burst,\" he said, and he went back to the corner, stooped,\nand looked into it.\n\n\"What are you looking for there every minute?\" I ask him.\n\n\"Nothing. But directly--Take my advice: why should you sit there\nwaiting? I will bring the book to you myself. When one wants her to, she\nwon't!\"\n\n\"All right, it's Friday, so I need not hurry. Why should you have the\ntrouble, as I am already here?\" I reply, and ask him who is the \"she who\nwon't.\"\n\n\"You see, my wife, who is making cakes, is kept waiting by her too, and\nI, with the lettering to do on the book, I also wait.\"\n\n\"But _what_ are you waiting for?\"\n\n\"You see, if the cakes are to take on a nice glaze while baking, they\nmust be brushed over with a yolk.\"\n\n\"Well, and what has that to do with stamping the letters on the cover of\nthe book?\"\n\n\"What has that to do with it? Don't you know that the glaze-gold which\nis used for the letters will not stick to the cover without some white\nof egg?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have seen them smearing the cover with white of egg before\nputting on the letters. Then what?\"\n\n\"How 'what?' That is why we are waiting for the egg.\"\n\n\"So you have sent out to buy an egg?\"\n\n\"No, but it will be there directly.\" He points out to me the corner\nwhich he has been running to look into the whole time, and there, on the\nground, I see an overturned sieve, and under the sieve, a hen turning\nround and round and cackling.\n\n\"As if she'd rather burst!\" continued Seinwill. \"Just because we want it\nso badly, she won't lay. She lays an egg for me nearly every time, and\nnow--just as if she'd rather burst!\" he said, and began to scratch his\nhead.\n\nAnd the hen? The hen went on turning round and round like a prisoner in\na dungeon, and cackled louder than ever.\n\nTo tell the truth, I had inferred at once that Seinwill was persuaded I\nshould wait for my book till the hen had laid an egg, and as I watched\nSeinwill's wife, and saw with what anxiety she waited for the hen to\nlay, I knew that I was right, that Seinwill was indeed so persuaded, for\nhis wife called to him:\n\n\"Ask the young man for a kopek and send the child to buy an egg in the\nmarket. The cakes are getting cold.\"\n\n\"The young man owes me nothing, a few weeks ago he paid me for the whole\njob. There is no one to borrow from, nobody will lend me anything, I owe\nmoney all around, my very hair is not my own.\"\n\nWhen Seinwill had answered his wife, he took another peep into the\ncorner, and said:\n\n\"She will not keep us waiting much longer now. She can't cackle forever.\nAnother two minutes!\"\n\nBut the hen went on puffing out her feathers, pecking and cackling for a\ngood deal more than two minutes. It seemed as if she could not bear to\nsee her master and mistress in trouble, as if she really wished to do\nthem a kindness by laying an egg. But no egg appeared.\n\nI _lent_ Seinwill two or three kopeks, which he was to pay me back in\nwork, because Seinwill has never once asked for, or accepted, charity,\nand the child was sent to the market.\n\nA few minutes later, when the child had come back with an egg,\nSeinwill's wife had the glistening Sabbath cakes on a shovel, and was\nplacing them gaily in the oven; my book was finished, and the\nunfortunate hen, released at last from her prison, the sieve, ceased to\ncackle and to ruffle out her plumage.\n\n\n\n\nSHOLOM-ALECHEM\n\n\nPen name of Shalom Rabinovitz; born, 1859, in Pereyaslav, Government of\nPoltava, Little Russia; Government Rabbi, at twenty-one, in Lubni, near\nhis native place; has spent the greater part of his life in Kieff; in\nOdessa from 1890 to 1893, and in America from 1905 to 1907; Hebrew,\nRussian, and Yiddish poet, novelist, humorous short story writer,\ncritic, and playwright; prolific contributor to Hebrew and Yiddish\nperiodicals; founder of Die juedische Volksbibliothek; novels: Stempenyu,\nYosele Solovei, etc.; collected works: first series, Alle Werk, 4 vols.,\nCracow, 1903-1904; second series, Neueste Werk, 8 vols., Warsaw,\n1909-1911.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLOCK\n\n\nThe clock struck thirteen!\n\nDon't imagine I am joking, I am telling you in all seriousness what\nhappened in Mazepevke, in our house, and I myself was there at the time.\n\nWe had a clock, a large clock, fastened to the wall, an old, old clock\ninherited from my grandfather, which had been left him by my\ngreat-grandfather, and so forth. Too bad, that a clock should not be\nalive and able to tell us something beside the time of day! What stories\nwe might have heard as we sat with it in the room! Our clock was famous\nthroughout the town as the best clock going--\"Reb Simcheh's clock\"--and\npeople used to come and set their watches by it, because it kept more\naccurate time than any other. You may believe me that even Reb Lebish,\nthe sage, a philosopher, who understood the time of sunset from the sun\nitself, and knew the calendar by rote, he said himself--I heard\nhim--that our clock was--well, as compared with his watch, it wasn't\nworth a pinch of snuff, but as there _were_ such things as clocks, our\nclock _was_ a clock. And if Reb Lebish himself said so, you may depend\nupon it he was right, because every Wednesday, between Afternoon and\nEvening Prayer, Reb Lebish climbed busily onto the roof of the women's\nShool, or onto the top of the hill beside the old house-of-study, and\nlooked out for the minute when the sun should set, in one hand his\nwatch, and in the other the calendar. And when the sun dropt out of\nsight on the further side of Mazepevke, Reb Lebish said to himself,\n\"Got him!\" and at once came away to compare his watch with the clocks.\nWhen he came in to us, he never gave us a \"good evening,\" only glanced\nup at the clock on the wall, then at his watch, then at the almanac, and\nwas gone!\n\nBut it happened one day that when Reb Lebish came in to compare our\nclock with the almanac, he gave a shout:\n\n\"Sim-cheh! Make haste! Where are you?\"\n\nMy father came running in terror.\n\n\"Ha, what has happened, Reb Lebish?\"\n\n\"Wretch, you dare to ask?\" and Reb Lebish held his watch under my\nfather's nose, pointed at our clock, and shouted again, like a man with\na trodden toe:\n\n\"Sim-cheh! Why don't you speak? It is a minute and a half ahead of the\ntime! Throw it away!\"\n\nMy father was vexed. What did Reb Lebish mean by telling him to throw\naway his clock?\n\n\"Who is to prove,\" said he, \"that my clock is a minute and a half fast?\nPerhaps it is the other way about, and your watch is a minute and a half\nslow? Who is to tell?\"\n\nReb Lebish stared at him as though he had said that it was possible to\nhave three days of New Moon, or that the Seventeenth of Tammuz might\npossibly fall on the Eve of Passover, or made some other such wild\nremark, enough, if one really took it in, to give one an apoplectic fit.\nReb Lebish said never a word, he gave a deep sigh, turned away without\nwishing us \"good evening,\" slammed the door, and was gone. But no one\nminded much, because the whole town knew Reb Lebish for a person who\nwas never satisfied with anything: he would tell you of the best cantor\nthat he was a dummy, a log; of the cleverest man, that he was a\nlumbering animal; of the most appropriate match, that it was as crooked\nas an oven rake; and of the most apt simile, that it was as applicable\nas a pea to the wall. Such a man was Reb Lebish.\n\nBut let me return to our clock. I tell you, that _was_ a clock! You\ncould hear it strike three rooms away: Bom! bom! bom! Half the town went\nby it, to recite the Midnight Prayers, to get up early for Seliches\nduring the week before New Year and on the ten Solemn Days, to bake the\nSabbath loaves on Fridays, to bless the candles on Friday evening. They\nlighted the fire by it on Saturday evening, they salted the meat, and so\nall the other things pertaining to Judaism. In fact, our clock was the\ntown clock. The poor thing served us faithfully, and never tried\nstopping even for a time, never once in its life had it to be set to\nrights by a clockmaker. My father kept it in order himself, he had an\ninborn talent for clock work. Every year on the Eve of Passover, he\ndeliberately took it down from the wall, dusted the wheels with a\nfeather brush, removed from its inward part a collection of spider webs,\ndesiccated flies, which the spiders had lured in there to their\ndestruction, and heaps of black cockroaches, which had gone in of\nthemselves, and found a terrible end. Having cleaned and polished it, he\nhung it up again on the wall and shone, that is, they both shone: the\nclock shone because it was cleaned and polished, and my father shone\nbecause the clock shone.\n\nAnd it came to pass one day that something happened.\n\nIt was on a fine, bright, cloudless day; we were all sitting at table,\neating breakfast, and the clock struck. Now I always loved to hear the\nclock strike and count the strokes out loud:\n\n\"One--two--three--seven--eleven--twelve--thirteen! Oi! _Thirteen?_\"\n\n\"Thirteen?\" exclaimed my father, and laughed. \"You're a fine\narithmetician (no evil eye!). Whenever did you hear a clock strike\nthirteen?\"\n\n\"But I tell you, it _struck_ thirteen!\"\n\n\"I shall give you thirteen slaps,\" cried my father, angrily, \"and then\nyou won't repeat this nonsense again. Goi, a clock _cannot_ strike\nthirteen!\"\n\n\"Do you know what, Simcheh,\" put in my mother, \"I am afraid the child is\nright, I fancy I counted thirteen, too.\"\n\n\"There's another witness!\" said my father, but it appeared that he had\nbegun to feel a little doubtful himself, for after the meal he went up\nto the clock, got upon a chair, gave a turn to a little wheel inside the\nclock, and it began to strike. We all counted the strokes, nodding our\nhead at each one the while:\none--two--three--seven--nine--twelve--thirteen.\n\n\"Thirteen!\" exclaimed my father, looking at us in amaze. He gave the\nwheel another turn, and again the clock struck thirteen. My father got\ndown off the chair with a sigh. He was as white as the wall, and\nremained standing in the middle of the room, stared at the ceiling,\nchewed his beard, and muttered to himself:\n\n\"Plague take thirteen! What can it mean? What does it portend? If it\nwere out of order, it would have stopped. Then, what can it be? The\ninference can only be that some spring has gone wrong.\"\n\n\"Why worry whether it's a spring or not?\" said my mother. \"You'd better\ntake down the clock and put it to rights, as you've a turn that way.\"\n\n\"Hush, perhaps you're right,\" answered my father, took down the clock\nand busied himself with it. He perspired, spent a whole day over it, and\nhung it up again in its place.\n\nThank God, the clock was going as it should, and when, near midnight, we\nall stood round it and counted _twelve_, my father was overjoyed.\n\n\"Ha? It didn't strike thirteen then, did it? When I say it is a spring,\nI know what I'm about.\"\n\n\"I always said you were a wonder,\" my mother told him. \"But there is one\nthing I don't understand: why does it wheeze so? I don't think it used\nto wheeze like that.\"\n\n\"It's your fancy,\" said my father, and listened to the noise it made\nbefore striking, like an old man preparing to cough:\nchil-chil-chil-chil-trrrr ... and only then: bom!--bom!--bom!--and even\nthe \"bom\" was not the same as formerly, for the former \"bom\" had been a\ncheerful one, and now there had crept into it a melancholy note, as into\nthe voice of an old worn-out cantor at the close of the service for the\nDay of Atonement, and the hoarseness increased, and the strike became\nlower and duller, and my father, worried and anxious. It was plain that\nthe affair preyed upon his mind, that he suffered in secret, that it\nwas undermining his health, and yet he could do nothing. We felt that\nany moment the clock might stop altogether. The imp started playing all\nkinds of nasty tricks and idle pranks, shook itself sideways, and\nstumbled like an old man who drags his feet after him. One could see\nthat the clock was about to stop forever! It was a good thing my father\nunderstood in time that the clock was about to yield up its soul, and\nthat the fault lay with the balance weights: the weight was too light.\nAnd he puts on a jostle, which has the weight of about four pounds. The\nclock goes on like a song, and my father becomes as cheerful as a\nnewborn man.\n\nBut this was not to be for long: the clock began to lose again, the imp\nwas back at his tiresome performances: he moved slowly on one side,\nquickly on the other, with a hoarse noise, like a sick old man, so that\nit went to the heart. A pity to see how the clock agonized, and my\nfather, as he watched it, seemed like a flickering, bickering flame of a\ncandle, and nearly went out for grief.\n\nLike a good doctor, who is ready to sacrifice himself for the patient's\nsake, who puts forth all his energy, tries every remedy under the sun to\nsave his patient, even so my father applied himself to save the old\nclock, if only it should be possible.\n\n\"The weight is too light,\" repeated my father, and hung something\nheavier onto it every time, first a frying-pan, then a copper jug,\nafterwards a flat-iron, a bag of sand, a couple of tiles--and the clock\nrevived every time and went on, with difficulty and distress, but still\nit went--till one night there was a misfortune.\n\nIt was on a Friday evening in winter. We had just eaten our Sabbath\nsupper, the delicious peppered fish with horseradish, the hot soup with\nmacaroni, the stewed plums, and said grace as was meet. The Sabbath\ncandles flickered, the maid was just handing round fresh, hot,\nwell-dried Polish nuts from off the top of the stove, when in came Aunt\nYente, a dark-favored little woman without teeth, whose husband had\ndeserted her, to become a follower of the Rebbe, quite a number of years\nago.\n\n\"Good Sabbath!\" said Aunt Yente, \"I knew you had some fresh Polish nuts.\nThe pity is that I've nothing to crack them with, may my husband live no\nmore years than I have teeth in my mouth! What did you think, Malkeh, of\nthe fish to-day? What a struggle there was over them at the market! I\nasked him about his fish--Manasseh, the lazy--when up comes Soreh Peril,\nthe rich: Make haste, give it me, hand me over that little pike!--Why in\nsuch a hurry? say I. God be with you, the river is not on fire, and\nManasseh is not going to take the fish back there, either. Take my word\nfor it, with these rich people money is cheap, and sense is dear. Turns\nround on me and says: Paupers, she says, have no business here--a poor\nman, she says, shouldn't hanker after good things. What do you think of\nsuch a shrew? How long did she stand by her mother in the market selling\nribbons? She behaves just like Pessil Peise Avrohom's over her daughter,\nthe one she married to a great man in Schtrischtch, who took her just\nas she was, without any dowry or anything--Jewish luck! They say she has\na bad time of it--no evil eye to her days--can't get on with his\nchildren. Well, who would be a stepmother? Let them beware! Take\nChavvehle! What is there to find fault with in her? And you should see\nthe life her stepchildren lead her! One hears shouting day and night,\ncursing, squabbling, and fighting.\"\n\nThe candles began to die down, the shadow climbed the wall, scrambled\nhigher and higher, the nuts crackled in our hands, there was talking and\ntelling stories and tales, just for the pleasure of it, one without any\nreference to the other, but Aunt Yente talked more than anyone.\n\n\"Hush!\" cried out Aunt Yente, \"listen, because not long ago a still\nbetter thing happened. Not far from Yampele, about three versts away,\nsome robbers fell upon a Jewish tavern, killed a whole houseful of\npeople, down to a baby in a cradle. The only person left alive was a\nservant-girl, who was sleeping on the kitchen stove. She heard people\nscreeching, and jumped down, this servant-girl, off the stove, peeped\nthrough a chink in the door, and saw, this servant-girl I'm telling you\nof, saw the master of the house and the mistress lying on the floor,\nmurdered, in a pool of blood, and she went back, this girl, and sprang\nthrough a window, and ran into the town screaming: Jews, to the rescue,\nhelp, help, help!\"\n\nSuddenly, just as Aunt Yente was shouting, \"Help, help, help!\" we heard\n_trrraach!--tarrrach!--bom--dzin--dzin--dzin, bomm!!_ We were so deep in\nthe story, we only thought at first that robbers had descended upon our\nhouse, and were firing guns, and we could not move for terror. For one\nminute we looked at one another, and then with one accord we began to\ncall out, \"Help! help! help!\" and my mother was so carried away that she\nclasped me in her arms and cried:\n\n\"My child, my life for yours, woe is me!\"\n\n\"Ha? What? What is the matter with him? What has happened?\" exclaimed my\nfather.\n\n\"Nothing! nothing! hush! hush!\" cried Aunt Yente, gesticulating wildly,\nand the maid came running in from the kitchen, more dead than alive.\n\n\"Who screamed? What is it? Is there a fire? What is on fire? Where?\"\n\n\"Fire? fire? Where is the fire?\" we all shrieked. \"Help! help! Gewalt,\nJews, to the rescue, fire, fire!\"\n\n\"Which fire? what fire? where fire?! Fire take _you_, you foolish girl,\nand make cinders of you!\" scolded Aunt Yente at the maid. \"Now _she_\nmust come, as though we weren't enough before! Fire, indeed, says she!\nInto the earth with you, to all black years! Did you ever hear of such a\nthing? What are you all yelling for? Do you know what it was that\nfrightened you? The best joke in the world, and there's nobody to laugh\nwith! God be with you, it was the clock falling onto the floor--now you\nknow! You hung every sort of thing onto it, and now it is fallen,\nweighing at least three pud. And no wonder! A man wouldn't have fared\nbetter. Did you ever?!\"\n\nIt was only then we came to our senses, rose one by one from the table,\nwent to the clock, and saw it lying on its poor face, killed, broken,\nshattered, and smashed for evermore!\n\n\"There is an end to the clock!\" said my father, white as the wall. He\nhung his head, wrung his fingers, and the tears came into his eyes. I\nlooked at my father and wanted to cry, too.\n\n\"There now, see, what is the use of fretting to death?\" said my mother.\n\"No doubt it was so decreed and written down in Heaven that to-day, at\nthat particular minute, our clock was to find its end, just (I beg to\ndistinguish!) like a human being, may God not punish me for saying so!\nMay it be an Atonement for not remembering the Sabbath, for me, for\nthee, for our children, for all near and dear to us, and for all Israel.\nAmen, Selah!\"\n\n\n\n\nFISHEL THE TEACHER\n\n\nTwice a year, as sure as the clock, on the first day of Nisan and the\nfirst of Ellul--for Passover and Tabernacles--Fishel the teacher\ntravelled from Balta to Chaschtschevate, home to his wife and children.\nIt was decreed that nearly all his life long he should be the guest of\nhis own family, a very welcome guest, but a passing one. He came with\nthe festival, and no sooner was it over, than back with him to Balta,\nback to the schooling, the ruler, the Gemoreh, the dull, thick wits, to\nthe being knocked about from pillar to post, to the wandering among\nstrangers, and the longing for home.\n\nOn the other hand, when Fishel _does_ come home, he is an emperor! His\nwife Bath-sheba comes out to meet him, pulls at her head-kerchief,\nblushes red as fire, questions as though in asides, without as yet\nlooking him in the face, \"How are you?\" and he replies, \"How are _you_?\"\nand Froike his son, a boy of thirteen or so, greets him, and the father\nasks, \"Well, Efroim, and how far on are you in the Gemoreh?\" and his\nlittle daughter Resele, not at all a bad-looking little girl, with a\nplaited pigtail, hugs and kisses him.\n\n\"Tate, what sort of present have you brought me?\"\n\n\"Printed calico for a frock, and a silk kerchief for mother. There--give\nmother the kerchief!\"\n\nAnd Fishel takes a silk (suppose a half-silk!) kerchief out of his\nTallis-bag, and Bath-sheba grows redder still, and pulls her head-cloth\nover her eyes, takes up a bit of household work, busies herself all over\nthe place, and ends by doing nothing.\n\n\"Bring the Gemoreh, Efroim, and let me hear what you can do!\"\n\nAnd Froike recites his lesson like the bright boy he is, and Fishel\nlistens and corrects, and his heart expands and overflows with delight,\nhis soul rejoices--a bright boy, Froike, a treasure!\n\n\"If you want to go to the bath, there is a shirt ready for you!\"\n\nThus Bath-sheba as she passes him, still not venturing to look him in\nthe face, and Fishel has a sensation of unspeakable comfort, he feels\nlike a man escaped from prison and back in a lightsome world, among\nthose who are near and dear to him. And he sees in fancy a very, very\nhot bath-house, and himself lying on the highest bench with other Jews,\nand he perspires and swishes himself with the birch twigs, and can never\nhave enough.\n\nHome from the bath, fresh and lively as a fish, like one newborn, he\nrehearses the portion of the Law for the festival, puts on the Sabbath\ncloak and the new girdle, steals a glance at Bath-sheba in her new dress\nand silk kerchief--still a pretty woman, and so pious and good!--and\ngoes with Froike to the Shool. The air is full of Sholom Alechems,\n\"Welcome, Reb Fishel the teacher, and what are you about?\"--\"A teacher\nteaches!\"--\"What is the news?\"--\"What should it be? The world is the\nworld!\"--\"What is going on in Balta?\"--\"Balta is Balta.\"\n\nThe same formula is repeated every time, every half-year, and Nissel the\nreader begins to recite the evening prayers, and sends forth his voice,\nthe further the louder, and when he comes to \"And Moses declared the\nset feasts of the Lord unto the children of Israel,\" it reaches nearly\nto Heaven. And Froike stands at his father's side, and recites the\nprayers melodiously, and once more Fishel's heart expands and flows over\nwith joy--a good child, Froike, a good, pious child!\n\n\"A happy holiday, a happy holiday!\"\n\n\"A happy holiday, a happy year!\"\n\nAt home they find the Passover table spread: the four cups, the bitter\nherbs, the almond and apple paste, and all the rest of it. The\nreclining-seats (two small benches with big cushions) stand ready, and\nFishel becomes a king. Fishel, robed in white, sits on the throne of his\ndominion, Bath-sheba, the queen, sits beside him in her new silk\nkerchief; Efroim, the prince, in a new cap, and the princess Resele with\nher plait, sit opposite them. Look on with respect! His majesty Fishel\nis seated on his throne, and has assumed the sway of his kingdom.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Chaschtschevate scamps, who love to make game of the whole world,\nnot to mention a teacher, maintain that one Passover Eve our Fishel sent\nhis Bath-sheba the following Russian telegram: \"Rebyata sobral dyengi\nvezu prigatovi npiyedu tzarstvovatz,\" which means: \"Have entered my\npupils for the next term, am bringing money, prepare the dumplings, I\ncome to reign.\" The mischief-makers declare that this telegram was\nseized at Balta station, that Bath-sheba was sought and not found, and\nthat Fishel was sent home with the etape. Dreadful! But I can assure\nyou, there isn't a word of truth in the story, because Fishel never\nsent a telegram in his life, nobody was ever seen looking for\nBath-sheba, and Fishel was never taken anywhere by the etape. That is,\nhe _was_ once taken somewhere by the etape, but not on account of a\ntelegram, only on account of a simple passport! And not from Balta, but\nfrom Yehupetz, and not at Passover, but in summer-time. He wished, you\nsee, to go to Yehupetz in search of a post as teacher, and forgot his\npassport. He thought it was in Balta, and he got into a nice mess, and\nforbade his children and children's children ever to go in search of\npupils in Yehupetz.\n\nSince then he teaches in Balta, and comes home for Passover, winds up\nhis work a fortnight earlier, and sometimes manages to hasten back in\ntime for the Great Sabbath. Hasten, did I say? That means when the road\n_is_ a road, when you can hire a conveyance, and when the Bug can either\nbe crossed on the ice or in the ferry-boat. But when, for instance, the\nsnow has begun to melt, and the mud is deep, when there is no conveyance\nto be had, when the Bug has begun to split the ice, and the ferry-boat\nhas not started running, when a skiff means peril of death, and the\nfestival is upon you--what then? It is just \"nit guet.\"\n\nFishel the teacher knows the taste of \"nit guet.\" He has had many\nadventures and mishaps since he became a teacher, and took to faring\nfrom Chaschtschevate to Balta and from Balta to Chaschtschevate. He has\ntried going more than half-way on foot, and helped to push the\nconveyance besides. He has lain in the mud with a priest, the priest on\ntop, and he below. He has fled before a pack of wolves who were\npursuing the vehicle, and afterwards they turned out to be dogs, and not\nwolves at all. But anything like the trouble on this Passover Eve had\nnever befallen him before.\n\nThe trouble came from the Bug, that is, from the Bug's breaking through\nthe ice, and just having its fling when Fishel reached it in a hurry to\nget home, and really in a hurry, because it was already Friday and\nPassover Eve, that is, Passover eve fell on a Sabbath that year.\n\nFishel reached the Bug in a Gentile conveyance Thursday evening.\nAccording to his own reckoning, he should have got there Tuesday\nmorning, because he left Balta Sunday after market, the spirit having\nmoved him to go into the market-place to spy after a chance conveyance.\nHow much better it would have been to drive with Yainkel-Shegetz, a\nBalta carrier, even at the cart-tail, with his legs dangling, and shaken\nto bits. He would have been home long ago by now, and have forgotten the\ndiscomforts of the journey. But he had wanted a cheaper transit, and it\nis an old saying that cheap things cost dear. Yoneh, the tippler, who\nprocures vehicles in Balta, had said to him: \"Take my advice, give two\nrubles, and you will ride in Yainkel's wagon like a lord, even if you do\nhave to sit behind the wagon. Consider, you're playing with fire, the\nfestival approaches.\" But as ill-luck would have it, there came along a\nfamiliar Gentile from Chaschtschevate.\n\n\"Eh, Rabbi, you're not wanting a lift to Chaschtschevate?\"\n\n\"How much would the fare be?\"\n\nHe thought to ask how much, and he never thought to ask if it would take\nhim home by Passover, because in a week he could have covered the\ndistance walking behind the cart.\n\nBut as Fishel drove out of the town, he soon began to repent of his\nchoice, even though the wagon was large, and he sitting in it in\nsolitary grandeur, like any count. He saw that with a horse that dragged\nitself along in _that_ way, there would be no getting far, for they\ndrove a whole day without getting anywhere in particular, and however\nmuch he worried the peasant to know if it were a long way yet, the only\nreply he got was, \"Who can tell?\" In the evening, with a rumble and a\nshout and a crack of the whip, there came up with them Yainkel-Shegetz\nand his four fiery horses jingling with bells, and the large coach\npacked with passengers before and behind. Yainkel, catching sight of the\nteacher in the peasant's cart, gave another loud crack with his whip,\nridiculed the peasant, his passenger, and his horse, as only\nYainkel-Shegetz knows how, and when a little way off, he turned and\npointed at one of the peasant's wheels.\n\n\"Hallo, man, look out! There's a wheel turning!\"\n\nThe peasant stopped the horse, and he and the teacher clambered down\ntogether, and examined the wheels. They crawled underneath the cart, and\nfound nothing wrong, nothing at all.\n\nWhen the peasant understood that Yainkel had made a fool of him, he\nscratched the back of his neck below his collar, and began to abuse\nYainkel and all Jews with curses such as Fishel had never heard before.\nHis voice and his anger rose together:\n\n\"May you never know good! May you have a bad year! May you not see the\nend of it! Bad luck to you, you and your horses and your wife and your\ndaughter and your aunts and your uncles and your parents-in-law and--and\nall your cursed Jews!\"\n\nIt was a long time before the peasant took his seat again, nor did he\ncease to fume against Yainkel the driver and all Jews, until, with God's\nhelp, they reached a village wherein to spend the night.\n\nNext morning Fishel rose with the dawn, recited his prayers, a portion\nof the Law, and a few Psalms, breakfasted on a roll, and was ready to\nset forward. Unfortunately, Chfedor (this was the name of his driver)\nwas _not_ ready. Chfedor had sat up late with a crony and got drunk, and\nhe slept through a whole day and a bit of the night, and then only\nstarted on his way.\n\n\"Well,\" Fishel reproved him as they sat in the cart, \"well, Chfedor, a\nnice way to behave, upon my word! Do you suppose I engaged you for a\nmerrymaking? What have you to say for yourself, I should like to know,\neh?\"\n\nAnd Fishel addressed other reproachful words to him, and never ceased\ncasting the other's laziness between his teeth, partly in Polish, partly\nin Hebrew, and helping himself out with his hands. Chfedor understood\nquite well what Fishel meant, but he answered him not a word, not a\nsyllable even. No doubt he felt that Fishel was in the right, and he was\nsilent as a cat, till, on the fourth day, they met Yainkel-Shegetz,\ndriving back from Chaschtschevate with a rumble and a crack of his\nwhip, who called out to them, \"You may as well turn back to Balta, the\nBug has burst the ice.\"\n\nFishel's heart was like to burst, too, but Chfedor, who thought that\nYainkel was trying to fool him a second time, started repeating his\nwhole list of curses, called down all bad dreams on Yainkel's hands and\nfeet, and never shut his mouth till they came to the Bug on Thursday\nevening. They drove straight to Prokop Baranyuk, the ferryman, to\ninquire when the ferry-boat would begin to run, and the two Gentiles,\nChfedor and Prokop, took to sipping brandy, while Fishel proceeded to\nrecite the Afternoon Prayer.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe sun was about to set, and poured a rosy light onto the high hills\nthat stood on either side of the river, and were snow-covered in parts\nand already green in others, and intersected by rivulets that wound\ntheir way with murmuring noise down into the river, where the water\nfoamed with the broken ice and the increasing thaw. The whole of\nChaschtschevate lay before him as on a plate, while the top of the\nmonastery sparkled like a light in the setting sun. Standing to recite\nthe Eighteen Benedictions, with his face towards Chaschtschevate, Fishel\nturned his eyes away and drove out the idle thoughts and images that had\ncrept into his head: Bath-sheba with the new silk kerchief, Froike with\nthe Gemoreh, Resele with her plait, the hot bath and the highest bench,\nand freshly-baked Matzes, together with nice peppered fish and\nhorseradish that goes up your nose, Passover borshtsh with more Matzes,\na heavenly mixture, and all the other good things that desire is\ncapable of conjuring up--and however often he drove these fancies away,\nthey returned and crept back into his brain like summer flies, and\ndisturbed him at his prayers.\n\nWhen Fishel had repeated the Eighteen Benedictions and Olenu, he betook\nhim to Prokop, and entered into conversation with him about the\nferry-boat and the festival eve, giving him to understand, partly in\nPolish and partly in Hebrew and partly with his hands, what Passover\nmeant to the Jews, and Passover Eve falling on a Sabbath, and that if,\nwhich Heaven forbid, he had not crossed the Bug by that time to-morrow,\nhe was a lost man, for, beside the fact that they were on the lookout\nfor him at home--his wife and children (Fishel gave a sigh that rent the\nheart)--he would not be able to eat or drink for a week, and Fishel\nturned away, so that the tears in his eyes should not be seen.\n\nProkop Baranyuk quite appreciated Fishel's position, and replied that he\nknew to-morrow was a Jewish festival, and even how it was called; he\neven knew that the Jews celebrated it by drinking wine and strong\nbrandy; he even knew that there was yet another festival at which the\nJews drank brandy, and a third when all Jews were obliged to get drunk,\nbut he had forgotten its name--\n\n\"Well and good,\" Fishel interrupted him in a lamentable voice, \"but what\nis to happen? How if I don't get there?\"\n\nTo this Prokop made no reply. He merely pointed with his hand to the\nriver, as much as to say, \"See for yourself!\"\n\nAnd Fishel lifted up his eyes to the river, and saw that which he had\nnever seen before, and heard that which he had never heard in his life.\nBecause you may say that Fishel had never yet taken in anything \"out of\ndoors,\" he had only perceived it accidentally, by the way, as he hurried\nfrom Cheder to the house-of-study, and from the house-of-study to\nCheder. The beautiful blue Bug between the two lines of imposing hills,\nthe murmur of the winding rivulets as they poured down the hillsides,\nthe roar of the ever-deepening spring-flow, the light of the setting\nsun, the glittering cupola of the convent, the wholesome smell of\nPassover-Eve-tide out of doors, and, above all, the being so close to\nhome and not able to get there--all these things lent wings, as it were,\nto Fishel's spirit, and he was borne into a new world, the world of\nimagination, and crossing the Bug seemed the merest trifle, if only the\nAlmighty were willing to perform a fraction of a miracle on his behalf.\n\nSuch and like thoughts floated in and out of Fishel's head, and lifted\nhim into the air, and so far across the river, he never realized that it\nwas night, and the stars came out, and a cool wind blew in under his\ncloak to his little prayer-scarf, and Fishel was busy with things that\nhe had never so much as dreamt of: earthly things and Heavenly things,\nthe great size of the beautiful world, the Almighty as Creator of the\nearth, and so on.\n\nFishel spent a bad night in Prokop's house--such a night as he hoped\nnever to spend again. The next morning broke with a smile from the\nbright and cheerful sun. It was a singularly fine day, and so sweetly\nwarm that all the snow left melted into kasha, and the kasha, into\nwater, and this water poured into the Bug from all sides; and the Bug\nbecame clearer, light blue, full and smooth, and the large bits of ice\nthat looked like dreadful wild beasts, like white elephants hurrying and\ntearing along as if they were afraid of being late, grew rarer.\n\nFishel the teacher recited the Morning Prayer, breakfasted on the last\npiece of leavened bread left in his prayer-scarf bag, and went out to\nthe river to see about the ferry. Imagine his feelings when he heard\nthat the ferry-boat would not begin running before Sunday afternoon! He\nclapped both hands to his head, gesticulated with every limb, and fell\nto abusing Prokop. Why had he given him hopes of the ferry-boat's\ncrossing next day? Whereupon Prokop answered quite coolly that he had\nsaid nothing about crossing with the ferry, he was talking of taking him\nacross in a small boat! And that he could still do, if Fishel wished, in\na sail-boat, in a rowboat, in a raft, and the fare was not less than one\nruble.\n\n\"A raft, a rowboat, anything you like, only don't let me spend the\nfestival away from home!\"\n\nThus Fishel, and he was prepared to give him two rubles then and there,\nto give his life for the holy festival, and he began to drive Prokop\ninto getting out the raft at once, and taking him across in the\ndirection of Chaschtschevate, where Bath-sheba, Froike, and Resele are\nalready looking out for him. It may be they are standing on the opposite\nhills, that they see him, and make signs to him, waving their hands,\nthat they call to him, only one can neither see them nor hear their\nvoices, because the river is wide, dreadfully wide, wider than ever!\n\nThe sun was already half-way up the deep, blue sky, when Prokop told\nFishel to get into the little trough of a boat, and when Fishel heard\nhim, he lost all power in his feet and hands, and was at a loss what to\ndo, for never in his life had he been in a rowboat, never in his life\nhad he been in any small boat. And it seemed to him the thing had only\nto dip a little to one side, and all would be over.\n\n\"Jump in, and off we'll go!\" said Prokop once more, and with a turn of\nhis oar he brought the boat still closer in, and took Fishel's bundle\nout of his hands.\n\nFishel the teacher drew his coat-skirts neatly together, and began to\nperform circles without moving from the spot, hesitating whether to jump\nor not. On the one hand were Passover Eve, Bath-sheba, Froike, Resele,\nthe bath, the home service, himself as king; on the other, peril of\ndeath, the Destroying Angel, suicide--because one dip and--good-by,\nFishel, peace be upon him!\n\nAnd Fishel remained circling there with his folded skirts, till Prokop\nlost patience and said, another minute, and he should set out and be off\nto Chaschtschevate without him. At the beloved word \"Chaschtschevate,\"\nFishel called his dear ones to mind, summoned the whole of his courage,\nand fell into the boat. I say \"fell in,\" because the instant his foot\ntouched the bottom of the boat, it slipped, and Fishel, thinking he was\nfalling, drew back, and this drawing back sent him headlong forward into\nthe boat-bottom, where he lay stretched out for some minutes before\nrecovering his wits, and for a long time after his face was livid, and\nhis hands shook, while his heart beat like a clock, tik-tik-tak,\ntik-tik-tak!\n\nProkop meantime sat in the prow as though he were at home. He spit into\nhis hands, gave a stroke with the oar to the left, a stroke to the\nright, and the boat glided over the shining water, and Fishel's head\nspun round as he sat. As he sat? No, he hung floating, suspended in the\nair! One false movement, and that which held him would give way; one\nlean to the side, and he would be in the water and done with! At this\nthought, the words came into his mind, \"And they sank like lead in the\nmighty waters,\" and his hair stood on end at the idea of such a death.\nHow? Not even to be buried with the dead of Israel? And he bethought\nhimself to make a vow to--to do what? To give money in charity? He had\nnone to give--he was a very, very poor man! So he vowed that if God\nwould bring him home in safety, he would sit up whole nights and study,\ngo through the whole of the Talmud in one year, God willing, with God's\nhelp.\n\nFishel would dearly have liked to know if it were much further to the\nother side, and found himself seated, as though on purpose, with his\nface to Prokop and his back to Chaschtschevate. And he dared not open\nhis mouth to ask. It seemed to him that his very voice would cause the\nboat to rock, and one rock--good-by, Fishel! But Prokop opened his mouth\nof his own accord, and began to speak. He said there was nothing worse\nwhen you were on the water than a thaw. It made it impossible, he said,\nto row straight ahead; one had to adapt one's course to the ice, to row\nround and round and backwards.\n\n\"There's a bit of ice making straight for us now.\"\n\nThus Prokop, and he pulled back and let pass a regular ice-floe, which\nswam by with a singular rocking motion and a sound that Fishel had never\nseen or heard before. And then he began to understand what a wild\nadventure this journey was, and he would have given goodness knows what\nto be safe on shore, even on the one they had left.\n\n\"O, you see that?\" asked Prokop, and pointed upstream.\n\nFishel raised his eyes slowly, was afraid of moving much, and looked and\nlooked, and saw nothing but water, water, and water.\n\n\"There's a big one coming down on us now, we must make a dash for it,\nfor it's too late to row back.\"\n\nSo said Prokop, and rowed away with both hands, and the boat glided and\nslid like a fish through the water, and Fishel felt cold in every limb.\nHe would have liked to question, but was afraid of interfering. However,\nagain Prokop spoke of himself.\n\n\"If we don't win by a minute, it will be the worse for us.\"\n\nFishel can now no longer contain himself, and asks:\n\n\"How do you mean, the worse?\"\n\n\"We shall be done for,\" says Prokop.\n\n\"Done for?\"\n\n\"Done for.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, done for?\" persists Fishel.\n\n\"I mean, it will grind us.\"\n\n\"Grind us?\"\n\n\"Grind us.\"\n\nFishel does not understand what \"grind us, grind us\" may signify, but it\nhas a sound of finality, of the next world, about it, and Fishel is\nbathed in a cold sweat, and again the words come into his head, \"And\nthey sank like lead in the mighty waters.\"\n\nAnd Prokop, as though to quiet our Fishel's mind, tells him a comforting\nstory of how, years ago at this time, the Bug broke through the ice, and\nthe ferry-boat could not be used, and there came to him another person\nto be rowed across, an excise official from Uman, quite a person of\ndistinction, and offered a large sum; and they had the bad luck to meet\ntwo huge pieces of ice, and he rowed to the right, in between the floes,\nintending to slip through upwards, and he made an involuntary side\nmotion with the boat, and they went flop into the water! Fortunately,\nhe, Prokop, could swim, but the official came to grief, and the\nfare-money, too.\n\n\"It was good-by to my fare!\" ended Prokop, with a sigh, and Fishel\nshuddered, and his tongue dried up, so that he could neither speak nor\nutter the slightest sound.\n\nIn the very middle of the river, just as they were rowing along quite\nsmoothly, Prokop suddenly stopped, and looked--and looked--up the\nstream; then he laid down the oars, drew a bottle out of his pocket,\ntilted it into his mouth, sipped out of it two or three times, put it\nback, and explained to Fishel that he had always to take a few sips of\nthe \"bitter drop,\" otherwise he felt bad when on the water. And he wiped\nhis mouth, took the oars in hand again, and said, having crossed\nhimself three times:\n\n\"Now for a race!\"\n\nA race? With whom? With what? Fishel did not understand, and was afraid\nto ask; but again he felt the brush of the Death Angel's wing, for\nProkop had gone down onto his knees, and was rowing with might and main.\nMoreover, he said to Fishel, and pointed to the bottom of the boat:\n\n\"Rebbe, lie down!\"\n\nFishel understood that he was to lie down, and did not need to be told\ntwice. For now he had seen a whole host of floes coming down upon them,\na world of ice, and he shut his eyes, flung himself face downwards in\nthe boat, and lay trembling like a lamb, and recited in a low voice,\n\"Hear, O Israel!\" and the Confession, thought on the graves of Israel,\nand fancied that now, now he lies in the abyss of the waters, now, now\ncomes a fish and swallows him, like Jonah the prophet when he fled to\nTarshish, and he remembers Jonah's prayer, and sings softly and with\ntears:\n\n\"Affofuni mayyim ad nofesh--the waters have reached unto my soul; tehom\nyesoveveni--the deep hath covered me!\"\n\nFishel the teacher sang and wept and thought pitifully of his widowed\nwife and his orphaned children, and Prokop rowed for all he was worth,\nand sang _his_ little song:\n\n\"O thou maiden with the black lashes!\"\n\nAnd Prokop felt the same on the water as on dry land, and Fishel's\n\"Affofuni\" and Prokop's \"O maiden\" blended into one, and a strange song\nsounded over the Bug, a kind of duet, which had never been heard there\nbefore.\n\n\"The black year knows why he is so afraid of death, that Jew,\" so\nwondered Prokop Baranyuk, \"a poor tattered little Jew like him, a\ncreature I would not give this old boat for, and so afraid of death!\"\n\nThe shore reached, Prokop gave Fishel a shove in the side with his boot,\nand Fishel started. The Gentile burst out laughing, but Fishel did not\nhear, Fishel went on reciting the Confession, saying Kaddish for his own\nsoul, and mentally contemplating the graves of Israel!\n\n\"Get up, you silly Rebbe! We're there--in Chaschtschevate!\"\n\nSlowly, slowly, Fishel raised his head, and gazed around him with red\nand swollen eyes.\n\n\"Chasch-tsche-va-te???\"\n\n\"Chaschtschevate! Give me the ruble, Rebbe!\"\n\nFishel crawls out of the boat, and, finding himself really at home, does\nnot know what to do for joy. Shall he run into the town? Shall he go\ndancing? Shall he first thank and praise God who has brought him safe\nout of such great peril? He pays the Gentile his fare, takes up his\nbundle under his arm and is about to run home, the quicker the better,\nbut he pauses a moment first, and turns to Prokop the ferryman:\n\n\"Listen, Prokop, dear heart, to-morrow, please God, you'll come and\ndrink a glass of brandy, and taste festival fish at Fishel the\nteacher's, for Heaven's sake!\"\n\n\"Shall I say no? Am I such a fool?\" replied Prokop, licking his lips in\nanticipation at the thought of the Passover brandy he would sip, and the\nfestival fish he would delectate himself with on the morrow.\n\nAnd Prokop gets back into his boat, and pulls quietly home again,\nsinging a little song, and pitying the poor Jew who was so afraid of\ndeath. \"The Jewish faith is the same as the Mahommedan!\" and it seems to\nhim a very foolish one. And Fishel is thinking almost the same thing,\nand pities the Gentile on account of _his_ religion. \"What knows he, yon\npoor Gentile, of such holy promises as were made to us Jews, the beloved\npeople!\"\n\nAnd Fishel the teacher hastens uphill, through the Chaschtschevate mud.\nHe perspires with the exertion, and yet he does not feel the ground\nbeneath his feet. He flies, he floats, he is going home, home to his\ndear ones, who are on the watch for him as for Messiah, who look for him\nto return in health, to seat himself upon his kingly throne and reign.\n\nLook, Jews, and turn respectfully aside! Fishel the teacher has come\nhome to Chaschtschevate, and seated himself upon the throne of his\nkingdom!\n\n\n\n\nAN EASY FAST\n\n\nThat which Doctor Tanner failed to accomplish, was effectually carried\nout by Chayyim Chaikin, a simple Jew in a small town in Poland.\n\nDoctor Tanner wished to show that a man can fast forty days, and he only\nmanaged to get through twenty-eight, no more, and that with people\npouring spoonfuls of water into his mouth, and giving him morsels of ice\nto swallow, and holding his pulse--a whole business! Chayyim Chaikin has\nproved that one can fast more than forty days; not, as a rule, two\ntogether, one after the other, but forty days, if not more, in the\ncourse of a year.\n\nTo fast is all he asks!\n\nWho said drops of water? Who said ice? Not for him! To fast means no\nfood and no drink from one set time to the other, a real\nfour-and-twenty-hours.\n\nAnd no doctors sit beside him and hold his pulse, whispering, \"Hush! Be\nquiet!\"\n\nWell, let us hear the tale!\n\nChayyim Chaikin is a very poor man, encumbered with many children, and\nthey, the children, support him.\n\nThey are mostly girls, and they work in a factory and make cigarette\nwrappers, and they earn, some one gulden, others half a gulden, a day,\nand that not every day. How about Sabbaths and festivals and \"shtreik\"\ndays? One should thank God for everything, even in their out-of-the-way\nlittle town strikes are all the fashion!\n\nAnd out of that they have to pay rent--for a damp corner in a basement.\n\nTo buy clothes and shoes for the lot of them! They have a dress each,\nbut they are two to every pair of shoes.\n\nAnd then food--such as it is! A bit of bread smeared with an onion,\nsometimes groats, occasionally there is a bit of taran that burns your\nheart out, so that after eating it for supper, you can drink a whole\nnight.\n\nWhen it comes to eating, the bread has to be portioned out like cake.\n\n\"Oi, dos Essen, dos Essen seiers!\"\n\nThus Chaike, Chayyim Chaikin's wife, a poor, sick creature, who coughs\nall night long.\n\n\"No evil eye,\" says the father, and he looks at his children devouring\nwhole slices of bread, and would dearly like to take a mouthful himself,\nonly, if he does so, the two little ones, Fradke and Beilke, will go\nsupperless.\n\nAnd he cuts his portion of bread in two, and gives it to the little\nones, Fradke and Beilke.\n\nFradke and Beilke stretch out their little thin, black hands, look into\ntheir father's eyes, and don't believe him: perhaps he is joking?\nChildren are nashers, they play with father's piece of bread, till at\nlast they begin taking bites out of it. The mother sees and exclaims,\ncoughing all the while:\n\n\"It is nothing but eating and stuffing!\"\n\nThe father cannot bear to hear it, and is about to answer her, but he\nkeeps silent--he can't say anything, it is not for him to speak! Who is\nhe in the house? A broken potsherd, the last and least, no good to\nanyone, no good to them, no good to himself.\n\nBecause the fact is he does nothing, absolutely nothing; not because he\nwon't do anything, or because it doesn't befit him, but because there is\nnothing to do--and there's an end of it! The whole townlet complains of\nthere being nothing to do! It is just a crowd of Jews driven together.\nDelightful! They're packed like herrings in a barrel, they squeeze each\nother close, all for love.\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" thinks Chaikin, \"it's something to have children, other\npeople haven't even that. But to depend on one's children is quite\nanother thing and not a happy one!\" Not that they grudge him his\nkeep--Heaven forbid! But he cannot take it from them, he really cannot!\n\nHe knows how hard they work, he knows how the strength is wrung out of\nthem to the last drop, he knows it well!\n\nEvery morsel of bread is a bit of their health and strength--he drinks\nhis children's blood! No, the thought is too dreadful!\n\n\"Tatinke, why don't you eat?\" ask the children.\n\n\"To-day is a fast day with me,\" answers Chayyim Chaikin.\n\n\"Another fast? How many fasts have you?\"\n\n\"Not so many as there are days in the week.\"\n\nAnd Chayyim Chaikin speaks the truth when he says that he has many\nfasts, and yet there are days on which he eats.\n\nBut he likes the days on which he fasts better.\n\nFirst, they are pleasing to God, and it means a little bit more of the\nworld-to-come, the interest grows, and the capital grows with it.\n\n\"Secondly\" (he thinks), \"no money is wasted on me. Of course, I am\naccountable to no one, and nobody ever questions me as to how I spend\nit, but what do I want money for, when I can get along without it?\n\n\"And what is the good of feeling one's self a little higher than a\nbeast? A beast eats every day, but I can go without food for one or two\ndays. A man _should_ be above a beast!\n\n\"O, if a man could only raise himself to a level where he could live\nwithout eating at all! But there are one's confounded insides!\" So\nthinks Chayyim Chaikin, for hunger has made a philosopher of him.\n\n\"The insides, the necessity of eating, these are the causes of the\nworld's evil! The insides and the necessity of eating have made a pauper\nof me, and drive my children to toil in the sweat of their brow and risk\ntheir lives for a bit of bread!\n\n\"Suppose a man had no need to eat! Ai--ai--ai! My children would all\nstay at home! An end to toil, an end to moil, an end to 'shtreikeven,'\nan end to the risking of life, an end to factory and factory owners, to\nrich men and paupers, an end to jealousy and hatred and fighting and\nshedding of blood! All gone and done with! Gone and done with! A\nparadise! a paradise!\"\n\nSo reasons Chayyim Chaikin, and, lost in speculation, he pities the\nworld, and is grieved to the heart to think that God should have made\nman so little above the beast.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe day on which Chayyim Chaikin fasts is, as I told you, his best day,\nand a _real_ fast day, like the Ninth of Ab, for instance--he is ashamed\nto confess it--is a festival for him!\n\nYou see, it means not to eat, not to be a beast, not to be guilty of the\nchildren's blood, to earn the reward of a Mitzveh, and to weep to\nheart's content on the ruins of the Temple.\n\nFor how can one weep when one is full? How can a full man grieve? Only\nhe can grieve whose soul is faint within him! The good year knows how\nsome folk answer it to their conscience, giving in to their\ninsides--afraid of fasting! Buy them a groschen worth of oats, for\ncharity's sake!\n\nThus would Chayyim Chaikin scorn those who bought themselves off the\nfast, and dropped a hard coin into the collecting box.\n\nThe Ninth of Ab is the hardest fast of all--so the world has it.\n\nChayyim Chaikin cannot see why. The day is long, is it? Then the night\nis all the shorter. It's hot out of doors, is it? Who asks you to go\nloitering about in the sun? Sit in the Shool and recite the prayers, of\nwhich, thank God, there are plenty.\n\n\"I tell you,\" persists Chayyim Chaikin, \"that the Ninth of Ab is the\neasiest of the fasts, because it is the best, the very best!\n\n\"For instance, take the Day of Atonement fast! It is written, 'And you\nshall mortify your bodies.' What for? To get a clean bill and a good\nyear.\n\n\"It doesn't say that you are to fast on the Ninth of Ab, but you fast of\nyour own accord, because how could you eat on the day when the Temple\nwas wrecked, and Jews were killed, women ripped up, and children dashed\nto pieces?\n\n\"It doesn't say that you are to weep on the Ninth of Ab, but you _do_\nweep. How could anyone restrain his tears when he thinks of what we lost\nthat day?\"\n\n\"The pity is, there should be only one Ninth of Ab!\" says Chayyim\nChaikin.\n\n\"Well, and the Seventeenth of Tammuz!\" suggests some one.\n\n\"And there is only one Seventeenth of Tammuz!\" answers Chayyim Chaikin,\nwith a sigh.\n\n\"Well, and the Fast of Gedaliah? and the Fast of Esther?\" continues the\nsame person.\n\n\"Only one of each!\" and Chayyim Chaikin sighs again.\n\n\"E, Reb Chayyim, you are greedy for fasts, are you?\"\n\n\"More fasts, more fasts!\" says Chayyim Chaikin, and he takes upon\nhimself to fast on the eve of the Ninth of Ab as well, two days at a\nstretch.\n\nWhat do you think of fasting two days in succession? Isn't that a treat?\nIt is hard enough to have to break one's fast after the Ninth of Ab,\nwithout eating on the eve thereof as well.\n\nOne forgets that one _has_ insides, that such a thing exists as the\nnecessity to eat, and one is free of the habit that drags one down to\nthe level of the beast.\n\nThe difficulty lies in the drinking! I mean, in the _not_ drinking. \"If\nI\" (thinks Chayyim Chaikin) \"allowed myself one glass of water a day, I\ncould fast a whole week till Sabbath.\"\n\nYou think I say that for fun? Not at all! Chayyim Chaikin is a man of\nhis word. When he says a thing, it's said and done! The whole week\npreceding the Ninth of Ab he ate nothing, he lived on water.\n\nWho should notice? His wife, poor thing, is sick, the elder children are\nout all day in the factory, and the younger ones do not understand.\nFradke and Beilke only know when they are hungry (and they are always\nhungry), the heart yearns within them, and they want to eat.\n\n\"To-day you shall have an extra piece of bread,\" says the father, and\ncuts his own in two, and Fradke and Beilke stretch out their dirty\nlittle hands for it, and are overjoyed.\n\n\"Tatinke, you are not eating,\" remark the elder girls at supper, \"this\nis not a fast day!\"\n\n\"And no more _do_ I fast!\" replies the father, and thinks: \"That was a\ntake-in, but not a lie, because, after all, a glass of water--that is\nnot eating and not fasting, either.\"\n\nWhen it comes to the eve of the Ninth of Ab, Chayyim feels so light and\nairy as he never felt before, not because it is time to prepare for the\nfast by taking a meal, not because he may eat. On the contrary, he feels\nthat if he took anything solid into his mouth, it would not go down, but\nstick in his throat.\n\nThat is, his heart is very sick, and his hands and feet shake; his body\nis attracted earthwards, his strength fails, he feels like fainting.\nBut fie, what an idea! To fast a whole week, to arrive at the eve of the\nNinth of Ab, and not hold out to the end! Never!\n\nAnd Chayyim Chaikin takes his portion of bread and potato, calls Fradke\nand Beilke, and whispers:\n\n\"Children, take this and eat it, but don't let Mother see!\"\n\nAnd Fradke and Beilke take their father's share of food, and look\nwonderingly at his livid face and shaking hands.\n\nChayyim sees the children snatch at the bread and munch and swallow, and\nhe shuts his eyes, and rises from his place. He cannot wait for the\nother girls to come home from the factory, but takes his book of\nLamentations, puts off his shoes, and drags himself--it is all he can\ndo--to the Shool.\n\nHe is nearly the first to arrive. He secures a seat next the reader, on\nan overturned bench, lying with its feet in the air, and provides\nhimself with a bit of burned-down candle, which he glues with its\ndrippings to the foot of the bench, leans against the corner of the\nplatform, opens his book, \"Lament for Zion and all the other towns,\" and\nhe closes his eyes and sees Zion robed in black, with a black veil over\nher face, lamenting and weeping and wringing her hands, mourning for her\nchildren who fall daily, daily, in foreign lands, for other men's sins.\n\n \"And wilt not thou, O Zion, ask of me\n Some tidings of the children from thee reft?\n I bring thee greetings over land and sea,\n From those remaining--from the remnant left!----\"\n\nAnd he opens his eyes and sees:\n\nA bright sunbeam has darted in through the dull, dusty window-pane, a\nbeam of the sun which is setting yonder behind the town. And though he\nshuts them again, he still sees the beam, and not only the beam, but the\nwhole sun, the bright, beautiful sun, and no one can see it but him!\nChayyim Chaikin looks at the sun and sees it--and that's all! How is it?\nIt must be because he has done with the world and its necessities--he\nfeels happy--he feels light--he can bear anything--he will have an easy\nfast--do you know, he will have an easy fast, an easy fast!\n\nChayyim Chaikin shuts his eyes, and sees a strange world, a new world,\nsuch as he never saw before. Angels seem to hover before his eyes, and\nhe looks at them, and recognizes his children in them, all his children,\nbig and little, and he wants to say something to them, and cannot\nspeak--he wants to explain to them, that he cannot help it--it is not\nhis fault! How should it, no evil eye! be his fault, that so many Jews\nare gathered together in one place and squeeze each other, all for love,\nsqueeze each other to death for love? How can he help it, if people\ndesire other people's sweat, other people's blood? if people have not\nlearned to see that one should not drive a man as a horse is driven to\nwork? that a horse is also to be pitied, one of God's creatures, a\nliving thing?----\n\nAnd Chayyim Chaikin keeps his eyes shut, and sees, sees everything. And\neverything is bright and light, and curls like smoke, and he feels\nsomething is going out of him, from inside, from his heart, and is drawn\nupward and loses itself from the body, and he feels very light, very,\nvery light, and he gives a sigh--a long, deep sigh--and feels still\nlighter, and after that he feels nothing at all--absolutely nothing at\nall--\n\nYes, he has an easy fast.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen Baere the beadle, a red-haired Jew with thick lips, came into the\nShool in his socks with the worn-down heels, and saw Chayyim Chaikin\nleaning with his head back, and his eyes open, he was angry, thought\nChayyim was dozing, and he began to grumble:\n\n\"He ought to be ashamed of himself--reclining like that--came here for a\nnap, did he?--Reb Chayyim, excuse me, Reb Chayyim!----\"\n\nBut Chayyim Chaikin did not hear him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe last rays of the sun streamed in through the Shool window, right\nonto Chayyim Chaikin's quiet face with the black, shining, curly hair,\nthe black, bushy brows, the half-open, black, kindly eyes, and lit the\ndead, pale, still, hungry face through and through.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI told you how it would be: Chayyim Chaikin had an easy fast!\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSOVER GUEST\n\nI\n\n\n\"I have a Passover guest for you, Reb Yoneh, such a guest as you never\nhad since you became a householder.\"\n\n\"What sort is he?\"\n\n\"A real Oriental citron!\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"It means a 'silken Jew,' a personage of distinction. The only thing\nagainst him is--he doesn't speak our language.\"\n\n\"What does he speak, then?\"\n\n\"Hebrew.\"\n\n\"Is he from Jerusalem?\"\n\n\"I don't know where he comes from, but his words are full of a's.\"\n\nSuch was the conversation that took place between my father and the\nbeadle, a day before Passover, and I was wild with curiosity to see the\n\"guest\" who didn't understand Yiddish, and who talked with a's. I had\nalready noticed, in synagogue, a strange-looking individual, in a fur\ncap, and a Turkish robe striped blue, red, and yellow. We boys crowded\nround him on all sides, and stared, and then caught it hot from the\nbeadle, who said children had no business \"to creep into a stranger's\nface\" like that. Prayers over, everyone greeted the stranger, and wished\nhim a happy Passover, and he, with a sweet smile on his red cheeks set\nin a round grey beard, replied to each one, \"Shalom! Shalom!\" instead of\nour Sholom. This \"Shalom! Shalom!\" of his sent us boys into fits of\nlaughter. The beadle grew very angry, and pursued us with slaps. We\neluded him, and stole deviously back to the stranger, listened to his\n\"Shalom! Shalom!\" exploded with laughter, and escaped anew from the\nhands of the beadle.\n\nI am puffed up with pride as I follow my father and his guest to our\nhouse, and feel how all my comrades envy me. They stand looking after\nus, and every now and then I turn my head, and put out my tongue at\nthem. The walk home is silent. When we arrive, my father greets my\nmother with \"a happy Passover!\" and the guest nods his head so that his\nfur cap shakes. \"Shalom! Shalom!\" he says. I think of my comrades, and\nhide my head under the table, not to burst out laughing. But I shoot\ncontinual glances at the guest, and his appearance pleases me; I like\nhis Turkish robe, striped yellow, red, and blue, his fresh, red cheeks\nset in a curly grey beard, his beautiful black eyes that look out so\npleasantly from beneath his bushy eyebrows. And I see that my father is\npleased with him, too, that he is delighted with him. My mother looks at\nhim as though he were something more than a man, and no one speaks to\nhim but my father, who offers him the cushioned reclining-seat at table.\n\nMother is taken up with the preparations for the Passover meal, and\nRikel the maid is helping her. It is only when the time comes for saying\nKiddush that my father and the guest hold a Hebrew conversation. I am\nproud to find that I understand nearly every word of it. Here it is in\nfull.\n\nMy father: \"Nu?\" (That means, \"Won't you please say Kiddush?\")\n\nThe guest: \"Nu-nu!\" (meaning, \"Say it rather yourself!\")\n\nMy father: \"Nu-O?\" (\"Why not you?\")\n\nThe guest: \"O-nu?\" (\"Why should I?\")\n\nMy father: \"I-O!\" (\"_You_ first!\")\n\nThe guest: \"O-ai!\" (\"You first!\")\n\nMy father: \"E-o-i!\" (\"I beg of you to say it!\")\n\nThe guest: \"Ai-o-e!\" (\"I beg of you!\")\n\nMy father: \"Ai-e-o-nu?\" (\"Why should you refuse?\")\n\nThe guest: \"Oi-o-e-nu-nu!\" (\"If you insist, then I must.\")\n\nAnd the guest took the cup of wine from my father's hand, and recited a\nKiddush. But what a Kiddush! A Kiddush such as we had never heard\nbefore, and shall never hear again. First, the Hebrew--all a's.\nSecondly, the voice, which seemed to come, not out of his beard, but out\nof the striped Turkish robe. I thought of my comrades, how they would\nhave laughed, what slaps would have rained down, had they been present\nat that Kiddush.\n\nBeing alone, I was able to contain myself. I asked my father the Four\nQuestions, and we all recited the Haggadah together. And I was elated to\nthink that such a guest was ours, and no one else's.\n\n\nII\n\nOur sage who wrote that one should not talk at meals (may he forgive me\nfor saying so!) did not know Jewish life. When shall a Jew find time to\ntalk, if not during a meal? Especially at Passover, when there is so\nmuch to say before the meal and after it. Rikel the maid handed the\nwater, we washed our hands, repeated the Benediction, mother helped us\nto fish, and my father turned up his sleeves, and started a long Hebrew\ntalk with the guest. He began with the first question one Jew asks\nanother:\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\nTo which the guest replied all in a's and all in one breath:\n\n\"Ayak Bakar Gashal Damas Hanoch Vassam Za'an Chafaf Tatzatz.\"\n\nMy father remained with his fork in the air, staring in amazement at the\npossessor of so long a name. I coughed and looked under the table, and\nmy mother said, \"Favele, you should be careful eating fish, or you might\nbe choked with a bone,\" while she gazed at our guest with awe. She\nappeared overcome by his name, although unable to understand it. My\nfather, who understood, thought it necessary to explain it to her.\n\n\"You see, Ayak Bakar, that is our Alef-Bes inverted. It is apparently\ntheir custom to name people after the alphabet.\"\n\n\"Alef-Bes! Alef-Bes!\" repeated the guest with the sweet smile on his red\ncheeks, and his beautiful black eyes rested on us all, including Rikel\nthe maid, in the most friendly fashion.\n\nHaving learnt his name, my father was anxious to know whence, from what\nland, he came. I understood this from the names of countries and towns\nwhich I caught, and from what my father translated for my mother,\ngiving her a Yiddish version of nearly every phrase. And my mother was\nquite overcome by every single thing she heard, and Rikel the maid was\novercome likewise. And no wonder! It is not every day that a person\ncomes from perhaps two thousand miles away, from a land only to be\nreached across seven seas and a desert, the desert journey alone\nrequiring forty days and nights. And when you get near to the land, you\nhave to climb a mountain of which the top reaches into the clouds, and\nthis is covered with ice, and dreadful winds blow there, so that there\nis peril of death! But once the mountain is safely climbed, and the land\nis reached, one beholds a terrestrial Eden. Spices, cloves, herbs, and\nevery kind of fruit--apples, pears, and oranges, grapes, dates, and\nolives, nuts and quantities of figs. And the houses there are all built\nof deal, and roofed with silver, the furniture is gold (here the guest\ncast a look at our silver cups, spoons, forks, and knives), and\nbrilliants, pearls, and diamonds bestrew the roads, and no one cares to\ntake the trouble of picking them up, they are of no value there. (He was\nlooking at my mother's diamond ear-rings, and at the pearls round her\nwhite neck.)\n\n\"You hear that?\" my father asked her, with a happy face.\n\n\"I hear,\" she answered, and added: \"Why don't they bring some over here?\nThey could make money by it. Ask him that, Yoneh!\"\n\nMy father did so, and translated the answer for my mother's benefit:\n\n\"You see, when you arrive there, you may take what you like, but when\nyou leave the country, you must leave everything in it behind, too, and\nif they shake out of you no matter what, you are done for.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" questioned my mother, terrified.\n\n\"I mean, they either hang you on a tree, or they stone you with stones.\"\n\n\nIII\n\nThe more tales our guest told us, the more thrilling they became, and\njust as we were finishing the dumplings and taking another sip or two of\nwine, my father inquired to whom the country belonged. Was there a king\nthere? And he was soon translating, with great delight, the following\nreply:\n\n\"The country belongs to the Jews who live there, and who are called\nSefardim. And they have a king, also a Jew, and a very pious one, who\nwears a fur cap, and who is called Joseph ben Joseph. He is the high\npriest of the Sefardim, and drives out in a gilded carriage, drawn by\nsix fiery horses. And when he enters the synagogue, the Levites meet him\nwith songs.\"\n\n\"There are Levites who sing in your synagogue?\" asked my father,\nwondering, and the answer caused his face to shine with joy.\n\n\"What do you think?\" he said to my mother. \"Our guest tells me that in\nhis country there is a temple, with priests and Levites and an organ.\"\n\n\"Well, and an altar?\" questioned my mother, and my father told her:\n\n\"He says they have an altar, and sacrifices, he says, and golden\nvessels--everything just as we used to have it in Jerusalem.\"\n\nAnd with these words my father sighs deeply, and my mother, as she looks\nat him, sighs also, and I cannot understand the reason. Surely we should\nbe proud and glad to think we have such a land, ruled over by a Jewish\nking and high priest, a land with Levites and an organ, with an altar\nand sacrifices--and bright, sweet thoughts enfold me, and carry me away\nas on wings to that happy Jewish land where the houses are of pine-wood\nand roofed with silver, where the furniture is gold, and diamonds and\npearls lie scattered in the street. And I feel sure, were I really\nthere, I should know what to do--I should know how to hide things--they\nwould shake nothing out of _me_. I should certainly bring home a lovely\npresent for my mother, diamond ear-rings and several pearl necklaces. I\nlook at the one mother is wearing, at her ear-rings, and I feel a great\ndesire to be in that country. And it occurs to me, that after Passover I\nwill travel there with our guest, secretly, no one shall know. I will\nonly speak of it to our guest, open my heart to him, tell him the whole\ntruth, and beg him to take me there, if only for a little while. He will\ncertainly do so, he is a very kind and approachable person, he looks at\nevery one, even at Rikel the maid, in such a friendly, such a very\nfriendly way!\n\n\"So I think, and it seems to me, as I watch our guest, that he has read\nmy thoughts, and that his beautiful black eyes say to me:\n\n\"Keep it dark, little friend, wait till after Passover, then we shall\nmanage it!\"\n\n\nIV\n\nI dreamt all night long. I dreamt of a desert, a temple, a high priest,\nand a tall mountain. I climb the mountain. Diamonds and pearls grow on\nthe trees, and my comrades sit on the boughs, and shake the jewels down\nonto the ground, whole showers of them, and I stand and gather them, and\nstuff them into my pockets, and, strange to say, however many I stuff\nin, there is still room! I stuff and stuff, and still there is room! I\nput my hand into my pocket, and draw out--not pearls and brilliants, but\nfruits of all kinds--apples, pears, oranges, olives, dates, nuts, and\nfigs. This makes me very unhappy, and I toss from side to side. Then I\ndream of the temple, I hear the priests chant, and the Levites sing, and\nthe organ play. I want to go inside and I cannot--Rikel the maid has\nhold of me, and will not let me go. I beg of her and scream and cry, and\nagain I am very unhappy, and toss from side to side. I wake--and see my\nfather and mother standing there, half dressed, both pale, my father\nhanging his head, and my mother wringing her hands, and with her soft\neyes full of tears. I feel at once that something has gone very wrong,\nvery wrong indeed, but my childish head is incapable of imagining the\ngreatness of the disaster.\n\nThe fact is this: our guest from beyond the desert and the seven seas\nhas disappeared, and a lot of things have disappeared with him: all the\nsilver wine-cups, all the silver spoons, knives, and forks; all my\nmother's ornaments, all the money that happened to be in the house, and\nalso Rikel the maid!\n\nA pang goes through my heart. Not on account of the silver cups, the\nsilver spoons, knives, and forks that have vanished; not on account of\nmother's ornaments or of the money, still less on account of Rikel the\nmaid, a good riddance! But because of the happy, happy land whose roads\nwere strewn with brilliants, pearls, and diamonds; because of the temple\nwith the priests, the Levites, and the organ; because of the altar and\nthe sacrifices; because of all the other beautiful things that have been\ntaken from me, taken, taken, taken!\n\nI turn my face to the wall, and cry quietly to myself.\n\n\n\n\nGYMNASIYE\n\n\nA man's worst enemy, I tell you, will never do him the harm he does\nhimself, especially when a woman interferes, that is, a wife. Whom do\nyou think I have in mind when I say that? My own self! Look at me and\nthink. What would you take me for? Just an ordinary Jew. It doesn't say\non my nose whether I have money, or not, or whether I am very low\nindeed, does it?\n\nIt may be that I once _had_ money, and not only that--money in itself is\nnothing--but I can tell you, I earned a living, and that respectably and\nquietly, without worry and flurry, not like some people who like to live\nin a whirl.\n\nNo, my motto is, \"More haste, less speed.\"\n\nI traded quietly, went bankrupt a time or two quietly, and quietly went\nto work again. But there is a God in the world, and He blessed me with a\nwife--as she isn't here, we can speak openly--a wife like any other,\nthat is, at first glance she isn't so bad--not at all! In person, (no\nevil eye!) twice my height; not an ugly woman, quite a beauty, you may\nsay; an intelligent woman, quite a man--and that's the whole trouble!\nOi, it isn't good when the wife is a man! The Almighty knew what He was\nabout when, at the creation, he formed Adam first and then Eve. But\nwhat's the use of telling her that, when _she_ says, \"If the Almighty\ncreated Adam first and then Eve, that's _His_ affair, but if he put\nmore sense into my heel than into your head, no more am I to blame for\nthat!\"\n\n\"What is all this about?\" say I.--\"It's about that which should be first\nand foremost with you,\" says she.--\"But I have to be the one to think of\neverything--even about sending the boy to the Gymnasiye!\"--\"Where,\" say\nI, \"is it 'written' that my boy should go to the Gymnasiye? Can I not\nafford to have him taught Torah at home?\"--\"I've told you a hundred and\nfifty times,\" says she, \"that you won't persuade me to go against the\nworld! And the world,\" says she, \"has decided that children should go to\nthe Gymnasiye.\"--\"In my opinion,\" say I, \"the world is mad!\"--\"And you,\"\nsays she, \"are the only sane person in it? A pretty thing it would be,\"\nsays she, \"if the world were to follow you!\"--\"Every man,\" say I,\n\"should decide on his own course.\"--\"If my enemies,\" says she, \"and my\nfriends' enemies, had as little in pocket and bag, in box and chest, as\nyou have in your head, the world would be a different place.\"--\"Woe to\nthe man,\" say I, \"who needs to be advised by his wife!\"--\"And woe to the\nwife,\" says she, \"who has that man to her husband!\"--Now if you can\nargue with a woman who, when you say one thing, maintains the contrary,\nwhen you give her one word, treats you to a dozen, and who, if you bid\nher shut up, cries, or even, I beg of you, faints--well, I envy you,\nthat's all! In short, up and down, this way and that way, she got the\nbest of it--she, not I, because the fact is, when she wants a thing, it\nhas to be!\n\nWell, what next? Gymnasiye! The first thing was to prepare the boy for\nthe elementary class in the Junior Preparatory. I must say, I did not\nsee anything very alarming in that. It seemed to me that anyone of our\nCheder boys, an Alef-Bes scholar, could tuck it all into his belt,\nespecially a boy like mine, for whose equal you might search an empire,\nand not find him. I am a father, not of you be it said! but that boy has\na memory that beats everything! To cut a long story short, he went up\nfor examination and--did _not_ pass! You ask the reason? He only got a\ntwo in arithmetic; they said he was weak at calculation, in the science\nof mathematics. What do you think of that? He has a memory that beats\neverything! I tell you, you might search an empire for his like--and\nthey come talking to me about mathematics! Well, he failed to pass, and\nit vexed me very much. If he _was_ to go up for examination, let him\nsucceed. However, being a man and not a woman, I made up my mind to\nit--it's a misfortune, but a Jew is used to that. Only what was the use\nof talking to _her_ with that bee in her bonnet? Once for all,\nGymnasiye! I reason with her. \"Tell me,\" say I, \"(may you be well!) what\nis the good of it? He's safe,\" say I, \"from military service, being an\nonly son, and as for Parnosseh, devil I need it for Parnosseh! What do I\ncare if he _does_ become a trader like his father, a merchant like the\nrest of the Jews? If he is destined to become a rich man, a banker, I\ndon't see that I'm to be pitied.\"\n\nThus do I reason with her as with the wall. \"So much the better,\" says\nshe, \"if he has _not_ been entered for the Junior Preparatory.\"--\"What\nnow?\" say I.\n\n\"Now,\" says she, \"he can go direct to the Senior Preparatory.\"\n\nWell, Senior Preparatory, there's nothing so terrible in that, for the\nboy has a head, I tell you! You might search an empire.... And what was\nthe result? Well, what do you suppose? Another two instead of a five,\nnot in mathematics this time--a fresh calamity! His spelling is not what\nit should be. That is, he can spell all right, but he gets a bit mixed\nwith the two Russian e's. That is, he puts them in right enough, why\nshouldn't he? only not in their proper places. Well, there's a\nmisfortune for you! I guess I won't find the way to Poltava fair if the\nchild cannot put the e's where they belong! When they brought the good\nnews, _she_ turned the town inside out; ran to the director, declared\nthat the boy _could_ do it; to prove it, let him be had up again! They\npaid her as much attention as if she were last year's snow, put a two,\nand another sort of two, and a two with a dash! Call me nut-crackers,\nbut there was a commotion. \"Failed again!\" say I to her. \"And if so,\"\nsay I, \"what is to be done? Are we to commit suicide? A Jew,\" say I, \"is\nused to that sort of thing,\" upon which she fired up and blazed away and\nstormed and scolded as only she can. But I let you off! He, poor child,\nwas in a pitiable state. Talk of cruelty to animals! Just think: the\nother boys in little white buttons, and not he! I reason with him: \"You\nlittle fool! What does it matter? Who ever heard of an examination at\nwhich everyone passed? Somebody must stay at home, mustn't they? Then\nwhy not you? There's really nothing to make such a fuss about.\" My wife,\noverhearing, goes off into a fresh fury, and falls upon me. \"A fine\ncomforter _you_ are,\" says she, \"who asked you to console him with that\nsort of nonsense? You'd better see about getting him a proper teacher,\"\nsays she, \"a private teacher, a Russian, for grammar!\"\n\nYou hear that? Now I must have two teachers for him--one teacher and a\nRebbe are not enough. Up and down, this way and that way, she got the\nbest of it, as usual.\n\nWhat next? We engaged a second teacher, a Russian this time, not a Jew,\npreserve us, but a real Gentile, because grammar in the first class, let\nme tell you, is no trifle, no shredded horseradish! Gra-ma-ti-ke,\nindeed! The two e's! Well, I was telling about the teacher that God sent\nus for our sins. It's enough to make one blush to remember the way he\ntreated us, as though we had been the mud under his feet. Laughed at us\nto our face, he did, devil take him, and the one and only thing he could\nteach him was: tshasnok, tshasnoka, tshasnoku, tshasnokom. If it hadn't\nbeen for _her_, I should have had him by the throat, and out into the\nstreet with his blessed grammar. But to _her_ it was all right and as it\nshould be. Now the boy will know which e to put. If you'll believe me,\nthey tormented him through that whole winter, for he was not to be had\nup for slaughter till about Pentecost. Pentecost over, he went up for\nexamination, and this time he brought home no more two's, but a four and\na five. There was great joy--we congratulate! we congratulate! Wait a\nbit, don't be in such a hurry with your congratulations! We don't know\nyet for certain whether he has got in or not. We shall not know till\nAugust. Why not till August? Why not before? Go and ask _them_. What is\nto be done? A Jew is used to that sort of thing.\n\nAugust--and I gave a glance out of the corner of my eye. She was up and\ndoing! From the director to the inspector, from the inspector to the\ndirector! \"Why are you running from Shmunin to Bunin,\" say I, \"like a\npoisoned mouse?\"\n\n\"You asking why?\" says she. \"Aren't you a native of this place? You\ndon't seem to know how it is nowadays with the Gymnasiyes and the\npercentages?\" And what came of it? He did _not_ pass! You ask why?\nBecause he hadn't two fives. If he had had two fives, then, they say,\nperhaps he would have got in. You hear--perhaps! How do you like that\n_perhaps_? Well, I'll let you off what I had to bear from her. As for\nhim, the little boy, it was pitiful. Lay with his face in the cushion,\nand never stopped crying till we promised him another teacher. And we\ngot him a student from the Gymnasiye itself, to prepare him for the\nsecond class, but after quite another fashion, because the second class\nis no joke. In the second, besides mathematics and grammar, they require\ngeography, penmanship, and I couldn't for the life of me say what else.\nI should have thought a bit of the Maharsho was a more difficult thing\nthan all their studies put together, and very likely had more sense in\nit, too. But what would you have? A Jew learns to put up with things.\n\nIn fine, there commenced a series of \"lessons,\" of ourokki. We rose\nearly--the ourokki! Prayers and breakfast over--the ourokki. A whole\nday--ourokki. One heard him late at night drumming it over and over:\nNominative--dative--instrumental--vocative! It grated so on my ears! I\ncould hardly bear it. Eat? Sleep? Not he! Taking a poor creature and\ntormenting it like that, all for nothing, I call it cruelty to animals!\n\"The child,\" say I, \"will be ill!\" \"Bite off your tongue,\" says she. I\nwas nowhere, and he went up a second time to the slaughter, and brought\nhome nothing but fives! And why not? I tell you, he has a head--there\nisn't his like! And such a boy for study as never was, always at it, day\nand night, and repeating to himself between whiles! That's all right\nthen, is it? Was it all right? When it came to the point, and they hung\nout the names of all the children who were really entered, we\nlooked--mine wasn't there! Then there was a screaming and a commotion.\nWhat a shame! And nothing but fives! _Now_ look at her, now see her go,\nsee her run, see her do this and that! In short, she went and she ran\nand she did this and that and the other--until at last they begged her\nnot to worry them any longer, that is, to tell you the truth, between\nourselves, they turned her out, yes! And after they had turned her out,\nthen it was she burst into the house, and showed for the first time, as\nit were, what she was worth. \"Pray,\" said she, \"what sort of a father\nare you? If you were a good father, an affectionate father, like other\nfathers, you would have found favor with the director, patronage,\nrecommendations, this--that!\" Like a woman, wasn't it? It's not enough,\napparently, for me to have my head full of terms and seasons and fairs\nand notes and bills of exchange and \"protests\" and all the rest of it.\n\"Do you want me,\" say I, \"to take over your Gymnasiye and your classes,\nthings I'm sick of already?\" Do you suppose she listened to what I said?\nShe? Listen? She just kept at it, she sawed and filed and gnawed away\nlike a worm, day and night, day and night! \"If your wife,\" says she,\n\"_were_ a wife, and your child, a child--if I were only of _so_ much\naccount in this house!\"--\"Well,\" say I, \"what would happen?\"--\"You would\nlie,\" says she, \"nine ells deep in the earth. I,\" says she, \"would bury\nyou three times a day, so that you should never rise again!\"\n\nHow do you like that? Kind, wasn't it? That (how goes the saying?) was\npouring a pailful of water over a husband for the sake of peace. Of\ncourse, you'll understand that I was not silent, either, because, after\nall, I'm no more than a man, and every man has his feelings. I assure\nyou, you needn't envy me, and in the end _she_ carried the day, as\nusual.\n\nWell, what next? I began currying favor, getting up an acquaintance,\ntrying this and that; I had to lower myself in people's eyes and swallow\nslights, for every one asked questions, and they had every right to do\nso. \"You, no evil eye, Reb Aaron,\" say they, \"are a householder, and\ninherited a little something from your father. What good year is taking\nyou about to places where a Jew had better not be seen?\" Was I to go and\ntell them I had a wife (may she live one hundred and twenty years!) with\nthis on the brain: Gymnasiye, Gymnasiye, and Gym-na-si-ye? I (much good\nmay it do you!) am, as you see me, no more unlucky than most people, and\nwith God's help I made my way, and got where I wanted, right up to the\nnobleman, into his cabinet, yes! And sat down with him there to talk it\nover. I thank Heaven, I can talk to any nobleman, I don't need to have\nmy tongue loosened for me. \"What can I do for you?\" he asks, and bids me\nbe seated. Say I, and whisper into his ear, \"My lord,\" say I, \"we,\" say\nI, \"are not rich people, but we have,\" say I, \"a boy, and he wishes to\nstudy, and I,\" say I, \"wish it, too, but my wife wishes it very much!\"\nSays he to me again, \"What is it you want?\" Say I to him, and edge a bit\ncloser, \"My dear lord,\" say I, \"we,\" say I, \"are not rich people, but we\nhave,\" say I, \"a small fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who,\" say\nI, \"wishes to study; and I,\" say I, \"also wish it, but my wife wishes it\n_very much_!\" and I squeeze that \"very much\" so that he may understand.\nBut he's a Gentile and slow-witted, and he doesn't twig, and this time\nhe asks angrily, \"Then, whatever is it you want?!\" I quietly put my hand\ninto my pocket and quietly take it out again, and I say quietly: \"Pardon\nme, we,\" say I, \"are not rich people, but we have a little,\" say I,\n\"fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who,\" say I, \"wishes to study;\nand I,\" say I, \"wish it also, but my wife,\" say I, \"wishes it very much\nindeed!\" and I take and press into his hand----and this time, yes! he\nunderstood, and went and got a note-book, and asked my name and my son's\nname, and which class I wanted him entered for.\n\n\"Oho, lies the wind that way?\" think I to myself, and I give him to\nunderstand that I am called Katz, Aaron Katz, and my son, Moisheh,\nMoshke we call him, and I want to get him into the third class. Says he\nto me, if I am Katz, and my son is Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and he\nwants to get into class three, I am to bring him in January, and he will\ncertainly be passed. You hear and understand? Quite another thing!\nApparently the horse trots as we shoe him. The worst is having to wait.\nBut what is to be done? When they say, Wait! one waits. A Jew is used to\nwaiting.\n\nJanuary--a fresh commotion, a scampering to and fro. To-morrow there\nwill be a consultation. The director and the inspector and all the\nteachers of the Gymnasiye will come together, and it's only after the\nconsultation that we shall know if he is entered or not. The time for\naction has come, and my wife is anywhere but at home. No hot meals, no\nsamovar, no nothing! She is in the Gymnasiye, that is, not _in_ the\nGymnasiye, but _at_ it, walking round and round it in the frost, from\nfirst thing in the morning, waiting for them to begin coming away from\nthe consultation. The frost bites, there is a tearing east wind, and she\npaces round and round the building, and waits. Once a woman, always a\nwoman! It seemed to me, that when people have made a promise, it is\nsurely sacred, especially--you understand? But who would reason with a\nwoman? Well, she waited one hour, she waited two, waited three, waited\nfour; the children were all home long ago, and she waited on. She waited\n(much good may it do you!) till she got what she was waiting for. A door\nopens, and out comes one of the teachers. She springs and seizes hold on\nhim. Does he know the result of the consultation? Why, says he, should\nhe not? They have passed altogether twenty-five children, twenty-three\nChristian and two Jewish. Says she, \"Who are they?\" Says he, \"One a\nShefselsohn and one a Katz.\" At the name Katz, my wife shoots home like\nan arrow from the bow, and bursts into the room in triumph: \"Good news!\ngood news! Passed, passed!\" and there are tears in her eyes. Of course,\nI am pleased, too, but I don't feel called upon to go dancing, being a\nman and not a woman. \"It's evidently not much _you_ care?\" says she to\nme. \"What makes you think that?\" say I.--\"This,\" says she, \"you sit\nthere cold as a stone! If you knew how impatient the child is, you would\nhave taken him long ago to the tailor's, and ordered his little\nuniform,\" says she, \"and a cap and a satchel,\" says she, \"and made a\nlittle banquet for our friends.\"--\"Why a banquet, all of a sudden?\" say\nI. \"Is there a Bar-Mitzveh? Is there an engagement?\" I say all this\nquite quietly, for, after all, I am a man, not a woman. She grew so\nangry that she stopped talking. And when a woman stops talking, it's a\nthousand times worse than when she scolds, because so long as she is\nscolding at least you hear the sound of the human voice. Otherwise it's\ntalk to the wall! To put it briefly, she got her way--she, not I--as\nusual.\n\nThere was a banquet; we invited our friends and our good friends, and my\nboy was dressed up from head to foot in a very smart uniform, with white\nbuttons and a cap with a badge in front, quite the district-governor!\nAnd it did one's heart good to see him, poor child! There was new life\nin him, he was so happy, and he shone, I tell you, like the July sun!\nThe company drank to him, and wished him joy: Might he study in health,\nand finish the course in health, and go on in health, till he reached\nthe university! \"Ett!\" say I, \"we can do with less. Let him only\ncomplete the eight classes at the Gymnasiye,\" say I, \"and, please God,\nI'll make a bridegroom of him, with God's help.\" Cries my wife, smiling\nand fixing me with her eye the while, \"Tell him,\" says she, \"that he's\nwrong! He,\" says she, \"keeps to the old-fashioned cut.\" \"Tell her from\nme,\" say I, \"that I'm blest if the old-fashioned cut wasn't better than\nthe new.\" Says she, \"Tell him that he (may he forgive me!) is----\" The\ncompany burst out laughing. \"Oi, Reb Aaron,\" say they, \"you have a wife\n(no evil eye!) who is a Cossack and not a wife at all!\" Meanwhile they\nemptied their wine-glasses, and cleared their plates, and we were what\nis called \"lively.\" I and my wife were what is called \"taken into the\nboat,\" the little one in the middle, and we made merry till daylight.\nThat morning early we took him to the Gymnasiye. It was very early,\nindeed, the door was shut, not a soul to be seen. Standing outside there\nin the frost, we were glad enough when the door opened, and they let us\nin. Directly after that the small fry began to arrive with their\nsatchels, and there was a noise and a commotion and a chatter and a\nlaughing and a scampering to and fro--a regular fair! Schoolboys jumped\nover one another, gave each other punches, pokes, and pinches. As I\nlooked at these young hopefuls with the red cheeks, with the merry,\nlaughing eyes, I called to mind our former narrow, dark, and gloomy\nCheder of long ago years, and I saw that after all she was right; she\nmight be a woman, but she had a man's head on her shoulders! And as I\nreflected thus, there came along an individual in gilt buttons, who\nturned out to be a teacher, and asked what I wanted. I pointed to my\nboy, and said I had come to bring him to Cheder, that is, to the\nGymnasiye. He asked to which class? I tell him, the third, and he has\nonly just been entered. He asks his name. Say I, \"Katz, Moisheh Katz,\nthat is, Moshke Katz.\" Says he, \"Moshke Katz?\" He has no Moshke Katz in\nthe third class. \"There is,\" he says, \"a Katz, only not a Moshke Katz,\nbut a Morduch--Morduch Katz.\" Say I, \"What Morduch? Moshke, not\nMorduch!\" \"Morduch!\" he repeats, and thrusts the paper into my face. I\nto him, \"Moshke.\" He to me, \"Morduch!\" In short, Moshke--Morduch,\nMorduch--Moshke, we hammer away till there comes out a fine tale: that\nwhich should have been mine is another's. You see what a kettle of fish?\nA regular Gentile muddle! They have entered a Katz--yes! But, by\nmistake, another, not ours. You see how it was: there were two Katz's in\nour town! What do you say to such luck? I have made a bed, and another\nwill lie in it! No, but you ought to know who the other is, _that_ Katz,\nI mean! A nothing of a nobody, an artisan, a bookbinder or a carpenter,\nquite a harmless little man, but who ever heard of him? A pauper! And\n_his_ son--yes! And mine--no! Isn't it enough to disgust one, I ask you!\nAnd you should have seen that poor boy of mine, when he was told to take\nthe badge off his cap! No bride on her wedding-day need shed more tears\nthan were his! And no matter how I reasoned with him, whether I coaxed\nor scolded. \"You see,\" I said to her, \"what you've done! Didn't I tell\nyou that your Gymnasiye was a slaughter-house for him? I only trust this\nmay have a good ending, that he won't fall ill.\"--\"Let my enemies,\" said\nshe, \"fall ill, if they like. My child,\" says she, \"must enter the\nGymnasiye. If he hasn't got in this time, in a year, please God, he\n_will_. If he hasn't got in,\" says she, \"_here_, he will get in in\nanother town--he _must_ get in! Otherwise,\" says she, \"I shall shut an\neye, and the earth shall cover me!\" You hear what she said? And who, do\nyou suppose, had his way--she or I? When _she_ sets her heart on a\nthing, can there be any question?\n\nWell, I won't make a long story of it. I hunted up and down with him; we\nwent to the ends of the world, wherever there was a town and a\nGymnasiye, thither went we! We went up for examination, and were\nexamined, and we passed and passed high, and did _not_ get in--and why?\nAll because of the percentage! You may believe, I looked upon my own\nself as crazy those days! \"Wretch! what is this? What is this flying\nthat you fly from one town to another? What good is to come of it? And\nsuppose he does get in, what then?\" No, say what you will, ambition is a\ngreat thing. In the end it took hold of me, too, and the Almighty had\ncompassion, and sent me a Gymnasiye in Poland, a \"commercial\" one, where\nthey took in one Jew to every Christian. It came to fifty per cent. But\nwhat then? Any Jew who wished his son to enter must bring his Christian\nwith him, and if he passes, that is, the Christian, and one pays his\nentrance fee, then there is hope. Instead of one bundle, one has two on\none's shoulders, you understand? Besides being worn with anxiety about\nmy own, I had to tremble for the other, because if Esau, which Heaven\nforbid, fail to pass, it's all over with Jacob. But what I went through\nbefore I _got_ that Christian, a shoemaker's son, Holiava his name was,\nis not to be described. And the best of all was this--would you believe\nthat my shoemaker, planted in the earth firmly as Korah, insisted on\nBible teaching? There was nothing for it but my son had to sit down\nbeside his, and repeat the Old Testament. How came a son of mine to the\nOld Testament? Ai, don't ask! He can do everything and understands\neverything.\n\nWith God's help the happy day arrived, and they both passed. Is my story\nfinished? Not quite. When it came to their being entered in the books,\nto writing out a check, my Christian was not to be found! What has\nhappened? He, the Gentile, doesn't care for his son to be among so many\nJews--he won't hear of it! Why should he, seeing that all doors are open\nto him anyhow, and he can get in where he pleases? Tell him it isn't\nfair? Much good that would be! \"Look here,\" say I, \"how much do you\nwant, Pani Holiava?\" Says he, \"Nothing!\" To cut the tale short--up and\ndown, this way and that way, and friends and people interfering, we had\nhim off to a refreshment place, and ordered a glass, and two, and three,\nbefore it all came right! Once he was really in, I cried my eyes out,\nand thanks be to Him whose Name is blessed, and who has delivered me out\nof all my troubles! When I got home, a fresh worry! What now? My wife\nhas been reflecting and thinking it over: After all, her only son, the\napple of her eye--he would be _there_ and we _here_! And if so, what,\nsays she, would life be to her? \"Well,\" say I, \"what do you propose\ndoing?\"--\"What I propose doing?\" says she. \"Can't you guess? I propose,\"\nsays she, \"to be with him.\"--\"You do?\" say I. \"And the house? What about\nthe house?\"--\"The house,\" says she, \"is a house.\" Anything to object to\nin that? So she was off to him, and I was left alone at home. And what a\nhome! I leave you to imagine. May such a year be to my enemies! My\ncomfort was gone, the business went to the bad. Everything went to the\nbad, and we were continually writing letters. I wrote to her, she wrote\nto me--letters went and letters came. Peace to my beloved wife! Peace to\nmy beloved husband! \"For Heaven's sake,\" I write, \"what is to be the end\nof it? After all, I'm no more than a man! A man without a\nhousemistress!\" It was as much use as last year's snow; it was she who\nhad her way, she, and not I, as usual.\n\nTo make an end of my story, I worked and worried myself to pieces, made\na mull of the whole business, sold out, became a poor man, and carried\nmy bundle over to them. Once there, I took a look round to see where I\nwas in the world, nibbled here and there, just managed to make my way a\nbit, and entered into a partnership with a trader, quite a respectable\nman, yes! A well-to-do householder, holding office in the Shool, but at\nbottom a deceiver, a swindler, a pickpocket, who was nearly the ruin of\nme! You can imagine what a cheerful state of things it was. Meanwhile I\ncome home one evening, and see my boy come to meet me, looking\nstrangely red in the face, and without a badge on his cap. Say I to him,\n\"Look here, Moshehl, where's your badge?\" Says he to me, \"Whatever\nbadge?\" Say I, \"The button.\" Says he, \"Whatever button?\" Say I, \"The\nbutton off your cap.\" It was a new cap with a new badge, only just\nbought for the festival! He grows redder than before, and says, \"Taken\noff.\" Say I, \"What do you mean by 'taken off'?\" Says he, \"I am free.\"\nSay I, \"What do you mean by 'you are free'?\" Says he, \"We are _all_\nfree.\" Say I, \"What do you mean by 'we are _all_ free'?\" Says he, \"We\nare not going back any more.\" Say I, \"What do you mean by 'we are not\ngoing back'?\" Says he, \"We have united in the resolve to stay away.\" Say\nI, \"What do you mean by '_you_' have united in a resolve? Who are 'you'?\nWhat is all this? Bless your grandmother,\" say I, \"do you suppose I have\nbeen through all this for you to unite in a resolve? Alas! and alack!\"\nsay I, \"for you and me and all of us! May it please God not to let this\nbe visited on Jewish heads, because always and everywhere,\" say I, \"Jews\nare the scapegoats.\" I speak thus to him and grow angry and reprove him\nas a father usually does reprove a child. But I have a wife (long life\nto her!), and she comes running, and washes my head for me, tells me I\ndon't know what is going on in the world, that the world is quite\nanother world to what it used to be, an intelligent world, an open\nworld, a free world, \"a world,\" says she, \"in which all are equal, in\nwhich there are no rich and no poor, no masters and no servants, no\nsheep and no shears, no cats, rats, no piggy-wiggy--------\" \"Te-te-te!\"\nsay I, \"where have you learned such fine language? a new speech,\" say I,\n\"with new words. Why not open the hen-house, and let out the hens?\nChuck--chuck--chuck, hurrah for freedom!\" Upon which she blazes up as if\nI had poured ten pails of hot water over her. And now for it! As only\n_they_ can! Well, one must sit it out and listen to the end. The worst\nof it is, there is no end. \"Look here,\" say I, \"hush!\" say I, \"and now\nlet be!\" say I, and beat upon my breast. \"I have sinned!\" say I, \"I have\ntransgressed, and now stop,\" say I, \"if you would only be quiet!\" But\nshe won't hear, and she won't see. No, she says, she will know why and\nwherefore and for goodness' sake and exactly, and just how it was, and\nwhat it means, and how it happened, and once more and a second time, and\nall over again from the beginning!\n\nI beg of you--who set the whole thing going? A--woman!\n\n\n\n\nELIEZER DAVID ROSENTHAL\n\n\nBorn, 1861, in Chotin, Bessarabia; went to Breslau, Germany, in 1880,\nand pursued studies at the University; returned to Bessarabia in 1882;\nco-editor of the Bibliothek Dos Leben, published at Odessa, 1904, and\nKishineff, 1905; writer of stories.\n\n\n\n\nSABBATH\n\n\nFriday evening!\n\nThe room has been tidied, the table laid. Two Sabbath loaves have been\nplaced upon it, and covered with a red napkin. At the two ends are two\nmetal candlesticks, and between them two more of earthenware, with\ncandles in them ready to be lighted.\n\nOn the small sofa that stands by the stove lies a sick man covered up\nwith a red quilt, from under the quilt appears a pale, emaciated face,\nwith red patches on the dried-up cheeks and a black beard. The sufferer\nwears a nightcap, which shows part of his black hair and his black\nearlocks. There is no sign of life in his face, and only a faint one in\nhis great, black eyes.\n\nOn a chair by the couch sits a nine-year-old girl with damp locks, which\nhave just been combed out in honor of Sabbath. She is barefoot, dressed\nonly in a shirt and a frock. The child sits swinging her feet, absorbed\nin what she is doing; but all her movements are gentle and noiseless.\n\nThe invalid coughed.\n\n\"Kche, kche, kche, kche,\" came from the sofa.\n\n\"What is it, Tate?\" asked the little girl, swinging her feet.\n\nThe invalid made no reply.\n\nHe slowly raised his head with both hands, pulled down the nightcap, and\ncoughed and coughed and coughed, hoarsely at first, then louder, the\ncough tearing at his sick chest and dinning in the ears. Then he sat\nup, and went on coughing and clearing his throat, till he had brought up\nthe phlegm.\n\nThe little girl continued to be absorbed in her work and to swing her\nfeet, taking very little notice of her sick father.\n\nThe invalid smoothed the creases in the cushion, laid his head down\nagain, and closed his eyes. He lay thus for a few minutes, then he said\nquite quietly:\n\n\"Leah!\"\n\n\"What is it, Tate?\" inquired the child again, still swinging her feet.\n\n\"Tell ... mother ... it is ... time to ... bless ... the candles....\"\n\nThe little girl never moved from her seat, but shouted through the open\ndoor into the shop:\n\n\"Mother, shut up shop! Father says it's time for candle-blessing.\"\n\n\"I'm coming, I'm coming,\" answered her mother from the shop.\n\nShe quickly disposed of a few women customers: sold one a kopek's worth\nof tea, the other, two kopeks' worth of sugar, the third, two tallow\ncandles. Then she closed the shutters and the street door, and came into\nthe room.\n\n\"You've drunk the glass of milk?\" she inquired of the sick man.\n\n\"Yes ... I have ... drunk it,\" he replied.\n\n\"And you, Leahnyu, daughter,\" and she turned to the child, \"may the evil\nspirit take you! Couldn't you put on your shoes without my telling you?\nDon't you know it's Sabbath?\"\n\nThe little girl hung her head, and made no other answer.\n\nHer mother went to the table, lighted the candles, covered her face with\nher hands, and blessed them.\n\nAfter that she sat down on the seat by the window to take a rest.\n\nIt was only on Sabbath that she could rest from her hard work, toiling\nand worrying as she was the whole week long with all her strength and\nall her mind.\n\nShe sat lost in thought.\n\nShe was remembering past happy days.\n\nShe also had known what it is to enjoy life, when her husband was in\nhealth, and they had a few hundred rubles. They finished boarding with\nher parents, they set up a shop, and though he had always been a close\nfrequenter of the house-of-study, a bench-lover, he soon learnt the\nTorah of commerce. She helped him, and they made a livelihood, and ate\ntheir bread in honor. But in course of time some quite new shops were\nstarted in the little town, there was great competition, the trade was\nsmall, and the gains were smaller, it became necessary to borrow money\non interest, on weekly payment, and to pay for goods at once. The\ninterest gradually ate up the capital with the gains. The creditors took\nwhat they could lay hands on, and still her husband remained in their\ndebt.\n\nHe could not get over this, and fell ill.\n\nThe whole bundle of trouble fell upon her: the burden of a livelihood,\nthe children, the sick man, everything, everything, on her.\n\nBut she did not lose heart.\n\n\"God will help, _he_ will soon get well, and will surely find some work.\nGod will not desert us,\" so she reflected, and meantime she was not\nsitting idle.\n\nThe very difficulty of her position roused her courage, and gave her\nstrength.\n\nShe sold her small store of jewelry, and set up a little shop.\n\nThree years have passed since then.\n\nHowever it may be, God has not abandoned her, and however bitter and\nsour the struggle for Parnosseh may have been, she had her bit of bread.\nOnly his health did not return, he grew daily weaker and worse.\n\nShe glanced at her sick husband, at his pale, emaciated face, and tears\nfell from her eyes.\n\nDuring the week she has no time to think how unhappy she is. Parnosseh,\nhousework, attendance on the children and the sick man--these things\ntake up all her time and thought. She is glad when it comes to bedtime,\nand she can fall, dead tired, onto her bed.\n\nBut on Sabbath, the day of rest, she has time to think over her hard lot\nand all her misery and to cry herself out.\n\n\"When will there be an end of my troubles and suffering?\" she asked\nherself, and could give no answer whatever to the question beyond\ndespairing tears. She saw no ray of hope lighting her future, only a\ngreat, wide, shoreless sea of trouble.\n\nIt flashed across her:\n\n\"When he dies, things will be easier.\"\n\nBut the thought of his death only increased her apprehension.\n\nIt brought with it before her eyes the dreadful words: widow, orphans,\npoor little fatherless children....\n\nThese alarmed her more than her present distress.\n\nHow can children grow up without a father? Now, even though he's ill, he\nkeeps an eye on them, tells them to say their prayers and to study. Who\nis to watch over them if he dies?\n\n\"Don't punish me, Lord of the World, for my bad thought,\" she begged\nwith her whole heart. \"I will take it upon myself to suffer and trouble\nfor all, only don't let him die, don't let me be called by the bitter\nname of widow, don't let my children be called orphans!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nHe sits upon his couch, his head a little thrown back and leaning\nagainst the wall. In one hand he holds a prayer-book--he is receiving\nthe Sabbath into his house. His pale lips scarcely move as he whispers\nthe words before him, and his thoughts are far from the prayer. He knows\nthat he is dangerously ill, he knows what his wife has to suffer and\nbear, and not only is he powerless to help her, but his illness is her\nheaviest burden, what with the extra expense incurred on his account and\nthe trouble of looking after him. Besides which, his weakness makes him\nirritable, and his anger has more than once caused her unmerited pain.\nHe sees and knows it all, and his heart is torn with grief. \"Only death\ncan help us,\" he murmurs, and while his lips repeat the words of the\nprayer-book, his heart makes one request to God and only one: that God\nshould send kind Death to deliver him from his trouble and misery.\n\nSuddenly the door opened and a ten-year-old boy came into the room, in a\nlong Sabbath cloak, with two long earlocks, and a prayer-book under his\narm.\n\n\"A good Sabbath!\" said the little boy, with a loud, ringing voice.\n\nIt seemed as if he and the holy Sabbath had come into the room together!\nIn one moment the little boy had driven trouble and sadness out of\nsight, and shed light and consolation round him.\n\nHis \"good Sabbath!\" reached his parents' hearts, awoke there new life\nand new hopes.\n\n\"A good Sabbath!\" answered the mother. Her eyes rested on the child's\nbright face, and her thoughts were no longer melancholy as before, for\nshe saw in his eyes a whole future of happy possibilities.\n\n\"A good Sabbath!\" echoed the lips of the sick man, and he took a deeper,\neasier breath. No, he will not die altogether, he will live again after\ndeath in the child. He can die in peace, he leaves a Kaddish behind\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nYOM KIPPUR\n\n\nErev Yom Kippur, Minchah time!\n\nThe Eve of the Day of Atonement, at Afternoon Prayer time.\n\nA solemn and sacred hour for every Jew.\n\nEveryone feels as though he were born again.\n\nAll the week-day worries, the two-penny-half-penny interests, seem far,\nfar away; or else they have hidden themselves in some corner. Every Jew\nfeels a noble pride, an inward peace mingled with fear and awe. He knows\nthat the yearly Judgment Day is approaching, when God Almighty will hold\nthe scales in His hand and weigh every man's merits against his\ntransgressions. The sentence given on that day is one of life or death.\nNo trifle! But the Jew is not so terrified as you might think--he has\nbroad shoulders. Besides, he has a certain footing behind the \"upper\nwindows,\" he has good advocates and plenty of them; he has the \"binding\nof Isaac\" and a long chain of ancestors and ancestresses, who were put\nto death for the sanctification of the Holy Name, who allowed themselves\nto be burnt and roasted for the sake of God's Torah. Nishkoshe! Things\nare not so bad. The Lord of All may just remember that, and look aside a\nlittle. Is He not the Compassionate, the Merciful?\n\nThe shadows lengthen and lengthen.\n\nJews are everywhere in commotion.\n\nSome hurry home straight from the bath, drops of bath-water dripping\nfrom beard and earlocks. They have not even dried their hair properly in\ntheir haste.\n\nIt is time to prepare for the davvening. Some are already on their way\nto Shool, robed in white. Nearly every Jew carries in one hand a large,\nwell-packed Tallis-bag, which to-day, besides the prayer-scarf, holds\nthe whole Jewish outfit: a bulky prayer-book, a book of Psalms, a\nLikkute Zevi, and so on; and in the other hand, two wax-candles, one a\nlarge one, that is the \"light of life,\" and the other a small one, a\nshrunken looking thing, which is the \"soul-light.\"\n\nThe Tamschevate house-of-study presents at this moment the following\npicture: the floor is covered with fresh hay, and the dust and the smell\nof the hay fill the whole building. Some of the men are standing at\ntheir prayers, beating their breasts in all seriousness. \"We have\ntrespassed, we have been faithless, we have robbed,\" with an occasional\nsob of contrition. Others are very busy setting up their wax-lights in\nboxes filled with sand; one of them, a young man who cannot live without\nit, betakes himself to the platform and repeats a \"Bless ye the Lord.\"\nMeantime another comes slyly, and takes out two of the candles standing\nbefore the platform, planting his own in their place. Not far from the\nark stands the beadle with a strap in his hand, and all the foremost\nhouseholders go up to him, lay themselves down with their faces to the\nground, and the beadle deals them out thirty-nine blows apiece, and not\none of them bears him any grudge. Even Reb Groinom, from whom the beadle\nnever hears anything from one Yom Kippur to another but \"may you be ...\n\"and \"rascal,\" \"impudence,\" \"brazen face,\" \"spendthrift,\" \"carrion,\"\n\"dog of all dogs\"--and not infrequently Reb Groinom allows himself to\napply his right hand to the beadle's cheek, and the latter has to take\nit all in a spirit of love--this same Reb Groinom now humbly approaches\nthe same poor beadle, lies quietly down with his face to the ground,\nstretches himself out, and the beadle deliberately counts the strokes up\nto \"thirty-nine Malkes.\" Covered with hay, Reb Groinom rises slowly, a\npiteous expression on his face, just as if he had been well thrashed,\nand he pushes a coin into the Shamash's hand. This is evidently the\nbeadle's day! To-day he can take his revenge on his householders for the\ninsults and injuries of a whole year!\n\nBut if you want to be in the thick of it all, you must stand in the\nanteroom by the door, where people are crowding round the plates for\ncollections. The treasurer sits beside a little table with the directors\nof the congregation; the largest plate lies before them. To one side of\nthem sits the cantor with his plate, and beside the cantor, several\nhouse-of-study youths with theirs. On every plate lies a paper with a\nwritten notice: \"Visiting the Sick,\" \"Supporting the Fallen,\" \"Clothing\nthe Naked,\" \"Talmud Torah,\" \"Refuge for the Poor,\" and so forth. Over\none plate, marked \"The Return to the Land of Israel,\" presides a modern\nyoung man, a Zionist. Everyone wishing to enter the house-of-study must\nfirst go to the plates marked \"Call to the Torah\" and \"Seat in the\nShool,\" put in what is his due, and then throw a few kopeks into the\nother plates.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBerel Tzop bustled up to the plate \"Seat in the Shool,\" gave what was\nexpected of him, popped a few coppers into the other plates, and\nprepared to recite the Afternoon Prayer. He wanted to pause a little\nbetween the words of his prayer, to attend to their meaning, to impress\nupon himself that this was the Eve of the Day of Atonement! But idle\nthoughts kept coming into his head, as though on purpose to annoy him,\nand his mind was all over the place at once! The words of the prayers\ngot mixed up with the idea of oats, straw, wheat, and barley, and\nhowever much trouble he took to drive these idle thoughts away, he did\nnot succeed. \"Blow the great trumpet of our deliverance!\" shouted Berel,\nand remembered the while that Ivan owed him ten measures of wheat.\n\"...lift up the ensign to gather our exiles!...\"--\"and I made a mistake\nin Stephen's account by thirty kopeks....\" Berel saw that it was\nimpossible for him to pray with attention, and he began to reel off the\nEighteen Benedictions, but not till he reached the Confession could he\ncollect his scattered thoughts, and realize what he was saying. When he\nraised his hands to beat his breast at \"We have trespassed, we have\nrobbed,\" the hand remained hanging in the air, half-way. A shudder went\nthrough his limbs, the letters of the words \"we have robbed\" began to\ngrow before his eyes, they became gigantic, they turned strange\ncolors--red, blue, green, and yellow--now they took the form of large\nfrogs--they got bigger and bigger, crawled into his eyes, croaked in his\nears: You are a thief, a robber, you have stolen and plundered! You\nthink nobody saw, that it would all run quite smoothly, but you are\nwrong! We shall stand before the Throne of Glory and cry: You are a\nthief, a robber!\n\nBerel stood some time with his hand raised midway in the air.\n\nThe whole affair of the hundred rubles rose before his eyes.\n\nA couple of months ago he had gone into the house of Reb Moisheh\nChalfon. The latter had just gone out, there was nobody else in the\nroom, nobody had even seen him come in.\n\nThe key was in the desk--Berel had looked at it, had hardly touched\nit--the drawer had opened as though of itself--several\nhundred-ruble-notes had lain glistening before his eyes! Just that day,\nBerel had received a very unpleasant letter from the father of his\ndaughter's bridegroom, and to make matters worse, the author of the\nletter was in the right. Berel had been putting off the marriage for two\nyears, and the Mechutton wrote quite plainly, that unless the wedding\ntook place after Tabernacles, he should return him the contract.\n\n\"Return the contract!\" the fiery letters burnt into Berel's brain.\n\nHe knew his Mechutton well. The Misnaggid! He wouldn't hesitate to tear\nup a marriage contract, either! And when it's a question of a by no\nmeans pretty girl of twenty and odd years! And the kind of bridegroom\nanybody might be glad to have secured for his daughter! And then to\nthink that only one of those hundred-ruble-notes lying tossed together\nin that drawer would help him out of all his troubles. And the Evil\nInclination whispers in his ear: \"Berel, now or never! There will be an\nend to all your worry! Don't you see, it's a godsend.\" He, Berel,\nwrestled with him hard. He remembers it all distinctly, and he can hear\nnow the faint little voice of the Good Inclination: \"Berel, to become a\nthief in one's latter years! You who so carefully avoided even the\nsmallest deceit! Fie, for shame! If God will, he can help you by honest\nmeans too.\" But the voice of the Good Inclination was so feeble, so\nhusky, and the Evil Inclination suggested in his other ear: \"Do you know\nwhat? _Borrow_ one hundred rubles! Who talks of stealing? You will earn\nsome money before long, and then you can pay him back--it's a charitable\nloan on his part, only that he doesn't happen to know of it. Isn't it\nplain to be seen that it's a godsend? If you don't call this Providence,\nwhat is? Are you going to take more than you really need? You know your\nMechutton? Have you taken a good look at that old maid of yours? You\nrecollect the bridegroom? Well, the Mechutton will be kind and mild as\nmilk. The bridegroom will be a 'silken son-in-law,' the ugly old maid, a\nyoung wife--fool! God and men will envy you....\" And he, Berel, lost his\nhead, his thoughts flew hither and thither, like frightened birds,\nand--he no longer knew which of the two voices was that of the Good\nInclination, and--\n\nNo one saw him leave Moisheh Chalfon's house.\n\nAnd still his hand remains suspended in mid-air, still it does not fall\nagainst his breast, and there is a cold perspiration on his brow.\n\nBerel started, as though out of his sleep. He had noticed that people\nwere beginning to eye him as he stood with his hand held at a distance\nfrom his person. He hastily rattled through \"For the sin, ...\" concluded\nthe Eighteen Benedictions, and went home.\n\nAt home, he didn't dawdle, he only washed his hands, recited \"Who\nbringest forth bread,\" and that was all. The food stuck in his throat,\nhe said grace, returned to Shool, put on the Tallis, and started to\nintone tunefully the Prayer of Expiation.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe lighted wax-candles, the last rays of the sun stealing in through\nthe windows of the house-of-study, the congregation entirely robed in\nwhite and enfolded in the prayer-scarfs, the intense seriousness\ndepicted on all faces, the hum of voices, and the bitter weeping that\npenetrated from the women's gallery, all this suited Berel's mood, his\ncontrite heart. Berel had recited the Prayer of Expiation with deep\nfeeling; tears poured from his eyes, his own broken voice went right\nthrough his heart, every word found an echo there, and he felt it in\nevery limb. Berel stood before God like a little child before its\nparents: he wept and told all that was in his heavily-laden heart, the\nfull tale of his cares and troubles. Berel was pleased with himself, he\nfelt that he was not saying the words anyhow, just rolling them off his\ntongue, but he was really performing an act of penitence with his whole\nheart. He felt remorse for his sins, and God is a God of compassion and\nmercy, who will certainly pardon him.\n\n\"Therefore is my heart sad,\" began Berel, \"that the sin which a man\ncommits against his neighbor cannot be atoned for even on the Day of\nAtonement, unless he asks his neighbor's forgiveness ... therefore is my\nheart broken and my limbs tremble, because even the day of my death\ncannot atone for this sin.\"\n\nBerel began to recite this in pleasing, artistic fashion, weeping and\nwhimpering like a spoiled child, and drawling out the words, when it\ngrew dark before his eyes. Berel had suddenly become aware that he was\nin the position of one about to go in through an open door. He advances,\nhe must enter, it is a question of life and death. And without any\nwarning, just as he is stepping across the threshold, the door is shut\nfrom within with a terrible bang, and he remains standing outside.\n\nAnd he has read this in the Prayer of Expiation? With fear and\nfluttering he reads it over again, looking narrowly at every word--a\ncold sweat covers him--the words prick him like pins. Are these two\nverses his pitiless judges, are they the expression of his sentence? Is\nhe already condemned? \"Ay, ay, you are guilty,\" flicker the two verses\non the page before him, and prayer and tears are no longer of any avail.\nHis heart cried to God: \"Have pity, merciful Father! A grown-up\ngirl--what am I to do with her? And his father wanted to break off the\nengagement. As soon as I have earned the money, I will give it back....\"\nBut he knew all the time that these were useless subterfuges; the Lord\nof the Universe can only pardon the sin committed against Himself, the\nsin committed against man cannot be atoned for even on the Day of\nAtonement!\n\nBerel took another look at the Prayer of Expiation. The words, \"unless\nhe asks his neighbor's forgiveness,\" danced before his eyes. A ray of\nhope crept into his despairing heart. One way is left open to him: he\ncan confess to Moisheh Chalfon! But the hope was quickly extinguished.\nIs that a small matter? What of my honor, my good name? And what of the\nmatch? \"Mercy, O Father,\" he cried, \"have mercy!\"\n\nBerel proceeded no further with the Prayer of Expiation. He stood lost\nin his melancholy thoughts, his whole life passed before his eyes. He,\nBerel, had never licked honey, trouble had been his in plenty, he had\nknown cares and worries, but God had never abandoned him. It had\nfrequently happened to him in the course of his life to think he was\nlost, to give up all his hope. But each time God had extricated him\nunexpectedly from his difficulty, and not only that, but lawfully,\nhonestly, Jewishly. And now--he had suddenly lost his trust in the\nProvidence of His dear Name! \"Donkey!\" thus Berel abused himself, \"went\nto look for trouble, did you? Now you've got it! Sold yourself body and\nsoul for one hundred rubles! Thief! thief! thief!\" It did Berel good to\nabuse himself like this, it gave him a sort of pleasure to aggravate his\nwounds.\n\nBerel, sunk in his sad reflections, has forgotten where he is in the\nworld. The congregation has finished the Prayer of Expiation, and is\nready for Kol Nidre. The cantor is at his post at the reading-desk on\nthe platform, two of the principal, well-to-do Jews, with Torahs in\ntheir hands, on each side of him. One of them is Moisheh Chalfon. There\nis a deep silence in the building. The very last rays of the sun are\nslanting in through the window, and mingling with the flames of the\nwax-candles....\n\n\"With the consent of the All-Present and with the consent of this\ncongregation, we give leave to pray with them that have transgressed,\"\nstartled Berel's ears. It was Moisheh Chalfon's voice. The voice was\nlow, sweet, and sad. Berel gave a side glance at where Moisheh Chalfon\nwas standing, and it seemed to him that Moisheh Chalfon was doing the\nsame to him, only Moisheh Chalfon was looking not into his eyes, but\ndeep into his heart, and there reading the word Thief! And Moisheh\nChalfon is permitting the people to pray together with him, Berel the\nthief!\n\n\"Mercy, mercy, compassionate God!\" cried Berel's heart in its despair.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThey had concluded Maariv, recited the first four chapters of the Psalms\nand the Song of Unity, and the people went home, to lay in new strength\nfor the morrow.\n\nThere remained only a few, who spent the greater part of the night\nrepeating Psalms, intoning the Mishnah, and so on; they snatched an\noccasional doze on the bare floor overlaid with a whisp of hay, an old\ncloak under their head. Berel also stayed the night in the\nhouse-of-study. He sat down in a corner, in robe and Tallis, and began\nreciting Psalms with a pleasing pathos, and he went on until overtaken\nby sleep. At first he resisted, he took a nice pinch of snuff, rubbed\nhis eyes, collected his thoughts, but it was no good. The covers of the\nbook of Psalms seemed to have been greased, for they continually slipped\nfrom his grasp, the printed lines had grown crooked and twisted, his\nhead felt dreadfully heavy, and his eyelids clung together; his nose was\nforever drooping towards the book of Psalms. He made every effort to\nkeep awake, started up every time as though he had burnt himself, but\nsleep was the stronger of the two. Gradually he slid from the bench onto\nthe floor; the Psalter slipped finally from between his fingers, his\nhead dropped onto the hay, and he fell sweetly asleep....\n\nAnd Berel had a dream:\n\nYom Kippur, and yet there is a fair in the town, the kind of fair one\ncalls an \"earthquake,\" a fair such as Berel does not remember having\nseen these many years, so crowded is it with men and merchandise. There\nis something of everything--cattle, horses, sheep, corn, and fruit. All\nthe Tamschevate Jews are strolling round with their wives and children,\nthere is buying and selling, the air is full of noise and shouting, the\nwhole fair is boiling and hissing and humming like a kettle. One runs\nthis way and one that way, this one is driving a cow, that one leading\nhome a horse by the rein, the other buying a whole cart-load of corn.\nBerel is all astonishment and curiosity: how is it possible for Jews to\nbusy themselves with commerce on Yom Kippur? on such a holy day? As far\nback as he can remember, Jews used to spend the whole day in Shool, in\nlinen socks, white robe, and prayer-scarf. They prayed and wept. And now\nwhat has come over them, that they should be trading on Yom Kippur, as\nif it were a common week-day, in shoes and boots (this last struck him\nmore than anything)? Perhaps it is all a dream? thought Berel in his\nsleep. But no, it is no dream! \"Here I am strolling round the fair, wide\nawake. And the screaming and the row in my ears, is that a dream, too?\nAnd my having this very minute been bumped on the shoulder by a Gentile\ngoing past me with a horse--is that a dream? But if the whole world is\ntaking part in the fair, it's evidently the proper thing to do....\"\nMeanwhile he was watching a peasant with a horse, and he liked the look\nof the horse so much that he bought it and mounted it. And he looked at\nit from where he sat astride, and saw the horse was a horse, but at the\nselfsame time it was Moisheh Chalfon as well. Berel wondered: how is it\npossible for it to be at once a horse and a man? But his own eyes told\nhim it was so. He wanted to dismount, but the horse bears him to a shop.\nHere he climbed down and asked for a pound of sugar. Berel kept his eyes\non the scales, and--a fresh surprise! Where they should have been\nweighing sugar, they were weighing his good and bad deeds. And the two\nscales were nearly equally laden, and oscillated up and down in the\nair....\n\nSuddenly they threw a sheet of paper into the scale that held his bad\ndeeds. Berel looked to see--it was the hundred-ruble-note which he had\nappropriated at Moisheh Chalfon's! But it was now much larger, bordered\nwith black, and the letters and numbers were red as fire. The piece of\npaper was frightfully heavy, it was all two men could do to carry it to\nthe weighing-machine, and when they had thrown it with all their might\nonto the scale, something snapped, and the scale went down, down, down.\n\nAt that moment a man sleeping at Berel's head stretched out a foot, and\ngave Berel a kick in the head. Berel awoke.\n\nNot far from him sat a grey-haired old Jew, huddled together, enfolded\nin a Tallis and robe, repeating Psalms with a melancholy chant and a\nbroken, quavering voice.\n\nBerel caught the words:\n\n \"Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright:\n For the end of that man is peace.\n But the transgressors shall be destroyed together:\n The latter end of the wicked shall be cut off....\"\n\nBerel looked round in a fright: Where is he? He had quite forgotten that\nhe had remained for the night in the house-of-study. He gazed round with\nsleepy eyes, and they fell on some white heaps wrapped in robes and\nprayer-scarfs, while from their midst came the low, hoarse, tearful\nvoices of two or three men who had not gone to sleep and were repeating\nPsalms. Many of the candles were already sputtering, the wax was melting\ninto the sand, the flames rose and fell, and rose again, flaring\nbrightly.\n\nAnd the pale moon looked in at the windows, and poured her silvery light\nover the fantastic scene.\n\nBerel grew icy cold, and a dreadful shuddering went through his limbs.\n\nHe had not yet remembered that he was spending the night in the\nhouse-of-study.\n\nHe imagined that he was dead, and astray in limbo. The white heaps which\nhe sees are graves, actual graves, and there among the graves sit a few\nsinful souls, and bewail and lament their transgressions. And he, Berel,\ncannot even weep, he is a fallen one, lost forever--he is condemned to\nwander, to roam everlastingly among the graves.\n\nBy degrees, however, he called to mind where he was, and collected his\nwits.\n\nOnly then he remembered his fearful dream.\n\n\"No,\" he decided within himself, \"I have lived till now without the\nhundred rubles, and I will continue to live without them. If the Lord of\nthe Universe wishes to help me, he will do so without them too. My soul\nand my portion of the world-to-come are dearer to me. Only let Moisheh\nChalfon come in to pray, I will tell him the whole truth and avert\nmisfortune.\"\n\nThis decision gave him courage, he washed his hands, and sat down again\nto the Psalms. Every few minutes he glanced at the window, to see if it\nwere not beginning to dawn, and if Reb Moisheh Chalfon were not coming\nalong to Shool.\n\nThe day broke.\n\nWith the first sunbeams Berel's fears and terrors began little by little\nto dissipate and diminish. His resolve to restore the hundred rubles\nweakened considerably.\n\n\"If I don't confess,\" thought Berel, wrestling in spirit with\ntemptation, \"I risk my world-to-come.... If I do confess, what will my\nChantzeh-Leah say to it? He writes, either the wedding takes place, or\nthe contract is dissolved! And what shall I do, when his father gets to\nhear about it? There will be a stain on my character, the marriage\ncontract will be annulled, and I shall be left ... without my good name\nand ... with my ugly old maid....\n\n\"What is to be done? Help! What is to be done?\"\n\nThe people began to gather in the Shool. The reader of the Morning\nService intoned \"He is Lord of the Universe\" to the special Yom Kippur\ntune, a few householders and young men supported him, and Berel heard\nthrough it all only, Help! What is to be done?\n\nAnd suddenly he beheld Moisheh Chalfon.\n\nBerel quickly rose from his place, he wanted to make a rush at Moisheh\nChalfon. But after all he remained where he was, and sat down again.\n\n\"I must first think it over, and discuss it with my Chantzeh-Leah,\" was\nBerel's decision.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBerel stood up to pray with the congregation. He was again wishful to\npray with fervor, to collect his thoughts, and attend to the meaning of\nthe words, but try as he would, he couldn't! Quite other things came\ninto his head: a dream, a fair, a horse, Moisheh Chalfon, Chantzeh-Leah,\noats, barley, _this_ world and the next were all mixed up together in\nhis mind, and the words of the prayers skipped about like black patches\nbefore his eyes. He wanted to say he was sorry, to cry, but he only made\ncurious grimaces, and could not squeeze out so much as a single tear.\n\nBerel was very dissatisfied with himself. He finished the Morning\nPrayer, stood through the Additional Service, and proceeded to devour\nthe long Piyyutim.\n\nThe question, What is to be done? left him no peace, and he was really\nreciting the Piyyutim to try and stupefy himself, to dull his brain.\n\nSo it went on till U-Nesanneh Toikef.\n\nThe congregation began to prepare for U-Nesanneh Toikef, coughed, to\nclear their throats, and pulled the Tallesim over their heads. The\ncantor sat down for a minute to rest, and unbuttoned his shroud. His\nface was pale and perspiring, and his eyes betrayed a great weariness.\nFrom the women's gallery came a sound of weeping and wailing.\n\nBerel had drawn his Tallis over his head, and started reciting with\nearnestness and enthusiasm:\n\n \"We will express the mighty holiness of this Day,\n For it is tremendous and awful!\n On which Thy kingdom is exalted,\n And Thy throne established in grace;\n Whereupon Thou art seated in truth.\n Verily, it is Thou who art judge and arbitrator,\n Who knowest all, and art witness, writer, sigillator,\n recorder and teller;\n And Thou recallest all forgotten things,\n And openest the Book of Remembrance, and the book reads itself,\n And every man's handwriting is there....\"\n\nThese words opened the source of Berel's tears, and he sobbed\nunaffectedly. Every sentence cut him to the heart, like a sharp knife,\nand especially the passage:\n\n\"And Thou recallest all forgotten things, and openest the Book of\nRemembrance, and the book reads itself, and every man's handwriting is\nthere....\" At that very moment the Book of Remembrance was lying open\nbefore the Lord of the Universe, with the handwritings of all men. It\ncontains his own as well, the one which he wrote with his own hand that\nday when he took away the hundred-ruble-note. He pictures how his soul\nflew up to Heaven while he slept, and entered everything in the eternal\nbook, and now the letters stood before the Throne of Glory, and cried,\n\"Berel is a thief, Berel is a robber!\" And he has the impudence to stand\nand pray before God? He, the offender, the transgressor--and the Shool\ndoes not fall upon his head?\n\nThe congregation concluded U-Nesanneh Toikef, and the cantor began: \"And\nthe great trumpet of ram's horn shall be sounded...\" and still Berel\nstood with the Tallis over his head.\n\nSuddenly he heard the words:\n\n \"And the Angels are dismayed,\n Fear and trembling seize hold of them as they proclaim,\n As swiftly as birds, and say:\n This is the Day of Judgment!\"\n\nThe words penetrated into the marrow of Berel's bones, and he shuddered\nfrom head to foot. The words, \"This is the Day of Judgment,\"\nreverberated in his ears like a peal of thunder. He imagined the angels\nwere hastening to him with one speed, with one swoop, to seize and drag\nhim before the Throne of Glory, and the piteous wailing that came from\nthe women's court was for him, for his wretched soul, for his endless\nmisfortune.\n\n\"No! no! no!\" he resolved, \"come what may, let him annul the contract,\nlet them point at me with their fingers as at a thief, if they choose,\nlet my Chantzeh-Leah lose her chance! I will take it all in good part,\nif I may only save my unhappy soul! The minute the Kedushah is over I\nshall go to Moisheh Chalfon, tell him the whole story, and beg him to\nforgive me.\"\n\nThe cantor came to the end of U-Nesanneh Toikef, the congregation\nresumed their seats, Berel also returned to his place, and did not go up\nto Moisheh Chalfon.\n\n\"Help, what shall I do, what shall I do?\" he thought, as he struggled\nwith his conscience. \"Chantzeh-Leah will lay me on the fire ... she will\ncry her life out ... the Mechutton ... the bridegroom....\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Additional Service and the Afternoon Service were over, people were\nmaking ready for the Conclusion Service, Neileh. The shadows were once\nmore lengthening, the sun was once more sinking in the west. The\nShool-Goi began to light candles and lamps, and placed them on the\ntables and the window-ledges. Jews with faces white from exhaustion sat\nin the anteroom resting and refreshing themselves with a pinch of snuff,\nor a drop of hartshorn, and a few words of conversation. Everyone feels\nmore cheerful and in better humor. What had to be done, has been done\nand well done. The Lord of the Universe has received His due. They have\nmortified themselves a whole day, fasted continuously, recited prayers,\nand begged forgiveness!\n\nNow surely the Almighty will do His part, accept the Jewish prayers and\nhave compassion on His people Israel.\n\nOnly Berel sits in a corner by himself. He also is wearied and\nexhausted. He also has fasted, prayed, wept, mortified himself, like the\nrest. But he knows that the whole of his toil and trouble has been\nthrown away. He sits troubled, gloomy, and depressed. He knows that they\nhave now reached Neileh, that he has still time to repent, that the door\nof Heaven will stand open a little while longer, his repentance may yet\npass through ... otherwise, yet a little while, and the gates of mercy\nwill be shut and ... too late!\n\n\"Oh, open the gate to us, even while it is closing,\" sounded in Berel's\nears and heart ... yet a little while, and it will be too late!\n\n\"No, no!\" shrieked Berel to himself, \"I will not lose my soul, my\nworld-to-come! Let Chantzeh-Leah burn me and roast me, I will take it\nall in good part, so that I don't lose my world-to-come!\"\n\nBerel rose from his seat, and went up to Moisheh Chalfon.\n\n\"Reb Moisheh, a word with you,\" he whispered into his ear.\n\n\"Afterwards, when the prayers are done.\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" shrieked Berel, below his breath, \"now, at once!\"\n\nMoisheh Chalfon stood up.\n\nBerel led him out of the house-of-study, and aside.\n\n\"Reb Moisheh, kind soul, have pity on me and forgive me!\" cried Berel,\nand burst into sobs.\n\n\"God be with you, Berel, what has come over you all at once?\" asked Reb\nMoisheh, in astonishment.\n\n\"Listen to me, Reb Moisheh!\" said Berel, still sobbing. \"The hundred\nrubles you lost a few weeks ago are in my house!... God knows the truth,\nI didn't take them out of wickedness. I came into your house, the key\nwas in the drawer ... there was no one in the room.... That day I'd had\na letter from my Mechutton that he'd break off his son's engagement if\nthe wedding didn't take place to time.... My girl is ugly and old ...\nthe bridegroom is a fine young man ... a precious stone.... I opened the\ndrawer in spite of myself ... and saw the bank-notes.... You see how it\nwas?... My Mechutton is a Misnaggid ... a flint-hearted screw.... I took\nout the note ... but it is shortening my years!... God knows what I bore\nand suffered at the time.... To-night I will bring you the note back....\nForgive me!... Let the Mechutton break off the match, if he chooses, let\nthe woman fret away her years, so long as I am rid of the serpent that\nis gnawing at my heart, and gives me no peace! I never before touched a\nruble belonging to anyone else, and become a thief in my latter years I\nwon't!\"\n\nMoisheh Chalfon did not answer him for a little while. He took out his\nsnuff, and had a pinch, then he took out of the bosom of his robe a\ngreat red handkerchief, wiped his nose, and reflected a minute or two.\nThen he said quietly:\n\n\"If a match were broken off through me, I should be sorry. You certainly\nbehaved as you should not have, in taking the money without leave, but\nit is written: Judge not thy neighbor till thou hast stood in his place.\nYou shall keep the hundred rubles. Come to-night and bring me an I. O.\nU., and begin to repay me little by little.\"\n\n\"What are you, an angel?\" exclaimed Berel, weeping.\n\n\"God forbid,\" replied Moisheh Chalfon, quietly, \"I am what you are. You\nare a Jew, and I also am a Jew.\"\n\n\n\n\nISAIAH LERNER\n\nBorn, 1861, in Zwoniec, Podolia, Southwestern Russia; co-editor of\ndie Bibliothek Dos Leben, published at Odessa, 1904, and Kishineff,\n1905.\n\n\n\n\nBERTZI WASSERFUeHRER\n\n\nI\n\nThe first night of Passover. It is already about ten o'clock. Outside it\nis dark, wet, cold as the grave. A fine, close, sleety rain is driving\ndown, a light, sharp, fitful wind blows, whistles, sighs, and whines,\nand wanders round on every side, like a returned and sinful soul seeking\nmeans to qualify for eternal bliss. The mud is very thick, and reaches\nnearly to the waist.\n\nAt one end of the town of Kamenivke, in the Poor People's Street, which\nruns along by the bath-house, it is darkest of all, and muddiest. The\nhouses there are small, low, and overhanging, tumbled together in such a\nway that there is no seeing where the mud begins and the dwelling ends.\nNo gleam of light, even in the windows. Either the inhabitants of the\nstreet are all asleep, resting their tired bones and aching limbs, or\nelse they all lie suffocated in the sea of mud, simply because the mud\nis higher than the windows. Whatever the reason, the street is quiet as\na God's-acre, and the darkness may be felt with the hands.\n\nSuddenly the dead stillness of the street is broken by the heavy tread\nof some ponderous creature, walking and plunging through the Kamenivke\nmud, and there appears the tall, broad figure of a man. He staggers like\none tipsy or sick, but he keeps on in a straight line, at an even pace,\nlike one born and bred and doomed to die in the familiar mud, till he\ndrags his way to a low, crouching house at the very end of the street,\nalmost under the hillside. It grows lighter--a bright flame shines\nthrough the little window-panes. He has not reached the door before it\nopens, and a shaky, tearful voice, full of melancholy, pain, and woe,\nbreaks the hush a second time this night:\n\n\"Bertzi, is it you? Are you all right? So late? Has there been another\naccident? And the cart and the horse, wu senen?\"\n\n\"All right, all right! A happy holiday!\"\n\nHis voice is rough, hoarse, and muffled.\n\nShe lets him into the passage, and opens the inner door.\n\nBut scarcely is he conscious of the light, warmth, and cleanliness of\nthe room, when he gives a strange, wild cry, takes one leap, like a\nhare, onto the \"eating-couch\" spread for him on the red-painted, wooden\nsofa, and--he lies already in a deep sleep.\n\n\nII\n\nThe whole dwelling, consisting of one nice, large, low room, is clean,\ntidy, and bright. The bits of furniture and all the household essentials\nare poor, but so clean and polished that one can mirror oneself in them,\nif one cares to stoop down. The table is laid ready for Passover. The\nbottles of red wine, the bottle of yellow Passover brandy, and the glass\ngoblets of different colors reflect the light of the thick tallow\ncandles, and shine and twinkle and sparkle. The oven, which stands in\nthe same room, is nearly out, there is one sleepy little bit of fire\nstill flickering. But the pots, ranged round the fire as though to watch\nover it and encourage it, exhale such delicious, appetizing smells that\nthey would tempt even a person who had just eaten his fill. But no one\nmakes a move towards them. All five children lie stretched in a row on\nthe red-painted, wooden bed. Even they have not tasted of the precious\ndishes, of which they have thought and talked for weeks previous to the\nfestival. They cried loud and long, waiting for their father's return,\nand at last they went sweetly to sleep. Only one fly is moving about the\nroom: Rochtzi, Bertzi Wasserfuehrer's wife, and rivers of tears, large,\nclear tears, salt with trouble and distress, flow from her eyes.\n\n\nIII\n\nAlthough Rochtzi has not seen more than thirty summers, she looks like\nan old woman. Once upon a time she was pretty, she was even known as one\nof the prettiest of the Kamenivke girls, and traces of her beauty are\nstill to be found in her uncommonly large, dark eyes, and even in her\nlined face, although the eyes have long lost their fire, and her cheeks,\ntheir color and freshness. She is dressed in clean holiday attire, but\nher eyes are red from the hot, salt tears, and her expression is\ndarkened and sad.\n\n\"Such a festival, such a great, holy festival, and then when it\ncomes....\" The pale lips tremble and quiver.\n\nHow many days and nights, beginning before Purim, has she sat with her\nneedle between her fingers, so that the children should have their\nholiday frocks--and all depending on her hands and head! How much\nthought and care and strength has she spent on preparing the room, their\npoor little possessions, and the food? How many were the days, Sabbaths\nexcepted, on which they went without a spoonful of anything hot, so that\nthey might be able to give a becoming reception to that dear, great, and\nholy visitor, the Passover? Everything (the Almighty forbid that she\nshould sin with her tongue!) of the best, ready and waiting, and then,\nafter all....\n\nHe, his sheepskin, his fur cap, and his great boots are soaked with rain\nand steeped in thick mud, and there, in this condition, lies he, Bertzi\nWasserfuehrer, her husband, her Passover \"king,\" like a great black lump,\non the nice, clean, white, draped \"eating-couch,\" and snores.\n\n\nIV\n\nThe brief tale I am telling you happened in the days before Kamenivke\nhad joined itself on, by means of the long, tall, and beautiful bridge,\nto the great high hill that has stood facing it from everlasting,\nthickly wooded, and watered by quantities of clear, crystal streams,\nwhich babble one to another day and night, and whisper with their\nrunning tongues of most important things. So long as the bridge had not\nbeen flung from one of the giant rocks to the other rock, the Kamenivke\npeople had not been able to procure the good, wholesome water of the\nwild hill, and had to content themselves with the thick, impure water of\nthe river Smotritch, which has flowed forever round the eminence on\nwhich Kamenivke is built. But man, and especially the Jew, gets used to\nanything, and the Kamenivke people, who are nearly all Grandfather\nAbraham's grandchildren, had drunk Smotritch water all their lives, and\nwere conscious of no grievance.\n\nBut the lot of the Kamenivke water-carriers was hard and bitter.\nKamenivke stands high, almost in the air, and the river Smotritch runs\ndeep down in the valley.\n\nIn summer, when the ground is dry, it was bearable, for then the\nKamenivke water-carrier was merely bathed in sweat as he toiled up the\nhill, and the Jewish breadwinner has been used to that for ages. But in\nwinter, when the snow was deep and the frost tremendous, when the steep\nSkossny hill with its clay soil was covered with ice like a hill of\nglass! Or when the great rains were pouring down, and the town and\nespecially the clay hill are confounded with the deep, thick mud!\n\nOur Bertzi Wasserfuehrer was more alive to the fascinations of this\nParnosseh than any other water-carrier. He was, as though in his own\ndespite, a pious Jew and a great man of his word, and he had to carry\nwater for almost all the well-to-do householders. True, that in face of\nall his good luck he was one of the poorest Jews in the Poor People's\nStreet, only----\n\n\nV\n\nLord of the World, may there never again be such a winter as there was\nthen!\n\nNot the oldest man there could recall one like it. The snow came down in\ndrifts, and never stopped. One could and might have sworn on a scroll of\nthe Law, that the great Jewish God was angry with the Kamenivke Jews,\nand had commanded His angels to shovel down on Kamenivke all the snow\nthat had lain by in all the seven heavens since the sixth day of\ncreation, so that the sinful town might be a ruin and a desolation.\n\nAnd the terrible, fiery frosts!\n\nFrozen people were brought into the town nearly every day.\n\nOi, Jews, how Bertzi Wasserfuehrer struggled, what a time he had of it!\nEnemies of Zion, it was nearly the death of him!\n\nAnd suddenly the snow began to stop falling, all at once, and then\nthings were worse than ever--there was a sea of water, an ocean of mud.\n\nAnd Passover coming on with great strides!\n\nFor three days before Passover he had not come home to sleep. Who talks\nof eating, drinking, and sleeping? He and his man toiled day and night,\nlike six horses, like ten oxen.\n\nThe last day before Passover was the worst of all. His horse suddenly\ncame to the conclusion that sooner than live such a life, it would die.\nSo it died and vanished somewhere in the depths of the Kamenivke clay.\n\nAnd Bertzi the water-carrier and his man had to drag the cart with the\ngreat water-barrel themselves, the whole day till long after dark.\n\n\nVI\n\nIt is already eleven, twelve, half past twelve at night, and Bertzi's\nchest, throat, and nostrils continue to pipe and to whistle, to sob and\nto sigh.\n\nThe room is colder and darker, the small fire in the oven went out long\nago, and only little stumps of candles remain.\n\nRochtzi walks and runs about the room, she weeps and wrings her hands.\n\nBut now she runs up to the couch by the table, and begins to rouse her\nhusband with screams and cries fit to make one's blood run cold and the\nhair stand up on one's head:\n\n\"No, no, you're not going to sleep any longer, I tell you! Bertzi, do\nyou hear me? Get up, Bertzi, aren't you a Jew?--a man?--the father of\nchildren?--Bertzi, have you God in your heart? Bertzi, have you said\nyour prayers? My husband, what about the Seder? I won't have it!--I feel\nvery ill--I am going to faint!--Help!--Water!\"\n\n\"Have I forgotten somebody's water?--Whose?--Where?...\"\n\nBut Rochtzi is no longer in need of water: she beholds her \"king\" on his\nfeet, and has revived without it. With her two hands, with all the\nstrength she has, she holds him from falling back onto the couch.\n\n\"Don't you see, Bertzi? The candles are burning down, the supper is cold\nand will spoil. I fancy it's already beginning to dawn. The children,\nlong life to them, went to sleep without any food. Come, please, begin\nto prepare for the Seder, and I will wake the two elder ones.\"\n\nBertzi stands bent double and treble. His breathing is labored and loud,\nhis face is smeared with mud and swollen from the cold, his beard and\nearlocks are rough and bristly, his eyes sleepy and red. He looks\nstrangely wild and unkempt. Bertzi looks at Rochtzi, at the table, he\nlooks round the room, and sees nothing. But now he looks at the bed: his\nlittle children, washed, and in their holiday dresses, are all lying in\na row across the bed, and--he remembers everything, and understands\nwhat Rochtzi is saying, and what it is she wants him to do.\n\n\"Give me some water--I said Minchah and Maariv by the way, while I was\nat work.\"\n\n\"I'm bringing it already! May God grant you a like happiness! Good\nhealth to you! Hershele, get up, my Kaddish, father has come home\nalready! Shmuelkil, my little son, go and ask father the Four\nQuestions.\"\n\nBertzi fills a goblet with wine, takes it up in his left hand, places it\nupon his right hand, and begins:\n\n\"Savri Moronon, ve-Rabbonon, ve-Rabbosai--with the permission of the\ncompany.\"--His head goes round.--\"Lord of the World!--I am a\nJew.--Blessed art Thou. Lord our God, King of the Universe--\" It grows\ndark before his eyes: \"The first night of Passover--I ought to make\nKiddush--Thou who dost create the fruit of the vine\"--his feet fail him,\nas though they had been cut off--\"and I ought to give the Seder--This is\nthe bread of the poor.... Lord of the World, you know how it is: I can't\ndo it!--Have mercy!--Forgive me!\"\n\n\nVII\n\nA nasty smell of sputtered-out candles fills the room. Rochtzi weeps.\nBertzi is back on the couch and snores.\n\nDifferent sounds, like the voices of winds, cattle, and wild beasts, and\nthe whirr of a mill, are heard in his snoring. And her weeping--it seems\nas if the whole room were sighing and quivering and shaking....\n\n\n\n\nEZRIELK THE SCRIBE\n\n\nForty days before Ezrielk descended upon this sinful world, his\nlife-partner was proclaimed in Heaven, and the Heavenly Council decided\nthat he was to transcribe the books of the Law, prayers, and Mezuzehs\nfor the Kabtzonivke Jews, and thereby make a living for his wife and\nchildren. But the hard word went forth to him that he should not\ndisclose this secret decree to anyone, and should even forget it himself\nfor a goodly number of years. A glance at Ezrielk told one that he had\nbeen well lectured with regard to some important matter, and was to tell\nno tales out of school. Even Minde, the Kabtzonivke Bobbe, testified to\nthis:\n\n\"Never in all my life, all the time I've been bringing Jewish children\ninto God's world, have I known a child scream so loud at birth as\nEzrielk--a sign that he'd had it well rubbed into him!\"\n\nEither the angel who has been sent to fillip little children above the\nlips when they are being born, was just then very sleepy (Ezrielk was\nborn late at night), or some one had put him out of temper, but one way\nor another little Ezrielk, the very first minute of his Jewish\nexistence, caught such a blow that his top lip was all but split in two.\n\nAfter this kindly welcome, when God's angel himself had thus received\nEzrielk, slaps, blows, and stripes rained down upon his head, body, and\nlife, all through his days, without pause or ending.\n\nEzrielk began to attend Cheder when he was exactly three years old. His\nfirst teacher treated him very badly, beat him continually, and took all\nthe joy of his childhood from him. By the time this childhood of his had\npassed, and he came to be married (he began to wear the phylacteries and\nthe prayer-scarf on the day of his marriage), he was a very poor\nspecimen, small, thin, stooping, and yellow as an egg-pudding, his\nlittle face dark, dreary, and weazened, like a dried Lender herring. The\nonly large, full things about him were his earlocks, which covered his\nwhole face, and his two blue eyes. He had about as much strength as a\nfly, he could not even break the wine-glass under the marriage canopy by\nhimself, and had to ask for help of Reb Yainkef Butz, the beadle of the\nOld Shool.\n\nAmong the German Jews a boy like that would have been left unwed till he\nwas sixteen or even seventeen, but our Ezrielk was married at thirteen,\nfor his bride had been waiting for him seventeen years.\n\nIt was this way: Reb Seinwill Bassis, Ezrielk's father, and Reb Selig\nTachshit, his father-in-law, were Hostre Chassidim, and used to drive\nevery year to spend the Solemn Days at the Hostre Rebbe's. They both\n(not of you be it spoken!) lost all their children in infancy, and, as\nyou can imagine, they pressed the Rebbe very closely on this important\npoint, left him no peace, till he should bestir himself on their behalf,\nand exercise all his influence in the Higher Spheres. Once, on the Eve\nof Yom Kippur, before daylight, after the waving of the scape-fowls,\nwhen the Rebbe, long life to him, was in somewhat high spirits, our two\nChassidim made another set upon him, but this time they had quite a new\nplan, and it simply _had_ to work out!\n\n\"Do you know what? Arrange a marriage between your children! Good luck\nto you!\" The whole company of Chassidim broke some plates, and actually\ndrew up the marriage contract. It was a little difficult to draw up the\ncontract, because they did not know which of our two friends would have\nthe boy (the Rebbe, long life to him, was silent on this head), and\nwhich, the girl, but--a learned Jew is never at a loss, and they wrote\nout the contract with conditions.\n\nFor three years running after this their wives bore them each a child,\nbut the children were either both boys or both girls, so that their vow\nto unite the son of one to a daughter of the other born in the same year\ncould not be fulfilled, and the documents lay on the shelf.\n\nTrue, the little couples departed for the \"real world\" within the first\nmonth, but the Rebbe consoled the father by saying:\n\n\"We may be sure they were not true Jewish children, that is, not true\nJewish souls. The true Jewish soul once born into the world holds on,\nuntil, by means of various troubles and trials, it is cleansed from\nevery stain. Don't worry, but wait.\"\n\nThe fourth year the Rebbe's words were established: Reb Selig Tachshit\nhad a daughter born to him, and Reb Seinwill Bassis, Ezrielk.\n\nChannehle, Ezrielk's bride, was tall, when they married, as a young\nfir-tree, beautiful as the sun, clever as the day is bright, and white\nas snow, with sky-blue, star-like eyes. Her hair was the color of ripe\ncorn--in a word, she was fair as Abigail and our Mother Rachel in one,\nwinning as Queen Esther, pious as Leah, and upright as our Grandmother\nSarah.\n\nBut although the bride was beautiful, she found no fault with her\nbridegroom; on the contrary, she esteemed it a great honor to have him\nfor a husband. All the Kabtzonivke girls envied her, and every\nKabtzonivke woman who was \"expecting\" desired with all her heart that\nshe might have such a son as Ezrielk. The reason is quite plain: First,\nwhat true Jewish maiden looks for beauty in her bridegroom? Secondly,\nour Ezrielk was as full of excellencies as a pomegranate is of seeds.\n\nHis teachers had not broken his bones for nothing. The blows had been of\ngreat and lasting good to him. Even before his wedding, Seinwill\nBassis's Ezrielk was deeply versed in the Law, and could solve the\nhardest \"questions,\" so that you might have made a Rabbi of him. He was,\nmoreover, a great scribe. His \"in-honor-ofs,\" and his \"blessed bes\" were\nknown, not only in Kabtzonivke, but all over Kamenivke, and as for his\nsinging--!\n\nWhen Ezrielk began to sing, poor people forgot their hunger, thirst, and\nneed, the sick, their aches and pains, the Kabtzonivke Jews in general,\ntheir bitter exile.\n\nHe mostly sang unfamiliar tunes and whole \"things.\"\n\n\"Where do you get them, Ezrielk?\"\n\nThe little Ezrielk would open his eyes (he kept them shut while he\nsang), his two big blue eyes, and answer wonderingly:\n\n\"Don't you hear how everything sings?\"\n\nAfter a little while, when Ezrielk had been singing so well and so\nsweetly and so wonderfully that the Kabtzonivke Jews began to feel too\nhappy, people fell athinking, and they grew extremely uneasy and\ndisturbed in their minds:\n\n\"It's not all so simple as it looks, there is something behind it.\nSuppose a not-good one had introduced himself into the child (which God\nforbid!)? It would do no harm to take him to the Aleskev Rebbe, long\nlife to him.\"\n\nAs good luck would have it, the Hostre Rebbe came along just then to\nKabtzonivke, and, after all, Ezrielk belonged to _him_, he was born\nthrough the merit of the Rebbe's miracle-working! So the Chassidim told\nhim the story. The Rebbe, long life to him, sent for him. Ezrielk came\nand began to sing. The Rebbe listened a long, long time to his sweet\nvoice, which rang out like a hundred thousand crystal and gold bells\ninto every corner of the room.\n\n\"Do not be alarmed, he may and he must sing. He gets his tunes there\nwhere he got his soul.\"\n\nAnd Ezrielk sang cheerful tunes till he was ten years old, that is, till\nhe fell into the hands of the teacher Reb Yainkel Vittiss.\n\nNow, the end and object of Reb Yainkel's teaching was not merely that\nhis pupils should know a lot and know it well. Of course, we know that\nthe Jew only enters this sinful world in order that he may more or less\nperfect himself, and that it is therefore needful he should, and,\nindeed, he _must_, sit day and night over the Torah and the\nCommentaries. Yainkel Vittiss's course of instruction began and ended\nwith trying to imbue his pupils with a downright, genuine,\nJewish-Chassidic enthusiasm.\n\nThe first day Ezrielk entered his Cheder, Reb Yainkel lifted his long,\nthick lashes, and began, while he gazed fixedly at him, to shake his\nhead, saying to himself: \"No, no, he won't do like that. There is\nnothing wrong with the vessel, a goodly vessel, only the wine is still\nvery sharp, and the ferment is too strong. He is too cocky, too lively\nfor me. A wonder, too, for he's been in good hands (tell me, weren't you\nunder both Moisheh-Yusis?), and it's a pity, when you come to think,\nthat such a goodly vessel should be wasted. Yes, he wants treating in\nquite another way.\"\n\nAnd Yainkel Vittiss set himself seriously to the task of shaping and\nworking up Ezrielk.\n\nReb Yainkel was not in the least concerned when he beat a pupil and the\nlatter cried and screamed at the top of his voice. He knew what he was\nabout, and was convinced that, when one beats and it hurts, even a\nJewish child (which must needs get used to blows) may cry and scream,\nand the more the better; it showed that his method of instruction was\ntaking effect. And when he was thrashing Ezrielk, and the boy cried and\nyelled, Reb Yainkel would tell him: \"That's right, that's the way! Cry,\nscream--louder still! That's the way to get a truly contrite Jewish\nheart! You sing too merrily for me--a true Jew should weep even while he\nsings.\"\n\nWhen Ezrielk came to be twelve years old, his teacher declared that he\nmight begin to recite the prayers in Shool before the congregation, as\nhe now had within him that which beseems a good Chassidic Jew.\n\nSo Ezrielk began to davven in the Kabtzonivke Old Shool, and a crowd of\npeople, not only from Kabtzonivke, but even from Kamenivke and\nEbionivke, used to fill and encircle the Shool to hear him.\n\nReb Yainkel was not mistaken, he knew what he was saying. Ezrielk was\nindeed fit to davven: life and the joy of life had vanished from his\nsinging, and the terrorful weeping, the fearful wailing of a nation's\ntwo thousand years of misfortune, might be heard and felt in his voice.\n\nEzrielk was very weakly, and too young to lead the service often, but\nwhat a stir he caused when he lifted up his voice in the Shool!\n\nKabtzonivke, Kamenivke, and Ebionivke will never forget the first\nU-mipne Chatoenu led by the twelve-year-old Ezrielk, standing before the\nprecentor's desk in a long, wide prayer-scarf.\n\nThe men, women, and children who were listening inside and outside the\nOld Shool felt a shudder go through them, their hair stood on end, and\ntheir hearts wept and fluttered in their breasts.\n\nEzrielk's voice wept and implored, \"on account of our sins.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt the time when Ezrielk was distinguishing himself on this fashion with\nhis chanting, the Jewish doctor from Kamenivke happened to be in the\nplace. He saw the crowd round the Old Shool, and he went in. As you may\nsuppose, he was much longer in coming out. He was simply riveted to the\nspot, and it is said that he rubbed his eyes more than once while he\nlistened and looked. On coming away, he told them to bring Ezrielk to\nsee him on the following day, saying that he wished to see him, and\nwould take no fee.\n\nNext day Ezrielk came with his mother to the doctor's house.\n\n\"A blow has struck me! A thunder has killed me! Reb Yainkel, do you know\nwhat the doctor said?\"\n\n\"You silly woman, don't scream so! He cannot have said anything bad\nabout Ezrielk. What is the matter? Did he hear him intone the Gemoreh,\nor perhaps sing? Don't cry and lament like that!\"\n\n\"Reb Yainkel, what are you talking about? The doctor said that my\nEzrielk is in danger, that he's ill, that he hasn't a sound organ--his\nheart, his lungs, are all sick. Every little bone in him is broken. He\nmustn't sing or study--the bath will be his death--he must have a long\ncure--he must be sent away for air. God (he said to me) has given you a\nprecious gift, such as Heaven and earth might envy. Will you go and bury\nit with your own hands?\"\n\n\"And you were frightened and believed him? Nonsense! I've had Ezrielk in\nmy Cheder two years. Do I want _him_ to come and tell me what goes on\nthere? If _he_ were a really good doctor, and had one drop of Jewish\nblood left in his veins, wouldn't he know that every true Jew has a sick\nheart, a bad lung, broken bones, and deformed limbs, and is well and\nstrong in spite of it, because the holy Torah is the best medicine for\nall sicknesses? Ha, ha, ha! And _he_ wants Ezrielk to give up learning\nand the bath? Do you know what? Go home and send Ezrielk to Cheder at\nonce!\"\n\nThe Kamenivke doctor made one or two more attempts at alarming Ezrielk's\nparents; he sent his assistant to them more than once, but it was no\nuse, for after what Reb Yainkel had said, nobody would hear of any\ndoctoring.\n\nSo Ezrielk continued to study the Talmud and occasionally to lead the\nservice in Shool, like the Chassidic child he was, had a dip nearly\nevery morning in the bath-house, and at thirteen, good luck to him, he\nwas married.\n\nThe Hostre Rebbe himself honored the wedding with his presence. The\nRebbe, long life to him, was fond of Ezrielk, almost as though he had\nbeen his own child. The whole time the saint stayed in Kabtzonivke,\nKamenivke, and Ebionivke, Ezrielk had to be near him.\n\nWhen they told the Rebbe the story of the doctor, he remarked, \"Ett!\nwhat do _they_ know?\"\n\nAnd Ezrielk continued to recite the prayers after his marriage, and to\nsing as before, and was the delight of all who heard him.\n\nAgreeably to the marriage contract, Ezrielk and his Channehle had a\ndouble right to board with their parents \"forever\"; when they were born\nand the written engagements were filled in, each was an only child, and\nboth Reb Seinwill and Reb Selig undertook to board them \"forever.\" True,\nwhen the parents wedded their \"one and only children,\" they had both of\nthem a houseful of little ones and no Parnosseh (they really hadn't!),\nbut they did not go back upon their word with regard to the \"board\nforever.\"\n\nOf course, it is understood that the two \"everlasting boards\" lasted\nnearly one whole year, and Ezrielk and his wife might well give thanks\nfor not having died of hunger in the course of it, such a bad, bitter\nyear as it was for their poor parents. It was the year of the great\nflood, when both Reb Seinwill Bassis and Reb Selig Tachshit had their\nhouses ruined.\n\nEzrielk, Channehle, and their little son had to go and shift for\nthemselves. But the other inhabitants of Kabtzonivke, regardless of\nthis, now began to envy them in earnest: what other couple of their age,\nwith a child and without a farthing, could so easily make a livelihood\nas they?\n\nHardly had it come to the ears of the three towns that Ezrielk was\nseeking a Parnosseh when they were all astir. All the Shools called\nmeetings, and sought for means and money whereby they might entice the\nwonderful cantor and secure him for themselves. There was great\nexcitement in the Shools. Fancy finding in a little, thin Jewish lad all\nthe rare and precious qualities that go to make a great cantor! The\ntrustees of all the Shools ran about day and night, and a fierce war\nbroke out among them.\n\nThe war raged five times twenty-four hours, till the Great Shool in\nKamenivke carried the day. Not one of the others could have dreamed of\noffering him such a salary--three hundred rubles and everything found!\n\n\"God is my witness\"--thus Ezrielk opened his heart, as he sat afterwards\nwith the company of Hostre Chassidim over a little glass of\nbrandy--\"that I find it very hard to leave our Old Shool, where my\ngrandfather and great-grandfather used to pray. Believe me, brothers, I\nwould not do it, only they give me one hundred and fifty rubles\nearnest-money, and I want to pass it on to my father and father-in-law,\nso that they may rebuild their houses. To your health, brothers! Drink\nto my remaining an honest Jew, and wish that my head may not be turned\nby the honor done to me!\"\n\nAnd Ezrielk began to davven and to sing (again without a choir) in the\nGreat Shool, in the large town of Kamenivke. There he intoned the\nprayers as he had never done before, and showed who Ezrielk was! The Old\nShool in Kabtzonivke had been like a little box for his voice.\n\nIn those days Ezrielk and his household lived in happiness and plenty,\nand he and Channehle enjoyed the respect and consideration of all men.\nWhen Ezrielk led the service, the Shool was filled to overflowing, and\nnot only with Jews, even the richest Gentiles (I beg to distinguish!)\ncame to hear him, and wondered how such a small and weakly creature as\nEzrielk, with his thin chest and throat, could bring out such wonderful\ntunes and whole compositions of his own! Money fell upon the lucky\ncouple, through circumcisions, weddings, and so on, like snow. Only one\nthing began, little by little, to disturb their happiness: Ezrielk took\nto coughing, and then to spitting blood.\n\nHe used to complain that he often felt a kind of pain in his throat and\nchest, but they did not consult a doctor.\n\n\"What, a doctor?\" fumed Reb Yainkel. \"Nonsense! It hurts, does it?\nWhere's the wonder? A carpenter, a smith, a tailor, a shoemaker works\nwith his hands, and his hands hurt. Cantors and teachers and\nmatch-makers work with their throat and chest, and _these_ hurt, they\nare bound to do so. It is simply hemorrhoids.\"\n\nSo Ezrielk went on intoning and chanting, and the Kamenivke Jews licked\ntheir fingers, and nearly jumped out of their skin for joy when they\nheard him.\n\nTwo years passed in this way, and then came a change.\n\nIt was early in the morning of the Fast of the Destruction of the\nTemple, all the windows of the Great Shool were open, and all the\ntables, benches, and desks had been carried out from the men's hall and\nthe women's hall the evening before. Men and women sat on the floor, so\nclosely packed a pin could not have fallen to the floor between them.\nThe whole street in which was the Great Shool was chuck full with a\nterrible crowd of men, women, and children, although it just happened to\nbe cold, wet weather. The fact is, Ezrielk's Lamentations had long been\nfamous throughout the Jewish world in those parts, and whoever had ears,\na Jewish heart, and sound feet, came that day to hear him. The sad\nepidemic disease that (not of our days be it spoken!) swallows men up,\nwas devastating Kamenivke and its surroundings that year, and everyone\nsought a place and hour wherein to weep out his opprest and bitter\nheart.\n\nEzrielk also sat on the floor reciting Lamentations, but the man who sat\nthere was not the same Ezrielk, and the voice heard was not his.\nEzrielk, with his sugar-sweet, honeyed voice, had suddenly been\ntransformed into a strange being, with a voice that struck terror into\nhis hearers; the whole people saw, heard, and felt, how a strange\ncreature was flying about among them with a fiery sword in his hand. He\nslashes, hews, and hacks at their hearts, and with a terrible voice he\ncries out and asks: \"Sinners! Where is your holy land that flowed with\nmilk and honey? Slaves! Where is your Temple? Accursed slaves! You sold\nyour freedom for money and calumny, for honors and worldly greatness!\"\n\nThe people trembled and shook and were all but entirely dissolved in\ntears. \"Upon Zion and her cities!\" sang out once more Ezrielk's\nmelancholy voice, and suddenly something snapped in his throat, just as\nwhen the strings of a good fiddle snap when the music is at its best.\nEzrielk coughed, and was silent. A stream of blood poured from his\nthroat, and he grew white as the wall.\n\nThe doctor declared that Ezrielk had lost his voice forever, and would\nremain hoarse for the rest of his life.\n\n\"Nonsense!\" persisted Reb Yainkel. \"His voice is breaking--it's nothing\nmore!\"\n\n\"God will help!\" was the comment of the Hostre saint. A whole year went\nby, and Ezrielk's voice neither broke nor returned to him. The Hostre\nChassidim assembled in the house of Elkoneh the butcher to consider and\ntake counsel as to what Ezrielk should take to in order to earn a\nlivelihood for wife and children. They thought it over a long, long\ntime, talked and gave their several opinions, till they hit upon this:\nEzrielk had still one hundred and fifty rubles in store--let him spend\none hundred rubles on a house in Kabtzonivke, and begin to traffic with\nthe remainder.\n\nThus Ezrielk became a trader. He began driving to fairs, and traded in\nanything and everything capable of being bought or sold.\n\nSix months were not over before Ezrielk was out of pocket. He mortgaged\nhis property, and with the money thus obtained he opened a grocery shop\nfor Channehle. He himself (nothing satisfies a Jew!) started to drive\nabout in the neighborhood, to collect the contributions subscribed for\nthe maintenance of the Hostre Rebbe, long life to him!\n\nEzrielk was five months on the road, and when, torn, worn, and\npenniless, he returned home, he found Channehle brought to bed of her\nfourth child, and the shop bare of ware and equally without a groschen.\nBut Ezrielk was now something of a trader, and is there any strait in\nwhich a Jewish trader has not found himself? Ezrielk had soon disposed\nof the whole of his property, paid his debts, rented a larger lodging,\nand started trading in several new and more ambitious lines: he pickled\ngherkins, cabbages, and pumpkins, made beet soup, both red and white,\nand offered them for sale, and so on. It was Channehle again who had to\ncarry on most of the business, but, then, Ezrielk did not sit with his\nhands in his pockets. Toward Passover he had Shmooreh Matzes; he baked\nand sold them to the richest householders in Kamenivke, and before the\nSolemn Days he, as an expert, tried and recommended cantors and\nprayer-leaders for the Kamenivke Shools. When it came to Tabernacles,\nhe trafficked in citrons and \"palms.\"\n\nFor three years Ezrielk and his Channehle struggled at their trades,\nworking themselves nearly to death (of Zion's enemies be it spoken!),\ntill, with the help of Heaven, they came to be twenty years old.\n\nBy this time Ezrielk and Channehle were the parents of four living and\ntwo dead children. Channehle, the once so lovely Channehle, looked like\na beaten Hoshanah, and Ezrielk--you remember the picture drawn at the\ntime of his wedding?--well, then try to imagine what he was like now,\nafter those seven years we have described for you! It's true that he was\nnot spitting blood any more, either because Reb Yainkel had been right,\nwhen he said that would pass away, or because there was not a drop of\nblood in the whole of his body.\n\nSo that was all right--only, how were they to live? Even Reb Yainkel and\nall the Hostre Chassidim together could not tell him!\n\nThe singing had raised him and lifted him off his feet, and let him\nfall. And do you know why it was and how it was that everything Ezrielk\ntook to turned out badly? It was because the singing was always there,\nin his head and his heart. He prayed and studied, singing. He bought and\nsold, singing. He sang day and night. No one heard him, because he was\nhoarse, but he sang without ceasing. Was it likely he would be a\nsuccessful trader, when he was always listening to what Heaven and earth\nand everything around him were singing, too? He only wished he could\nhave been a slaughterer or a Rav (he was apt enough at study), only,\nfirst, Rabbonim and slaughterers don't die every day, and, second, they\nusually leave heirs to take their places; third, even supposing there\nwere no such heirs, one has to pay \"privilege-money,\" and where is it to\ncome from? No, there was nothing to be done. Only God could and must\nhave pity on him and his wife and children, and help them somehow.\n\nEzrielk struggled and fought his need hard enough those days. One good\nthing for him was this--his being a Hostre Chossid; the Hostre\nChassidim, although they have been famed from everlasting as the direst\npoor among the Jews, yet they divide their last mouthful with their\nunfortunate brethren. But what can the gifts of mortal men, and of such\npoor ones into the bargain, do in a case like Ezrielk's? And God alone\nknows what bitter end would have been his, if Reb Shmuel Baer, the\nKabtzonivke scribe, had not just then (blessed be the righteous Judge!)\nmet with a sudden death. Our Ezrielk was not long in feeling that he,\nand only he, should, and, indeed, must, step into Reb Shmuel's shoes.\nEzrielk had been an expert at the scribe's work for years and years.\nWhy, his father's house and the scribe's had been nearly under one roof,\nand whenever Ezrielk, as a child, was let out of Cheder, he would go and\nsit any length of time in Reb Shmuel's room (something in the occupation\nattracted him) and watch him write. And the little Ezrielk had more than\nonce tried to make a piece of parchment out of a scrap of skin; and what\nJewish boy cannot prepare the veins that are used to sew the\nphylacteries and the scrolls of the Law? Nor was the scribe's ink a\nsecret to Ezrielk.\n\nSo Ezrielk became scribe in Kabtzonivke.\n\nOf course, he did not make a fortune. Reb Shmuel Baer, who had been a\nscribe all his days, died a very poor man, and left a roomful of hungry,\nhalf-naked children behind him, but then--what Jew, I ask you (or has\nMessiah come?), ever expected to find a Parnosseh with enough, really\nenough, to eat?\n\n\n\n\nYITZCHOK-YOSSEL BROITGEBER\n\n\nAt the time I am speaking of, the above was about forty years old. He\nwas a little, thin Jew with a long face, a long nose, two large, black,\nkindly eyes, and one who would sooner be silent and think than talk, no\nmatter what was being said to him. Even when he was scolded for\nsomething (and by whom and when and for what was he _not_ scolded?), he\nused to listen with a quiet, startled, but sweet smile, and his large,\nkindly eyes would look at the other with such wonderment, mingled with a\nsort of pity, that the other soon stopped short in his abuse, and stood\nnonplussed before him.\n\n\"There, you may talk! You might as well argue with a horse, or a donkey,\nor the wall, or a log of wood!\" and the other would spit and make off.\n\nBut if anyone observed that smile attentively, and studied the look in\nhis eyes, he would, to a certainty, have read there as follows:\n\n\"O man, man, why are you eating your heart out? Seeing that you don't\nknow, and that you don't understand, why do you undertake to tell me\nwhat I ought to do?\"\n\nAnd when he was obliged to answer, he used to do so in a few measured\nand gentle words, as you would speak to a little, ignorant child,\nsmiling the while, and then he would disappear and start thinking again.\n\nThey called him \"breadwinner,\" because, no matter how hard the man\nworked, he was never able to earn a living. He was a little tailor, but\nnot like the tailors nowadays, who specialize in one kind of garment,\nfor Yitzchok-Yossel made everything: trousers, cloaks, waistcoats,\ntop-coats, fur-coats, capes, collars, bags for prayer-books, \"little\nprayer-scarfs,\" and so on. Besides, he was a ladies' tailor as well.\nSummer and winter, day and night, he worked like an ox, and yet, when\nthe Kabtzonivke community, at the time of the great cholera, in order to\nput an end to the plague, led him, aged thirty, out to the cemetery, and\nthere married him to Malkeh the orphan, she cast him off two weeks\nlater! She was still too young (twenty-eight), she said, to stay with\nhim and die of hunger. She went out into the world, together with a\nlarge band of poor, after the great fire that destroyed nearly the whole\ntown, and nothing more was heard of Malkeh the orphan from that day\nforward. And Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber betook himself, with needle and\nflat-iron, into the women's chamber in the New Shool, the community\nhaving assigned it to him as a workroom.\n\nHow came it about, you may ask, that so versatile a tailor as\nYitzchok-Yossel should be so poor?\n\nWell, if you do, it just shows you didn't know him!\n\nWait and hear what I shall tell you.\n\nThe story is on this wise: Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber was a tailor who\ncould make anything, and who made nothing at all, that is, since he\ndisplayed his imagination in cutting out and sewing on the occasion I am\nreferring to, nobody would trust him.\n\nI can remember as if it were to-day what happened in Kabtzonivke, and\nthe commotion there was in the little town when Yitzchok-Yossel made Reb\nYecheskel the teacher a pair of trousers (begging your pardon!) of such\nfantastic cut that the unfortunate teacher had to wear them as a vest,\nthough he was not then in need of one, having a brand new sheepskin not\nmore than three years old.\n\nAnd now listen! Binyomin Droibnik the trader's mother died (blessed be\nthe righteous Judge!), and her whole fortune went, according to the Law,\nto her only son Binyomin. She had to be buried at the expense of the\ncommunity. If she was to be buried at all, it was the only way. But the\nwhole town was furious with the old woman for having cheated them out of\ntheir expectations and taken her whole fortune away with her to the real\nworld. None knew exactly _why_, but it was confidently believed that old\n\"Aunt\" Leah had heaps of treasure somewhere in hiding.\n\nIt was a custom with us in Kabtzonivke to say, whenever anyone, man or\nwoman, lived long, ate sicknesses by the clock, and still did not die,\nthat it was a sign that he had in the course of his long life gathered\ngreat store of riches, that somewhere in a cellar he kept potsful of\ngold and silver.\n\nThe Funeral Society, the younger members, had long been whetting their\nteeth for \"Aunt\" Leah's fortune, and now she had died (may she merit\nParadise!) and had fooled them.\n\n\"What about her money?\"\n\n\"A cow has flown over the roof and laid an egg!\"\n\nIn that same night Reb Binyomin's cow (a real cow) calved, and the\nunfortunate consequence was that she died. The Funeral Society took the\ncalf, and buried \"Aunt\" Leah at its own expense.\n\nWell, money or no money, inheritance or no inheritance, Reb Binyomin's\nold mother left him a quilt, a large, long, wide, wadded quilt. As an\narticle of house furniture, a quilt is a very useful thing, especially\nin a house where there is a wife (no evil eye!) and a goodly number of\nchildren, little and big. Who doesn't see that? It looks simple enough!\nEither one keeps it for oneself and the two little boys (with whom Reb\nBinyomin used to sleep), or else one gives it to the wife and the two\nlittle girls (who also sleep all together), or, if not, then to the two\nbigger boys or the two bigger girls, who repose on the two bench-beds in\nthe parlor and kitchen respectively. But this particular quilt brought\nsuch perplexity into Reb Binyomin's rather small head that he (not of\nyou be it spoken!) nearly went mad.\n\n\"Why I and not she? Why she and not I? Or they? Or the others? Why they\nand not I? Why them and not us? Why the others and not them? Well, well,\nwhat is all this fuss? What did we cover them with before?\"\n\nThree days and three nights Reb Binyomin split his head and puzzled his\nbrains over these questions, till the Almighty had pity on his small\nskull and feeble intelligence, and sent him a happy thought.\n\n\"After all, it is an inheritance from one's one and only mother (peace\nbe upon her!), it is a thing from Thingland! I must adapt it to some\nuseful purpose, so that Heaven and earth may envy me its possession!\"\nAnd he sent to fetch Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber, the tailor, who could\nmake every kind of garment, and said to him:\n\n\"Reb Yitzchok-Yossel, you see this article?\"\n\n\"I see it.\"\n\n\"Yes, you see it, but do you understand it, really and truly understand\nit?\"\n\n\"I think I do.\"\n\n\"But do you know what this is, ha?\"\n\n\"A quilt.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha! A quilt? I could have told you that myself. But the stuff,\nthe material?\"\n\n\"It's good material, beautiful stuff.\"\n\n\"Good material, beautiful stuff? No, I beg your pardon, you are not an\nexpert in this, you don't know the value of merchandise. The real\nartisan, the true expert, would say: The material is light, soft, and\nelastic, like a lung, a sound and healthy lung. The stuff--he would say\nfurther--is firm, full, and smooth as the best calf's leather. And\ndurable? Why, it's a piece out of the heart of the strongest ox, or the\ntongue of the Messianic ox itself! Do you know how many winters this\nquilt has lasted already? But enough! That is not why I have sent for\nyou. We are neither of us, thanks to His blessed Name, do-nothings. The\nlong and short of it is this: I wish to make out of this--you understand\nme?--out of this material, out of this piece of stuff, a thing, an\narticle, that shall draw everybody to it, a fruit that is worth saying\nthe blessing over, something superfine. An instance: what, for example,\ntell me, what would you do, if I gave this piece of goods into your\nhands, and said to you: Reb Yitzchok-Yossel, as you are (without sin be\nit spoken!) an old workman, a good workman, and, besides that, a good\ncomrade, and a Jew as well, take this material, this stuff, and deal\nwith it as you think best. Only let it be turned into a sort of costume,\na sort of garment, so that not only Kabtzonivke, but all Kamenivke,\nshall be bitten and torn with envy. Eh? What would you turn it into?\"\n\nYitzchok-Yossel was silent, Reb Yitzchok-Yossel went nearly out of his\nmind, nearly fainted for joy at these last words. He grew pale as death,\nwhite as chalk, then burning red like a flame of fire, and sparkled and\nshone. And no wonder: Was it a trifle? All his life he had dreamed of\nthe day when he should be given a free hand in his work, so that\neveryone should see who Yitzchok-Yossel is, and at the end came--the\ntrousers, Reb Yecheskel Melammed's trousers! How well, how cleverly he\nhad made them! Just think: trousers and upper garment in one! He had\nbeen so overjoyed, he had felt so happy. So sure that now everyone would\nknow who Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber is! He had even begun to think and\nwonder about Malkeh the orphan--poor, unfortunate orphan! Had she ever\nhad one single happy day in her life? Work forever and next to no food,\ntoil till she was exhausted and next to no drink, sleep where she could\nget it: one time in Elkoneh the butcher's kitchen, another time in\nYisroel Dintzis' attic ... and when at last she got married (good luck\nto her!), she became the wife of Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber! And the\nwedding took place in the burial-ground. On one side they were digging\ngraves, on the other they were bringing fresh corpses. There was weeping\nand wailing, and in the middle of it all, the musicians playing and\nfiddling and singing, and the relations dancing!... Good luck! Good\nluck! The orphan and her breadwinner are being led to the marriage\ncanopy in the graveyard!\n\nHe will never forget with what gusto, she, his bride, the first night\nafter their wedding, ate, drank, and slept--the whole of the\nwedding-supper that had been given them, bridegroom and bride: a nice\nroll, a glass of brandy, a tea-glass full of wine, and a heaped-up plate\nof roast meat was cut up and scraped together and eaten (no evil eye!)\nby _her_, by the bride herself. He had taken great pleasure in watching\nher face. He had known her well from childhood, and had no need to look\nat her to know what she was like, but he wanted to see what kind of\nfeelings her face would express during this occupation. When they led\nhim into the bridal chamber--she was already there--the companions of\nthe bridegroom burst into a shout of laughter, for the bride was already\nsnoring. He knew quite well why she had gone to sleep so quickly and\ncomfortably. Was there not sufficient reason? For the first time in her\nlife she had made a good meal and lain down in a bed with bedclothes!\n\nThe six groschen candle burnt, the flies woke and began to buzz, the\nmills clapt, and swung, and groaned, and he, Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber,\nthe bridegroom, sat beside the bridal bed on a little barrel of pickled\ngherkins, and looked at Malkeh the orphan, his bride, his wife, listened\nto her loud thick snores, and thought.\n\nThe town dogs howled strangely. Evidently the wedding in the cemetery\nhad not yet driven away the Angel of Death. From some of the\nneighboring houses came a dreadful crying and screaming of women and\nchildren.\n\nMalkeh the orphan heard nothing. She slept sweetly, and snored as loud\n(I beg to distinguish!) as Caspar, the tall, stout miller, the owner of\nboth mills.\n\nYitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber sits on the little barrel, looks at her face,\nand thinks. Her face is dark, roughened, and nearly like that of an old\nwoman. A great, fat fly knocked against the wick, the candle suddenly\nbegan to burn brighter, and Yitzchok-Yossel saw her face become\nprettier, younger, and fresher, and overspread by a smile. That was all\nthe effect of the supper and the soft bed. Then it was that he had\npromised himself, that he had sworn, once and for all, to show the\nKabtzonivke Jews who he is, and then Malkeh the orphan will have food\nand a bed every day. He would have done this long ago, had it not been\nfor those trousers. The people are so silly, they don't understand! That\nis the whole misfortune! And it's quite the other way about: let someone\nelse try and turn out such an ingenious contrivance! But because it was\nhe, and not someone else, they laughed and made fun of him. How Reb\nYecheskel, his wife and children, did abuse him! That was his reward for\nall his trouble. And just because they themselves are cattle, horses,\nboors, who don't understand the tailor's art! Ha, if only they\nunderstood that tailoring is a noble, refined calling, limitless and\nbottomless as (with due distinction!) the holy Torah!\n\nBut all is not lost. Who knows? For here comes Binyomin Droibnik, an\nintelligent man, a man of brains and feeling. And think how many years\nhe has been a trader! A retail trader, certainly, a jobber, but still--\n\n\"Come, Reb Yitzchok-Yossel, make an end! What will you turn it into?\"\n\n\"Everything.\"\n\n\"That is to say?\"\n\n\"A dressing-gown for your Dvoshke,--\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"A morning-gown with tassels,--\"\n\n\"After that?\"\n\n\"A coat.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"A dress--\"\n\n\"And besides that?\"\n\n\"A pair of trousers and a jacket--\"\n\n\"Nothing more?\"\n\n\"Why not? A--\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"Pelisse, a wadded winter pelisse for you.\"\n\n\"There, there! Just that, and only that!\" said Reb Binyomin, delighted.\n\nYitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber tucked away the quilt under his arm, and was\npreparing to be off.\n\n\"Reb Yitzchok-Yossel! And what about taking my measure? And how about\nyour charge?\"\n\nYitzchok-Yossel dearly loved to take anyone's measure, and was an expert\nat so doing. He had soon pulled a fair-sized sheet of paper out of one\nof his deep pockets, folded it into a long paper stick, and begun to\nmeasure Reb Binyomin Droibnik's limbs. He did not even omit to note the\nlength and breadth of his feet.\n\n\"What do you want with that? Are you measuring me for trousers?\"\n\n\"Ett, don't you ask! No need to teach a skilled workman his trade!\"\n\n\"And what about the charge?\"\n\n\"We shall settle that later.\"\n\n\"No, that won't do with me; I am a trader, you understand, and must have\nit all pat.\"\n\n\"Five gulden.\"\n\n\"And how much less?\"\n\n\"How should I know? Well, four.\"\n\n\"Well, and half a ruble?\"\n\n\"Well, well--\"\n\n\"Remember, Reb Yitzchok-Yossel, it must be a masterpiece!\"\n\n\"Trust me!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nFor five days and five nights Yitzchok-Yossel set his imagination to\nwork on Binyomin Droibnik's inheritance. There was no eating for him, no\ndrinking, and no sleeping. The scissors squeaked, the needle ran hither\nand thither, up and down, the inheritance sighed and almost sobbed under\nthe hot iron. But how happy was Yitzchok-Yossel those lightsome days and\nmerry nights? Who could compare with him? Greater than the Kabtzonivke\nvillage elder, richer than Yisroel Dintzis, the tax-gatherer, and more\nexalted than the bailiff himself was Yitzchok-Yossel, that is, in his\nown estimation. All that he wished, thought, and felt was forthwith\ncreated by means of his scissors and iron, his thimble, needle, and\ncotton. No more putting on of patches, sewing on of pockets, cutting\nout of \"Tefillin-Saecklech\" and \"little prayer-scarfs,\" no more doing up\nof old dresses. Freedom, freedom--he wanted one bit of work of the right\nsort, and that was all! Ha, now he would show them, the Kabtzonivke\ncripples and householders, now he would show them who Yitzchok-Yossel\nBroitgeber is! They would not laugh at him or tease him any more! His\nfame would travel from one end of the world to the other, and Malkeh the\norphan, his bride, his wife, she also would hear of it, and--\n\nShe will come back to him! He feels it in every limb. It was not him she\ncast off, only his bad luck. He will rent a lodging (money will pour in\nfrom all sides)--buy a little furniture: a bed, a sofa, a table--in time\nhe will buy a little house of his own--she will come, she has been\nhomeless long enough--it is time she should rest her weary, aching\nbones--it is high time she should have her own corner!\n\nShe will come back, he feels it, she will certainly come home!\n\nThe last night! The work is complete. Yitzchok-Yossel spread it out on\nthe table of the women's Shool, lighted a second groschen candle, sat\ndown in front of it with wide open, sparkling eyes, gazed with delight\nat the product of his imagination and--was wildly happy!\n\nSo he sat the whole night.\n\nIt was very hard for him to part with his achievement, but hardly was it\nday when he appeared with it at Reb Binyomin Droibnik's.\n\n\"A good morning, a good year, Reb Yitzchok-Yossel! I see by your eyes\nthat you have been successful. Is it true?\"\n\n\"You can see for yourself, there--\"\n\n\"No, no, there is no need for me to see it first. Dvoshke, Cheike,\nShprintze, Dovid-Hershel, Yitzchok-Yoelik! You understand, I want them\nall to be present and see.\"\n\nIn a few minutes the whole family had appeared on the scene. Even the\nfour little ones popped up from behind the heaps of ragged covering.\n\nYitzchok-Yossel untied his parcel and--\n\n\"_Wuus is duuuusss???!!!_\"\n\n\"A pair of trousers with sleeves!\"\n\n\n\n\nJUDAH STEINBERG\n\n\nBorn, 1863, in Lipkany, Bessarabia; died, 1907, in Odessa; education\nHasidic; entered business in a small Roumanian village for a short time;\nteacher, from 1889 in Jedency and from 1896 in Leowo, Bessarabia;\nremoved to Odessa, in 1905, to become correspondent of New York Warheit;\nwriter of fables, stories, and children's tales in Hebrew, and poems in\nYiddish; historical drama, Ha-Sotah; collected works in Hebrew, 3 vols.,\nCracow, 1910-1911 (in course of publication).\n\n\n\n\nA LIVELIHOOD\n\n\nThe two young fellows Maxim Klopatzel and Israel Friedman were natives\nof the same town in New Bessarabia, and there was an old link existing\nbetween them: a mutual detestation inherited from their respective\nparents. Maxim's father was the chief Gentile of the town, for he rented\nthe corn-fields of its richest inhabitant; and as the lawyer of the rich\ncitizen was a Jew, little Maxim imagined, when his father came to lose\nhis tenantry, that it was owing to the Jews. Little Struli was the only\nJewish boy he knew (the children were next door neighbors), and so a\nlarge share of their responsibility was laid on Struli's shoulders.\nLater on, when Klopatzel, the father, had abandoned the plough and taken\nto trade, he and old Friedman frequently came in contact with each other\nas rivals.\n\nThey traded and traded, and competed one against the other, till they\nboth become bankrupt, when each argued to himself that the other was at\nthe bottom of his misfortune--and their children grew on in mutual\nhatred.\n\nA little later still, Maxim put down to Struli's account part of the\nnails which were hammered into his Savior, over at the other end of the\ntown, by the well, where the Government and the Church had laid out\nmoney and set up a crucifix with a ladder, a hammer, and all other\nnecessary implements.\n\nAnd Struli, on his part, had an account to settle with Maxim respecting\ncertain other nails driven in with hammers, and torn scrolls of the\nLaw, and the history of the ten martyrs of the days of Titus, not to\nmention a few later ones.\n\nTheir hatred grew with them, its strength increased with theirs.\n\nWhen Krushevan began to deal in anti-Semitism, Maxim learned that\nChristian children were carried off into the Shool, Struli's Shool, for\nthe sake of their blood.\n\nThenceforth Maxim's hatred of Struli was mingled with fear. He was\nterrified when he passed the Shool at night, and he used to dream that\nStruli stood over him in a prayer robe, prepared to slaughter him with a\nram's horn trumpet.\n\nThis because he had once passed the Shool early one Jewish New Year's\nDay, had peeped through the window, and seen the ram's horn blower\nstanding in his white shroud, armed with the Shofar, and suddenly a\nheartrending voice broke out with Min ha-Mezar, and Maxim, taking his\nfeet on his shoulders, had arrived home more dead than alive. There was\nvery nearly a commotion. The priest wanted to persuade him that the Jews\nhad tried to obtain his blood.\n\nSo the two children grew into youth as enemies. Their fathers died, and\nthe increased difficulties of their position increased their enmity.\n\nThe same year saw them called to military service, from which they had\nboth counted on exemption as the only sons of widowed mothers; only\nIsrael's mother had lately died, bequeathing to the Czar all she had--a\nsoldier; and Maxim's mother had united herself to a second\nprovider--and there was an end of the two \"only sons!\"\n\nNeither of them wished to serve; they were too intellectually capable,\ntoo far developed mentally, too intelligent, to be turned all at once\ninto Russian soldiers, and too nicely brought up to march from Port\nArthur to Mukden with only one change of shirt. They both cleared out,\nand stowed themselves away till they 'fell separately into the hands of\nthe military.\n\nThey came together again under the fortress walls of Mukden.\n\nThey ate and hungered sullenly round the same cooking pot, received\npunches from the same officer, and had the same longing for the same\nhome.\n\nIsrael had a habit of talking in his sleep, and, like a born\nBessarabian, in his Yiddish mixed with a large portion of Roumanian\nwords.\n\nOne night, lying in the barracks among the other soldiers, and sunk in\nsleep after a hard day, Struli began to talk sixteen to the dozen. He\ncalled out names, he quarrelled, begged pardon, made a fool of\nhimself--all in his sleep.\n\nIt woke Maxim, who overheard the homelike names and phrases, the name of\nhis native town.\n\nHe got up, made his way between the rows of sleepers, and sat down by\nIsrael's pallet, and listened.\n\nNext day Maxim managed to have a large helping of porridge, more than he\ncould eat, and he found Israel, and set it before him.\n\n\"Maltzimesk!\" said the other, thanking him in Roumanian, and a thrill of\ndelight went through Maxim's frame.\n\nThe day following, Maxim was hit by a Japanese bullet, and there\nhappened to be no one beside him at the moment.\n\nThe shock drove all the soldier-speech out of his head. \"Help, I am\nkilled!\" he called out, and fell to the ground.\n\nStruli was at his side like one sprung from the earth, he tore off his\nFour-Corners, and made his comrade a bandage.\n\nThe wound turned out to be slight, for the bullet had passed through,\nonly grazing the flesh of the left arm. A few days later Maxim was back\nin the company.\n\n\"I wanted to see you again, Struli,\" he said, greeting his comrade in\nRoumanian.\n\nA flash of brotherly affection and gratitude lighted Struli's Semitic\neyes, and he took the other into his arms, and pressed him to his heart.\n\nThey felt themselves to be \"countrymen,\" of one and the same native\ntown.\n\nNeither of them could have told exactly when their union of spirit had\nbeen accomplished, but each one knew that he thanked God for having\nbrought him together with so near a compatriot in a strange land.\n\nAnd when the battle of Mukden had made Maxim all but totally blind, and\ndeprived Struli of one foot, they started for home together, according\nto the passage in the Midrash, \"Two men with one pair of eyes and one\npair of feet between them.\" Maxim carried on his shoulders a wooden box,\nwhich had now became a burden in common for them, and Struli limped a\nlittle in front of him, leaning lightly against his companion, so as to\nkeep him in the smooth part of the road and out of other people's way.\n\nStruli had become Maxim's eyes, and Maxim, Struli's feet; they were two\nmen grown into one, and they provided for themselves out of one pocket,\nnow empty of the last ruble.\n\nThey dragged themselves home. \"A kasa, a kasa!\" whispered Struli into\nMaxim's ear, and the other turned on him his two glazed eyes looking\nthrough a red haze, and set in swollen red lids.\n\nA childlike smile played on his lips:\n\n\"A kasa, a kasa!\" he repeated, also in a whisper.\n\nHome appeared to their fancy as something holy, something consoling,\nsomething that could atone and compensate for all they had suffered and\nlost. They had seen such a home in their dreams.\n\nBut the nearer they came to it in reality, the more the dream faded.\nThey remembered that they were returning as conquered soldiers and\ncrippled men, that they had no near relations and but few friends, while\nthe girls who had coquetted with Maxim before he left would never waste\nso much as a look on him now he was half-blind; and Struli's plans for\nmarrying and emigrating to America were frustrated: a cripple would not\nbe allowed to enter the country.\n\nAll their dreams and hopes finally dissipated, and there remained only\none black care, one all-obscuring anxiety: how were they to earn a\nliving?\n\nThey had been hoping all the while for a pension, but in their service\nbook was written \"on sick-leave.\" The Russo-Japanese war was\ndistinguished by the fact that the greater number of wounded soldiers\nwent home \"on sick-leave,\" and the money assigned by the Government for\ntheir pension would not have been sufficient for even a hundredth part\nof the number of invalids.\n\nMaxim showed a face with two wide open eyes, to which all the passers-by\nlooked the same. He distinguished with difficulty between a man and a\ntelegraph post, and wore a smile of mingled apprehension and confidence.\nThe sound feet stepped hesitatingly, keeping behind Israel, and it was\nhard to say which steadied himself most against the other. Struli limped\nforward, and kept open eyes for two. Sometimes he would look round at\nthe box on Maxim's shoulders, as though he felt its weight as much as\nMaxim.\n\nMeantime the railway carriages had emptied and refilled, and the\nlocomotive gave a great blast, received an answer from somewhere a long\nway off, a whistle for a whistle, and the train set off, slowly at\nfirst, and then gradually faster and faster, till all that remained of\nit were puffs of smoke hanging in the air without rhyme or reason.\n\nThe two felt more depressed than ever. \"Something to eat? Where are we\nto get a bite?\" was in their minds.\n\nSuddenly Yisroel remembered with a start: this was the anniversary of\nhis mother's death--if he could only say one Kaddish for her in a Klaus!\n\n\"Is it far from here to a Klaus?\" he inquired of a passer-by.\n\n\"There is one a little way down that side-street,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Maxim!\" he begged of the other, \"come with me!\"\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"To the synagogue.\"\n\nMaxim shuddered from head to foot. His fear of a Jewish Shool had not\nleft him, and a thousand foolish terrors darted through his head.\n\nBut his comrade's voice was so gentle, so childishly imploring, that he\ncould not resist it, and he agreed to go with him into the Shool.\n\nIt was the time for Afternoon Prayer, the daylight and the dark held\nequal sway within the Klaus, the lamps before the platform increasing\nthe former to the east and the latter to the west. Maxim and Yisroel\nstood in the western part, enveloped in shadow. The Cantor had just\nfinished \"Incense,\" and was entering upon Ashre, and the melancholy\nnight chant of Minchah and Maariv gradually entranced Maxim's emotional\nRoumanian heart.\n\nThe low, sad murmur of the Cantor seemed to him like the distant surging\nof a sea, in which men were drowned by the hundreds and suffocating with\nthe water. Then, the Ashre and the Kaddish ended, there was silence. The\ncongregation stood up for the Eighteen Benedictions. Here and there you\nheard a half-stifled sigh. And now it seemed to Maxim that he was in the\nhospital at night, at the hour when the groans grow less frequent, and\nthe sufferers fall one by one into a sweet sleep.\n\nTears started into his eyes without his knowing why. He was no longer\nafraid, but a sudden shyness had come over him, and he felt, as he\nwatched Yisroel repeating the Kaddish, that the words, which he, Maxim,\ncould not understand, were being addressed to someone unseen, and yet\nmysteriously present in the darkening Shool.\n\nWhen the prayers were ended, one of the chief members of the\ncongregation approached the \"Mandchurian,\" and gave Yisroel a coin into\nhis hand.\n\nYisroel looked round--he did not understand at first what the donor\nmeant by it.\n\nThen it occurred to him--and the blood rushed to his face. He gave the\ncoin to his companion, and explained in a half-sentence or two how they\nhad come by it.\n\nOnce outside the Klaus, they both cried, after which they felt better.\n\n\"A livelihood!\" the same thought struck them both.\n\n\"We can go into partnership!\"\n\n\n\n\nAT THE MATZES\n\n\nIt was quite early in the morning, when Sossye, the scribe's daughter, a\ngirl of seventeen, awoke laughing; a sunbeam had broken through the\nrusty window, made its way to her underneath the counterpane, and there\nopened her eyes.\n\nIt woke her out of a deep dream which she was ashamed to recall, but the\ndream came back to her of itself, and made her laugh.\n\nHad she known whom she was going to meet in her dreams, she would have\nlain down in her clothes, occurs to her, and she laughs aloud.\n\n\"Got up laughing!\" scolds her mother. \"There's a piece of good luck for\nyou! It's a sign of a black year for her (may it be to my enemies!).\"\n\nSossye proceeds to dress herself. She does not want to fall out with her\nmother to-day, she wants to be on good terms with everyone.\n\nIn the middle of dressing she loses herself in thought, with one naked\nfoot stretched out and an open stocking in her hands, wondering how the\ndream would have ended, if she had not awoke so soon.\n\nChayyimel, a villager's son, who boards with her mother, passes the open\ndoors leading to Sossye's room, and for the moment he is riveted to the\nspot. His eyes dance, the blood rushes to his cheeks, he gets all he can\nby looking, and then hurries away to Cheder without his breakfast, to\nstudy the Song of Songs.\n\nAnd Sossye, fresh and rosy from sleep, her brown eyes glowing under the\ntumbled gold locks, betakes herself to the kitchen, where her mother,\nwith her usual worried look, is blowing her soul out before the oven\ninto a smoky fire of damp wood.\n\n\"Look at the girl standing round like a fool! Run down to the cellar,\nand fetch me an onion and some potatoes!\"\n\nSossye went down to the cellar, and found the onions and potatoes\nsprouting.\n\nAt sight of a green leaf, her heart leapt. Greenery! greenery! summer is\ncoming! And the whole of her dream came back to her!\n\n\"Look, mother, green sprouts!\" she cried, rushing into the kitchen.\n\n\"A thousand bad dreams on your head! The onions are spoilt, and she\nlaughs! My enemies' eyes will creep out of their lids before there will\nbe fresh greens to eat, and all this, woe is me, is only fit to throw\naway!\"\n\n\"Greenery, greenery!\" thought Sossye, \"summer is coming!\"\n\nGreenery had got into her head, and there it remained, and from greenery\nshe went on to remember that to-day was the first Passover-cake baking\nat Gedalyeh the baker's, and that Shloimeh Shieber would be at work\nthere.\n\nHaving begged of her mother the one pair of boots that stood about in\nthe room and fitted everyone, she put them on, and was off to the\nMatzes.\n\nIt was, as we have said, the first day's work at Gedalyeh the baker's,\nand the sack of Passover flour had just been opened. Gravely, the\nflour-boy, a two weeks' orphan, carried the pot of flour for the\nMehereh, and poured it out together with remembrances of his mother, who\nhad died in the hospital of injuries received at _their_ hands, and the\nwater-boy came up behind him, and added recollections of his own.\n\n\"The hooligans threw his father into the water off the bridge--may they\npay for it, suesser Gott! May they live till he is a man, and can settle\nhis account with them!\"\n\nThus the grey-headed old Henoch, the kneader, and he kneaded it all into\nthe dough, with thoughts of his own grandchildren: this one fled abroad,\nthe other in the regiment, and a third in prison.\n\nThe dough stiffens, the horny old hands work it with difficulty. The\ndough gets stiffer every year, and the work harder, it is time for him\nto go to the asylum!\n\nThe dough is kneaded, cut up in pieces, rolled and riddled--is that a\ntoken for the whole Congregation of Israel? And now appear the round\nMatzes, which must wander on a shovel into the heated oven of Shloimeh\nShieber, first into one corner, and then into another, till another\nshovel throws them out into a new world, separated from the old by a\nscreen thoroughly scoured for Passover, which now rises and now falls.\nThere they are arranged in columns, a reminder of Pithom and Rameses.\nKuk-ruk, kuk-ruk, ruk-ruk, whisper the still warm Matzes one to another;\nthey also are remembering, and they tell the tale of the Exodus after\ntheir fashion, the tale of the flight out of Egypt--only they have seen\nmore flights than one.\n\nThus are the Matzes kneaded and baked by the Jews, with \"thoughts.\" The\nGentiles call them \"blood,\" and assert that Jews need blood for their\nMatzes, and they take the trouble to supply us with fresh \"thoughts\"\nevery year!\n\nBut at Gedalyeh the baker's all is still cheerfulness. Girls and boys,\nin their unspent vigor, surround the tables, there is rolling and\nriddling and cleaning of clean rolling-pins with pieces of broken glass\n(from where ever do Jews get so much broken glass?), and the whole town\nis provided with kosher Matzes. Jokes and silver trills escape the\nlively young workers, the company is as merry as though the Exodus were\nto-morrow.\n\nBut it won't be to-morrow. Look at them well, because another day you\nwill not find them so merry, they will not seem like the same.\n\nOne of the likely lads has left his place, and suddenly appeared at a\ntable beside a pretty, curly-haired girl. He has hurried over his\nMatzes, and now he wants to help her.\n\nShe thanks him for his attention with a rolling-pin over the fingers,\nand there is such laughter among the spectators that Berke, the old\noverseer, exclaims, \"What impertinence!\"\n\nBut he cannot finish, because he has to laugh himself. There is a spark\nin the embers of his being which the girlish merriment around him\nkindles anew.\n\nAnd the other lads are jealous of the beaten one. They know very well\nthat no girl would hit a complete stranger, and that the blow only\nmeant, \"Impudent boy, why need the world know of anything between us?\"\n\nShloimehle Shieber, armed with the shovels, stands still for a minute\ntrying to distinguish Sossye's voice in the peals of laughter. The\nMatzes under his care are browning in the oven.\n\nAnd Sossye takes it into her head to make her Matzes with one pointed\ncorner, so that he may perhaps know them for hers, and laughs to herself\nas she does so.\n\nThere is one table to the side of the room which was not there last\nyear; it was placed there for the formerly well-to-do housemistresses,\nwho last year, when they came to bake their Matzes, gave Yom-tov money\nto the others. Here all goes on quietly; the laughter of the merry\npeople breaks against the silence, and is swallowed up.\n\nThe work grows continually pleasanter and more animated. The riddler\nstamps two or three Matzes with hieroglyphs at once, in order to show\noff. Shloimeh at the oven cannot keep pace with him, and grows angry:\n\n\"May all bad....\"\n\nThe wish is cut short in his mouth, he has caught a glance of Sossye's\nthrough the door of the baking-room, he answers with two, gets three\nback, Sossye pursing her lips to signify a kiss. Shloimeh folds his\nhands, which also means something.\n\nMeantime ten Matzes get scorched, and one of Sossye's is pulled in two.\n\"Brennen brennt mir mein Harz,\" starts a worker singing in a plaintive\nkey.\n\n\"Come! hush, hush!\" scolds old Berke. \"Songs, indeed! What next, you\nimpudent boy?\"\n\n\"My sorrows be on their head!\" sighs a neighbor of Sossye's. \"They'd\nsoon be tired of their life, if they were me. I've left two children at\nhome fit to scream their hearts out. The other is at the breast, I have\nbrought it along. It is quiet just now, by good luck.\"\n\n\"What is the use of a poor woman's having children?\" exclaims another,\nevidently \"expecting\" herself. Indeed, she has a child a year--and a\nseven-days' mourning a year afterwards.\n\n\"Do you suppose I ask for them? Do you think I cry my eyes out for them\nbefore God?\"\n\n\"If she hasn't any, who's to inherit her place at the Matzes-baking--a\nhundred years hence?\"\n\n\"All very well for you to talk, _you're_ a grass-widow (to no Jewish\ndaughter may it apply!)!\"\n\n\"May such a blow be to my enemies as he'll surely come back again!\"\n\n\"It's about time! After three years!\"\n\n\"Will you shut up, or do you want another beating?\"\n\nSossye went off into a fresh peal of laughter, and the shovel fell out\nof Shloimeh's hand.\n\nAgain he caught a glance, but this time she wrinkled her nose at him, as\nmuch as to say, \"Fie, you shameless boy! Can't you behave yourself even\nbefore other people?\"\n\nHereupon the infant gave account of itself in a small, shrill voice, and\nthe general commotion went on increasing. The overseer scolded, the\nMatzes-printing-wheel creaked and squeaked, the bits of glass were\nground against the rolling-pins, there was a humming of songs and a\nproclaiming of secrets, followed by bursts of laughter, Sossye's voice\nringing high above the rest.\n\nAnd the sun shone into the room through the small window--a white spot\njumped around and kissed everyone there.\n\nIs it the Spirit of Israel delighting in her young men and maidens and\nwhispering in their ears: \"What if it _is_ Matzes-kneading, and what if\nit _is_ Exile? Only let us be all together, only let us all be merry!\"\n\nOr is it the Spring, transformed into a white patch of sunshine, in\nwhich all have equal share, and which has not forgotten to bring good\nnews into the house of Gedalyeh the Matzeh-baker?\n\nA beautiful sun was preparing to set, and promised another fine day for\nthe morrow.\n\n\"Ding-dong, gul-gul-gul-gul-gul-gul!\"\n\nIt was the convent bells calling the Christians to confession!\n\nAll tongues were silenced round the tables at Gedalyeh the baker's.\n\nA streak of vapor dimmed the sun, and gloomy thoughts settled down upon\nthe hearts of the workers.\n\n\"Easter! _Their_ Easter is coming on!\" and mothers' eyes sought their\nchildren.\n\nThe white patch of sunshine suddenly gave a terrified leap across the\nceiling and vanished in a corner.\n\n\"Kik-kik, kik-rik, kik-rik,\" whispered the hot Matzes. Who is to know\nwhat they say?\n\nWho can tell, now that the Jews have baked this year's Matzes, how soon\n_they_ will set about providing them with material for the\nnext?--\"thoughts,\" and broken glass for the rolling-pins.\n\n\n\n\nDAVID FRISCHMANN\n\n\nBorn, 1863, in Lodz, Russian Poland, of a family of merchants;\neducation, Jewish and secular, the latter with special attention to\nforeign languages and literatures; has spent most of his life in Warsaw;\nHebrew critic, editor, poet, satirist, and writer of fairy tales;\ntranslator of George Eliot's Daniel Deronda into Hebrew; contributor to\nSholom-Alechem's Juedische Volksbibliothek, Spektor's Hausfreund, and\nvarious periodicals; editor of monthly publication Reshafim; collected\nworks in Hebrew, Ketabim Nibharim, 2 vols., Warsaw, 1899-1901, and\nReshimot, 4 parts, Warsaw, 1911.\n\n\n\n\nTHREE WHO ATE\n\n\nOnce upon a time three people ate. I recall the event as one recalls a\ndream. Black clouds obscure the men, because it happened long ago.\n\nOnly sometimes it seems to me that there are no clouds, but a pillar of\nfire lighting up the men and their doings, and the fire grows bigger and\nbrighter, and gives light and warmth to this day.\n\nI have only a few words to tell you, two or three words: once upon a\ntime three people ate. Not on a workday or an ordinary Sabbath, but on a\nDay of Atonement that fell on a Sabbath.\n\nNot in a corner where no one sees or hears, but before all the people in\nthe great Shool, in the principal Shool of the town.\n\nNeither were they ordinary men, these three, but the chief Jews of the\ncommunity: the Rabbi and his two Dayonim.\n\nThe townsfolk looked up to them as if they had been angels, and\ncertainly held them to be saints. And now, as I write these words, I\nremember how difficult it was for me to understand, and how I sometimes\nused to think the Rabbi and his Dayonim had done wrong. But even then I\nfelt that they were doing a tremendous thing, that they were holy men\nwith holy instincts, and that it was not easy for them to act thus. Who\nknows how hard they fought with themselves, who knows how they\nsuffered, and what they endured?\n\nAnd even if I live many years and grow old, I shall never forget the day\nand the men, and what was done on it, for they were no ordinary men, but\ngreat heroes.\n\nThose were bitter times, such as had not been for long, and such as will\nnot soon return.\n\nA great calamity had descended on us from Heaven, and had spread abroad\namong the towns and over the country: the cholera had broken out.\n\nThe calamity had reached us from a distant land, and entered our little\ntown, and clutched at young and old.\n\nBy day and by night men died like flies, and those who were left hung\nbetween life and death.\n\nWho can number the dead who were buried in those days! Who knows the\nnames of the corpses which lay about in heaps in the streets!\n\nIn the Jewish street the plague made great ravages: there was not a\nhouse where there lay not one dead--not a family in which the calamity\nhad not broken out.\n\nIn the house where we lived, on the second floor, nine people died in\none day. In the basement there died a mother and four children, and in\nthe house opposite we heard wild cries one whole night through, and in\nthe morning we became aware that there was no one left in it alive.\n\nThe grave-diggers worked early and late, and the corpses lay about in\nthe streets like dung. They stuck one to the other like clay, and one\nwalked over dead bodies.\n\nThe summer broke up, and there came the Solemn Days, and then the most\ndreadful day of all--the Day of Atonement.\n\nI shall remember that day as long as I live.\n\nThe Eve of the Day of Atonement--the reciting of Kol Nidre!\n\nAt the desk before the ark there stands, not as usual the precentor and\ntwo householders, but the Rabbi and his two Dayonim.\n\nThe candles are burning all round, and there is a whispering of the\nflames as they grow taller and taller. The people stand at their\nreading-desks with grave faces, and draw on the robes and prayer-scarfs,\nthe Spanish hoods and silver girdles; and their shadows sway this way\nand that along the walls, and might be the ghosts of the dead who died\nto-day and yesterday and the day before yesterday. Evidently they could\nnot rest in their graves, and have also come into the Shool.\n\nHush!... the Rabbi has begun to say something, and the Dayonim, too, and\na groan rises from the congregation.\n\n\"With the consent of the All-Present and with the consent of this\ncongregation, we give leave to pray with them that have transgressed.\"\n\nAnd a great fear fell upon me and upon all the people, young and old. In\nthat same moment I saw the Rabbi mount the platform. Is he going to\npreach? Is he going to lecture the people at a time when they are\nfalling dead like flies? But the Rabbi neither preached nor lectured. He\nonly called to remembrance the souls of those who had died in the\ncourse of the last few days. But how long it lasted! How many names he\nmentioned! The minutes fly one after the other, and the Rabbi has not\nfinished! Will the list of souls never come to an end? Never? And it\nseems to me the Rabbi had better call out the names of those who are\nleft alive, because they are few, instead of the names of the dead, who\nare without number and without end.\n\nI shall never forget that night and the praying, because it was not\nreally praying, but one long, loud groan rising from the depth of the\nhuman heart, cleaving the sky and reaching to Heaven. Never since the\nworld began have Jews prayed in greater anguish of soul, never have\nhotter tears fallen from human eyes.\n\n_That_ night no one left the Shool.\n\nAfter the prayers they recited the Hymn of Unity, and after that the\nPsalms, and then chapters from the Mishnah, and then ethical books....\n\nAnd I also stand among the congregation and pray, and my eyelids are\nheavy as lead, and my heart beats like a hammer.\n\n\"U-Malochim yechofezun--and the angels fly around.\"\n\nAnd I fancy I see them flying in the Shool, up and down, up and down.\nAnd among them I see the bad angel with the thousand eyes, full of eyes\nfrom head to feet.\n\nThat night no one left the Shool, but early in the morning there were\nsome missing--two of the congregation had fallen during the night, and\ndied before our eyes, and lay wrapped in their prayer-scarfs and white\nrobes--nothing was lacking for their journey from the living to the\ndead.\n\nThey kept on bringing messages into the Shool from the Gass, but nobody\nwanted to listen or to ask questions, lest he should hear what had\nhappened in his own house. No matter how long I live, I shall never\nforget that night, and all I saw and heard.\n\nBut the Day of Atonement, the day that followed, was more awful still.\n\nAnd even now, when I shut my eyes, I see the whole picture, and I think\nI am standing once more among the people in the Shool.\n\nIt is Atonement Day in the afternoon.\n\nThe Rabbi stands on the platform in the centre of the Shool, tall and\nvenerable, and there is a fascination in his noble features. And there,\nin the corner of the Shool, stands a boy who never takes his eyes off\nthe Rabbi's face.\n\nIn truth I never saw a nobler figure.\n\nThe Rabbi is old, seventy or perhaps eighty years, but tall and straight\nas a fir-tree. His long beard is white like silver, but the thick, long\nhair of his head is whiter still, and his face is blanched, and his lips\nare pale, and only his large black eyes shine and sparkle like the eyes\nof a young lion.\n\nI stood in awe of him when I was a little child. I knew he was a man of\nGod, one of the greatest authorities in the Law, whose advice was sought\nby the whole world.\n\nI knew also that he inclined to leniency in all his decisions, and that\nnone dared oppose him.\n\nThe sight I saw that day in Shool is before my eyes now.\n\nThe Rabbi stands on the platform, and his black eyes gleam and shine in\nthe pale face and in the white hair and beard.\n\nThe Additional Service is over, and the people are waiting to hear what\nthe Rabbi will say, and one is afraid to draw one's breath.\n\nAnd the Rabbi begins to speak.\n\nHis weak voice grows stronger and higher every minute, and at last it is\nquite loud.\n\nHe speaks of the sanctity of the Day of Atonement and of the holy Torah;\nof repentance and of prayer, of the living and of the dead, and of the\npestilence that has broken out and that destroys without pity, without\nrest, without a pause--for how long? for how much longer?\n\nAnd by degrees his pale cheeks redden and his lips also, and I hear him\nsay: \"And when trouble comes to a man, he must look to his deeds, and\nnot only to those which concern him and the Almighty, but to those which\nconcern himself, to his body, to his flesh, to his own health.\"\n\nI was a child then, but I remember how I began to tremble when I heard\nthese words, because I had understood.\n\nThe Rabbi goes on speaking. He speaks of cleanliness and wholesome air,\nof dirt, which is dangerous to man, and of hunger and thirst, which are\nmen's bad angels when there is a pestilence about, devouring without\npity.\n\nAnd the Rabbi goes on to say:\n\n\"And men shall live by My commandments, and not die by them. There are\ntimes when one must turn aside from the Law, if by so doing a whole\ncommunity may be saved.\"\n\nI stand shaking with fear. What does the Rabbi want? What does he mean\nby his words? What does he think to accomplish? And suddenly I see that\nhe is weeping, and my heart beats louder and louder. What has happened?\nWhy does he weep? And there I stand in the corner, in the silence, and I\nalso begin to cry.\n\nAnd to this day, if I shut my eyes, I see him standing on the platform,\nand he makes a sign with his hand to the two Dayonim to the left and\nright of him. He and they whisper together, and he says something in\ntheir ear. What has happened? Why does his cheek flame, and why are\ntheirs as white as chalk?\n\nAnd suddenly I hear them talking, but I cannot understand them, because\nthe words do not enter my brain. And yet all three are speaking so\nsharply and clearly!\n\nAnd all the people utter a groan, and after the groan I hear the words,\n\"With the consent of the All-Present and with the consent of this\ncongregation, we give leave to eat and drink on the Day of Atonement.\"\n\nSilence. Not a sound is heard in the Shool, not an eyelid quivers, not a\nbreath is drawn.\n\nAnd I stand in my corner and hear my heart beating: one--two--one--two.\nA terror comes over me, and it is black before my eyes. The shadows move\nto and fro on the wall, and amongst the shadows I see the dead who died\nyesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before the day\nbefore yesterday--a whole people, a great assembly.\n\nAnd suddenly I grasp what it is the Rabbi asks of us. The Rabbi calls on\nus to eat, to-day! The Rabbi calls on Jews to eat on the Day of\nAtonement--not to fast, because of the cholera--because of the\ncholera--because of the cholera ... and I begin to cry loudly. And it is\nnot only I--the whole congregation stands weeping, and the Dayonim on\nthe platform weep, and the greatest of all stands there sobbing like a\nchild.\n\nAnd he implores like a child, and his words are soft and gentle, and\nevery now and then he weeps so that his voice cannot be heard.\n\n\"Eat, Jews, eat! To-day we must eat. This is a time to turn aside from\nthe Law. We are to live through the commandments, and not die through\nthem!\"\n\nBut no one in the Shool has stirred from his place, and there he stands\nand begs of them, weeping, and declares that he takes the whole\nresponsibility on himself, that the people shall be innocent. But no one\nstirs. And presently he begins again in a changed voice--he does not\nbeg, he commands:\n\n\"I give you leave to eat--I--I--I!\"\n\nAnd his words are like arrows shot from the bow.\n\nBut the people are deaf, and no one stirs.\n\nThen he begins again with his former voice, and implores like a child:\n\n\"What would you have of me? Why will you torment me till my strength\nfails? Think you I have not struggled with myself from early this\nmorning till now?\"\n\nAnd the Dayonim also plead with the people.\n\nAnd of a sudden the Rabbi grows as white as chalk, and lets his head\nfall on his breast. There is a groan from one end of the Shool to the\nother, and after the groan the people are heard to murmur among\nthemselves.\n\nThen the Rabbi, like one speaking to himself, says:\n\n\"It is God's will. I am eighty years old, and have never yet\ntransgressed a law. But this is also a law, it is a precept. Doubtless\nthe Almighty wills it so! Beadle!\"\n\nThe beadle comes, and the Rabbi whispers a few words into his ear.\n\nHe also confers with the Dayonim, and they nod their heads and agree.\n\nAnd the beadle brings cups of wine for Sanctification, out of the\nRabbi's chamber, and little rolls of bread. And though I should live\nmany years and grow very old, I shall never forget what I saw then, and\neven now, when I shut my eyes, I see the whole thing: three Rabbis\nstanding on the platform in Shool, and eating before the whole people,\non the Day of Atonement!\n\nThe three belong to the heroes.\n\nWho shall tell how they fought with themselves, who shall say how they\nsuffered, and what they endured?\n\n\"I have done what you wished,\" says the Rabbi, and his voice does not\nshake, and his lips do not tremble.\n\n\"God's Name be praised!\"\n\nAnd all the Jews ate that day, they ate and wept.\n\nRays of light beam forth from the remembrance, and spread all around,\nand reach the table at which I sit and write these words.\n\nOnce again: three people ate.\n\nAt the moment when the awesome scene in the Shool is before me, there\nare three Jews sitting in a room opposite the Shool, and they also are\neating.\n\nThey are the three \"enlightened\" ones of the place: the tax-collector,\nthe inspector, and the teacher.\n\nThe window is wide open, so that all may see; on the table stands a\nsamovar, glasses of red wine, and eatables. And the three sit with\nplaying-cards in their hands, playing Preference, and they laugh and eat\nand drink.\n\nDo they also belong to the heroes?\n\n\n\n\nMICHA JOSEPH BERDYCZEWSKI\n\n\nBorn, 1865, in Berschad, Podolia, Southwestern Russia; educated in\nYeshibah of Volozhin; studied also modern literatures in his youth; has\nbeen living alternately in Berlin and Breslau; Hebrew, Yiddish, and\nGerman writer, on philosophy, aesthetics, and Jewish literary, spiritual,\nand timely questions; contributor to Hebrew periodicals; editor of\nBet-Midrash, supplement to Bet-Ozar ha-Sifrut; contributed Ueber den\nZusammenhang zwischen Ethik und Aesthetik to Berner Studien zur\nPhilosophie und ihrer Geschichte; author of two novels, Mibayit u-Mihuz,\nand Mahanaim; a book on the Hasidim, Warsaw, 1900; Juedische Ketobim vun\na weiten Korov, Warsaw; Hebrew essays on miscellaneous subjects, eleven\nparts, Warsaw and Breslau (in course of publication).\n\n\n\n\nMILITARY SERVICE\n\n\n\"They look as if they'd enough of me!\"\n\nSo I think to myself, as I give a glance at my two great top-boots, my\nwide trousers, and my shabby green uniform, in which there is no whole\npart left.\n\nI take a bit of looking-glass out of my box, and look at my reflection.\nYes, the military cap on my head is a beauty, and no mistake, as big as\nOg king of Bashan, and as bent and crushed as though it had been sat\nupon for years together.\n\nUnder the cap appears a small, washed-out face, yellow and weazened,\nwith two large black eyes that look at me somewhat wildly.\n\nI don't recognize myself; I remember me in a grey jacket, narrow,\nclose-fitting trousers, a round hat, and a healthy complexion.\n\nI can't make out where I got those big eyes, why they shine so, why my\nface should be yellow, and my nose, pointed.\n\nAnd yet I know that it is I myself, Chayyim Blumin, and no other; that I\nhave been handed over for a soldier, and have to serve only two years\nand eight months, and not three years and eight months, because I have a\ncertificate to the effect that I have been through the first four\nclasses in a secondary school.\n\nThough I know quite well that I am to serve only two years and eight\nmonths, I feel the same as though it were to be forever; I can't,\nsomehow, believe that my time will some day expire, and I shall once\nmore be free.\n\nI have tried from the very beginning not to play any tricks, to do my\nduty and obey orders, so that they should not say, \"A Jew won't work--a\nJew is too lazy.\"\n\nEven though I am let off manual labor, because I am on \"privileged\nrights,\" still, if they tell me to go and clean the windows, or polish\nthe flooring with sand, or clear away the snow from the door, I make no\nfuss and go. I wash and clean and polish, and try to do the work well,\nso that they should find no fault with me.\n\nThey haven't yet ordered me to carry pails of water.\n\nWhy should I not confess it? The idea of having to do that rather\nfrightens me. When I look at the vessel in which the water is carried,\nmy heart begins to flutter: the vessel is almost as big as I am, and I\ncouldn't lift it even if it were empty.\n\nI often think: What shall I do, if to-morrow, or the day after, they\nwake me at three o'clock in the morning and say coolly:\n\n\"Get up, Blumin, and go with Ossadtchok to fetch a pail of water!\"\n\nYou ought to see my neighbor Ossadtchok! He looks as if he could squash\nme with one finger. It is as easy for him to carry a pail of water as to\ndrink a glass of brandy. How can I compare myself with him?\n\nI don't care if it makes my shoulder swell, if I could only carry the\nthing. I shouldn't mind about that. But God in Heaven knows the truth,\nthat I won't be able to lift the pail off the ground, only they won't\nbelieve me, they will say:\n\n\"Look at the lazy Jew, pretending he is a poor creature that can't lift\na pail!\"\n\nThere--I mind that more than anything.\n\nI don't suppose they _will_ send me to fetch water, for, after all, I am\non \"privileged rights,\" but I can't sleep in peace: I dream all night\nthat they are waking me at three o'clock, and I start up bathed in a\ncold sweat.\n\nDrill does not begin before eight in the morning, but they wake us at\nsix, so that we may have time to clean our rifles, polish our boots and\nleather girdle, brush our coat, and furbish the brass buttons with\nchalk, so that they should shine like mirrors.\n\nI don't mind the getting up early, I am used to rising long before\ndaylight, but I am always worrying lest something shouldn't be properly\ncleaned, and they should say that a Jew is so lazy, he doesn't care if\nhis things are clean or not, that he's afraid of touching his rifle, and\npay me other compliments of the kind.\n\nI clean and polish and rub everything all I know, but my rifle always\nseems in worse condition than the other men's. I can't make it look the\nsame as theirs, do what I will, and the head of my division, a corporal,\nshouts at me, calls me a greasy fellow, and says he'll have me up before\nthe authorities because I don't take care of my arms.\n\nBut there is worse than the rifle, and that is the uniform. Mine is\n_years_ old--I am sure it is older than I am. Every day little pieces\nfall out of it, and the buttons tear themselves out of the cloth,\ndragging bits of it after them.\n\nI never had a needle in my hand in all my life before, and now I sit\nwhole nights and patch and sew on buttons. And next morning, when the\ncorporal takes hold of a button and gives a pull, to see if it's firmly\nsewn, a pang goes through my heart: the button is dragged out, and a\npiece of the uniform follows.\n\nAnother whole night's work for me!\n\nAfter the inspection, they drive us out into the yard and teach us to\nstand: it must be done so that our stomachs fall in and our chests stick\nout. I am half as one ought to be, because my stomach is flat enough\nanyhow, only my chest is weak and narrow and also flat--flat as a board.\n\nThe corporal squeezes in my stomach with his knee, pulls me forward by\nthe flaps of the coat, but it's no use. He loses his temper, and calls\nme greasy fellow, screams again that I am pretending, that I _won't_\nserve, and this makes my chest fall in more than ever.\n\nI like the gymnastics.\n\nIn summer we go out early into the yard, which is very wide and covered\nwith thick grass.\n\nIt smells delightfully, the sun warms us through, it feels so pleasant.\n\nThe breeze blows from the fields, I open my mouth and swallow the\nfreshness, and however much I swallow, it's not enough, I should like to\ntake in all the air there is. Then, perhaps, I should cough less, and\ngrow a little stronger.\n\nWe throw off the old uniforms, and remain in our shirts, we run and leap\nand go through all sorts of performances with our hands and feet, and\nit's splendid! At home I never had so much as an idea of such fun.\n\nAt first I was very much afraid of jumping across the ditch, but I\nresolved once and for all--I've _got_ to jump it. If the worst comes to\nthe worst, I shall fall and bruise myself. Suppose I do? What then? Why\ndo all the others jump it and don't care? One needn't be so very strong\nto jump!\n\nAnd one day, before the gymnastics had begun, I left my comrades, took\nheart and a long run, and when I came to the ditch, I made a great\nbound, and, lo and behold, I was over on the other side! I couldn't\nbelieve my own eyes that I had done it so easily.\n\nEver since then I have jumped across ditches, and over mounds, and down\nfrom mounds, as well as any of them.\n\nOnly when it comes to climbing a ladder or swinging myself over a high\nbar, I know it spells misfortune for me.\n\nI spring forward, and seize the first rung with my right hand, but I\ncannot reach the second with my left.\n\nI stretch myself, and kick out with my feet, but I cannot reach any\nhigher, not by so much as a vershok, and so there I hang and kick with\nmy feet, till my right arm begins to tremble and hurt me. My head goes\nround, and I fall onto the grass. The corporal abuses me as usual, and\nthe soldiers laugh.\n\nI would give ten years of my life to be able to get higher, if only\nthree or four rungs, but what can I do, if my arms won't serve me?\n\nSometimes I go out to the ladder by myself, while the soldiers are still\nasleep, and stand and look at it: perhaps I can think of a way to\nmanage? But in vain. Thinking, you see, doesn't help you in these cases.\n\nSometimes they tell one of the soldiers to stand in the middle of the\nyard with his back to us, and we have to hop over him. He bends down a\nlittle, lowers his head, rests his hands on his knees, and we hop over\nhim one at a time. One takes a good run, and when one comes to him, one\nplaces both hands on his shoulders, raises oneself into the air,\nand--over!\n\nI know exactly how it ought to be done; I take the run all right, and\nplant my hands on his shoulders, only I can't raise myself into the air.\nAnd if I do lift myself up a little way, I remain sitting on the\nsoldier's neck, and were it not for his seizing me by the feet, I should\nfall, and perhaps kill myself.\n\nThen the corporal and another soldier take hold of me by the arms and\nlegs, and throw me over the man's head, so that I may see there is\nnothing dreadful about it, as though I did not jump right over him\nbecause I was afraid, while it is that my arms are so weak, I cannot\nlean upon them and raise myself into the air.\n\nBut when I say so, they only laugh, and don't believe me. They say, \"It\nwon't help you; you will have to serve anyhow!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen, on the other hand, it comes to \"theory,\" the corporal is very\npleased with me.\n\nHe says that except himself no one knows \"theory\" as I do.\n\nHe never questions me now, only when one of the others doesn't know\nsomething, he turns to me:\n\n\"Well, Blumin, _you_ tell me!\"\n\nI stand up without hurrying, and am about to answer, but he is\napparently not pleased with my way of rising from my seat, and orders me\nto sit down again.\n\n\"When your superior speaks to you,\" says he, \"you ought to jump up as\nthough the seat were hot,\" and he looks at me angrily, as much as to\nsay, \"You may know theory, but you'll please to know your manners as\nwell, and treat me with proper respect.\"\n\n\"Stand up again and answer!\"\n\nI start up as though I felt a prick from a needle, and answer the\nquestion as he likes it done: smartly, all in one breath, and word for\nword according to the book.\n\nHe, meanwhile, looks at the primer, to make sure I am not leaving\nanything out, but as he reads very slowly, he cannot catch me up, and\nwhen I have got to the end, he is still following with his finger and\nreading. And when he has finished, he gives me a pleased look, and says\nenthusiastically \"Right!\" and tells me to sit down again.\n\n\"Theory,\" he says, \"that you _do_ know!\"\n\nWell, begging his pardon, it isn't much to know. And yet there are\nsoldiers who are four years over it, and don't know it then. For\ninstance, take my comrade Ossadtchok; he says that, when it comes to\n\"theory\", he would rather go and hang or drown himself. He says, he\nwould rather have to carry three pails of water than sit down to\n\"theory.\"\n\nI tell him, that if he would learn to read, he could study the whole\nthing by himself in a week; but he won't listen.\n\n\"Nobody,\" he says, \"will ever ask _my_ advice.\"\n\nOne thing always alarmed me very much: However was I to take part in the\nmanoeuvres?\n\nI cannot lift a single pud (I myself only weigh two pud and thirty\npounds), and if I walk three versts, my feet hurt, and my heart beats so\nviolently that I think it's going to burst my side.\n\nAt the manoeuvres I should have to carry as much as fifty pounds'\nweight, and perhaps more: a rifle, a cloak, a knapsack with linen,\nboots, a uniform, a tent, bread, and onions, and a few other little\nthings, and should have to walk perhaps thirty to forty versts a day.\n\nBut when the day and the hour arrived, and the command was given\n\"Forward, march!\" when the band struck up, and two thousand men set\ntheir feet in motion, something seemed to draw me forward, and I went.\nAt the beginning I found it hard, I felt weighted to the earth, my left\nshoulder hurt me so, I nearly fainted. But afterwards I got very hot, I\nbegan to breathe rapidly and deeply, my eyes were starting out of my\nhead like two cupping-glasses, and I not only walked, I ran, so as not\nto fall behind--and so I ended by marching along with the rest, forty\nversts a day.\n\nOnly I did not sing on the march like the others. First, because I did\nnot feel so very cheerful, and second, because I could not breathe\nproperly, let alone sing.\n\nAt times I felt burning hot, but immediately afterwards I would grow\nlight, and the marching was easy, I seemed to be carried along rather\nthan to tread the earth, and it appeared to me as though another were\nmarching in my place, only that my left shoulder ached, and I was hot.\n\nI remember that once it rained a whole night long, it came down like a\ndeluge, our tents were soaked through, and grew heavy. The mud was\nthick. At three o'clock in the morning an alarm was sounded, we were\nordered to fold up our tents and take to the road again. So off we went.\n\nIt was dark and slippery. It poured with rain. I was continually\nstepping into a puddle, and getting my boot full of water. I shivered\nand shook, and my teeth chattered with cold. That is, I was cold one\nminute and hot the next. But the marching was no difficulty to me, I\nscarcely felt that I was on the march, and thought very little about it.\nIndeed, I don't know what I _was_ thinking about, my mind was a blank.\n\nWe marched, turned back, and marched again. Then we halted for half an\nhour, and turned back again.\n\nAnd this went on a whole night and a whole day.\n\nThen it turned out that there had been a mistake: it was not we who\nought to have marched, but another regiment, and we ought not to have\nmoved from the spot. But there was no help for it then.\n\nIt was night. We had eaten nothing all day. The rain poured down, the\nmud was ankle-deep, there was no straw on which to pitch our tents, but\nwe managed somehow. And so the days passed, each like the other. But I\ngot through the manoeuvres, and was none the worse.\n\nNow I am already an old soldier; I have hardly another year and a half\nto serve--about sixteen months. I only hope I shall not be ill. It seems\nI got a bit of a chill at the manoeuvres, I cough every morning, and\nsometimes I suffer with my feet. I shiver a little at night till I get\nwarm, and then I am very hot, and I feel very comfortable lying abed.\nBut I shall probably soon be all right again.\n\nThey say, one may take a rest in the hospital, but I haven't been there\nyet, and don't want to go at all, especially now I am feeling better.\nThe soldiers are sorry for me, and sometimes they do my work, but not\njust for love. I get three pounds of bread a day, and don't eat more\nthan one pound. The rest I give to my comrade Ossadtchok. He eats it\nall, and his own as well, and then he could do with some more. In return\nfor this he often cleans my rifle, and sometimes does other work for me,\nwhen he sees I have no strength left.\n\nI am also teaching him and a few other soldiers to read and write, and\nthey are very pleased.\n\nMy corporal also comes to me to be taught, but he never gives me a word\nof thanks.\n\nThe superior of the platoon, when he isn't drunk, and is in good humor,\nsays \"you\" to me instead of \"thou,\" and sometimes invites me to share\nhis bed--I can breathe easier there, because there is more air, and I\ndon't cough so much, either.\n\nOnly it sometimes happens that he comes back from town tipsy, and makes\na great to-do: How do I, a common soldier, come to be sitting on his\nbed?\n\nHe orders me to get up and stand before him \"at attention,\" and declares\nhe will \"have me up\" for it.\n\nWhen, however, he has sobered down, he turns kind again, and calls me to\nhim; he likes me to tell him \"stories\" out of books.\n\nSometimes the orderly calls me into the orderly-room, and gives me a\nreport to draw up, or else a list or a calculation to make. He himself\nwrites badly, and is very poor at figures.\n\nI do everything he wants, and he is very glad of my help, only it\nwouldn't do for him to confess to it, and when I have finished, he\nalways says to me:\n\n\"If the commanding officer is not satisfied, he will send you to fetch\nwater.\"\n\nI know it isn't true, first, because the commanding officer mustn't know\nthat I write in the orderly-room, a Jew can't be an army secretary;\nsecondly, because he is certain to be satisfied: he once gave me a note\nto write himself, and was very pleased with it.\n\n\"If you were not a Jew,\" he said to me then, \"I should make a corporal\nof you.\"\n\nStill, my corporal always repeats his threat about the water, so that I\nmay preserve a proper respect for him, although I not only respect him,\nI tremble before his size. When _he_ comes back tipsy from town, and\nfinds me in the orderly-room, he commands me to drag his muddy boots off\nhis feet, and I obey him and drag off his boots.\n\nSometimes I don't care, and other times it hurts my feelings.\n\n\n\n\nISAIAH BERSCHADSKI\n\n\nPen name of Isaiah Domaschewitski; born, 1871, near Derechin, Government\nof Grodno (Lithuania), White Russia; died, 1909, in Warsaw; education,\nJewish and secular; teacher of Hebrew in Ekaterinoslav, Southern Russia;\nin business, in Ekaterinoslav and Baku; editor, in 1903, of Ha-Zeman,\nfirst in St. Petersburg, then in Wilna; after a short sojourn in Riga\nremoved to Warsaw; writer of novels and short stories, almost\nexclusively in Hebrew; contributor to Ha-Meliz, Ha-Shiloah, and other\nperiodicals; pen names besides Berschadski: Berschadi, and Shimoni;\ncollected works in Hebrew, Tefusim u-Zelalim, Warsaw, 1899, and Ketabim\nAharonim, Warsaw, 1909.\n\n\n\n\nFORLORN AND FORSAKEN\n\n\nForlorn and forsaken she was in her last years. Even when she lay on the\nbed of sickness where she died, not one of her relations or friends came\nto look after her; they did not even come to mourn for her or accompany\nher to the grave. There was not even one of her kin to say the first\nKaddish over her resting-place. My wife and I were the only friends she\nhad at the close of her life, no one but us cared for her while she was\nill, or walked behind her coffin. The only tears shed at the lonely old\nwoman's grave were ours. I spoke the only Kaddish for her soul, but we,\nafter all, were complete strangers to her!\n\nYes, we were strangers to her, and she was a stranger to us! We made her\nacquaintance only a few years before her death, when she was living in\ntwo tiny rooms opposite the first house we settled in after our\nmarriage. Nobody ever came to see her, and she herself visited nowhere,\nexcept at the little store where she made her necessary purchases, and\nat the house-of-study near by, where she prayed twice every day. She was\nabout sixty, rather undersized, and very thin, but more lithesome in her\nmovements than is common at that age. Her face was full of creases and\nwrinkles, and her light brown eyes were somewhat dulled, but her ready\nsmile and quiet glance told of a good heart and a kindly temper. Her\nsimple old gown was always neat, her wig tastefully arranged, her\nlodging and its furniture clean and tidy--and all this attracted us to\nher from the first day onward. We were still more taken with her\nretiring manner, the quiet way in which she kept herself in the\nbackground and the slight melancholy of her expression, telling of a\nlife that had held much sadness.\n\nWe made advances. She was very willing to become acquainted with us, and\nit was not very long before she was like a mother to us, or an old aunt.\nMy wife was then an inexperienced \"housemistress\" fresh to her duties,\nand found a great help in the old woman, who smilingly taught her how to\nproceed with the housekeeping. When our first child was born, she took\nit to her heart, and busied herself with its upbringing almost more than\nthe young mother. It was evident that dandling the child in her arms was\na joy to her beyond words. At such moments her eyes would brighten, her\nwrinkles grew faint, a curiously satisfied smile played round her lips,\nand a new note of joy came into her voice.\n\nAt first sight all this seemed quite simple, because a woman is\nnaturally inclined to care for little children, and it may have been so\nwith her to an exceptional degree, but closer examination convinced me\nthat here lay yet another reason; her attentions to the child, so it\nseemed, awakened pleasant memories of a long-ago past, when she herself\nwas a young mother caring for children of her own, and looking at this\nstrange child had stirred a longing for those other children, further\nfrom her eyes, but nearer to her heart, although perhaps quite unknown\nto her--who perhaps existed only in her imagination.\n\nAnd when we were made acquainted with the details of her life, we knew\nour conjectures to be true. Her history was very simple and commonplace,\nbut very tragic. Perhaps the tragedy of such biographies lies in their\nbeing so very ordinary and simple!\n\nShe lived quietly and happily with her husband for twenty years after\ntheir marriage. They were not rich, but their little house was a kingdom\nof delight, where no good thing was wanting. Their business was farming\nland that belonged to a Polish nobleman, a business that knows of good\ntimes and of bad, of fat years and lean years, years of high prices and\nyears of low. But on the whole it was a good business and profitable,\nand it afforded them a comfortable living. Besides, they were used to\nthe country, they could not fancy themselves anywhere else. The very\nthing that had never entered their head is just what happened. In the\nbeginning of the \"eighties\" they were obliged to leave the estate they\nhad farmed for ten years, because the lease was up, and the recently\npromulgated \"temporary laws\" forbade them to renew it. This was bad for\nthem from a material point of view, because it left them without regular\nincome just when their children were growing up and expenses had\nincreased, but their mental distress was so great, that, for the time,\nthe financial side of the misfortune was thrown into the shade.\n\nWhen we made her acquaintance, many years had passed since then, many\nanother trouble had come into her life, but one could hear tears in her\nvoice while she told the story of that first misfortune. It was a\nbitter Tisho-b'ov for them when they left the house, the gardens, the\nbarns, and the stalls, their whole life, all those things concerning\nwhich they had forgotten, and their children had hardly known, that they\nwere not their own possession.\n\nTheir town surroundings made them more conscious of their altered\ncircumstances. She herself, the elder children oftener still, had been\nused to drive into the town now and again, but that was on pleasure\ntrips, which had lasted a day or two at most; they had never tried\nstaying there longer, and it was no wonder if they felt cramped and\noppressed in town after their free life in the open.\n\nWhen they first settled there, they had a capital of about ten thousand\nrubles, but by reason of inexperience in their new occupation they were\nworsted in competition with others, and a few turns of bad luck brought\nthem almost to ruin. The capital grew less from year to year; everything\nthey took up was more of a struggle than the last venture; poverty came\nnearer and nearer, and the father of the family began to show signs of\nillness, brought on by town life and worry. This, of course, made their\nmaterial position worse, and the knowledge of it reacted disastrously on\nhis health. Three years after he came to town, he died, and she was left\nwith six children and no means of subsistence. Already during her\nhusband's life they had exchanged their first lodging for a second, a\npoorer and cheaper one, and after his death they moved into a third,\nmeaner and narrower still, and sold their precious furniture, for which,\nindeed, there was no place in the new existence. But even so the\nquestion of bread and meat was not answered. They still had about six\nhundred rubles, but, as they were without a trade, it was easy to\nforesee that the little stock of money would dwindle day by day till\nthere was none of it left--and what then?\n\nThe eldest son, Yossef, aged twenty-one, had gone from home a year\nbefore his father's death, to seek his fortune elsewhere; but his first\nletters brought no very good news, and now the second, Avrohom, a lad of\neighteen, and the daughter Rochel, who was sixteen, declared their\nintention to start for America. The mother was against it, begged them\nwith tears not to go, but they did not listen to her. Parting with them,\nforever most likely, was bad enough in itself, but worst of all was the\nthought that her children, for whose Jewish education their father had\nnever grudged money even when times were hardest, should go to America,\nand there, forgetting everything they had learned, become \"ganze Goyim.\"\nShe was quite sure that her husband would never have agreed to his\nchildren's being thus scattered abroad, and this encouraged her to\noppose their will with more determination. She urged them to wait at\nleast till their elder brother had achieved some measure of success, and\ncould help them. She held out this hope to them, because she believed in\nher son Yossef and his capacity, and was convinced that in a little time\nhe would become their support.\n\nIf only Avrohom and Rochel had not been so impatient (she would lament\nto us), everything would have turned out differently! They would not\nhave been bustled off to the end of creation, and she would not have\nbeen left so lonely in her last years, but--it had apparently been so\nordained!\n\nAvrohom and Rochel agreed to defer the journey, but when some months had\npassed, and Yossef was still wandering from town to town, finding no\nrest for the sole of his foot, she had to give in to her children and\nlet them go. They took with them two hundred rubles and sailed for\nAmerica, and with the remaining three hundred rubles she opened a tiny\nshop. Her expenses were not great now, as only the three younger\nchildren were left her, but the shop was not sufficient to support even\nthese. The stock grew smaller month by month, there never being anything\nover wherewith to replenish it, and there was no escaping the fact that\none day soon the shop would remain empty.\n\nAnd as if this were not enough, there came bad news from the children in\nAmerica. They did not complain much; on the contrary, they wrote most\nhopefully about the future, when their position would certainly, so they\nsaid, improve; but the mother's heart was not to be deceived, and she\nfelt instinctively that meanwhile they were doing anything but well,\nwhile later--who could foresee what would happen later?\n\nOne day she got a letter from Yossef, who wrote that, convinced of the\nimpossibility of earning a livelihood within the Pale, he was about to\nmake use of an opportunity that offered itself, and settle in a distant\ntown outside of it. This made her very sad, and she wept over her\nfate--to have a son living in a Gentile city, where there were hardly\nany Jews at all. And the next letter from America added sorrow to\nsorrow. Avrohom and Rochel had parted company, and were living in\ndifferent towns. She could not bear the thought of her young daughter\nfending for herself among strangers--a thought that tortured her all the\nmore as she had a peculiar idea of America. She herself could not\naccount for the terror that would seize her whenever she remembered that\nstrange, distant life.\n\nBut the worst was nearly over; the turn for the better came soon. She\nreceived word from Yossef that he had found a good position in his new\nhome, and in a few weeks he proved his letter true by sending her money.\nFrom America, too, the news that came was more cheerful, even joyous.\nAvrohom had secured steady work with good pay, and before long he wrote\nfor his younger brother to join him in America, and provided him with\nall the funds he needed for travelling expenses. Rochel had engaged\nherself to a young man, whose praises she sounded in her letters. Soon\nafter her wedding, she sent money to bring over another brother, and her\nhusband added a few lines, in which he spoke of \"his great love for his\nnew relations,\" and how he \"looked forward with impatience to having one\nof them, his dear brother-in-law, come to live with him.\"\n\nThis was good and cheering news, and it all came within a year's time,\nbut the mother's heart grieved over it more than it rejoiced. Her\ndelight at her daughter's marriage with a good man she loved was\nanything but unmixed. Melancholy thoughts blended with it, whether she\nwould or not. The occasion was one which a mother's fancy had painted in\nrainbow colors, on the preparations for which it had dwelt with untold\npleasure--and now she had had no share in it at all, and her heart\nwrithed under the disappointment. To make her still sadder, she was\nobliged to part with two more children. She tried to prevent their\ngoing, but they had long ago set their hearts on following their brother\nand sister to America, and the recent letters had made them more anxious\nto be off.\n\nSo they started, and there remained only the youngest daughter, Rivkeh,\na girl of thirteen. Their position was materially not a bad one, for\nevery now and then the old woman received help from her children in\nAmerica and from her son Yossef, so that she was not even obliged to\nkeep up the shop, but the mother in her was not satisfied, because she\nwanted to see her children's happiness with her own eyes. The good news\nthat continued to arrive at intervals brought pain as well as pleasure,\nby reminding her how much less fortunate she was than other mothers, who\nwere counted worthy to live together with their children, and not at a\ndistance from them like her.\n\nThe idea that she should go out to those of them who were in America,\nnever occurred to her, or to them, either! But Yossef, who had taken a\nwife in his new town, and who, soon after, had set up for himself, and\nwas doing very well, now sent for his mother and little sister to come\nand live with him. At first the mother was unwilling, fearing that she\nmight be in the way of her daughter-in-law, and thus disturb the\nhousehold peace; even later, when she had assured herself that the young\nwife was very kind, and there was nothing to be afraid of, she could not\nmake up her mind to go, even though she longed to be with Yossef, her\noldest son, who had always been her favorite, and however much she\ndesired to see his wife and her little grandchildren.\n\nWhy she would not fulfil his wish and her own, she herself was not\nclearly conscious; but she shrank from the strange fashion of the life\nthey led, and she never ceased to hope, deep down in her heart, that\nsome day they would come back to her. And this especially with regard to\nYossef, who sometimes complained in his letters that his situation was\nanything but secure, because the smallest circumstance might bring about\nan edict of expulsion. She quite understood that her son would consider\nthis a very bad thing, but she herself looked at it with other eyes;\nround about _here_, too, were people who made a comfortable living, and\nYossef was no worse than others, that he should not do the same.\n\nSix or seven years passed in this way; the youngest daughter was twenty,\nand it was time to think of a match for her. Her mother felt sure that\nYossef would provide the dowry, but she thought best Rivkeh and her\nbrother should see each other, and she consented readily to let Rivkeh\ngo to him, when Yossef invited her to spend several months as his guest.\nNo sooner had she gone, than the mother realized what it meant, this\nparting with her youngest and, for the last years, her only child. She\nwas filled with regret at not having gone with her, and waited\nimpatiently for her return. Suddenly she heard that Rivkeh had found\nfavor with a friend of Yossef's, the son of a well-to-do merchant, and\nthat Rivkeh and her brother were equally pleased with him. The two were\nalready engaged, and the wedding was only deferred till she, the mother,\nshould come and take up her abode with them for good.\n\nThe longing to see her daughter overcame all her doubts. She resolved to\ngo to her son, and began preparations for the start. These were just\ncompleted, when there came a letter from Yossef to say that the\nsituation had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and he and his family\nmight have to leave their town.\n\nThis sudden news was distressing and welcome at one and the same time.\nShe was anxious lest the edict of expulsion should harm her son's\nposition, and pleased, on the other hand, that he should at last be\ncoming back, for God would not forsake him here, either; what with the\nfortune he had, and his aptitude for trade, he would make a living right\nenough. She waited anxiously, and in a few months had gone through all\nthe mental suffering inherent in a state of uncertainty such as hers,\nwhen fear and hope are twined in one.\n\nThe waiting was the harder to bear that all this time no letter from\nYossef or Rivkeh reached her promptly. And the end of it all was this:\nnews came that the danger was over, and Yossef would remain where he\nwas; but as far as she was concerned, it was best she should do\nlikewise, because trailing about at her age was a serious thing, and it\nwas not worth while her running into danger, and so on.\n\nThe old woman was full of grief at remaining thus forlorn in her old\nage, and she longed more than ever for her children after having hoped\nso surely that she would be with them soon. She could not understand\nYossef's reason for suddenly changing his mind with regard to her\ncoming; but it never occurred to her for one minute to doubt her\nchildren's affection. And we, when we had read the treasured bundle of\nletters from Yossef and Rivkeh, we could not doubt it, either. There was\nlove and longing for the distant mother in every line, and several of\nthe letters betrayed a spirit of bitterness, a note of complaining\nresentment against the hard times that had brought about the separation\nfrom her. And yet we could not help thinking, \"Out of sight, out of\nmind,\" that which is far from the eyes, weighs lighter at the heart. It\nwas the only explanation we could invent, for why, otherwise, should the\nmother have to remain alone among strangers?\n\nAll these considerations moved me to interfere in the matter without the\nold woman's knowledge. She could read Yiddish, but could not write it,\nand before we made friends, her letters to the children were written by\na shopkeeper of her acquaintance. But from the time we got to know her,\nI became her constant secretary, and one day, when writing to Yossef for\nher, I made use of the opportunity to enclose a letter from myself. I\nasked his forgiveness for mixing myself up in another's family affairs,\nand tried to justify the interference by dwelling on our affectionate\nrelations with his mother. I then described, in the most touching words\nat my command, how hard it was for her to live forlorn, how she pined\nfor the presence of her children and grandchildren, and ended by telling\nthem, that it was their duty to free their mother from all this mental\nsuffering.\n\nThere was no direct reply to this letter of mine, but the next one from\nthe son to his mother gave her to understand that there are certain\nthings not to be explained, while the impossibility of explaining them\nmay lead to a misunderstanding. This hint made the position no clearer\nto us, and the fact of Yossef's not answering me confirmed us in our\nprevious suspicions.\n\nMeanwhile our old friend fell ill, and quickly understood that she would\nsoon die. Among the things she begged me to do after her death and\nhaving reference to her burial, there was one particular petition\nseveral times repeated: to send a packet of Hebrew books, which had been\nleft by her husband, to her son Yossef, and to inform him of her death\nby telegram. \"My American children\"--she explained with a sigh--\"have\ncertainly forgotten everything they once learned, forgotten all their\nJewishness! But my son Yossef is a different sort; I feel sure of him,\nthat he will say Kaddish after me and read a chapter in the Mishnah, and\nthe books will come in useful for his children--Grandmother's legacy to\nthem.\"\n\nWhen I fulfilled the old woman's last wish, I learned how mistaken she\nhad been. The answer to my letter written during her lifetime came now\nthat she was dead. Her children thanked us warmly for our care of her,\nand they also explained why she and they had remained apart.\n\nShe had never known--and it was far better so--by what means her son had\nobtained the right to live outside the Pale. It was enough that she\nshould have to live _forlorn_, where would have been the good of her\nknowing that she was _forsaken_ as well--that the one of her children\nwho had gone altogether over to \"them\" was Yossef?\n\n\n\n\nTASHRAK\n\n\nPen name of Israel Joseph Zevin; born, 1872, in Gori-Gorki, Government\nof Mohileff (Lithuania), White Russia; came to New York in 1889; first\nYiddish sketch published in Juedisches Tageblatt, 1893; first English\nstory in The American Hebrew, 1906; associate editor of Juedisches\nTageblatt; writer of sketches, short stories, and biographies, in\nHebrew, Yiddish, and English; contributor to Ha-Ibri, Jewish Comment,\nand numerous Yiddish periodicals; collected works, Geklibene Schriften,\n1 vol., New York, 1910, and Tashrak's Beste Erzaehlungen, 4 vols., New\nYork, 1910.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOLE IN A BEIGEL\n\n\nWhen I was a little Cheder-boy, my Rebbe, Bunem-Breine-Gite's, a learned\nman, who was always tormenting me with Talmudical questions and with\nriddles, once asked me, \"What becomes of the hole in a Beigel, when one\nhas eaten the Beigel?\"\n\nThis riddle, which seemed to me then very hard to solve, stuck in my\nhead, and I puzzled over it day and night. I often bought a Beigel, took\na bite out of it, and immediately replaced the bitten-out piece with my\nhand, so that the hole should not escape. But when I had eaten up the\nBeigel, the hole had somehow always disappeared, which used to annoy me\nvery much. I went about preoccupied, thought it over at prayers and at\nlessons, till the Rebbe noticed that something was wrong with me.\n\nAt home, too, they remarked that I had lost my appetite, that I ate\nnothing but Beigel--Beigel for breakfast, Beigel for dinner, Beigel for\nsupper, Beigel all day long. They also observed that I ate it to the\naccompaniment of strange gestures and contortions of both my mouth and\nmy hands.\n\nOne day I summoned all my courage, and asked the Rebbe, in the middle of\na lesson on the Pentateuch:\n\n\"Rebbe, when one has eaten a Beigel, what becomes of the hole?\"\n\n\"Why, you little silly,\" answered the Rebbe, \"what is a hole in a\nBeigel? Just nothing at all! A bit of emptiness! It's nothing _with_ the\nBeigel and nothing _without_ the Beigel!\"\n\nMany years have passed since then, and I have not yet been able to\nsatisfy myself as to what is the object of a hole in a Beigel. I have\nconsidered whether one could not have Beigels without holes. One lives\nand learns. And America has taught me this: One _can_ have Beigels\nwithout holes, for I saw them in a dairy-shop in East Broadway. I at\nonce recited the appropriate blessing, and then I asked the shopman\nabout these Beigels, and heard a most interesting history, which shows\nhow difficult it is to get people to accept anything new, and what\nsacrifices it costs to introduce the smallest reform.\n\nThis is the story:\n\nA baker in an Illinois city took it into his head to make straight\nBeigels, in the shape of candles. But this reform cost him dear, because\nthe united owners of the bakeries in that city immediately made a set at\nhim and boycotted him.\n\nThey argued: \"Our fathers' fathers baked Beigels with holes, the whole\nworld eats Beigels with holes, and here comes a bold coxcomb of a\nfellow, upsets the order of the universe, and bakes Beigels _without_\nholes! Have you ever heard of such impertinence? It's just revolution!\nAnd if a person like this is allowed to go on, he will make an end of\neverything: to-day it's Beigels without holes, to-morrow it will be\nholes without Beigels! Such a thing has never been known before!\"\n\nAnd because of the hole in a Beigel, a storm broke out in that city that\ngrew presently into a civil war. The \"bosses\" fought on, and dragged the\nbakers'-hands Union after them into the conflict. Now the Union\ncontained two parties, of which one declared that a hole and a Beigel\nconstituted together a private affair, like religion, and that everyone\nhad a right to bake Beigels as he thought best, and according to his\nconscience. The other party maintained, that to sell Beigels without\nholes was against the constitution, to which the first party replied\nthat the constitution should be altered, as being too ancient, and\ncontrary to the spirit of the times. At this the second party raised a\nclamor, crying that the rules could not be altered, because they were\nToras-Lokshen and every letter, every stroke, every dot was a law in\nitself! The city papers were obliged to publish daily accounts of the\nmeetings that were held to discuss the hole in a Beigel, and the papers\nalso took sides, and wrote fiery polemical articles on the subject. The\nquarrel spread through the city, until all the inhabitants were divided\ninto two parties, the Beigel-with-a-hole party and the\nBeigel-without-a-hole party. Children rose against their parents, wives\nagainst their husbands, engaged couples severed their ties, families\nwere broken up, and still the battle raged--and all on account of the\nhole in a Beigel!\n\n\n\n\nAS THE YEARS ROLL ON\n\n\nRosalie laid down the cloth with which she had been dusting the\nfurniture in her front parlor, and began tapping the velvet covering of\nthe sofa with her fingers. The velvet had worn threadbare in places, and\nthere was a great rent in the middle.\n\nHad the rent been at one of the ends, it could have been covered with a\ncushion, but there it was, by bad luck, in the very centre, and making a\nshameless display of itself: Look, here I am! See what a rent!\n\nYesterday she and her husband had invited company. The company had\nbrought children, and you never have children in the house without\nhaving them leave some mischief behind them.\n\nTo-day the sun was shining more brightly than ever, and lighting up the\nwhole room. Rosalie took the opportunity to inspect her entire set of\nfurniture. Eight years ago, when she was given the set at her marriage,\nhow happy, she had been! Everything was so fresh and new.\n\nShe had noticed before that the velvet was getting worn, and the polish\nof the chairs disappearing, and the seats losing their spring, but\nto-day all this struck her more than formerly. The holes, the rents, the\ndamaged places, stared before them with such malicious mockery--like a\npoor man laughing at his own evil plight.\n\nRosalie felt a painful melancholy steal over her. Now she could not but\nsee that her furniture was old, that she would soon be ashamed to\ninvite people into her parlor. And her husband will be in no hurry to\npresent her with a new one--he has grown so parsimonious of late!\n\nShe replaced the holland coverings of the sofa and chairs, and went out\nto do her bedroom. There, on a chair, lay her best dress, the one she\nhad put on yesterday for her guests.\n\nShe considered the dress: that, too, was frayed in places; here and\nthere even drawn together and sewn over. The bodice was beyond ironing\nout again--and this was her best dress. She opened the wardrobe, for she\nwanted to make a general survey of her belongings. It was such a light\nday, one could see even in the back rooms. She took down one dress after\nanother, and laid them out on the made beds, observing each with a\ncritical eye. Her sense of depression increased the while, and she felt\nas though stone on stone were being piled upon her heart.\n\nShe began to put the clothes back into the wardrobe, and she hung up\nevery one of them with a sigh. When she had finished with the bedroom,\nshe went into the dining-room, and stood by the sideboard on which were\nset out her best china service and colored plates. She looked them over.\nOne little gold-rimmed cup had lost its handle, a bowl had a piece glued\nin at the side. On the top shelf stood the statuette of a little god\nwith a broken bow and arrow in his hand, and here there was one little\ngoblet missing out of a whole service.\n\nAs soon as everything was in order, Rosalie washed her face and hands,\ncombed up her hair, and began to look at herself in a little\nhand-glass, but the bath-room, to which she had retired, was dark, and\nshe betook herself back into the front parlor, towel in hand, where she\ncould see herself in the big looking-glass on the wall. Time, which had\nleft traces on the furniture, on the contents of the wardrobe, and on\nthe china, had not spared the woman, though she had been married only\neight years. She looked at the crow's-feet by her eyes, and the lines in\nher forehead, which the worrying thoughts of this day had imprinted\nthere even more sharply than usual. She tried to smile, but the smile in\nthe glass looked no more attractive than if she had given her mouth a\ntwist. She remembered that the only way to remain young is to keep free\nfrom care. But how is one to set about it? She threw on a scarlet\nJapanese kimono, and stuck an artificial flower into her hair, after\nwhich she lightly powdered her face and neck. The scarlet kimono lent a\nlittle color to her cheeks, and another critical glance at the mirror\nconvinced her that she was still a comely woman, only no more a young\none.\n\nThe bloom of youth had fled, never to return. Verfallen! And the desire\nto live was stronger than ever, even to live her life over again from\nthe beginning, sorrows and all.\n\nShe began to reflect what she should cook for supper. There was time\nenough, but she must think of something new: her husband was tired of\nher usual dishes. He said her cooking was old-fashioned, that it was\nalways the same thing, day in and day out. His taste was evidently\ngetting worn-out, too.\n\nAnd she wondered what she could prepare, so as to win back her husband's\nformer good temper and affectionate appreciation.\n\nAt one time he was an ardent young man, with a fiery tongue. He had\ngreat ideals, and he strove high. He talked of making mankind happy,\nmore refined, more noble and free. He had dreamt of a world without\ntears and troubles, of a time when men should live as brothers, and\njealousy and hatred should be unknown. In those days he loved with all\nthe warmth of his youth, and when he talked of love, it was a delight to\nlisten. The world grew to have another face for her then, life, another\nsignificance, Paradise was situated on the earth.\n\nGradually his ideals lost their freshness, their shine wore off, and he\nbecame a business man, racking his brain with speculations, trying to\ngrow rich without the necessary qualities and capabilities, and he was\nleft at last with prematurely grey hair as the only result of his\nefforts.\n\nEight years after their marriage he was as worn as their furniture in\nthe front parlor.\n\nRosalie looked out of the window. It was even much brighter outside than\nindoors. She saw people going up and down the street with different\nanxieties reflected in their faces, with wrinkles telling different\nhistories of the cares of life. She saw old faces, and the young faces\nof those who seemed to have tasted of age ere they reached it.\n\"Everything is old and worn and shabby,\" whispered a voice in her ear.\n\nA burst of childish laughter broke upon her meditations. Round the\ncorner came with a rush a lot of little boys with books under their\narms, their faces full of the zest of life, and dancing and jumping till\nthe whole street seemed to be jumping and dancing, too. Elder people\nturned smilingly aside to make way for them. Among the children Rosalie\nespied two little girls, also with books under their arms, her little\ngirls! And the mother's heart suddenly brimmed with joy, a delicious\nwarmth stole into her limbs and filled her being.\n\nRosalie went to the door to meet her two children on their return from\nschool, and when she had given each little face a motherly kiss, she\nfelt a breath of freshness and new life blowing round her.\n\nShe took off their cloaks, and listened to their childish prattle about\ntheir teachers and the day's lessons.\n\nThe clear voices rang through the rooms, awaking sympathetic echoes in\nevery corner. The home wore a new aspect, and the sun shone even more\nbrightly than before and in more friendly, kindly fashion.\n\nThe mother spread a little cloth at the edge of the table, gave them\nmilk and sandwiches, and looked at them as they ate--each child the\npicture of the mother, her eyes, her hair, her nose, her look, her\ngestures--they ate just as she would do.\n\nAnd Rosalie feels much better and happier. She doesn't care so much now\nabout the furniture being old, the dresses worn, the china service not\nbeing whole, about the wrinkles round her eyes and in her forehead. She\nonly minds about her husband's being so worn-out, so absent-minded that\nhe cannot take pleasure in the children as she can.\n\n\n\n\nDAVID PINSKI\n\n\nBorn, 1872, in Mohileff (Lithuania), White Russia; refused admission to\nGymnasium in Moscow under percentage restrictions; 1889-1891, secretary\nto Bene Zion in Vitebsk; 1891-1893, student in Vienna; 1893, co-editor\nof Spektor's Hausfreund and Perez's Yom-tov Blaettlech; 1893, first\nsketch published in New York Arbeiterzeitung; 1896, studied philosophy\nin Berlin; 1899, came to New York, and edited Das Abendblatt, a daily,\nand Der Arbeiter, a weekly; 1912, founder and co-editor of Die Yiddishe\nWochenschrift; author of short stories, sketches, an essay on the\nYiddish drama, and ten dramas, among them Yesurun, Eisik Scheftel, Die\nMutter, Die Familie Zwie, Der Oitzer, Der eibiger Jued (first part of a\nseries of Messiah dramas), Der stummer Moschiach, etc.; one volume of\ncollected dramas, Dramen, Warsaw, 1909.\n\n\n\n\nREB SHLOIMEH\n\n\nThe seventy-year-old Reb Shloimeh's son, whose home was in the country,\nsent his two boys to live with their grandfather and acquire town, that\nis, Gentile, learning.\n\n\"Times have changed,\" considered Reb Shloimeh; \"it can't be helped!\" and\nhe engaged a good teacher for the children, after making inquiries here\nand there.\n\n\"Give me a teacher who can tell the whole of _their_ Law, as the saying\ngoes, standing on one leg!\" he would say to his friends, with a smile.\n\nAt seventy-one years of age, Reb Shloimeh lived more indoors than out,\nand he used to listen to the teacher instructing his grandchildren.\n\n\"I shall become a doctor in my old age!\" he would say, laughing.\n\nThe teacher was one day telling his pupils about mathematical geography.\nReb Shloimeh sat with a smile on his lips, and laughing in his heart at\nthe little teacher who told \"such huge lies\" with so much earnestness.\n\n\"The earth revolves,\" said the teacher to his pupils, and Reb Shloimeh\nsmiles, and thinks, \"He must have seen it!\" But the teacher shows it to\nbe so by the light of reason, and Reb Shloimeh becomes graver, and\nceases smiling; he is endeavoring to grasp the proofs; he wants to ask\nquestions, but can find none that will do, and he sits there as if he\nhad lost his tongue.\n\nThe teacher has noticed his grave look, and understands that the old man\nis interested in the lesson, and he begins to tell of even greater\nwonders. He tells how far the sun is from the earth, how big it is, how\nmany earths could be made out of it--and Reb Shloimeh begins to smile\nagain, and at last can bear it no longer.\n\n\"Look here,\" he exclaimed, \"that I cannot and will not listen to! You\nmay tell me the earth revolves--well, be it so! Very well, I'll allow\nyou, that, perhaps, according to reason--even--the size of the\nearth--the appearance of the earth--do you see?--all that sort of thing.\nBut the sun! Who has measured the sun! Who, I ask you! Have _you_ been\non it? A pretty thing to say, upon my word!\" Reb Shloimeh grew very\nexcited. The teacher took hold of Reb Shloimeh's hand, and began to\nquiet him. He told him by what means the astronomers had discovered all\nthis, that it was no matter of speculation; he explained the telescope\nto him, and talked of mathematical calculations, which he, Reb Shloimeh,\nwas not able to understand. Reb Shloimeh had nothing to answer, but he\nfrowned and remained obstinate. \"He\" (he said, and made a contemptuous\nmotion with his hand), \"it's nothing to me, not knowing that or being\nable to understand it! Science, indeed! Fiddlesticks!\"\n\nHe relapsed into silence, and went on listening to the teacher's\n\"stories.\" \"We even know,\" the teacher continued, \"what metals are to be\nfound in the sun.\"\n\n\"And suppose I won't believe you?\" and Reb Shloimeh smiled maliciously.\n\n\"I will explain directly,\" answered the teacher.\n\n\"And tell us there's a fair in the sky!\" interrupted Reb Shloimeh,\nimpatiently. He was very angry, but the teacher took no notice of his\nanger.\n\n\"Two hundred years ago,\" began the teacher, \"there lived, in England, a\ncelebrated naturalist and mathematician, Isaac Newton. It was told of\nhim that when God said, Let there be light, Newton was born.\"\n\n\"Psh! I should think, very likely!\" broke in Reb Shloimeh. \"Why not?\"\n\nThe teacher pursued his way, and gave an explanation of spectral\nanalysis. He spoke at some length, and Reb Shloimeh sat and listened\nwith close attention. \"Now do you understand?\" asked the teacher, coming\nto an end.\n\nReb Shloimeh made no reply, he only looked up from under his brows.\n\nThe teacher went on:\n\n\"The earth,\" he said, \"has stood for many years. Their exact number is\nnot known, but calculation brings it to several million--\"\n\n\"E,\" burst in the old man, \"I should like to know what next! I thought\neveryone knew _that_--that even _they_--\"\n\n\"Wait a bit, Reb Shloimeh,\" interrupted the teacher, \"I will explain\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"Ma! It makes me sick to hear you,\" was the irate reply, and Reb\nShloimeh got up and left the room.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAll that day Reb Shloimeh was in a bad temper, and went about with\nknitted brows. He was angry with science, with the teacher, with\nhimself, because he must needs have listened to it all.\n\n\"Chatter and foolishness! And there I sit and listen to it!\" he said to\nhimself with chagrin. But he remembered the \"chatter,\" something begins\nto weigh on his heart and brain, he would like to find a something to\ncatch hold of, a proof of the vanity and emptiness of their teaching, to\ninvent some hard question, and stick out a long red tongue at them\nall--those nowadays barbarians, those nowadays Newtons.\n\n\"After all, it's mere child's play,\" he reflects. \"It's ridiculous to\ntake their nonsense to heart.\"\n\n\"Only their proofs, their proofs!\" and the feeling of helplessness comes\nover him once more.\n\n\"Ma!\" He pulls himself together. \"Is it all over with us? Is it all up?!\nAll up?! The earth revolves! Gammon! As to their explanations--very\nwonderful, to be sure! O, of course, it's all of the greatest\nimportance! Dear me, yes!\"\n\nHe is very angry, tears the buttons off his coat, puts his hat straight\non his head, and spits.\n\n\"Apostates, nothing but apostates nowadays,\" he concludes. Then he\nremembers the teacher--with what enthusiasm he spoke!\n\nHis explanations ring in Reb Shloimeh's head, and prove things, and once\nmore the old gentleman is perplexed.\n\nPreoccupied, cross, with groans and sighs, he went to bed. But he was\nrestless all night, turning from one side to the other, and groaning.\nHis old wife tried to cheer him.\n\n\"Such weather as it is to-day,\" she said, and coughed. \"I have a pain in\nthe side, too.\"\n\nNext morning when the teacher came, Reb Shloimeh inquired with a\ndispleased expression:\n\n\"Well, are you going to tell stories again to-day?\"\n\n\"We shall not take geography to-day,\" answered the teacher.\n\n\"Have your 'astronomers' found out by calculation on which days we may\nlearn geography?\" asked Reb Shloimeh, with malicious irony.\n\n\"No, that's a discovery of mine!\" and the teacher smiled.\n\n\"And when have 'your' astronomers decreed the study of geography?\"\npersisted Reb Shloimeh.\n\n\"To-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-morrow!\" he repeated crossly, and left the room, missing a lesson\nfor the first time.\n\nNext day the teacher explained the eclipses of the sun and moon to his\npupils. Reb Shloimeh sat with his chair drawn up to the table, and\nlistened without a movement.\n\n\"It is all so exact,\" the teacher wound up his explanation, \"that the\nastronomers are able to calculate to a minute _when_ there will be an\neclipse, and have never yet made a mistake.\"\n\nAt these last words Reb Shloimeh nodded in a knowing way, and looked at\nthe pupils as much as to say, \"You ask _me_ about that!\"\n\nThe teacher went on to tell of comets, planets, and other suns. Reb\nShloimeh snorted, and was continually interrupting the teacher with\nexclamations. \"If you don't believe me, go and measure for\nyourself!\"--\"If it is not so, call me a liar!\"--\"Just so!\"--\"Within one\nyard of it!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh repaid his Jewish education with interest. There were not\nmany learned men in the town like Reb Shloimeh. The Rabbis without\nflattery called him \"a full basket,\" and Reb Shloimeh could not picture\nto himself the existence of sciences other than \"Jewish,\" and when at\nlast he did picture it, he would not allow that they were right,\nunfalsified and right. He was so far intelligent, he had received a so\nfar enlightened education, that he could understand how among non-Jews\nalso there are great men. He would even have laughed at anyone who had\nmaintained the contrary. But that among non-Jews there should be men as\ngreat as any Jewish ones, that he did _not_ believe!--let alone, of\ncourse, still greater ones.\n\nAnd now, little by little, Reb Shloimeh began to believe that \"their\"\nlearning was not altogether insignificant, for he, \"the full basket,\"\nwas not finding it any too easy to master. And what he had to deal with\nwere not empty speculations, unfounded opinions. No, here were\nmathematical computations, demonstrations which almost anyone can test\nfor himself, which impress themselves on the mind! And Reb Shloimeh is\nvexed in his soul. He endeavored to cling to his old thoughts, his old\nconceptions. He so wished to cry out upon the clear reasoning, the\nsimple explanations, with the phrases that are on the lips of every\nignorant obstructionist. And yet he felt that he was unjust, and he gave\nup disputing with the teacher, as he paid close attention to the\nlatter's demonstrations. And the teacher would say quite simply:\n\n\"One _can_ measure,\" he would say, \"why not? Only it takes a lot of\nlearning.\"\n\nWhen the teacher was at the door, Reb Shloimeh stayed him with a\nquestion.\n\n\"Then,\" he asked angrily, \"the whole of 'your' learning is nothing but\nastronomy and geography?\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said the teacher, \"there's a lot besides--a lot!\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"Do you want me to tell you standing on one leg?\"\n\n\"Well, yes, 'on one leg,'\" he answered impatiently, as though in anger.\n\n\"But one can't tell you 'on one leg,'\" said the teacher. \"If you like, I\nshall come on Sabbath, and we can have a chat.\"\n\n\"Sabbath?\" repeated Reb Shloimeh in a dissatisfied tone.\n\n\"Sabbath, because I can't come at any other time,\" said the teacher.\n\n\"Then let it be Sabbath,\" said Reb Shloimeh, reflectively.\n\n\"But soon after dinner,\" he called after the teacher, who was already\noutside the door. \"And everything else is as right as your astronomy?\"\nhe shouted, when the teacher had already gone a little way.\n\n\"You will see!\" and the teacher smiled.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNever in his whole life had Reb Shloimeh waited for a Sabbath as he\nwaited for this one, and the two days that came before it seemed very\nlong to him; he never relaxed his frown, or showed a cheerful face the\nwhole time. And he was often seen, during those two days, to lift his\nhands to his forehead. He went about as though there lay upon him a\nheavy weight, which he wanted to throw off; or as if he had a very\ndisagreeable bit of business before him, and wished he could get it\nover.\n\nOn Sabbath he could hardly wait for the teacher's appearance. \"You\nwanted a lot of asking,\" he said to him reproachfully.\n\nThe old lady went to take her nap, the grandchildren to their play, and\nReb Shloimeh took the snuff-box between his fingers, leant against the\nback of the \"grandfather's chair\" in which he was sitting, and listened\nwith close attention to the teacher's words.\n\nThe teacher talked a long time, mentioned the names of sciences, and\nexplained their meaning, and Reb Shloimeh repeated each explanation in\nbrief. \"Physics, then, is the science of--\" \"That means, then, that we\nhave here--that physiology explains--\"\n\nThe teacher would help him, and then immediately begin to talk of\nanother branch of science. By the time the old lady woke up, the teacher\nhad given examples of anatomy, physiology, physics, chemistry, zoology,\nand sociology.\n\nIt was quite late; people were coming back from the Afternoon Service,\nand those who do not smoke on Sabbath, raised their eyes to the sky. But\nReb Shloimeh had forgotten in what sort of world he was living. He sat\nwith wrinkled forehead and drawn brows, listening attentively, seeing\nnothing before him but the teacher's face, only catching up his every\nword.\n\n\"You are still talking?\" asked the old lady, in astonishment, rubbing\nher eyes.\n\nReb Shloimeh turned his head toward his wife with a dazed look, as\nthough wondering what she meant by her question.\n\n\"Oho!\" said the old lady, \"you only laugh at us women!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh drew his brows closer together, wrinkled his forehead still\nmore, and once more fastened his eyes on the teacher's lips.\n\n\"It will soon be time to light the fire,\" muttered the old lady.\n\nThe teacher glanced at the clock. \"It's late,\" he said.\n\n\"I should think it was!\" broke in the old lady. \"Why I was allowed to\nsleep so long, I'm sure I don't know! People get to talking and even\nforget about tea.\"\n\nReb Shloimeh gave a look out of the window.\n\n\"O wa!\" he exclaimed, somewhat vexed, \"they are already coming out of\nShool, the service is over! What a thing it is to sit talking! O wa!\"\n\nHe sprang from his seat, gave the pane a rub with his hand, and began to\nrecite the Afternoon Prayer. The teacher put on his things, but \"Wait!\"\nReb Shloimeh signed to him with his hand.\n\nReb Shloimeh finished reciting \"Incense.\"\n\n\"When shall you teach the children all that?\" he asked then, looking\ninto the prayer-book with a scowl.\n\n\"Not for a long time, not so quickly,\" answered the teacher. \"The\nchildren cannot understand everything.\"\n\n\"I should think not, anything so wonderful!\" replied Reb Shloimeh,\nironically, gazing at the prayer-book and beginning \"Happy are we.\" He\nswallowed the prayers as he said them, half of every word; no matter how\nhe wrinkled his forehead, he could not expel the stranger thoughts from\nhis brain, and fix his attention on the prayers. After the service he\ntried taking up a book, but it was no good, his head was a jumble of\nall the new sciences. By means of the little he had just learned, he\nwanted to understand and know everything, to fashion a whole body out of\na single hair, and he thought, and thought, and thought....\n\nSunday, when the teacher came, Reb Shloimeh told him that he wished to\nhave a little talk with him. Meantime he sat down to listen. The hour\nduring which the teacher taught the children was too long for him, and\nhe scarcely took his eyes off the clock.\n\n\"Do you want another pupil?\" he asked the teacher, stepping with him\ninto his own room. He felt as though he were getting red, and he made a\nvery angry face.\n\n\"Why not?\" answered the teacher, looking hard into Reb Shloimeh's face.\nReb Shloimeh looked at the floor, his brows, as was usual with him in\nthose days, drawn together.\n\n\"You understand me--a pupil--\" he stammered, \"you understand--not a\nlittle boy--a pupil--an elderly man--you understand--quite another\nsort--\"\n\n\"Well, well, we shall see!\" answered the teacher, smiling.\n\n\"I mean myself!\" he snapped out with great displeasure, as if he had\nbeen forced to confess some very evil deed. \"Well, I have sinned--what\ndo you want of me?\"\n\n\"Oh, but I should be delighted!\" and the teacher smiled.\n\n\"I always said I meant to be a doctor!\" said Reb Shloimeh, trying to\njoke. But his features contracted again directly, and he began to talk\nabout the terms, and it was arranged that every day for an hour and a\nhalf the teacher should read to him and explain the sciences. To begin\nwith, Reb Shloimeh chose physiology, sociology, and mathematical\ngeography.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDays, weeks, and months have gone by, and Reb Shloimeh has become\ndepressed, very depressed. He does not sleep at night, he has lost his\nappetite, doesn't care to talk to people.\n\nBad, bitter thoughts oppress him.\n\nFor seventy years he had not only known nothing, but, on the contrary,\nhe had known everything wrong, understood head downwards. And it seemed\nto him that if he had known in his youth what he knew now, he would have\nlived differently, that his years would have been useful to others.\n\nHe could find no stain on his life--it was one long record of deeds of\ncharity; but they appeared to him now so insignificant, so useless, and\nsome of them even mischievous. Looking round him, he saw no traces of\nthem left. The rich man of whom he used to beg donations is no poorer\nfor them, and the pauper for whom he begged them is the same pauper as\nbefore. It is true, he had always thought of the paupers as sacks full\nof holes, and had only stuffed things into them because he had a soft\nheart, and could not bear to see a look of disappointment, or a tear\nrolling down the pale cheek of a hungry pauper. His own little world, as\nhe had found it and as it was now, seemed to him much worse than before,\nin spite of all the good things he had done in it.\n\nNot one good rich man! Not one genuine pauper! They are all just as\nhungry and their palms itch--there is no easing them. Times get harder,\nthe world gets poorer. Now he understands the reason of it all, now it\nall lies before him as clear as on a map--he would be able to make every\none understand. Only now--now it was getting late--he has no strength\nleft. His spent life grieves him. If he had not been so active, such a\n\"father of the community,\" it would not have grieved him so much. But he\n_had_ had a great influence in the town, and this influence had been\nbadly, blindly used! And Reb Shloimeh grew sadder day by day.\n\nHe began to feel a pain at his heart, a stitch in the side, a burning in\nhis brain, and he was wrapt in his thoughts. Reb Shloimeh was\nphilosophizing.\n\nTo be of use to somebody, he reflected, means to leave an impress of\ngood in their life. One ought to help once for all, so that the other\nneed never come for help again. That can be accomplished by wakening and\ndeveloping a man's intelligence, so that he may always know for himself\nwherein his help lies.\n\nAnd in such work he would have spent his life. If he had only understood\nlong ago, ah, how useful he would have been! And a shudder runs through\nhim.\n\nTears of vexation come more than once into his eyes.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was no secret in the town that old Reb Shloimeh spent two to three\nhours daily sitting with the teacher, only what they did together, that\nnobody knew. They tried to worm something out of the maid, but what was\nto be got out of a \"glomp with two eyes,\" whose one reply was, \"I don't\nknow.\" They scolded her for it. \"How can you not know, glomp?\" they\nexclaimed. \"Aren't you sometimes in the room with them?\"\n\n\"Look here, good people, what's the use of coming to me?\" the maid would\ncry. \"How can I know, sitting in the kitchen, what they are about? When\nI bring in the tea, I see them talking, and I go!\"\n\n\"Dull beast!\" they would reply. Then they left her, and betook\nthemselves to the grandchildren, who knew nothing, either.\n\n\"They have tea,\" was their answer to the question, \"What does\ngrandfather do with the teacher?\"\n\n\"But what do they talk about, sillies?\"\n\n\"We haven't heard!\" the children answered gravely.\n\nThey tried the old lady.\n\n\"Is it my business?\" she answered.\n\nThey tried to go in to Reb Shloimeh's house, on the pretext of some\nbusiness or other, but that didn't succeed, either. At last, a few near\nand dear friends asked Reb Shloimeh himself.\n\n\"How people do gossip!\" he answered.\n\n\"Well, what is it?\"\n\n\"We just sit and talk!\"\n\nThere it remained. The matter was discussed all over the town. Of\ncourse, nobody was satisfied. But he pacified them little by little.\n\nThe apostate teacher must turn hot and cold with him!\n\nThey imagined that they were occupied with research, and that Reb\nShloimeh was opening the teacher's eyes for him--and they were pacified.\nWhen Reb Shloimeh suddenly fell on melancholy, it never came into\nanyone's head that there might be a connection between this and the\nconversations. The old lady settled that it was a question of the\nstomach, which had always troubled him, and that perhaps he had taken a\nchill. At his age such things were frequent. \"But how is one to know,\nwhen he won't speak?\" she lamented, and wondered which would be best,\ncod-liver oil or dried raspberries.\n\nEvery one else said that he was already in fear of death, and they\npitied him greatly. \"That is a sickness which no doctor can cure,\"\npeople said, and shook their heads with sorrowful compassion. They\ntalked to him by the hour, and tried to prevent him from being alone\nwith his thoughts, but it was all no good; he only grew more depressed,\nand would often not speak at all.\n\n\"Such a man, too, what a pity!\" they said, and sighed. \"He's pining\naway--given up to the contemplation of death.\"\n\n\"And if you come to think, why should he fear death?\" they wondered. \"If\n_he_ fears it, what about us? Och! och! och! Have we so much to show in\nthe next world?\" And Reb Shloimeh had a lot to show. Jews would have\nbeen glad of a tenth part of his world-to-come, and Christians declared\nthat he was a true Christian, with his love for his fellow-men, and\npromised him a place in Paradise. \"Reb Shloimeh is goodness itself,\" the\ntown was wont to say. His one lifelong occupation had been the affairs\nof the community. \"They are my life and my delight,\" he would repeat to\nhis intimate friends, \"as indispensable to me as water to a fish.\" He\nwas a member of all the charitable societies. The Talmud Torah was\nestablished under his own roof, and pretty nearly maintained at his\nexpense. The town called him the \"father of the community,\" and all\nunfortunate, poor, and bitter hearts blessed him unceasingly.\n\nReb Shloimeh was the one person in the town almost without an enemy,\nperhaps the one in the whole province. Rich men grumbled at him. He was\nalways after their money--always squeezing them for charities. They\ncalled him the old fool, the old donkey, but without meaning what they\nsaid. They used to laugh at him, to make jokes upon him, of course among\nthemselves; but they had no enmity against him. They all, with a full\nheart, wished him joy of his tranquil life.\n\nReb Shloimeh was born, and had spent years, in wealth. After making an\nexcellent marriage, he set up a business. His wife was the leading\nspirit within doors, the head of the household, and his whole life had\nbeen apparently a success.\n\nWhen he had married his last child, and found himself a grandfather, he\nretired from business, and lived his last years on the interest of his\nfortune.\n\nFree from the hate and jealousy of neighbors, pleasant and satisfactory\nin every respect, such was Reb Shloimeh's life, and for all that he\nsuddenly became melancholy! It can be nothing but the fear of death!\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut very soon Reb Shloimeh, as it were with a wave of the hand,\ndismissed the past altogether.\n\nHe said to himself with a groan that what had been was over and done; he\nwould never grow young again, and once more a shudder went through him\nat the thought, and there came again the pain in his side and caught his\nbreath, but Reb Shloimeh took no notice, and went on thinking.\n\"Something must be done!\" he said to himself, in the tone of one who has\nsuddenly lost his whole fortune--the fortune he has spent his life in\ngetting together, and there is nothing for him but to start work again\nwith his five fingers.\n\nAnd Reb Shloimeh started. He began with the Talmud Torah, where he had\nalready long provided for the children's bodily needs--food and\nclothing.\n\nNow he would supply them with spiritual things--instruction and\neducation.\n\nHe dismissed the old teachers, and engaged young ones in their stead,\neven for Jewish subjects. Out of the Talmud Torah he wanted to make a\nlittle university. He already fancied it a success. He closed his eyes,\nlaid his forehead on his hands, and a sweet, happy smile parted his\nlips. He pictured to himself the useful people who would go forth out of\nthe Talmud Torah. Now he can die happy, he thinks. But no, he does not\nwant to die! He wants to live! To live and to work, work, work! He will\nnot and cannot see an end to his life! Reb Shloimeh feels more and more\ncheerful, lively, and fresh--to work----to work--till--\n\nThe whole town was in commotion.\n\nThere was a perfect din in the Shools, in the streets, in the houses.\nHypocrites and crooked men, who had never before been seen or heard of,\nled the dance.\n\n\"To make Gentiles out of the children, forsooth! To turn the Talmud\nTorah into a school! That we won't allow! No matter if we have to turn\nthe world upside down, no matter what happens!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh heard the cries, and made as though he heard nothing. He\nthought it would end there, that no one would venture to oppose him\nfurther.\n\n\"What do you say to that?\" he asked the teachers. \"Fanaticism has broken\nout already!\"\n\n\"It will give trouble,\" replied the teachers.\n\n\"Eh, nonsense!\" said Reb Shloimeh, with conviction. But on Sabbath, at\nthe Reading of the Law, he saw that he had been mistaken. The opposition\nhad collected, and they got onto the platform, and all began speaking at\nonce. It was impossible to make out what they were saying, beyond a word\nhere and there, or the fragment of a sentence: \"--none of it!\" \"we won't\nallow--!\" \"--made into Gentiles!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh sat in his place by the east wall, his hands on the desk\nwhere lay his Pentateuch. He had taken off his spectacles, and glanced\nat the platform, put them on again, and was once more reading the\nPentateuch. They saw this from the platform, and began to shout louder\nthan ever. Reb Shloimeh stood up, took off his prayer-scarf, and was\nmoving toward the door, when he heard some one call out, with a bang of\nhis fist on the platform:\n\n\"With the consent of the Rabbis and the heads of the community, and in\nthe name of the Holy Torah, it is resolved to take the children away\nfrom the Talmud Torah, seeing that in place of the Torah there is\nuncleanness----\"\n\nReb Shloimeh grew pale, and felt a rent in his heart. He stared at the\nplatform with round eyes and open mouth.\n\n\"The children are to be made into Gentiles,\" shouted the person on the\nplatform meantime, \"and we have plenty of Gentiles, thank God, already!\nThus may they perish, with their name and their remembrance! We are not\nshort of Gentiles--there are more every day! And hatred increases, and\nGod knows what the Jews are coming to! Whoso has God in his heart, and\nis jealous for the honor of the Law, let him see to it that the children\ncease going to the place of peril!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh wanted to call out, \"Silence, you scoundrel!\" The words all\nbut rolled off his tongue, but he contained himself, and moved on.\n\n\"The one who obeys will be blessed,\" proclaimed the individual on the\nplatform, \"and whoso despises the decree, his end shall be Gehenna, with\nthat of Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who sinned and made Israel to sin!\"\n\nWith these last words the speaker threw a fiery glance at Reb Shloimeh.\n\nA quiver ran through the Shool, and all eyes were turned on Reb\nShloimeh, expecting him to begin abusing the speaker. A lively scene was\nanticipated. But Reb Shloimeh smiled.\n\nHe quietly handed his prayer-scarf to the beadle, wished the bystanders\n\"good Sabbath,\" and walked out of Shool, leaving them all disconcerted.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat Sabbath Reb Shloimeh was the quietest man in the whole town. He was\nconvinced that the interdict would have no effect on anyone. \"People\nare not so foolish as all that,\" he thought, \"and they wouldn't treat\n_him_ in that way!\" He sat and laid plans for carrying on the education\nin the Talmud Torah, and he felt so light of heart that he sang to\nhimself for very pleasure.\n\nThe old wife, meanwhile, was muttering and moaning. She had all her life\nbeen quite content with her husband and everything he did, and had\nalways done her best to help him, hoping that in the world to come she\nwould certainly share his portion of immortality. And now she saw with\nhorror that he was like to throw away his future. But how ever could it\nbe? she wondered, and was bathed in tears: \"What has come over you? What\nhas happened to make you like that? They are not just to you, are they,\nwhen they say that about taking children and making Gentiles of them?\"\nReb Shloimeh smiled. \"Do you think,\" he said to her, \"that I have gone\nmad in my old age? Don't be afraid. I'm in my right mind, and you shall\nnot lose your place in Paradise.\"\n\nBut the wife was not satisfied with the reply, and continued to mutter\nand to weep. There were goings-on in the town, too. The place was aboil\nwith excitement. Of course they talked about Reb Shloimeh; nobody could\nmake out what had come to him all of a sudden.\n\n\"That is the teacher's work!\" explained one of a knot of talkers.\n\n\"And we thought Reb Shloimeh such a sage, such a clever man, so\nbook-learned. How can the teacher (may his name perish!) have talked him\nover?\"\n\n\"It's a pity on the children's account!\" one would exclaim here and\nthere. \"In the Talmud Torah, under his direction, they wanted for\nnothing, and what's to become of them now! They'll be running wild in\nthe streets!\"\n\n\"What then? Do you mean it would be better to make Gentiles of them?\"\n\n\"Well, there! Of course, I understand!\" he would hasten to say,\npenitently. And a resolution was passed, to the effect that the children\nshould not be allowed to attend the Talmud Torah.\n\nReb Shloimeh stood at his window, and watched the excited groups in the\nstreet, saw how the men threw themselves about, rocked themselves, bit\ntheir beards, described half-circles with their thumbs, and he smiled.\n\nIn the evening the teachers came and told him what had been said in the\ntown, and how all held that the children were not to be allowed to go to\nthe Talmud Torah. Reb Shloimeh was a little disturbed, but he composed\nhimself again and thought:\n\n\"Eh, they will quiet down, never mind! They won't do it to _me_!----\"\n\nEntering the Talmud Torah on Sunday, he was greeted by four empty walls.\nEven two orphans, who had no relations or protector in the town, had not\ncome. They had been frightened and talked at and not allowed to attend,\nand free meals had been secured for all of them, so that they should not\nstarve.\n\nFor the moment Reb Shloimeh lost his head. He glanced at the teachers as\nthough ashamed in their presence, and his glance said, \"What is to be\ndone now?\"\n\nSuddenly he pulled himself together.\n\n\"No!\" he exclaimed, \"they shall not get the better of me,\" and he ran\nout of the Talmud Torah, and was gone.\n\nHe ran from house to house, to the parents and relations of the\nchildren. But they all looked askance at him, and he accomplished\nnothing: they all kept to it--\"No!\"\n\n\"Come, don't be silly! Send, send the children to the Talmud Torah,\" he\nbegged. \"You will see, you will not regret it!\"\n\nAnd he drew a picture for them of the sort of people the children would\nbecome.\n\nBut it was no use.\n\n\"_We_ haven't got to manage the world,\" they answered him. \"We have\nlived without all that, and our children will live as we are living now.\nWe have no call to make Gentiles of them!\"\n\n\"We know, we know! People needn't come to us with stories,\" they would\nsay in another house. \"We don't intend to sell our souls!\" was the cry\nin a third.\n\n\"And who says I have sold mine?\" Reb Shloimeh would ask sharply.\n\n\"How should we know? Besides, who was talking of you?\" they answered\nwith a sweet smile.\n\nReb Shloimeh reached home tired and depressed. The old wife had a shock\non seeing him.\n\n\"Dear Lord!\" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. \"What is the matter with\nyou? What makes you look like that?\"\n\nThe teachers, who were there waiting for him, asked no questions: they\nhad only to look at his ghastly appearance to know what had happened.\n\nReb Shloimeh sank into his arm-chair.\n\n\"Nothing,\" he said, looking sideways, but meaning it for the teachers.\n\n\"Nothing is nothing!\" and they betook themselves to consoling him. \"We\nwill find something else to do, get hold of some other children, or else\nwait a little--they'll ask to be taken back presently.\"\n\nReb Shloimeh did not hear them. He had let his head sink on to his\nbreast, turned his look sideways, and thoughts he could not piece\ntogether, fragments of thoughts, went round and round in the drooping\nhead.\n\n\"Why? Why?\" He asked himself over and over. \"To do such a thing to _me_!\nWell, there you are! There you have it!--You've lived your life--like a\nman!--\"\n\nHis heart felt heavy and hurt him, and his brain grew warm, warm. In one\nminute there ran through his head the impression which his so nearly\nfinished life had made on him of late, and immediately after it all the\nplans he had thought out for setting to right his whole past life by\nmeans of the little bit left him. And now it was all over and done!\n\"Why? Why?\" he asked himself without ceasing, and could not understand\nit.\n\nHe felt his old heart bursting with love to all men. It beat more and\nmore strongly, and would not cease from loving; and he would fain have\nseen everyone so happy, so happy! He would have worked with his last bit\nof strength, he would have drawn his last breath for the cause to which\nhe had devoted himself. He is no longer conscious of the whereabouts of\nhis limbs, he feels his head growing heavier, his feet cold, and it is\ndark before his eyes.\n\nWhen he came to himself again, he was in bed; on his head was a bandage\nwith ice; the old wife was lamenting; the teachers stood not far from\nthe bed, and talked among themselves. He wanted to lift his hand and\ndraw it across his forehead, but somehow he does not feel his hand at\nall. He looks at it--it lies stretched out beside him. And Reb Shloimeh\nunderstood what had happened to him.\n\n\"A stroke!\" he thought, \"I am finished, done for!\"\n\nHe tried to give a whistle and make a gesture with his hand:\n\"Verfallen!\" but the lips would not meet properly, and the hand never\nmoved.\n\n\"There you are, done for!\" the lips whispered. He glanced round, and\nfixed his eyes on the teachers, and then on his wife, wishing to read in\ntheir faces whether there was danger, whether he was dying, or whether\nthere was still hope. He looked, and could not make out anything. Then,\nwhispering, he called one of the teachers, whose looks had met his, to\nhis side.\n\nThe teacher came running.\n\n\"Done for, eh?\" asked Reb Shloimeh.\n\n\"No, Reb Shloimeh, the doctors give hope,\" the teacher replied, so\nearnestly that Reb Shloimeh's spirits revived.\n\n\"Nu, nu,\" said Reb Shloimeh, as though he meant, \"So may it be! Out of\nyour mouth into God's ears!\"\n\nThe other teachers all came nearer.\n\n\"Good?\" whispered Reb Shloimeh, \"good, ha? There's a hero for you!\" he\nsmiled.\n\n\"Never mind,\" they said cheeringly, \"you will get well again, and work,\nand do many things yet!\"\n\n\"Well, well, please God!\" he answered, and looked away.\n\nAnd Reb Shloimeh really got better every day. The having lived wisely\nand the will to live longer saved him.\n\nThe first time that he was able to move a hand or lift a foot, a broad,\nsweet smile spread itself over his face, and a fire kindled in his all\nbut extinguished eyes.\n\n\"Good luck to you!\" he cried out to those around. He was very cheerful\nin himself, and began to think once more about doing something or other.\n\"People must be taught, they must be taught, even if the world turn\nupside down,\" he thought, and rubbed his hands together with impatience.\n\n\"If it's not to be in the Talmud Torah, it must be somewhere else!\" And\nhe set to work thinking where it should be. He recalled all the\nneighbors to his memory, and suddenly grew cheerful.\n\nNot far away there lived a bookbinder, who employed as many as ten\nworkmen. They work sometimes from fifteen to sixteen hours, and have no\nstrength left for study. One must teach _them_, he thinks. The master is\nnot likely to object. Reb Shloimeh was the making of him, he it was who\nprotected him, introduced him into all the best families, and finally\nset him on his feet.\n\nReb Shloimeh grows more and more lively, and is continually trying to\nrise from his couch.\n\nOnce out of bed, he could hardly endure to stay in the room, and how\nhappy he felt, when, leaning on a stick, he stept out into the street!\nHe hurried in the direction of the bookbinder's.\n\nHe was convinced that people's feelings toward him had changed for the\nbetter, that they would rejoice on seeing him.\n\nHow he looked forward to seeing a friendly smile on every face! He would\nhave counted himself the happiest of men, if he had been able to hope\nthat now everything was different, and would come right.\n\nBut he did not see the smile.\n\nThe town looked upon the apoplectic stroke as God's punishment--it was\nobvious. \"Aha!\" they had cried on hearing of it, and everyone saw in it\nanother proof, and it also was \"obvious\"--of the fact that there is a\nGod in the world, and that people cannot do just what they like. The\ngreat fanatics overflowed with eloquence, and saw in it an act of\nHeavenly vengeance. \"Serves him right! Serves him right!\" they thought.\n\"Whose fault is it?\" people replied, when some one reminded them that it\nwas very sad--such a man as he had been, \"Who told him to do it? He has\nhimself to thank for his misfortunes.\"\n\nThe town had never ceased talking of him the whole time. Every one was\ninterested in knowing how he was, and what was the matter with him. And\nwhen they heard that he was better, that he was getting well, they\nreally were pleased; they were sure that he would give up all his\nfoolish plans, and understand that God had punished him, and that he\nwould be again as before.\n\nBut it soon became known that he clung to his wickedness, and people\nceased to rejoice.\n\nThe Rabbi and his fanatical friends came to see him one day by way of\nvisiting the sick. Reb Shloimeh felt inclined to ask them if they had\ncome to stare at him as one visited by a miracle, but he refrained, and\nsurveyed them with indifference.\n\n\"Well, how are you, Reb Shloimeh?\" they asked.\n\n\"Gentiles!\" answered Reb Shloimeh, almost in spite of himself, and\nsmiled.\n\nThe Rabbi and the others became confused.\n\nThey sat a little while, couldn't think of anything to say, and got up\nfrom their seats. Then they stood a bit, wished him a speedy return to\nhealth, and went away, without hearing any answer from Reb Shloimeh to\ntheir \"good night.\"\n\nIt was not long before the whole town knew of the visit, and it began to\nboil like a kettle.\n\nTo commit such sin is to play with destiny. Once you are in, there is no\ngetting out! Give the devil a hair, and he'll snatch at the whole beard.\n\nSo when Reb Shloimeh showed himself in the street, they stared at him\nand shook their heads, as though to say, \"Such a man--and gone to ruin!\"\n\nReb Shloimeh saw it, and it cut him to the heart. Indeed, it brought the\ntears to his eyes, and he began to walk quicker in the direction of the\nbookbinder's.\n\nAt the bookbinder's they received him in friendly fashion, with a hearty\n\"Welcome!\" but he fancied that here also they looked at him askance,\nand therefore he gave a reason for his coming.\n\n\"Walking is hard work,\" he said, \"one must have stopping-places.\"\n\nWith this same excuse he went there every day. He would sit for an hour\nor two, talking, telling stories, and at last he began to tell the\n\"stories\" which the teacher had told.\n\nHe sat in the centre of the room, and talked away merrily, with a pun\nhere and a laugh there, and interested the workmen deeply. Sometimes\nthey would all of one accord stop working, open their mouths, fix their\neyes, and hang on his lips with an intelligent smile.\n\nOr else they stood for a few minutes tense, motionless as statues, till\nReb Shloimeh finished, before the master should interpose.\n\n\"Work, work--you will hear it all in time!\" he would say, in a cross,\ndissatisfied tone.\n\nAnd the workmen would unwillingly bend their backs once more over their\ntask, but Reb Shloimeh remained a little thrown out. He lost the thread\nof what he was telling, began buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, and\nglanced guiltily at the binder.\n\nBut he went his own way nevertheless.\n\nAs to his hearers, he was overjoyed with them. When he saw that the\nworkmen began to take interest in every book that was brought them to be\nbound, he smiled happily, and his eyes sparkled with delight.\n\nAnd if it happened to be a book treating of the subjects on which they\nhad heard something from Reb Shloimeh, they threw themselves upon it,\nnearly tore it to pieces, and all but came to blows as to who should\nhave the binding of it.\n\nReb Shloimeh began to feel that he was doing something, that he was\nbeing really useful, and he was supremely happy.\n\nThe town, of course, was aware of Reb Shloimeh's constant visits to the\nbookbinder's, and quickly found out what he did there.\n\n\"He's just off his head!\" they laughed, and shrugged their shoulders.\nThey even laughed in Reb Shloimeh's face, but he took no notice of it.\n\nHis pleasure, however, came to a speedy end. One day the binder spoke\nout.\n\n\"Reb Shloimeh,\" he said shortly, \"you prevent us from working with your\nstories. What do you mean by it? You come and interfere with the work.\"\n\n\"But do I disturb?\" he asked. \"They go on working all the time----\"\n\n\"And a pretty way of working,\" answered the bookbinder. \"The boys are\nready enough at finding an excuse for idling as it is! And why do you\nchoose me? There are plenty of other workshops----\"\n\nIt was an honest \"neck and crop\" business, and there was nothing left\nfor Reb Shloimeh but to take up his stick and go.\n\n\"Nothing--again!\" he whispered.\n\nThere was a sting in his heart, a beating in his temples, and his head\nburned.\n\n\"Nothing--again! This time it's all over. I must die--die--a story\n_with_ an end.\"\n\nHad he been young, he would have known what to do. He would never have\nbegun to think about death, but now--where was the use of living on?\nWhat was there to wait for? All over!--all over!--\n\nIt was as much as he could do to get home. He sat down in the arm-chair,\nlaid his head back, and thought.\n\nHe pictured to himself the last weeks at the bookbinder's and the change\nthat had taken place in the workmen; how they had appeared\nbetter-mannered, more human, more intelligent. It seemed to him that he\nhad implanted in them the love of knowledge and the inclination to\nstudy, had put them in the way of viewing more rightly what went on\naround them. He had been of some account with them--and all of a\nsudden--!\n\n\"No!\" he said to himself. \"They will come to me--they must come!\" he\nthought, and fixed his eyes on the door.\n\nHe even forgot that they worked till nine o'clock at night, and the\nwhole evening he never took his eyes off the door.\n\nThe time flew, it grew later and later, and the book-binders did not\ncome.\n\nAt last he could bear it no longer, and went out into the street;\nperhaps he would see them, and then he would call them in.\n\nIt was dark in the street; the gas lamps, few and far between, scarcely\ngave any light. A chilly autumn night; the air was saturated with\nmoisture, and there was dreadful mud under foot. There were very few\npassers-by, and Reb Shloimeh remained standing at his door.\n\nWhen he heard a sound of footsteps or voices, his heart began to beat\nquicker. His old wife came out three times to call him into the house\nagain, but he did not hear her, and remained standing outside.\n\nThe street grew still. There was nothing more to be heard but the\nrattles of the night-watchmen. Reb Shloimeh gave a last look into the\ndarkness, as though trying to see someone, and then, with a groan, he\nwent indoors.\n\nNext morning he felt very weak, and stayed in bed. He began to feel that\nhis end was near, that he was but a guest tarrying for a day.\n\n\"It's all the same, all the same!\" he said to himself, thinking quietly\nabout death.\n\nAll sorts of ideas went through his head. He thought as it were\nunconsciously, without giving himself a clear account of what he was\nthinking of.\n\nA variety of images passed through his mind, scenes out of his long\nlife, certain people, faces he had seen here and there, comrades of his\nchildhood, but they all had no interest for him. He kept his eyes fixed\non the door of his room, waiting for death, as though it would come in\nby the door.\n\nHe lay like that the whole day. His wife came in continually, and asked\nhim questions, and he was silent, not taking his eyes off the door, or\ninterrupting the train of his thoughts. It seemed as if he had ceased\neither to see or to hear. In the evening the teachers began coming.\n\n\"Finished!\" said Reb Shloimeh, looking at the door. Suddenly he heard a\nvoice he knew, and raised his head.\n\n\"We have come to visit the sick,\" said the voice.\n\nThe door opened, and there came in four workmen at once.\n\nAt first Reb Shloimeh could not believe his eyes, but soon a smile\nappeared upon his lips, and he tried to sit up.\n\n\"Come, come!\" he said joyfully, and his heart beat rapidly with\npleasure.\n\nThe workmen remained standing some way from the bed, not venturing to\napproach the sick man, but Reb Shloimeh called them to him.\n\n\"Nearer, nearer, children!\" he said.\n\nThey came a little nearer.\n\n\"Come here, to me!\" and he pointed to the bed.\n\nThey came up to the bed.\n\n\"Well, what are you all about?\" he asked with a smile.\n\nThe workmen were silent.\n\n\"Why did you not come last night?\" he asked, and looked at them smiling.\n\nThe workmen were silent, and shuffled with their feet.\n\n\"How are you, Reb Shloimeh?\" asked one of them.\n\n\"Very well, very well,\" answered Reb Shloimeh, still smiling. \"Thank\nyou, children! Thank you!\"\n\n\"Sit down, children, sit down.\" he said after a pause. \"I will tell you\nsome more stories.\"\n\n\"It will tire you, Reb Shloimeh,\" said a workman. \"When you are\nbetter----\"\n\n\"Sit down, sit down!\" said Reb Shloimeh, impatiently. \"That's _my_\nbusiness!\"\n\nThe workmen exchanged glances with the teachers and the teachers signed\nto them _not_ to sit down.\n\n\"Not to-day, Reb Shloimeh, another time, when you--\"\n\n\"Sit down, sit down!\" interrupted Reb Shloimeh, \"Do me the pleasure!\"\n\nOnce more the workmen exchanged looks with the teachers, and, at a sign\nfrom them, they sat down.\n\nReb Shloimeh began telling them the long story of the human race, he\nspoke with ardor, and it was long since his voice had sounded as it\nsounded then.\n\nHe spoke for a long, long time.\n\nThey interrupted him two or three times, and reminded him that it was\nbad for him to talk so much. But he only signified with a gesture that\nthey were to let him alone.\n\n\"I am getting better,\" he said, and went on.\n\nAt length the workmen rose from their seats.\n\n\"Let us go, Reb Shloimeh. It's getting late for us,\" they begged.\n\n\"True, true,\" he replied, \"but to-morrow, do you hear? Look here,\nchildren, to-morrow!\" he said, giving them his hand.\n\nThe workmen promised to come. They moved away a few steps, and then Reb\nShloimeh called them back.\n\n\"And the others?\" he inquired feebly, as though he were ashamed of\nasking.\n\n\"They were lazy, they wouldn't come,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said, in a tone that meant \"Well, well, I know, you\nneedn't say any more, but look here, to-morrow!\"\n\n\"Now I am well again,\" he whispered as the workmen went out. He could\nscarcely move a limb, but he was very cheerful, looked at every one with\na happy smile, and his eyes shone.\n\n\"Now I am well,\" he whispered when they had been obliged to put him into\nbed and cover him up. \"Now I am well,\" he repeated, feeling the while\nthat his head was strangely heavy, his heart faint, and that he was very\npoorly. Before many minutes he had fallen into a state of\nunconsciousness.\n\nA dreadful, heartbreaking cry recalled him to himself. He opened his\neyes. The room was full of people. In many eyes were tears.\n\n\"Soon, then,\" he thought, and began to remember something.\n\n\"What o'clock is it?\" he asked of the person who stood beside him.\n\n\"Five.\"\n\n\"They stop work at nine,\" he whispered to himself, and called one of the\nteachers to him.\n\n\"When the workmen come, they are to let them in, do you hear!\" he said.\nThe teacher promised.\n\n\"They will come at nine,\" added Reb Shloimeh.\n\nIn a little while he asked to write his will. After writing the will, he\nundressed and closed his eyes.\n\nThey thought he had fallen asleep, but Reb Shloimeh was not asleep. He\nlay and thought, not about his past life, but about the future, the\nfuture in which men would live. He thought of what man would come to be.\nHe pictured to himself a bright, glad world, in which all men would be\nequal in happiness, knowledge, and education, and his dying heart beat a\nlittle quicker, while his face expressed joy and contentment. He opened\nhis eyes, and saw beside him a couple of teachers.\n\n\"And will it really be?\" he asked and smiled.\n\n\"Yes, Reb Shloimeh,\" they answered, without knowing to what his question\nreferred, for his face told them it was something good. The smile\naccentuated itself on his lips.\n\nOnce again he lost himself in thought.\n\nHe wanted to imagine that happy world, and see with his mind's eye\nnothing but happy people, educated people, and he succeeded.\n\nThe picture was not very distinct. He was imagining a great heap of\nhappiness--happiness with a body and soul, and he felt _himself_ so\nhappy.\n\nA sound of lamentation disturbed him.\n\n\"Why do they weep?\" he wondered. \"Every one will have a good\ntime--everyone!\"\n\nHe opened his eyes; there were already lights burning. The room was\npacked with people. Beside him stood all his children, come together to\ntake leave of their father.\n\nHe fixed his gaze on the little grandchildren, a gaze of love and\ngladness.\n\n\"_They_ will see the happy time,\" he thought.\n\nHe was just going to ask the people to stop lamenting, but at that\nmoment his eye caught the workmen of the evening before.\n\n\"Come here, come here, children!\" and he raised his voice a little, and\nmade a sign with his head. People did not know what he meant. He begged\nthem to send the workmen to him, and it was done.\n\nHe tried to sit up; those around helped him.\n\n\"Thank you--children--for coming--thank you!\" he said. \"Stop--weeping!\"\nhe implored of the bystanders. \"I want to die quietly--I want every one\nto--to--be as happy--as I am! Live, all of you, in the--hope of a--good\ntime--as I die--in--that hope. Dear chil--dren--\" and he turned to the\nworkmen, \"I told you--last night--how man has lived so far. How he lives\nnow, you know for yourselves--but the coming time will be a very happy\none: all will be happy--all! Only work honestly, and learn! Learn,\nchildren! Everything will be all right! All will be hap----\"\n\nA sweet smile appeared on his lips, and Reb Shloimeh died.\n\nIn the town they--but what else _could_ they say in the town of a man\nwho had died without repeating the Confession, without a tremor at his\nheart, without any sign of repentance? What else _could_ they say of a\nman who spent his last minutes in telling people to learn, to educate\nthemselves? What else _could_ they say of a man who left his whole\ncapital to be devoted to educational purposes and schools?\n\nWhat was to be expected of them, when his own family declared in court\nthat their father was not responsible when he made his last will?\n\n * * * * *\n\nForgive them, Reb Shloimeh, for they mean well--they know not what they\nsay and do.\n\n\n\n\nS. LIBIN\n\n\nPen name of Israel Hurewitz; born, 1872, in Gori-Gorki, Government of\nMohileff (Lithuania), White Russia; assistant to a druggist at thirteen;\nwent to London at twenty, and, after seven months there, to New York\n(1893); worked as capmaker; first sketch, \"A Sifz vun a Arbeiterbrust\";\ncontributor to Die Arbeiterzeitung, Das Abendblatt, Die Zukunft,\nVorwaerts, etc.; prolific Yiddish playwright and writer of sketches on\nNew York Jewish life; dramas to the number of twenty-six produced on the\nstage; collected works, Geklibene Skizzen, 1 vol., New York, 1902, and 2\nvols., New York, 1907.\n\n\n\n\nA PICNIC\n\n\nAsk Shmuel, the capmaker, just for a joke, if he would like to come for\na picnic! He'll fly out at you as if you had invited him to a swing on\nthe gallows. The fact is, he and his Sarah once _went_ for a picnic, and\nthe poor man will remember it all his days.\n\nIt was on a Sabbath towards the end of August. Shmuel came home from\nwork, and said to his wife:\n\n\"Sarah, dear!\"\n\n\"Well, husband?\" was her reply.\n\n\"I want to have a treat,\" said Shmuel, as though alarmed at the boldness\nof the idea.\n\n\"What sort of a treat? Shall you go to the swimming-bath to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Ett! What's the fun of that?\"\n\n\"Then, what have you thought of by way of an exception? A glass of ice\nwater for supper?\"\n\n\"Not that, either.\"\n\n\"A whole siphon?\"\n\nShmuel denied with a shake of the head.\n\n\"Whatever can it be!\" wondered Sarah. \"Are you going to fetch a pint of\nbeer?\"\n\n\"What should I want with beer?\"\n\n\"Are you going to sleep on the roof?\"\n\n\"Wrong again!\"\n\n\"To buy some more carbolic acid, and drive out the bugs?\"\n\n\"Not a bad idea,\" observed Shmuel, \"but that is not it, either.\"\n\n\"Well, then, whatever is it, for goodness' sake! The moon?\" asked Sarah,\nbeginning to lose patience. \"What have you been and thought of? Tell me\nonce for all, and have done with it!\"\n\nAnd Shmuel said:\n\n\"Sarah, you know, we belong to a lodge.\"\n\n\"Of course I do!\" and Sarah gave him a look of mingled astonishment and\nalarm. \"It's not more than a week since you took a whole dollar there,\nand I'm not likely to have forgotten what it cost you to make it up.\nWhat is the matter now? Do they want another?\"\n\n\"Try again!\"\n\n\"Out with it!\"\n\n\"I--want us, Sarah,\" stammered Shmuel,--\"to go for a picnic.\"\n\n\"A picnic!\" screamed Sarah. \"Is that the only thing you have left to\nwish for?\"\n\n\"Look here, Sarah, we toil and moil the whole year through. It's nothing\nbut trouble and worry, trouble and worry. Call that living! When do we\never have a bit of pleasure?\"\n\n\"Well, what's to be done?\" said his wife, in a subdued tone.\n\n\"The summer will soon be over, and we haven't set eyes on a green blade\nof grass. We sit day and night sweating in the dark.\"\n\n\"True enough!\" sighed his wife, and Shmuel spoke louder:\n\n\"Let us have an outing, Sarah. Let us enjoy ourselves for once, and give\nthe children a breath of fresh air, let us have a change, if it's only\nfor five minutes!\"\n\n\"What will it cost?\" asks Sarah, suddenly, and Shmuel has soon made the\nnecessary calculation.\n\n\"A family ticket is only thirty cents, for Yossele, Rivele, Hannahle,\nand Berele; for Resele and Doletzke I haven't to pay any carfare at all.\nFor you and me, it will be ten cents there and ten back--that makes\nfifty cents. Then I reckon thirty cents for refreshments to take with\nus: a pineapple (a damaged one isn't more than five cents), a few\nbananas, a piece of watermelon, a bottle of milk for the children, and a\nfew rolls--the whole thing shouldn't cost us more than eighty cents at\nthe outside.\"\n\n\"Eighty cents!\" and Sarah clapped her hands together in dismay. \"Why,\nyou can live on that two days, and it takes nearly a whole day's\nearning. You can buy an old ice-box for eighty cents, you can buy a pair\nof trousers--eighty cents!\"\n\n\"Leave off talking nonsense!\" said Shmuel, disconcerted. \"Eighty cents\nwon't make us rich. We shall get on just the same whether we have them\nor not. We must live like human beings one day in the year! Come, Sarah,\nlet us go! We shall see lots of other people, and we'll watch them, and\nsee how _they_ enjoy themselves. It will do you good to see the world,\nto go where there's a bit of life! Listen, Sarah, what have you been to\nworth seeing since we came to America? Have you seen Brooklyn Bridge, or\nCentral Park, or the Baron Hirsch baths?\"\n\n\"You know I haven't!\" Sarah broke in. \"I've no time to go about\nsight-seeing. I only know the way from here to the market.\"\n\n\"And what do you suppose?\" cried Shmuel. \"I should be as great a\ngreenhorn as you, if I hadn't been obliged to look everywhere for work.\nNow I know that America is a great big place. Thanks to the slack times,\nI know where there's an Eighth Street, and a One Hundred and Thirtieth\nStreet with tin works, and an Eighty-Fourth Street with a match factory.\nI know every single lane round the World Building. I know where the\ncable car line stops. But you, Sarah, know nothing at all, no more than\nif you had just landed. Let us go, Sarah, I am sure you won't regret\nit!\"\n\n\"Well, you know best!\" said his wife, and this time she smiled. \"Let us\ngo!\"\n\nAnd thus it was that Shmuel and his wife decided to join the lodge\npicnic on the following day.\n\nNext morning they all rose much earlier than usual on a Sunday, and\nthere was a great noise, for they took the children and scrubbed them\nwithout mercy. Sarah prepared a bath for Doletzke, and Doletzke screamed\nthe house down. Shmuel started washing Yossele's feet, but as Yossele\nhabitually went barefoot, he failed to bring about any visible\nimprovement, and had to leave the little pair of feet to soak in a basin\nof warm water, and Yossele cried, too. It was twelve o'clock before the\nchildren were dressed and ready to start, and then Sarah turned her\nattention to her husband, arranged his trousers, took the spots out of\nhis coat with kerosene, sewed a button onto his vest. After that she\ndressed herself, in her old-fashioned satin wedding dress. At two\no'clock they set forth, and took their places in the car.\n\n\"Haven't we forgotten anything?\" asked Sarah of her husband.\n\nShmuel counted his children and the traps. \"No, nothing, Sarah!\" he\nsaid.\n\nDoletzke went to sleep, the other children sat quietly in their places.\nSarah, too, fell into a doze, for she was tired out with the\npreparations for the excursion.\n\nAll went smoothly till they got some way up town, when Sarah gave a\nstart.\n\n\"I don't feel very well--my head is so dizzy,\" she said to Shmuel.\n\n\"I don't feel very well, either,\" answered Shmuel. \"I suppose the fresh\nair has upset us.\"\n\n\"I suppose it has,\" said his wife. \"I'm afraid for the children.\"\n\nScarcely had she spoken when Doletzke woke up, whimpering, and was sick.\nYossele, who was looking at her, began to cry likewise. The mother\nscolded him, and this set the other children crying. The conductor cast\na wrathful glance at poor Shmuel, who was so frightened that he dropped\nthe hand-bag with the provisions, and then, conscious of the havoc he\nhad certainly brought about inside the bag by so doing, he lost his head\naltogether, and sat there in a daze. Sarah was hushing the children, but\nthe look in her eyes told Shmuel plainly enough what to expect once they\nhad left the car. And no sooner had they all reached the ground in\nsafety than Sarah shot out:\n\n\"So, nothing would content him but a picnic? Much good may it do him!\nYou're a workman, and workmen have no call to go gadding about!\"\n\nShmuel was already weary of the whole thing, and said nothing, but he\nfelt a tightening of the heart.\n\nHe took up Yossele on one arm and Resele on the other, and carried the\nbag with the presumably smashed-up contents besides.\n\n\"Hush, my dears! Hush, my babies!\" he said. \"Wait a little and mother\nwill give you some bread and sugar. Hush, be quiet!\" He went on, but\nstill the children cried.\n\nSarah carried Doletzke, and rocked her as she walked, while Berele and\nHannahle trotted alongside.\n\n\"He has shortened my days,\" said Sarah, \"may his be shortened likewise.\"\n\nSoon afterwards they turned into the park.\n\n\"Let us find a tree and sit down in the shade,\" said Shmuel. \"Come,\nSarah!\"\n\n\"I haven't the strength to drag myself a step further,\" declared Sarah,\nand she sank down like a stone just inside the gate. Shmuel was about to\nspeak, but a glance at Sarah's face told him she was worn out, and he\nsat down beside his wife without a word. Sarah gave Doletzke the breast.\nThe other children began to roll about in the grass, laughed and played,\nand Shmuel breathed easier.\n\nGirls in holiday attire walked about the park, and there were groups\nunder the trees. Here was a handsome girl surrounded by admiring boys,\nand there a handsome young man encircled by a bevy of girls.\n\nOut of the leafy distance of the park came the melancholy song of a\nworkman; near by stood a man playing on a fiddle. Sarah looked about her\nand listened, and by degrees her vexation vanished. It is true that her\nheart was still sore, but it was not with the soreness of anger. She was\ntaking her life to pieces and thinking it over, and it seemed a very\nhard and bitter one, and when she looked at her husband and thought of\nhis life, she was near crying, and she laid her hands upon his knee.\n\nShmuel also sat lost in thought. He was thinking about the trees and the\nroses and the grass, and listening to the fiddle. And he also was sad at\nheart.\n\n\"O Sarah!\" he sighed, and he would have said more, but just at that\nmoment it began to spot with rain, and before they had time to move\nthere came a downpour. People started to scurry in all directions, but\nShmuel stood like a statue.\n\n\"Shlimm-mazel, look after the children!\" commanded Sarah. Shmuel caught\nup two of them, Sarah another two or three, and they ran to a shelter.\nDoletzke began to cry afresh.\n\n\"Mame, hungry!\" began Berele.\n\n\"Hungry, hungry!\" wailed Yossele. \"I want to eat!\"\n\nShmuel hastily opened the hand-bag, and then for the first time he saw\nwhat had really happened: the bottle had broken, and the milk was\nflooding the bag; the rolls and bananas were soaked, and the pineapple\n(a damaged one to begin with) looked too nasty for words. Sarah caught\nsight of the bag, and was so angry, she was at a loss how to wreak\nvengeance on her husband. She was ashamed to scream and scold in the\npresence of other people, but she went up to him, and whispered\nfervently into his ear, \"The same to you, my good man!\"\n\nThe children continued to clamor for food.\n\n\"I'll go to the refreshment counter and buy a glass of milk and a few\nrolls,\" said Shmuel to his wife.\n\n\"Have you actually some money left?\" asked Sarah. \"I thought it had all\nbeen spent on the picnic.\"\n\n\"There are just five cents over.\"\n\n\"Well, then go and be quick about it. The poor things are starving.\"\n\nShmuel went to the refreshment stall, and asked the price of a glass of\nmilk and a few rolls.\n\n\"Twenty cents, mister,\" answered the waiter.\n\nShmuel started as if he had burnt his finger, and returned to his wife\nmore crestfallen than ever.\n\n\"Well, Shlimm-mazel, where's the milk?\" inquired Sarah.\n\n\"He asked twenty cents.\"\n\n\"Twenty cents for a glass of milk and a roll? Are you Montefiore?\" Sarah\ncould no longer contain herself. \"They'll be the ruin of us! If you want\nto go for another picnic, we shall have to sell the bedding.\"\n\nThe children never stopped begging for something to eat.\n\n\"But what are we to do?\" asked the bewildered Shmuel.\n\n\"Do?\" screamed Sarah. \"Go home, this very minute!\"\n\nShmuel promptly caught up a few children, and they left the park. Sarah\nwas quite quiet on the way home, merely remarking to her husband that\nshe would settle her account with him later.\n\n\"I'll pay you out,\" she said, \"for my satin dress, for the hand-bag, for\nthe pineapple, for the bananas, for the milk, for the whole blessed\npicnic, for the whole of my miserable existence.\"\n\n\"Scold away!\" answered Shmuel. \"It is you who were right. I don't know\nwhat possessed me. A picnic, indeed! You may well ask what next? A poor\nwretched workman like me has no business to think of anything beyond the\nshop.\"\n\nSarah, when they reached home, was as good as her word. Shmuel would\nhave liked some supper, as he always liked it, even in slack times, but\nthere was no supper given him. He went to bed a hungry man, and all\nthrough the night he repeated in his sleep:\n\n\"A picnic, oi, a picnic!\"\n\n\n\n\nMANASSEH\n\n\nIt was a stifling summer evening. I had just come home from work, taken\noff my coat, unbuttoned my waistcoat, and sat down panting by the window\nof my little room.\n\nThere was a knock at the door, and without waiting for my reply, in came\na woman with yellow hair, and very untidy in her dress.\n\nI judged from her appearance that she had not come from a distance. She\nhad nothing on her head, her sleeves were tucked up, she held a ladle in\nher hand, and she was chewing something or other.\n\n\"I am Manasseh's wife,\" said she.\n\n\"Manasseh Gricklin's?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said my visitor, \"Gricklin's, Gricklin's.\"\n\nI hastily slipped on a coat, and begged her to be seated.\n\nManasseh was an old friend of mine, he was a capmaker, and we worked\ntogether in one shop.\n\nAnd I knew that he lived somewhere in the same tenement as myself, but\nit was the first time I had the honor of seeing his wife.\n\n\"Look here,\" began the woman, \"don't you work in the same shop as my\nhusband?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" I said.\n\n\"Well, and now tell me,\" and the yellow-haired woman gave a bound like a\nhyena, \"how is it I see you come home from work with all other\nrespectable people, and my husband not? And it isn't the first time,\neither, that he's gone, goodness knows where, and come home two hours\nafter everyone else. Where's he loitering about?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I replied gravely.\n\nThe woman brandished her ladle in such a way that I began to think she\nmeant murder.\n\n\"You don't know?\" she exclaimed with a sinister flash in her eyes. \"What\ndo you mean by that? Don't you two leave the shop together? How can you\nhelp seeing what becomes of him?\"\n\nThen I remembered that when Manasseh and I left the shop, he walked with\nme a few blocks, and then went off in another direction, and that one\nday, when I asked him where he was going, he had replied, \"To some\nfriends.\"\n\n\"He must go to some friends,\" I said to the woman.\n\n\"To some friends?\" she repeated, and burst into strange laughter. \"Who?\nWhose? Ours? We're greeners, we are, we have no friends. What friends\nshould he have, poor, miserable wretch?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I said, \"but that is what he told me.\"\n\n\"All right!\" said Manasseh's wife. \"I'll teach him a lesson he won't\nforget in a hurry.\"\n\nWith these words she departed.\n\nWhen she had left the room, I pictured to myself poor consumptive\nManasseh being taught a \"lesson\" by his yellow-haired wife, and I pitied\nhim.\n\nManasseh was a man of about thirty. His yellowish-white face was set in\na black beard; he was very thin, always ailing and coughing, had never\nlearnt to write, and he read only Yiddish--a quiet, respectable man, I\nmight almost say the only hand in the shop who never grudged a\nfellow-worker his livelihood. He had been only a year in the country,\nand the others made sport of him, but I always stood up for him, because\nI liked him very much.\n\nWherever does he go, now? I wondered to myself, and I resolved to find\nout.\n\nNext morning I met Manasseh as usual, and at first I intended to tell\nhim of his wife's visit to me the day before; but the poor operative\nlooked so low-spirited, so thoroughly unhappy, that I felt sure his wife\nhad already given him the promised \"lesson,\" and I hadn't the courage to\nmention her to him just then.\n\nIn the evening, as we were going home from the workshop, Manasseh said\nto me:\n\n\"Did my wife come to see you yesterday?\"\n\n\"Yes, Brother Manasseh,\" I answered. \"She seemed something annoyed with\nyou.\"\n\n\"She has a dreadful temper,\" observed the workman. \"When she is really\nangry, she's fit to kill a man. But it's her bitter heart, poor\nthing--she's had so many troubles! We're so poor, and she's far away\nfrom her family.\"\n\nManasseh gave a deep sigh.\n\n\"She asked you where I go other days after work?\" he continued.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Would you like to know?\"\n\n\"Why not, Mister Gricklin!\"\n\n\"Come along a few blocks further,\" said Manasseh, \"and I'll show you.\"\n\n\"Come along!\" I agreed, and we walked on together.\n\nA few more blocks and Manasseh led me into a narrow street, not yet\nentirely built in with houses.\n\nPresently he stopped, with a contented smile. I looked round in some\nastonishment. We were standing alongside a piece of waste ground, with a\nmeagre fencing of stones and burnt wire, and utilized as a garden.\n\n\"Just look,\" said the workman, pointing at the garden, \"how delightful\nit is! One so seldom sees anything of the kind in New York.\"\n\nManasseh went nearer to the fence, and his eyes wandered thirstily over\nthe green, flowering plants, just then in full beauty. I also looked at\nthe garden. The things that grew there were unknown to me, and I was\nignorant of their names. Only one thing had a familiar look--a few tall,\ngraceful \"moons\" were scattered here and there over the place, and stood\nlike absent-minded dreamers, or beautiful sentinels. And the roses were\nin bloom, and their fragrance came in wafts over the fencing.\n\n\"You see the 'moons'?\" asked Manasseh, in rapt tones, but more to\nhimself than to me. \"Look how beautiful they are! I can't take my eyes\noff them. I am capable of standing and looking at them for hours. They\nmake me feel happy, almost as if I were at home again. There were a lot\nof them at home!\"\n\nThe operative sighed, lost himself a moment in thought, and then said:\n\n\"When I smell the roses, I think of old days. We had quite a large\ngarden, and I was so fond of it! When the flowers began to come out, I\nused to sit there for hours, and could never look at it enough. The\nroses appeared to be dreaming with their great golden eyes wide open.\nThe cucumbers lay along the ground like pussy-cats, and the stalks and\nleaves spread ever so far across the beds. The beans fought for room\nlike street urchins, and the pumpkins and the potatoes--you should have\nseen them! And the flowers were all colors--pink and blue and yellow,\nand I felt as if everything were alive, as if the whole garden were\nalive--I fancied I heard them talking together, the roses, the potatoes,\nthe beans. I spent whole evenings in my garden. It was dear to me as my\nown soul. Look, look, look, don't the roses seem as if they were alive?\"\n\nBut I looked at Manasseh, and thought the consumptive workman had grown\nyounger and healthier. His face was less livid, and his eyes shone with\nhappiness.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Manasseh to me, as we walked away from the garden,\n\"I had some cuttings of rose-trees at home, in a basket out on the\nfire-escape, and they had begun to bud.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"Well,\" I inquired, \"and what happened?\"\n\n\"My wife laid out the mattress to air on the top of the basket, and they\nwere all crushed.\"\n\nManasseh made an outward gesture with his hand, and I asked no more\nquestions.\n\nThe poky, stuffy shop in which he worked came into my mind, and my heart\nwas sore for him.\n\n\n\n\nYOHRZEIT FOR MOTHER\n\n\nThe Ginzburgs' first child died of inflammation of the lungs when it was\ntwo years and three months old.\n\nThe young couple were in the depths of grief and despair--they even\nthought seriously of committing suicide.\n\nBut people do not do everything they think of doing. Neither Ginzburg\nnor his wife had the courage to throw themselves into the cold and\ngrizzly arms of death. They only despaired, until, some time after, a\nnewborn child bound them once more to life.\n\nIt was a little girl, and they named her Dvoreh, after Ginzburg's dead\nmother.\n\nThe Ginzburgs were both free-thinkers in the full sense of the word, and\ntheir naming the child after the dead had no superstitious significance\nwhatever.\n\nIt came about quite simply.\n\n\"Dobinyu,\" Ginzburg had asked his wife, \"how shall we call our\ndaughter?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied the young mother.\n\n\"No more do I,\" said Ginzburg.\n\n\"Let us call her Dvorehle,\" suggested Dobe, automatically, gazing at her\npretty baby, and very little concerned about its name.\n\nHad Ginzburg any objection to make? None at all, and the child's name\nwas Dvorehle henceforward. When the first child had lived to be a year\nold, the parents had made a feast-day, and invited guests to celebrate\ntheir first-born's first birthday with them.\n\nWith the second child it was not so.\n\nThe Ginzburgs loved their Dvorehle, loved her painfully, infinitely, but\nwhen it came to the anniversary of her birth they made no rejoicings.\n\nI do not think I shall be going too far if I say they did not dare to do\nso.\n\nDvorehle was an uncommon child: a bright girlie, sweet-tempered, pretty,\nand clever, the light of the house, shining into its every corner. She\ncould be a whole world of delight to her parents, this wee Dvorehle. But\nit was not the delight, not the happiness they had known with the first\nchild, not the same. _That_ had been so free, so careless. Now it was\ndifferent: terrible pictures of death, of a child's death, would rise up\nin the midst of their joy, and their gladness suddenly ended in a heavy\nsigh. They would be at the height of enchantment, kissing and hugging\nthe child and laughing aloud, they would be singing to it and romping\nwith it, everything else would be forgotten. Then, without wishing to do\nso, they would suddenly remember that not so long ago it was another\nchild, also a girl, that went off into just the same silvery little\nbursts of laughter--and now, where is it?--dead! O how it goes through\nthe heart! The parents turn pale in the midst of their merrymaking, the\nmother's eyes fill with tears, and the father's head droops.\n\n\"Who knows?\" sighs Dobe, looking at their little laughing Dvorehle. \"Who\nknows?\"\n\nGinzburg understands the meaning of her question and is silent, because\nhe is afraid to say anything in reply.\n\nIt seems to me that parents who have buried their first-born can never\nbe really happy again.\n\nSo Dvorehle's first birthday was allowed to pass as it were unnoticed.\nWhen it came to her second, it was nearly the same thing, only Dobe\nsaid, \"Ginzburg, when our daughter is three years old, then we will have\ngreat rejoicings!\"\n\nThey waited for the day with trembling hearts. Their child's third year\nwas full of terror for them, because their eldest-born had died in her\nthird year, and they felt as though it must be the most dangerous one\nfor their second child.\n\nA dreadful conviction began to haunt them both, only they were afraid to\nconfess it one to the other. This conviction, this fixed idea of theirs,\nwas that when Dvorehle reached the age of their eldest child when it\ndied, Death would once more call their household to mind.\n\nDvorehle grew to be two years and eight months old. O it was a terrible\ntime! And--and the child fell ill, with inflammation of the lungs, just\nlike the other one.\n\nO pictures that arose and stood before the parents! O terror, O\ncalamity! They were free-thinkers, the Ginzburgs, and if any one had\ntold them that they were not free from what they called superstition,\nthat the belief in a Higher Power beyond our understanding still had a\nroot in their being, if you had spoken thus to Ginzburg or to his wife,\nthey would have laughed at you, both of them, out of the depths of a\nfull heart and with laughter more serious than many another's words. But\nwhat happened now is wonderful to tell.\n\nDobe, sitting by the sick child's cot, began to speak, gravely, and as\nin a dream:\n\n\"Who knows? Who knows? Perhaps? Perhaps?\" She did not conclude.\n\n\"Perhaps what?\" asked Ginzburg, impatiently.\n\n\"Why should it come like this?\" Dobe went on. \"The same time, the same\nsickness?\"\n\n\"A simple blind coincidence of circumstances,\" replied her husband.\n\n\"But so exactly--one like the other, as if somebody had made it happen\non purpose.\"\n\nGinzburg understood his wife's meaning, and answered short and sharp:\n\n\"Dobe, don't talk nonsense.\"\n\nMeanwhile Dvorehle's illness developed, and the day came on which the\ndoctor said that a crisis would occur within twenty-four hours. What\nthis meant to the Ginzburgs would be difficult to describe, but each of\nthem determined privately not to survive the loss of their second child.\n\nThey sat beside it, not lifting their eyes from its face. They were pale\nand dazed with grief and sleepless nights, their hearts half-dead within\nthem, they shed no tears, they were so much more dead than alive\nthemselves, and the child's flame of life flickered and dwindled,\nflickered and dwindled.\n\nA tangle of memories was stirring in Ginzburg's head, all relating to\ndeaths and graves. He lived through the death of their first child with\nall details--his father's death, his mother's--early in a summer\nmorning--that was--that was--he recalls it--as though it were to-day.\n\n\"What is to-day?\" he wonders. \"What day of the month is it?\" And then he\nremembers, it is the first of May.\n\n\"The same day,\" he murmurs, as if he were talking in his sleep.\n\n\"What the same day?\" asks Dobe.\n\n\"Nothing,\" says Ginzburg. \"I was thinking of something.\"\n\nHe went on thinking, and fell into a doze where he sat.\n\nHe saw his mother enter the room with a soft step, take a chair, and sit\ndown by the sick child.\n\n\"Mother, save it!\" he begs her, his heart is full to bursting, and he\nbegins to cry.\n\n\"Isrolik,\" says his mother, \"I have brought a remedy for the child that\nbears my name.\"\n\n\"Mame!!!\"\n\nHe is about to throw himself upon her neck and kiss her, but she motions\nhim lightly aside.\n\n\"Why do you never light a candle for my Yohrzeit?\" she inquires, and\nlooks at him reproachfully.\n\n\"Mame, have pity on us, save the child!\"\n\n\"The child will live, only you must light me a candle.\"\n\n\"Mame\" (he sobs louder), \"have pity!\"\n\n\"Light my candle--make haste, make haste--\"\n\n\"Ginzburg!\" a shriek from his wife, and he awoke with a start.\n\n\"Ginzburg, the child is dying! Fly for the doctor.\"\n\nGinzburg cast a look at the child, a chill went through him, he ran to\nthe door.\n\nThe doctor came in person.\n\n\"Our child is dying! Help save it!\" wailed the unhappy mother, and he,\nGinzburg, stood and shivered as with cold.\n\nThe doctor scrutinized the child, and said:\n\n\"The crisis is coming on.\" There was something dreadful in the quiet of\nhis tone.\n\n\"What can be done?\" and the Ginzburgs wrung their hands.\n\n\"Hush! Nothing! Bring some hot water, bottles of hot\nwater!--Champagne!--Where is the medicine? Quick!\" commanded the doctor.\n\nEverything was to hand and ready in an instant.\n\nThe doctor began to busy himself with the child, the parents stood by\npale as death.\n\n\"Well,\" asked Dobe, \"what?\"\n\n\"We shall soon know,\" said the doctor.\n\nGinzburg looked round, glided like a shadow into a corner of the room,\nand lit the little lamp that stood there.\n\n\"What is that for?\" asked Dobe, in a fright.\n\n\"Nothing, Yohrzeit--my mother's,\" he answered in a strange voice, and\nhis hands never ceased trembling.\n\n\"Your child will live,\" said the doctor, and father and mother fell upon\nthe child's bed with their faces, and wept.\n\nThe flame in the lamp burnt brighter and brighter.\n\n\n\n\nSLACK TIMES THEY SLEEP\n\n\nDespite the fact of the winter nights being long and dark as the Jewish\nexile, the Breklins go to bed at dusk.\n\nBut you may as well know that when it is dusk outside in the street, the\nBreklins are already \"way on\" in the night, because they live in a\nbasement, separated from the rest of the world by an air-shaft, and when\nthe sun gathers his beams round him before setting, the first to be\nsummoned are those down the Breklins' shaft, because of the time\nrequired for them to struggle out again.\n\nThe same thing in the morning, only reversed. People don't usually get\nup, if they can help it, before it is really light, and so it comes to\npass that when other people have left their beds, and are going about\ntheir business, the Breklins are still asleep and making the long, long\nnight longer yet.\n\nIf you ask me, \"How is it they don't wear their sides out with lying in\nbed?\" I shall reply: They _do_ rise with aching sides, and if you say,\n\"How can people be so lazy?\" I can tell you, They don't do it out of\nlaziness, and they lie awake a great part of the time.\n\nWhat's the good of lying in bed if one isn't asleep?\n\nThere you have it in a nutshell--it's a question of the economic\nconditions. The Breklins are very poor, their life is a never-ending\nstruggle with poverty, and they have come to the conclusion that the\ncheapest way of waging it, and especially in winter, is to lie in bed\nunder a great heap of old clothes and rags of every description.\n\nBreklin is a house-painter, and from Christmas to Purim (I beg to\ndistinguish!) work is dreadfully slack. When you're not earning a\ncrooked penny, what are you to do?\n\nIn the first place, you must live on \"cash,\" that is, on the few dollars\nscraped together and put by during the \"season,\" and in the second\nplace, you must cut down your domestic expenses, otherwise the money\nwon't hold out, and then you might as well keep your teeth in a drawer.\n\nBut you may neither eat nor drink, nor live at all to mention--if it's\nwinter, the money goes all the same: it's bitterly cold, and you can't\ndo without the stove, and the nights are long, and you want a lamp.\n\nAnd the Breklins saw that their money would _not_ hold out till\nPurim--that their Fast of Esther would be too long. Coal was beyond\nthem, and kerosene as dear as wine, and yet how could they possibly\nspend less? How could they do without a fire when it was so cold?\nWithout a lamp when it was so dark? And the Breklins had an \"idea\"!\n\nWhy sit up at night and watch the stove and the lamp burning away their\nmoney, when they might get into bed, bury themselves in rags, and defy\nboth poverty and cold? There is nothing in particular to do, anyhow.\nWhat should there be, a long winter evening through? Nothing! They only\nsat and poured out the bitterness in their heart one upon the other,\nquarrelled, and scolded. They could do that in bed just as well, and\nsave firing and light into the bargain.\n\nSo, at the first approach of darkness, the bed was made ready for Mr.\nBreklin, and his wife put to sleep their only, three-year-old child.\nAvremele did not understand why he was put to bed so early, but he asked\nno questions. The room began to feel cold, and the poor little thing was\nglad to nestle deep into the bedcoverings.\n\nThe lamp and the fire were extinguished, the stove would soon go out of\nitself, and the Breklin family slept.\n\nThey slept, and fought against poverty by lying in bed.\n\nIt was waging cheap warfare.\n\n * * * * *\n\nHaving had his first sleep out, Breklin turns to his wife:\n\n\"What do you suppose the time to be now, Yudith?\"\n\nYudith listens attentively.\n\n\"It must be past eight o'clock,\" she says.\n\n\"What makes you think so?\" asks Breklin.\n\n\"Don't you hear the clatter of knives and forks? Well-to-do folk are\nhaving supper.\"\n\n\"We also used to have supper about this time, in the Tsisin,\" said\nBreklin, and he gave a deep sigh of longing.\n\n\"We shall soon forget the good times altogether,\" says Yudith, and\nhusband and wife set sail once more for the land of dreams.\n\nA few hours later Breklin wakes with a groan.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" inquires Yudith.\n\n\"My sides ache with lying.\"\n\n\"Mine, too,\" says Yudith, and they both begin yawning.\n\n\"What o'clock would it be now?\" wonders Breklin, and Yudith listens\nagain.\n\n\"About ten o'clock,\" she tells him.\n\n\"No later? I don't believe it. It must be a great deal later than that.\"\n\n\"Well, listen for yourself,\" persists Yudith, \"and you'll hear the\nhousekeeper upstairs scolding somebody. She's putting out the gas in the\nhall.\"\n\n\"Oi, weh is mir! How the night drags!\" sighs Breklin, and turns over\nonto his other side.\n\nYudith goes on talking, but as much to herself as to him:\n\n\"Upstairs they are still all alive, and we are asleep in bed.\"\n\n\"Weh is mir, weh is mir!\" sighs Breklin over and over, and once more\nthere is silence.\n\nThe night wears on.\n\n\"Are you asleep?\" asks Breklin, suddenly.\n\n\"I wish I were! Who could sleep through such a long night? I'm lying\nawake and racking my brains.\"\n\n\"What over?\" asks Breklin, interested.\n\n\"I'm trying to think,\" explains Yudith, \"what we can have for dinner\nto-morrow that will cost nothing, and yet be satisfying.\"\n\n\"Oi, weh is mir!\" sighs Breklin again, and is at a loss what to advise.\n\n\"I wonder\" (this time it is Yudith) \"what o'clock it is now!\"\n\n\"It will soon be morning,\" is Breklin's opinion.\n\n\"Morning? Nonsense!\" Yudith knows better.\n\n\"It must be morning soon!\" He holds to it.\n\n\"You are very anxious for the morning,\" says Yudith, good-naturedly,\n\"and so you think it will soon be here, and I tell you, it's not\nmidnight yet.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? You don't know what you're saying! I shall\ngo out of my mind.\"\n\n\"You know,\" says Yudith, \"that Avremele always wakes at midnight and\ncries, and he's still fast asleep.\"\n\n\"No, Mame,\" comes from under Avremele's heap of rags.\n\n\"Come to me, my beauty! So he was awake after all!\" and Yudith reaches\nout her arms for the child.\n\n\"Perhaps he's cold,\" says Breklin.\n\n\"Are you cold, sonny?\" asks Yudith.\n\n\"Cold, Mame!\" replies Avremele.\n\nYudith wraps the coverlets closer and closer round him, and presses him\nto her side.\n\nAnd the night wears on.\n\n\"O my sides!\" groans Breklin.\n\n\"Mine, too!\" moans Yudith, and they start another conversation.\n\nOne time they discuss their neighbors; another time the Breklins try to\ncalculate how long it is since they married, how much they spend a week\non an average, and what was the cost of Yudith's confinement.\n\nIt is seldom they calculate anything right, but talking helps to while\naway time, till the basement begins to lighten, whereupon the Breklins\njump out of bed, as though it were some perilous hiding-place, and set\nto work in a great hurry to kindle the stove.\n\n\n\n\nABRAHAM RAISIN\n\n\nBorn, 1876, in Kaidanov, Government of Minsk (Lithuania), White Russia;\ntraditional Jewish education; self-taught in Russian language; teacher\nat fifteen, first in Kaidanov, then in Minsk; first poem published in\nPerez's Juedische Bibliothek, in 1891; served in the army, in Kovno, for\nfour years; went to Warsaw in 1900, and to New York in 1911; Yiddish\nlyric poet and novelist; occasionally writes Hebrew; contributor to\nSpektor's Hausfreund, New York Abendpost, and New York Arbeiterzeitung;\nco-editor of Das zwanzigste Jahrhundert; in 1903, published and edited,\nin Cracow, Das juedische Wort, first to urge the claim of Yiddish as the\nnational Jewish language; publisher and editor, since 1911, of Dos neie\nLand, in New York; collected works (poems and tales), 4 vols., Warsaw,\n1908-1912.\n\n\n\n\nSHUT IN\n\n\nLebele is a little boy ten years old, with pale cheeks, liquid, dreamy\neyes, and black hair that falls in twisted ringlets, but, of course, the\nringlets are only seen when his hat falls off, for Lebele is a pious\nlittle boy, who never uncovers his head.\n\nThere are things that Lebele loves and never has, or else he has them\nonly in part, and that is why his eyes are always dreamy and troubled,\nand always full of longing.\n\nHe loves the summer, and sits the whole day in Cheder. He loves the sun,\nand the Rebbe hangs his caftan across the window, and the Cheder is\ndarkened, so that it oppresses the soul. Lebele loves the moon, the\nnight, but at home they close the shutters, and Lebele, on his little\nbed, feels as if he were buried alive. And Lebele cannot understand\npeople's behaving so oddly.\n\nIt seems to him that when the sun shines in at the window, it is a\ndelight, it is so pleasant and cheerful, and the Rebbe goes and curtains\nit--no more sun! If Lebele dared, he would ask:\n\n\"What ails you, Rebbe, at the sun? What harm can it do you?\"\n\nBut Lebele will never put that question: the Rebbe is such a great and\nlearned man, he must know best. Ai, how dare he, Lebele, disapprove? He\nis only a little boy. When he is grown up, he will doubtless curtain the\nwindow himself. But as things are now, Lebele is not happy, and feels\nsadly perplexed at the behavior of his elders.\n\nLate in the evening, he comes home from Cheder. The sun has already set,\nthe street is cheerful and merry, the cockchafers whizz and, flying, hit\nhim on the nose, the ear, the forehead.\n\nHe would like to play about a bit in the street, let them have supper\nwithout him, but he is afraid of his father. His father is a kind man\nwhen he talks to strangers, he is so gentle, so considerate, so\nconfidential. But to him, to Lebele, he is very unkind, always shouting\nat him, and if Lebele comes from Cheder a few minutes late, he will be\nangry.\n\n\"Where have you been, my fine fellow? Have you business anywhere?\"\n\nNow go and tell him that it is not at all so bad out in the street, that\nit's a pleasure to hear how the cockchafers whirr, that even the hits\nthey give you on the wing are friendly, and mean, \"Hallo, old fellow!\"\nOf course it's a wild absurdity! It amuses him, because he is only a\nlittle boy, while his father is a great man, who trades in wood and\ncorn, and who always knows the current prices--when a thing is dearer\nand when it is cheaper. His father can speak the Gentile language, and\ndrive bargains, his father understands the Prussian weights. Is that a\nman to be thought lightly of? Go and tell him, if you dare, that it's\ndelightful now out in the street.\n\nAnd Lebele hurries straight home. When he has reached it, his father\nasks him how many chapters he has mastered, and if he answers five, his\nfather hums a tune without looking at him; but if he says only three,\nhis father is angry, and asks:\n\n\"How's that? Why so little, ha?\"\n\nAnd Lebele is silent, and feels guilty before his father.\n\nAfter that his father makes him translate a Hebrew word.\n\n\"Translate _Kimlunah_!\"\n\n\"_Kimlunah_ means 'like a passing the night,'\" answers Lebele,\nterrified.\n\nHis father is silent--a sign that he is satisfied--and they sit down to\nsupper. Lebele's father keeps an eye on him the whole time, and\ninstructs him how to eat.\n\n\"Is that how you hold your spoon?\" inquires the father, and Lebele holds\nthe spoon lower, and the food sticks in his throat.\n\nAfter supper Lebele has to say grace aloud and in correct Hebrew,\naccording to custom. If he mumbles a word, his father calls out:\n\n\"What did I hear? what? once more, 'Wherewith Thou dost feed and sustain\nus.' Well, come, say it! Don't be in a hurry, it won't burn you!\"\n\nAnd Lebele says it over again, although he _is_ in a great hurry,\nalthough he longs to run out into the street, and the words _do_ seem to\nburn him.\n\nWhen it is dark, he repeats the Evening Prayer by lamplight; his father\nis always catching him making a mistake, and Lebele has to keep all his\nwits about him. The moon, round and shining, is already floating through\nthe sky, and Lebele repeats the prayers, and looks at her, and longs\nafter the street, and he gets confused in his praying.\n\nPrayers over, he escapes out of the house, puzzling over some question\nin the Talmud against the morrow's lesson. He delays there a while\ngazing at the moon, as she pours her pale beams onto the Gass. But he\nsoon hears his father's voice:\n\n\"Come indoors, to bed!\"\n\nIt is warm outside, there is not a breath of air stirring, and yet it\nseems to Lebele as though a wind came along with his father's words, and\nhe grows cold, and he goes in like one chilled to the bone, takes his\nstand by the window, and stares at the moon.\n\n\"It is time to close the shutters--there's nothing to sit up for!\"\nLebele hears his father say, and his heart sinks. His father goes out,\nand Lebele sees the shutters swing to, resist, as though they were being\nclosed against their will, and presently there is a loud bang. No more\nmoon!--his father has hidden it!\n\nA while after, the lamp has been put out, the room is dark, and all are\nasleep but Lebele, whose bed is by the window. He cannot sleep, he wants\nto be in the street, whence sounds come in through the chinks. He tries\nto sit up in bed, to peer out, also through the chinks, and even to open\na bit of the shutter, without making any noise, and to look, look, but\nwithout success, for just then his father wakes and calls out:\n\n\"What are you after there, eh? Do you want me to come with the strap?\"\n\nAnd Lebele nestles quietly down again into his pillow, pulls the\ncoverlet over his head, and feels as though he were buried alive.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHARITABLE LOAN\n\n\nThe largest fair in Klemenke is \"Ulas.\" The little town waits for Ulas\nwith a beating heart and extravagant hopes. \"Ulas,\" say the Klemenke\nshopkeepers and traders, \"is a Heavenly blessing; were it not for Ulas,\nKlemenke would long ago have been 'aeus Klemenke,' America would have\ntaken its last few remaining Jews to herself.\"\n\nBut for Ulas one must have the wherewithal--the shopkeepers need wares,\nand the traders, money.\n\nWithout the wherewithal, even Ulas is no good! And Chayyim, the dealer\nin produce, goes about gloomily. There are only three days left before\nUlas, and he hasn't a penny wherewith to buy corn to trade with. And the\nother dealers in produce circulate in the market-place with caps awry,\nwith thickly-rolled cigarettes in their mouths and walking-sticks in\ntheir hands, and they are talking hard about the fair.\n\n\"In three days it will be lively!\" calls out one.\n\n\"Pshshsh,\" cries another in ecstasy, \"in three days' time the place will\nbe packed!\"\n\nAnd Chayyim turns pale. He would like to call down a calamity on the\nfair, he wishes it might rain, snow, or storm on that day, so that not\neven a mad dog should come to the market-place; only Chayyim knows that\nUlas is no weakling, Ulas is not afraid of the strongest wind--Ulas is\nUlas!\n\nAnd Chayyim's eyes are ready to start out of his head. A charitable\nloan--where is one to get a charitable loan? If only five and twenty\nrubles!\n\nHe asks it of everyone, but they only answer with a merry laugh:\n\n\"Are you mad? Money--just before a fair?\"\n\nAnd it seems to Chayyim that he really will go mad.\n\n\"Suppose you went across to Loibe-Baeres?\" suggests his wife, who takes\nher full share in his distress.\n\n\"I had thought of that myself,\" answers Chayyim, meditatively.\n\n\"But what?\" asks the wife.\n\nChayyim is about to reply, \"But I can't go there, I haven't the\ncourage,\" only that it doesn't suit him to be so frank with his wife,\nand he answers:\n\n\"Devil take him! He won't lend anything!\"\n\n\"Try! It won't hurt,\" she persists.\n\nAnd Chayyim reflects that he has no other resource, that Loibe-Baeres is\na rich man, and living in the same street, a neighbor in fact, and that\n_he_ requires no money for the fair, being a dealer in lumber and\ntimber.\n\n\"Give me out my Sabbath overcoat!\" says Chayyim to his wife, in a\nresolute tone.\n\n\"Didn't I say so?\" the wife answers. \"It's the best thing you can do, to\ngo to him.\"\n\nChayyim placed himself before a half-broken looking-glass which was\nnailed to the wall, smoothed his beard with both hands, tightened his\nearlocks, and then took off his hat, and gave it a polish with his\nsleeve.\n\n\"Just look and see if I haven't got any white on my coat off the wall!\"\n\n\"If you haven't?\" the wife answered, and began slapping him with both\nhands over the shoulders.\n\n\"I thought we once had a little clothes-brush. Where is it? ha?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you dreamt it,\" replied his wife, still slapping him on the\nshoulders, and she went on, \"Well, I should say you had got some white\non your coat!\"\n\n\"Come, that'll do!\" said Chayyim, almost angrily. \"I'll go now.\"\n\nHe drew on his Sabbath overcoat with a sigh, and muttering, \"Very\nlikely, isn't it, he'll lend me money!\" he went out.\n\nOn the way to Loibe-Baeres, Chayyim's heart began to fail him. Since the\nday that Loibe-Baeres came to live at the end of the street, Chayyim had\nbeen in the house only twice, and the path Chayyim was treading now was\nas bad as an examination: the \"approach\" to him, the light rooms, the\ngreat mirrors, the soft chairs, Loibe-Baeres himself with his long, thick\nbeard and his black eyes with their \"gevirish\" glance, the lady, the\nmerry, happy children, even the maid, who had remained in his memory\nsince those two visits--all these things together terrified him, and he\nasked himself, \"Where are you going to? Are you mad? Home with you at\nonce!\" and every now and then he would stop short on the way. Only the\nthought that Ulas was near, and that he had no money to buy corn, drove\nhim to continue.\n\n\"He won't lend anything--it's no use hoping.\" Chayyim was preparing\nhimself as he walked for the shock of disappointment; but he felt that\nif he gave way to that extent, he would never be able to open his mouth\nto make his request known, and he tried to cheer himself:\n\n\"If I catch him in a good humor, he will lend! Why should he be afraid\nof lending me a few rubles over the fair? I shall tell him that as soon\nas ever I have sold the corn, he shall have the loan back. I will swear\nit by wife and children, he will believe me--and I will pay it back.\"\n\nBut this does not make Chayyim any the bolder, and he tries another sort\nof comfort, another remedy against nervousness.\n\n\"He isn't a bad man--and, after all, our acquaintance won't date from\nto-day--we've been living in the same street twenty years--Parabotzker\nStreet--\"\n\nAnd Chayyim recollects that a fortnight ago, as Loibe-Baeres was passing\nhis house on his way to the market-place, and he, Chayyim, was standing\nin the yard, he gave him the greeting due to a gentleman (\"and I could\nswear I gave him my hand,\" Chayyim reminded himself). Loibe-Baeres had\nmade a friendly reply, he had even stopped and asked, like an old\nacquaintance, \"Well, Chayyim, and how are you getting on?\" And Chayyim\nstrains his memory and remembers further that he answered on this wise:\n\n\"I thank you for asking! Heaven forgive me, one does a little bit of\nbusiness!\"\n\nAnd Chayyim is satisfied with his reply, \"I answered him quite at my\nease.\"\n\nChayyim resolves to speak to him this time even more leisurely and\nindependently, not to cringe before him.\n\nChayyim could already see Loibe-Baeres' house in the distance. He coughed\ntill his throat was clear, stroked his beard down, and looked at his\ncoat.\n\n\"Still a very good coat!\" he said aloud, as though trying to persuade\nhimself that the coat was still good, so that he might feel more courage\nand more proper pride.\n\nBut when he got to Loibe-Baeres' big house, when the eight large windows\nlooking onto the street flashed into his eyes, the windows being\nbrightly illuminated from within, his heart gave a flutter.\n\n\"Oi, Lord of the World, help!\" came of its own accord to his lips. Then\nhe felt ashamed, and caught himself up, \"Ett, nonsense!\"\n\nAs he pushed the door open, the \"prayer\" escaped him once more, \"Help,\nmighty God! or it will be the death of me!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nLoibe-Baeres was seated at a large table covered with a clean white\ntable-cloth, and drinking while he talked cheerfully with his household.\n\n\"There's a Jew come, Tate!\" called out a boy of twelve, on seeing\nChayyim standing by the door.\n\n\"So there is!\" called out a second little boy, still more merrily,\nfixing Chayyim with his large, black, mischievous eyes.\n\nAll the rest of those at table began looking at Chayyim, and he thought\nevery moment that he must fall of a heap onto the floor.\n\n\"It will look very bad if I fall,\" he said to himself, made a step\nforward, and, without saying good evening, stammered out:\n\n\"I just happened to be passing, you understand, and I saw you\nsitting--so I knew you were at home--well, I thought one ought to\ncall--neighbors--\"\n\n\"Well, welcome, welcome!\" said Loibe-Baeres, smiling. \"You've come at the\nright moment. Sit down.\"\n\nA stone rolled off Chayyim's heart at this reply, and, with a glance at\nthe two little boys, he quietly took a seat.\n\n\"Leah, give Reb Chayyim a glass of tea,\" commanded Loibe-Baeres.\n\n\"Quite a kind man!\" thought Chayyim. \"May the Almighty come to his aid!\"\n\nHe gave his host a grateful look, and would gladly have fallen onto the\nGevir's thick neck, and kissed him.\n\n\"Well, and what are you about?\" inquired his host.\n\n\"Thanks be to God, one lives!\"\n\nThe maid handed him a glass of tea. He said, \"Thank you,\" and then was\nsorry: it is not the proper thing to thank a servant. He grew red and\nbit his lips.\n\n\"Have some jelly with it!\" Loibe-Baeres suggested.\n\n\"An excellent man, an excellent man!\" thought Chayyim, astonished. \"He\nis sure to lend.\"\n\n\"You deal in something?\" asked Loibe-Baeres.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" answered Chayyim. \"One's little bit of business, thank\nHeaven, is no worse than other people's!\"\n\n\"What price are oats fetching now?\" it occurred to the Gevir to ask.\n\nOats had fallen of late, but it seemed better to Chayyim to say that\nthey had risen.\n\n\"They have risen very much!\" he declared in a mercantile tone of voice.\n\n\"Well, and have you some oats ready?\" inquired the Gevir further.\n\n\"I've got a nice lot of oats, and they didn't cost me much, either. I\ngot them quite cheap,\" replied Chayyim, with more warmth, forgetting,\nwhile he spoke, that he hadn't had an ear of oats in his granary for\nweeks.\n\n\"And you are thinking of doing a little speculating?\" asked Loibe-Baeres.\n\"Are you not in need of any money?\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God,\" replied Chayyim, proudly, \"I have never yet been in\nneed of money.\"\n\n\"Why did I say that?\" he thought then, in terror at his own words. \"How\nam I going to ask for a loan now?\" and Chayyim wanted to back the cart a\nlittle, only Loibe-Baeres prevented him by saying:\n\n\"So I understand you make a good thing of it, you are quite a wealthy\nman.\"\n\n\"My wealth be to my enemies!\" Chayyim wanted to draw back, but after a\nglance at Loibe-Baeres' shining face, at the blue jar with the jelly, he\nanswered proudly:\n\n\"Thank Heaven, I have nothing to complain of!\"\n\n\"There goes your charitable loan!\" The thought came like a kick in the\nback of his head. \"Why are you boasting like that? Tell him you want\ntwenty-five rubles for Ulas--that he must save you, that you are in\ndespair, that--\"\n\nBut Chayyim fell deeper and deeper into a contented and happy way of\ntalking, praised his business more and more, and conversed with the\nGevir as with an equal.\n\nBut he soon began to feel he was one too many, that he should not have\nsat there so long, or have talked in that way. It would have been better\nto have talked about the fair, about a loan. Now it is too late:\n\n\"I have no need of money!\" and Chayyim gave a despairing look at\nLoibe-Baeres' cheerful face, at the two little boys who sat opposite and\nwatched him with sly, mischievous eyes, and who whispered knowingly to\neach other, and then smiled more knowingly still!\n\nA cold perspiration covered him. He rose from his chair.\n\n\"You are going already?\" observed Loibe-Baeres, politely.\n\n\"Now perhaps I could ask him!\" It flashed across Chayyim's mind that he\nmight yet save himself, but, stealing a glance at the two boys with the\nroguish eyes that watched him so slyly, he replied with dignity:\n\n\"I must! Business! There is no time!\" and it seems to him, as he goes\ntoward the door, that the two little boys with the mischievous eyes are\nputting out their tongues after him, and that Loibe-Baeres himself smiles\nand says, \"Stick your tongues out further, further still!\"\n\nChayyim's shoulders seem to burn, and he makes haste to get out of the\nhouse.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO BROTHERS\n\n\nIt is three months since Yainkele and Berele--two brothers, the first\nfourteen years old, the second sixteen--have been at the college that\nstands in the town of X--, five German miles from their birthplace\nDalissovke, after which they are called the \"Dalissovkers.\"\n\nYainkele is a slight, pale boy, with black eyes that peep slyly from\nbeneath the two black eyebrows. Berele is taller and stouter than\nYainkele, his eyes are lighter, and his glance is more defiant, as\nthough he would say, \"Let me alone, I shall laugh at you all yet!\"\n\nThe two brothers lodged with a poor relation, a widow, a dealer in\nsecond-hand goods, who never came home till late at night. The two\nbrothers had no bed, but a chest, which was broad enough, served\ninstead, and the brothers slept sweetly on it, covered with their own\ntorn clothes; and in their dreams they saw their native place, the\nlittle street, their home, their father with his long beard and dim eyes\nand bent back, and their mother with her long, pale, melancholy face,\nand they heard the little brothers and sisters quarrelling, as they\nfought over a bit of herring, and they dreamt other dreams of home, and\nearly in the morning they were homesick, and then they used to run to\nthe Dalissovke Inn, and ask the carrier if there were a letter for them\nfrom home.\n\nThe Dalissovke carriers were good Jews with soft hearts, and they were\nsorry for the two poor boys, who were so anxious for news from home,\nwhose eyes burned, and whose hearts beat so fast, so loud, but the\ncarriers were very busy; they came charged with a thousand messages from\nthe Dalissovke shopkeepers and traders, and they carried more letters\nthan the post, but with infinitely less method. Letters were lost, and\nparcels were heard of no more, and the distracted carriers scratched the\nnape of their neck, and replied to every question:\n\n\"Directly, directly, I shall find it directly--no, I don't seem to have\nanything for you--\"\n\nThat is how they answered the grown people who came to them; but our two\nlittle brothers stood and looked at Lezer the carrier--a man in a wadded\ncaftan, summer and winter--with thirsty eyes and aching hearts; stood\nand waited, hoping he would notice them and say something, if only one\nword. But Lezer was always busy: now he had gone into the yard to feed\nthe horse, now he had run into the inn, and entered into a conversation\nwith the clerk of a great store, who had brought a list of goods wanted\nfrom a shop in Dalissovke.\n\nAnd the brothers used to stand and stand, till the elder one, Berele,\nlost patience. Biting his lips, and all but crying with vexation, he\nwould just articulate: \"Reb Lezer, is there a letter from father?\"\n\nBut Reb Lezer would either suddenly cease to exist, run out into the\nstreet with somebody or other, or be absorbed in a conversation, and\nBerele hardly expected the answer which Reb Lezer would give over his\nshoulder:\n\n\"There isn't one--there isn't one.\"\n\n\"There isn't one!\" Berele would say with a deep sigh, and sadly call to\nYainkele to come away. Mournfully, and with a broken spirit, they went\nto where the day's meal awaited them.\n\n\"I am sure he loses the letters!\" Yainkele would say a few minutes\nlater, as they walked along.\n\n\"He is a bad man!\" Berele would mutter with vexation.\n\nBut one day Lezer handed them a letter and a small parcel.\n\nThe letter ran thus:\n\n \"Dear Children,\n\n Be good, boys, and learn with diligence. We send you herewith half\n a cheese and a quarter of a pound of sugar, and a little\n berry-juice in a bottle.\n\n Eat it in health, and do not quarrel over it.\n\n From me, your father,\n\n CHAYYIM HECHT.\"\n\nThat day Lezer the carrier was the best man in the world in their eyes,\nthey would not have been ashamed to eat him up with horse and cart for\nvery love. They wrote an answer at once--for letter-paper they used to\ntear out, with fluttering hearts, the first, imprinted pages in the\nGemoreh--and gave it that evening to Lezer the carrier. Lezer took it\ncoldly, pushed it into the breast of his coat, and muttered something\nlike \"All right!\"\n\n\"What did he say, Berele?\" asked Yainkele, anxiously.\n\n\"I think he said 'all right,'\" Berele answered doubtfully.\n\n\"I think he said so, too,\" Yainkele persuaded himself. Then he gave a\nsigh, and added fearfully:\n\n\"He may lose the letter!\"\n\n\"Bite your tongue out!\" answered Berele, angrily, and they went sadly\naway to supper.\n\nAnd three times a week, early in the morning, when Lezer the carrier\ncame driving, the two brothers flew, not ran, to the Dalissovke Inn, to\nask for an answer to their letter; and Lezer the carrier grew more\npreoccupied and cross, and answered either with mumbled words, which the\nbrothers could not understand, and dared not ask him to repeat, or else\nnot at all, so that they went away with heavy hearts. But one day they\nheard Lezer the carrier speak distinctly, so that they understood quite\nwell:\n\n\"What are you doing here, you two? What do you come plaguing me for?\nLetter? Fiddlesticks! How much do you pay me? Am I a postman? Eh? Be off\nwith you, and don't worry.\"\n\nThe brothers obeyed, but only in part: their hearts were like lead,\ntheir thin little legs shook, and tears fell from their eyes onto the\nground. And they went no more to Lezer the carrier to ask for a letter.\n\n\"I wish he were dead and buried!\" they exclaimed, but they did not mean\nit, and they longed all the time just to go and look at Lezer the\ncarrier, his horse and cart. After all, they came from Dalissovke, and\nthe two brothers loved them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne day, two or three weeks after the carrier sent them about their\nbusiness in the way described, the two brothers were sitting in the\nhouse of the poor relation and talking about home. It was summer-time,\nand a Friday afternoon.\n\n\"I wonder what father is doing now,\" said Yainkele, staring at the small\npanes in the small window.\n\n\"He must be cutting his nails,\" answered Berele, with a melancholy\nsmile.\n\n\"He must be chopping up lambs' feet,\" imagined Yainkele, \"and Mother is\ncombing Chainele, and Chainele is crying.\"\n\n\"Now we've talked nonsense enough!\" decided Berele. \"How can we know\nwhat is going on there?\"\n\n\"Perhaps somebody's dead!\" added Yainkele, in sudden terror.\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense!\" said Berele. \"When people die, they let one\nknow--\"\n\n\"Perhaps they wrote, and the carrier won't give us the letter--\"\n\n\"Ai, that's chatter enough!\" Berele was quite cross. \"Shut up, donkey!\nYou make me laugh,\" he went on, to reassure Yainkele, \"they are all\nalive and well.\"\n\nYainkele became cheerful again, and all at once he gave a bound into the\nair, and exclaimed with eager eyes:\n\n\"Berele, do what I say! Let's write by the post!\"\n\n\"Right you are!\" agreed Berele. \"Only I've no money.\"\n\n\"I have four kopeks; they are over from the ten I got last night. You\nknow, at my 'Thursday' they give me ten kopeks for supper, and I have\nfour over.\n\n\"And I have one kopek,\" said Berele, \"just enough for a post-card.\"\n\n\"But which of us will write it?\" asked Yainkele.\n\n\"I,\" answered Berele, \"I am the eldest, I'm a first-born son.\"\n\n\"But I gave four kopeks!\"\n\n\"A first-born is worth more than four kopeks.\"\n\n\"No! I'll write half, and you'll write half, ha?\"\n\n\"Very well. Come and buy a card.\"\n\nAnd the two brothers ran to buy a card at the postoffice.\n\n\"There will be no room for anything!\" complained Yainkele, on the way\nhome, as he contemplated the small post-card. \"We will make little tiny\nletters, teeny weeny ones!\" advised Berele.\n\n\"Father won't be able to read them!\"\n\n\"Never mind! He will put on his spectacles. Come along--quicker!\" urged\nYainkele. His heart was already full of words, like a sea, and he wanted\nto pour it out onto the bit of paper, the scrap on which he had spent\nhis entire fortune.\n\nThey reached their lodging, and settled down to write.\n\nBerele began, and Yainkele stood and looked on.\n\n\"Begin higher up! There is room there for a whole line. Why did you put\n'to my beloved Father' so low down?\" shrieked Yainkele.\n\n\"Where am I to put it, then? In the sky, eh?\" asked Berele, and pushed\nYainkele aside.\n\n\"Go away, I will leave you half. Don't confuse me!--You be quiet!\" and\nYainkele moved away, and stared with terrified eyes at Berele, as he sat\nthere, bent double, and wrote and wrote, knitted his brows, and dipped\nthe pen, and reflected, and wrote again.\n\n\"That's enough!\" screamed Yainkele, after a few minutes.\n\n\"It's not the half yet,\" answered Berele, writing on.\n\n\"But I ought to have more than half!\" said Yainkele, crossly. The\nlonging to write, to pour out his heart onto the post-card, was\noverwhelming him.\n\nBut Berele did not even hear: he had launched out into such rhetorical\nHebrew expressions as \"First of all, I let you know that I am alive and\nwell,\" which he had learnt in \"The Perfect Letter-Writer,\" and his\nlittle bits of news remained unwritten. He had yet to abuse Lezer the\ncarrier, to tell how many pages of the Gemoreh he had learnt, to let\nthem know they were to send another parcel, because they had no \"Monday\"\nand no \"Wednesday,\" and the \"Tuesday\" was no better than nothing.\n\nAnd Berele writes and writes, and Yainkele can no longer contain\nhimself--he sees that Berele is taking up more than half the card.\n\n\"Enough!\" He ran forward with a cry, and seized the penholder.\n\n\"Three words more!\" begged Berele.\n\n\"But remember, not more than three!\" and Yainkele's eyes flashed. Berele\nset to work to write the three words; but that which he wished to\nexpress required yet ten to fifteen words, and Berele, excited by the\nfact of writing, pecked away at the paper, and took up yet another bit\nof the other half.\n\n\"You stop!\" shrieked Yainkele, and broke into hysterical sobs, as he saw\nwhat a small space remained for him.\n\n\"Hush! Just 'from me, thy son,'\" begged Berele, \"nothing else!\"\n\nBut Yainkele, remembering that he had given a whole vierer toward the\npost-card, and that they would read so much of Berele at home, and so\nlittle of him, flew into a passion, and came and tried to tear away the\ncard from under Berele's hands. \"Let me put 'from me, thy son'!\"\nimplored Berele.\n\n\"It will do _without_ 'from me, thy son'!\" screamed Yainkele, although\nhe _felt_ that one ought to put it. His anger rose, and he began tugging\nat the card. Berele held tight, but Yainkele gave such a pull that the\ncard tore in two.\n\n\"What have you done, villain!\" cried Berele, glaring at Yainkele.\n\n\"I _meant_ to do it!\" wailed Yainkele.\n\n\"Oh, but why did you?\" cried Berele, gazing in despair at the two torn\nhalves of the post-card.\n\nBut Yainkele could not answer. The tears choked him, and he threw\nhimself against the wall, tearing his hair. Then Berele gave way, too,\nand the little room resounded with lamentations.\n\n\n\n\nLOST HIS VOICE\n\n\nIt was in the large synagogue in Klemenke. The week-day service had come\nto an end. The town cantor who sings all the prayers, even when he prays\nalone, and who is longer over them than other people, had already folded\nhis prayer-scarf, and was humming the day's Psalm to himself, to a tune.\nHe sang the last words \"cantorishly\" high:\n\n\"And He will be our guide until death.\" In the last word \"death\" he\ntried, as usual, to rise artistically to the higher octave, then to fall\nvery low, and to rise again almost at once into the height; but this\ntime he failed, the note stuck in his throat and came out false.\n\nHe got a fright, and in his fright he looked round to make sure no one\nwas standing beside him. Seeing only old Henoch, his alarm grew less, he\nknew that old Henoch was deaf.\n\nAs he went out with his prayer-scarf and phylacteries under his arm, the\nunsuccessful \"death\" rang in his ears and troubled him.\n\n\"Plague take it,\" he muttered, \"it never once happened to me before.\"\n\nSoon, however, he remembered that two weeks ago, on the Sabbath before\nthe New Moon, as he stood praying with the choristers before the altar,\nnearly the same thing had happened to him when he sang \"He is our God\"\nas a solo in the Kedushah.\n\nHappily no one remarked it--anyway the \"bass\" had said nothing to him.\nAnd the memory of the unsuccessful \"Hear, O Israel\" of two weeks ago and\nof to-day's \"unto death\" were mingled together, and lay heavily on his\nheart.\n\nHe would have liked to try the note once more as he walked, but the\nstreet was just then full of people, and he tried to refrain till he\nshould reach home. Contrary to his usual custom, he began taking rapid\nsteps, and it looked as if he were running away from someone. On\nreaching home, he put away his prayer-scarf without saying so much as\ngood morning, recovered his breath after the quick walk, and began to\nsing, \"He shall be our guide until death.\"\n\n\"That's right, you have so little time to sing in! The day is too short\nfor you!\" exclaimed the cantoress, angrily. \"It grates on the ears\nenough already!\"\n\n\"How, it grates?\" and the cantor's eyes opened wide with fright, \"I sing\na note, and you say 'it grates'? How can it grate?\"\n\nHe looked at her imploringly, his eyes said: \"Have pity on me! Don't\nsay, 'it grates'! because if it _does_ grate, I am miserable, I am done\nfor!\"\n\nBut the cantoress was much too busy and preoccupied with the dinner to\nsympathize and to understand how things stood with her husband, and went\non:\n\n\"Of course it grates! Why shouldn't it? It deafens me. When you sing in\nthe choir, I have to bear it, but when you begin by yourself--what?\"\n\nThe cantor had grown as white as chalk, and only just managed to say:\n\n\"Grune, are you mad? What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"What ails the man to-day!\" exclaimed Grune, impatiently. \"You've made a\nfool of yourself long enough! Go and wash your hands and come to\ndinner!\"\n\nThe cantor felt no appetite, but he reflected that one must eat, if only\nas a remedy; not to eat would make matters worse, and he washed his\nhands.\n\nHe chanted the grace loud and cantor-like, glancing occasionally at his\nwife, to see if she noticed anything wrong; but this time she said\nnothing at all, and he was reassured. \"It was my fancy--just my fancy!\"\nhe said to himself. \"All nonsense! One doesn't lose one's voice so soon\nas all that!\"\n\nThen he remembered that he was already forty years old, and it had\nhappened to the cantor Meyer Lieder, when he was just that age--\n\nThat was enough to put him into a fright again. He bent his head, and\nthought deeply. Then he raised it, and called out loud:\n\n\"Grune!\"\n\n\"Hush! What is it? What makes you call out in that strange voice?\" asked\nGrune, crossly, running in.\n\n\"Well, well, let me live!\" said the cantor. \"Why do you say 'in that\nstrange voice'? Whose voice was it? eh? What is the matter now?\"\n\nThere was a sound as of tears as he spoke.\n\n\"You're cracked to-day! As nonsensical--Well, what do you want?\"\n\n\"Beat up one or two eggs for me!\" begged the cantor, softly.\n\n\"Here's a new holiday!\" screamed Grune. \"On a Wednesday! Have you got to\nchant the Sabbath prayers? Eggs are so dear now--five kopeks apiece!\"\n\n\"Grune,\" commanded the cantor, \"they may be one ruble apiece, two\nrubles, five rubles, one hundred rubles. Do you hear? Beat up two eggs\nfor me, and don't talk!\"\n\n\"To be sure, you earn so much money!\" muttered Grune.\n\n\"Then you think it's all over with me?\" said the cantor, boldly. \"No,\nGrune!\"\n\nHe wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure about it yet, there was still\nhope, it might be all a fancy, perhaps it was imagination, but he was\nafraid to say all that, and Grune did not understand what he stammered\nout. She shrugged her shoulders, and only said, \"Upon my word!\" and went\nto beat up the eggs.\n\nThe cantor sat and sang to himself. He listened to every note as though\nhe were examining some one. Finding himself unable to take the high\noctave, he called out despairingly:\n\n\"Grune, make haste with the eggs!\" His one hope lay in the eggs.\n\nThe cantoress brought them with a cross face, and grumbled:\n\n\"He wants eggs, and we're pinching and starving--\"\n\nThe cantor would have liked to open his heart to her, so that she should\nnot think the eggs were what he cared about; he would have liked to say,\n\"Grune, I think I'm done for!\" but he summoned all his courage and\nrefrained.\n\n\"After all, it may be only an idea,\" he thought.\n\nAnd without saying anything further, he began to drink up the eggs as a\nremedy.\n\nWhen they were finished, he tried to make a few cantor-like trills. In\nthis he succeeded, and he grew more cheerful.\n\n\"It will be all right,\" he thought, \"I shall not lose my voice so soon\nas all that! Never mind Meyer Lieder, he drank! I don't drink, only a\nlittle wine now and again, at a circumcision.\"\n\nHis appetite returned, and he swallowed mouthful after mouthful.\n\nBut his cheerfulness did not last: the erstwhile unsuccessful \"death\"\nrang in his ears, and the worry returned and took possession of him.\n\nThe fear of losing his voice had tormented the cantor for the greater\npart of his life. His one care, his one anxiety had been, what should he\ndo if he were to lose his voice? It had happened to him once already,\nwhen he was fourteen years old. He had a tenor voice, which broke all of\na sudden. But that time he didn't care. On the contrary, he was\ndelighted, he knew that his voice was merely changing, and that in six\nmonths he would get the baritone for which he was impatiently waiting.\nBut when he had got the baritone, he knew that when he lost that, it\nwould be lost indeed--he would get no other voice. So he took great care\nof it--how much more so when he had his own household, and had taken the\noffice of cantor in Klemenke! Not a breath of wind was allowed to blow\nupon his throat, and he wore a comforter in the hottest weather.\n\nIt was not so much on account of the Klemenke householders--he felt sure\nthey would not dismiss him from his office. Even if he were to lose his\nvoice altogether, he would still receive his salary. It was not brought\nto him to his house, as it was--he had to go for it every Friday from\ndoor to door, and the Klemenke Jews were good-hearted, and never refused\nanything to the outstretched hand. He took care of his voice, and\ntrembled to lose it, only out of love for the singing. He thought a\ngreat deal of the Klemenke Jews--their like was not to be found--but in\nthe interpretation of music they were uninitiated, they had no feeling\nwhatever. And when, standing before the altar, he used to make artistic\ntrills and variations, and take the highest notes, that was for\n_himself_--he had great joy in it--and also for his eight singers, who\nwere all the world to him. His very life was bound up with them, and\nwhen one of them exclaimed, \"Oi, cantor! Oi, how you sing!\" his\nhappiness was complete.\n\nThe singers had come together from various towns and villages, and all\ntheir conversations and their stories turned and wrapped themselves\nround cantors and music. These stories and legends were the cantor's\ndelight, he would lose himself in every one of them, and give a sweet,\ndeep sigh:\n\n\"As if music were a trifle! As if a feeling were a toy!\" And now that he\nhad begun to fear he was losing his voice, it seemed to him the singers\nwere different people--bad people! They must be laughing at him among\nthemselves! And he began to be on his guard against them, avoided taking\na high note in their presence, lest they should find out--and suffered\nall the more.\n\nAnd what would the neighboring cantors say? The thought tormented him\nfurther. He knew that he had a reputation among them, that he was a\ngreat deal thought of, that his voice was much talked of. He saw in his\nmind's eye a couple of cantors whispering together, and shaking their\nheads sorrowfully: they are pitying him! \"How sad! You have heard? The\npoor Klemenke cantor----\"\n\nThe vision quite upset him.\n\n\"Perhaps it's only fancy!\" he would say to himself in those dreadful\nmoments, and would begin to sing, to try his highest notes. But the\nterror he was in took away his hearing, and he could not tell if his\nvoice were what it should be or not.\n\nIn two weeks time his face grew pale and thin, his eyes were sunk, and\nhe felt his strength going.\n\n\"What is the matter with you, cantor?\" said a singer to him one day.\n\n\"Ha, what is the matter?\" asked the cantor, with a start, thinking they\nhad already found out. \"You ask what is the matter with me? Then you\nknow something about it, ha!\"\n\n\"No, I know nothing. That is why I ask you why you look so upset.\"\n\n\"Upset, you say? Nothing more than upset, ha? That's all?\"\n\n\"The cantor must be thinking out some new piece for the Solemn Days,\"\ndecided the choir.\n\nAnother month went by, and the cantor had not got the better of his\nfear. Life had become distasteful to him. If he had known for certain\nthat his voice was gone, he would perhaps have been calmer. Verfallen!\nNo one can live forever (losing his voice and dying was one and the same\nto him), but the uncertainty, the tossing oneself between yes and no,\nthe Olom ha-Tohu of it all, embittered the cantor's existence.\n\nAt last, one fine day, the cantor resolved to get at the truth: he could\nbear it no longer.\n\nIt was evening, the wife had gone to the market for meat, and the choir\nhad gone home, only the eldest singer, Yoessel \"bass,\" remained with the\ncantor.\n\nThe cantor looked at him, opened his mouth and shut it again; it was\ndifficult for him to say what he wanted to say.\n\nAt last he broke out with:\n\n\"Yoessel!\"\n\n\"What is it, cantor?\"\n\n\"Tell me, are you an honest man?\"\n\nYoessel \"bass\" stared at the cantor, and asked:\n\n\"What are you asking me to-day, cantor?\"\n\n\"Brother Yoessel,\" the cantor said, all but weeping, \"Brother Yoessel!\"\n\nThat was all he could say.\n\n\"Cantor, what is wrong with you?\"\n\n\"Brother Yoessel, be an honest man, and tell me the truth, the truth!\"\n\n\"I don't understand! What is the matter with you, cantor?\"\n\n\"Tell me the truth: Do you notice any change in me?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" answered the singer, looking at the cantor, and seeing how\npale and thin he was. \"A very great change----\"\n\n\"Now I see you are an honest man, you tell me the truth to my face. Do\nyou know when it began?\"\n\n\"It will soon be a month,\" answered the singer.\n\n\"Yes, brother, a month, a month, but I felt--\"\n\nThe cantor wiped off the perspiration that covered his forehead, and\ncontinued:\n\n\"And you think, Yoessel, that it's lost now, for good and all?\"\n\n\"That _what_ is lost?\" asked Yoessel, beginning to be aware that the\nconversation turned on something quite different from what was in his\nown mind.\n\n\"What? How can you ask? Ah? What should I lose? Money? I have no\nmoney--I mean--of course--my voice.\"\n\nThen Yoessel understood everything--he was too much of a musician _not_\nto understand. Looking compassionately at the cantor, he asked:\n\n\"For certain?\"\n\n\"For certain?\" exclaimed the cantor, trying to be cheerful. \"Why must it\nbe for certain? Very likely it's all a mistake--let us hope it is!\"\n\nYoessel looked at the cantor, and as a doctor behaves to his patient, so\ndid he:\n\n\"Take _do_!\" he said, and the cantor, like an obedient pupil, drew out\n_do_.\n\n\"Draw it out, draw it out! Four quavers--draw it out!\" commanded Yoessel,\nlistening attentively.\n\nThe cantor drew it out.\n\n\"Now, if you please, _re_!\"\n\nThe cantor sang out _re-re-re_.\n\nThe singer moved aside, appeared to be lost in thought, and then said,\nsadly:\n\n\"Gone!\"\n\n\"Forever?\"\n\n\"Well, are you a little boy? Are you likely to get another voice? At\nyour time of life, gone is gone!\"\n\nThe cantor wrung his hands, threw himself down beside the table, and,\nlaying his head on his arms, he burst out crying like a child.\n\nNext morning the whole town had heard of the misfortune--that the cantor\nhad lost his voice.\n\n\"It's an ill wind----\" quoted the innkeeper, a well-to-do man. \"He won't\nkeep us so long with his trills on Sabbath. I'd take a bitter onion for\nthat voice of his, any day!\"\n\n\n\n\nLATE\n\n\nIt was in sad and hopeless mood that Antosh watched the autumn making\nits way into his peasant's hut. The days began to shorten and the\nevenings to lengthen, and there was no more petroleum in the hut to fill\nhis humble lamp; his wife complained too--the store of salt was giving\nout; there was very little soap left, and in a few days he would finish\nhis tobacco. And Antosh cleared his throat, spat, and muttered countless\ntimes a day:\n\n\"No salt, no soap, no tobacco; we haven't got anything. A bad business!\"\n\nAntosh had no prospect of earning anything in the village. The one\nvillage Jew was poor himself, and had no work to give. Antosh had only\n_one_ hope left. Just before the Feast of Tabernacles he would drive a\nwhole cart-load of fir-boughs into the little town and bring a tidy sum\nof money home in exchange.\n\nHe did this every year, since buying his thin horse in the market for\nsix rubles.\n\n\"When shall you have Tabernacles?\" he asked every day of the village\nJew. \"Not yet,\" was the Jew's daily reply. \"But when _shall_ you?\"\nAntosh insisted one day.\n\n\"In a week,\" answered the Jew, not dreaming how very much Antosh needed\nto know precisely.\n\nIn reality there were only five more days to Tabernacles, and Antosh had\ncalculated with business accuracy that it would be best to take the\nfir-boughs into the town two days before the festival. But this was\nreally the first day of it.\n\nHe rose early, ate his dry, black bread dipped in salt, and drank a\nmeasure of water. Then he harnessed his thin, starved horse to the cart,\ntook his hatchet, and drove into the nearest wood.\n\nHe cut down the branches greedily, seeking out the thickest and longest.\n\n\"Good ware is easier sold,\" he thought, and the cart filled, and the\nload grew higher and higher. He was calculating on a return of three\ngulden, and it seemed still too little, so that he went on cutting, and\nlaid on a few more boughs. The cart could hold no more, and Antosh\nlooked at it from all sides, and smiled contentedly.\n\n\"That will be enough,\" he muttered, and loosened the reins. But scarcely\nhad he driven a few paces, when he stopped and looked the cart over\nagain.\n\n\"Perhaps it's not enough, after all?\" he questioned fearfully, cut down\nfive more boughs, laid them onto the already full cart, and drove on.\n\nHe drove slowly, pace by pace, and his thoughts travelled slowly too, as\nthough keeping step with the thin horse.\n\nAntosh was calculating how much salt and how much soap, how much\npetroleum and how much tobacco he could buy for the return for his ware.\nAt length the calculating tired him, and he resolved to put it off till\nhe should have the cash. Then the calculating would be done much more\neasily.\n\nBut when he reached the town, and saw that the booths were already\ncovered with fir-boughs, he felt a pang at his heart. The booths and the\nhouses seemed to be twirling round him in a circle, and dancing. But he\nconsoled himself with the thought that every year, when he drove into\ntown, he found many booths already covered. Some cover earlier, some\nlater. The latter paid the best.\n\n\"I shall ask higher prices,\" he resolved, and all the while fear tugged\nat his heart. He drove on. Two Jewish women were standing before a\nhouse; they pointed at the cart with their finger, and laughed aloud.\n\n\"Why do you laugh?\" queried Antosh, excitedly.\n\n\"Because you are too soon with your fir-boughs,\" they answered, and\nlaughed again.\n\n\"How too soon?\" he asked, astonished. \"Too soon--too soon--\" laughed the\nwomen.\n\n\"Pfui,\" Antosh spat, and drove on, thinking, \"Berko said himself, 'In a\nweek.' I am only two days ahead.\"\n\nA cold sweat covered him, as he reflected he might have made a wrong\ncalculation, founded on what Berko had told him. It was possible that he\nhad counted the days badly--had come too late! There is no doubt: all\nthe booths are covered with fir-boughs. He will have no salt, no\ntobacco, no soap, and no petroleum.\n\nSadly he followed the slow paces of his languid horse, which let his\nweary head droop as though out of sympathy for his master.\n\nMeantime the Jews were crowding out of the synagogues in festal array,\nwith their prayer-scarfs and prayer-books in their hands. When they\nperceived the peasant with the cart of fir-boughs, they looked\nquestioningly one at the other: Had they made a mistake and begun the\nfestival too early?\n\n\"What have you there?\" some one inquired.\n\n\"What?\" answered Antosh, taken aback. \"Fir-boughs! Buy, my dear friend,\nI sell it cheap!\" he begged in a piteous voice.\n\nThe Jews burst out laughing.\n\n\"What should we want it for now, fool?\" \"The festival has begun!\" said\nanother. Antosh was confused with his misfortune, he scratched the back\nof his head, and exclaimed, weeping:\n\n\"Buy! Buy! I want salt, soap! I want petroleum.\"\n\nThe group of Jews, who had begun by laughing, were now deeply moved.\nThey saw the poor, starving peasant standing there in his despair, and\nwere filled with a lively compassion.\n\n\"A poor Gentile--it's pitiful!\" said one, sympathetically. \"He hoped to\nmake a fortune out of his fir-boughs, and now!\" observed another.\n\n\"It would be proper to buy up that bit of fir,\" said a third, \"else it\nmight cause a Chillul ha-Shem.\" \"On a festival?\" objected some one else.\n\n\"It can always be used for firewood,\" said another, contemplating the\ncartful.\n\n\"Whether or no! It's a festival----\"\n\n\"No salt, no soap, no petroleum--\" It was the refrain of the bewildered\npeasant, who did not understand what the Jews were saying among\nthemselves. He could only guess that they were talking about him. \"Hold!\nhe doesn't want _money_! He wants ware. Ware without money may be given\neven on a festival,\" called out one.\n\nThe interest of the bystanders waxed more lively. Among them stood a\nstorekeeper, whose shop was close by. \"Give him, Chayyim, a few jars of\nsalt and other things that he wants--even if it comes to a few gulden.\nWe will contribute.\"\n\n\"All right, willingly!\" said Chayyim, \"A poor Gentile!\"\n\n\"A precept, a precept! It would be carrying out a religious precept, as\nsurely as I am a Jew!\" chimed in every individual member of the crowd.\n\nChayyim called the peasant to him; all the rest followed. He gave him\nout of the stores two jars of salt, a bar of soap, a bottle of\npetroleum, and two packets of tobacco.\n\nThe peasant did not know what to do for joy. He could only stammer in a\nlow voice, \"Thank you! thank you!\"\n\n\"And there's a bit of Sabbath loaf,\" called out one, when he had packed\nthe things away, \"take that with you!\"\n\n\"There's some more!\" and a second hand held some out to him.\n\n\"More!\"\n\n\"More!\"\n\n\"And more!\"\n\nThey brought Antosh bread and cake from all sides; his astonishment was\nsuch that he could scarcely articulate his thanks.\n\nThe people were pleased with themselves, and Yainkel Leives, a cheerful\nman, who was well supplied for the festival, because his daughter's\n\"intended\" was staying in his house, brought Antosh a glass of brandy:\n\n\"Drink, and drive home, in the name of God!\"\n\nAntosh drank the brandy with a quick gulp, bit off a piece of cake, and\ndeclared joyfully, \"I shall never forget it!\"\n\n\"Not at all a bad Gentile,\" remarked someone in the crowd.\n\n\"Well, what would you have? Did you expect him to beat you?\" queried\nanother, smiling.\n\nThe words \"to beat\" made a melancholy impression on the crowd, and it\ndispersed in silence.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KADDISH\n\n\nFrom behind the curtain came low moans, and low words of encouragement\nfrom the old and experienced Bobbe. In the room it was dismal to\nsuffocation. The seven children, all girls, between twenty-three and\nfour years old, sat quietly, each by herself, with drooping head, and\nwaited for something dreadful.\n\nAt a little table near a great cupboard with books sat the \"patriarch\"\nReb Selig Chanes, a tall, thin Jew, with a yellow, consumptive face. He\nwas chanting in low, broken tones out of a big Gemoreh, and continually\nraising his head, giving a nervous glance at the curtain, and then,\nwithout inquiring what might be going on beyond the low moaning, taking\nup once again his sad, tremulous chant. He seemed to be suffering more\nthan the woman in childbirth herself.\n\n\"Lord of the World!\"--it was the eldest daughter who broke the\nstillness--\"Let it be a boy for once! Help, Lord of the World, have\npity!\"\n\n\"Oi, thus might it be, Lord of the World!\" chimed in the second.\n\nAnd all the girls, little and big, with broken heart and prostrate\nspirit, prayed that there might be born a boy.\n\nReb Selig raised his eyes from the Gemoreh, glanced at the curtain, then\nat the seven girls, gave vent to a deep-drawn Oi, made a gesture with\nhis hand, and said with settled despair, \"She will give you another\nsister!\"\n\nThe seven girls looked at one another in desperation; their father's\nconclusion quite crushed them, and they had no longer even the courage\nto pray.\n\nOnly the littlest, the four-year-old, in the torn frock, prayed softly:\n\n\"Oi, please God, there will be a little brother.\"\n\n\"I shall die without a Kaddish!\" groaned Reb Selig.\n\nThe time drags on, the moans behind the curtain grow louder, and Reb\nSelig and the elder girls feel that soon, very soon, the \"grandmother\"\nwill call out in despair, \"A little girl!\" And Reb Selig feels that the\nwords will strike home to his heart like a blow, and he resolves to run\naway.\n\nHe goes out into the yard, and looks up at the sky. It is midnight. The\nmoon swims along so quietly and indifferently, the stars seem to frolic\nand rock themselves like little children, and still Reb Selig hears, in\nthe \"grandmother's\" husky voice, \"A girl!\"\n\n\"Well, there will be no Kaddish! Verfallen!\" he says, crossing the yard\nagain. \"There's no getting it by force!\"\n\nBut his trying to calm himself is useless; the fear that it should be a\ngirl only grows upon him. He loses patience, and goes back into the\nhouse.\n\nBut the house is in a turmoil.\n\n\"What is it, eh?\"\n\n\"A little boy! Tate, a boy! Tatinke, as surely may I be well!\" with this\nnews the seven girls fall upon him with radiant faces.\n\n\"Eh, a little boy?\" asked Reb Selig, as though bewildered, \"eh? what?\"\n\n\"A boy, Reb Selig, a Kaddish!\" announced the \"grandmother.\" \"As soon as\nI have bathed him, I will show him you!\"\n\n\"A boy ... a boy ...\" stammered Reb Selig in the same bewilderment, and\nhe leant against the wall, and burst into tears like a woman.\n\nThe seven girls took alarm.\n\n\"That is for joy,\" explained the \"grandmother,\" \"I have known that\nhappen before.\"\n\n\"A boy ... a boy!\" sobbed Reb Selig, overcome with happiness, \"a boy ...\na boy ... a Kaddish!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe little boy received the name of Jacob, but he was called, by way of\na talisman, Alter.\n\nReb Selig was a learned man, and inclined to think lightly of such\nprotective measures; he even laughed at his Cheike for believing in such\nfoolishness; but, at heart, he was content to have it so. Who could tell\nwhat might not be in it, after all? Women sometimes know better than\nmen.\n\nBy the time Alterke was three years old, Reb Selig's cough had become\nworse, the sense of oppression on his chest more frequent. But he held\nhimself morally erect, and looked death calmly in the face, as though he\nwould say, \"Now I can afford to laugh at you--I leave a Kaddish!\"\n\n\"What do you think, Cheike,\" he would say to his wife, after a fit of\ncoughing, \"would Alterke be able to say Kaddish if I were to die to-day\nor to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Go along with you, crazy pate!\" Cheike would exclaim in secret alarm.\n\"You are going to live a long while! Is your cough anything new?\"\n\nSelig smiled, \"Foolish woman, she supposes I am afraid to die. When one\nleaves a Kaddish, death is a trifle.\"\n\nAlterke was sitting playing with a prayer-book and imitating his father\nat prayer, \"A num-num--a num-num.\"\n\n\"Listen to him praying!\" and Cheike turned delightedly to her husband.\n\"His soul is piously inclined!\"\n\nSelig made no reply, he only gazed at his Kaddish with a beaming face.\nThen an idea came into his head: Alterke will be a Tzaddik, will help\nhim out of all his difficulties in the other world.\n\n\"Mame, I want to eat!\" wailed Alterke, suddenly.\n\nHe was given a piece of the white bread which was laid aside, for him\nonly, every Sabbath.\n\nAlterke began to eat.\n\n\"Who bringest forth! Who bringest forth!\" called out Reb Selig.\n\n\"Tan't!\" answered the child.\n\n\"It is time you taught him to say grace,\" observed Cheike.\n\nAnd Reb Selig drew Alterke to him and began to repeat with him.\n\n\"Say: Boruch.\"\n\n\"Bo'uch,\" repeated the child after his fashion.\n\n\"Attoh.\"\n\n\"Attoh.\"\n\nWhen Alterke had finished \"Who bringest forth,\" Cheike answered piously\nAmen, and Reb Selig saw Alterke, in imagination, standing in the\nsynagogue and repeating Kaddish, and heard the congregation answer\nAmen, and he felt as though he were already seated in the Garden of\nEden.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnother year went by, and Reb Selig was feeling very poorly. Spring had\ncome, the snow had melted, and he found the wet weather more trying than\never before. He could just drag himself early to the synagogue, but\ngoing to the afternoon service had become a difficulty, and he used to\nrecite the afternoon and later service at home, and spend the whole\nevening with Alterke.\n\nIt was late at night. All the houses were shut. Reb Selig sat at his\nlittle table, and was looking into the corner where Cheike's bed stood,\nand where Alterke slept beside her. Selig had a feeling that he would\ndie that night. He felt very tired and weak, and with an imploring look\nhe crept up to Alterke's crib, and began to wake him.\n\nThe child woke with a start.\n\n\"Alterke\"--Reb Selig was stroking the little head--\"come to me for a\nlittle!\"\n\nThe child, who had had his first sleep out, sprang up, and went to his\nfather.\n\nReb Selig sat down in the chair which stood by the little table with the\nopen Gemoreh, lifted Alterke onto the table, and looked into his eyes.\n\n\"Alterke!\"\n\n\"What, Tate?\"\n\n\"Would you like me to die?\"\n\n\"Like,\" answered the child, not knowing what \"to die\" meant, and\nthinking it must be something nice.\n\n\"Will you say Kaddish after me?\" asked Reb Selig, in a strangled voice,\nand he was seized with a fit of coughing.\n\n\"Will say!\" promised the child.\n\n\"Shall you know how?\"\n\n\"Shall!\"\n\n\"Well, now, say: Yisgaddal.\"\n\n\"Yisdaddal,\" repeated the child in his own way.\n\n\"Veyiskaddash.\"\n\n\"Veyistaddash.\"\n\nAnd Reb Selig repeated the Kaddish with him several times.\n\nThe small lamp burnt low, and scarcely illuminated Reb Selig's yellow,\ncorpse-like face, or the little one of Alterke, who repeated wearily the\ndifficult, and to him unintelligible words of the Kaddish. And Alterke,\nall the while, gazed intently into the corner, where Tate's shadow and\nhis own had a most fantastic and frightening appearance.\n\n\n\n\nAVROHOM THE ORCHARD-KEEPER\n\n\nWhen he first came to the place, as a boy, and went straight to the\nhouse-of-study, and people, having greeted him, asked \"Where do you come\nfrom?\" and he answered, not without pride, \"From the Government of\nWilna\"--from that day until the day he was married, they called him \"the\nWilner.\"\n\nIn a few years' time, however, when the house-of-study had married him\nto the daughter of the Psalm-reader, a coarse, undersized creature, and\nwhen, after six months' \"board\" with his father-in-law, he became a\nteacher, the town altered his name to \"the Wilner teacher.\" Again, a few\nyears later, when he got a chest affection, and the doctor forbade him\nto keep school, and he began to deal in fruit, the town learnt that his\nname was Avrohom, to which they added \"the orchard-keeper,\" and his name\nis \"Avrohom the orchard-keeper\" to this day.\n\nAvrohom was quite content with his new calling. He had always wished for\na business in which he need not have to do with a lot of people in whom\nhe had small confidence, and in whose society he felt ill at ease.\n\nPeople have a queer way with them, he used to think, they want to be\nalways talking! They want to tell everything, find out everything,\nanswer everything!\n\nWhen he was a student he always chose out a place in a corner somewhere,\nwhere he could see nobody, and nobody could see him; and he used to\nmurmur the day's task to a low tune, and his murmured repetition made\nhim think of the ruin in which Rabbi Jose, praying there, heard the\nBas-Kol mourn, cooing like a dove, over the exile of Israel. And then he\nlonged to float away to that ruin somewhere in the wilderness, and\nmurmur there like a dove, with no one, no one, to interrupt him, not\neven the Bas-Kol. But his vision would be destroyed by some hard\nquestion which a fellow-student would put before him, describing circles\nwith his thumb and chanting to a shrill Gemoreh-tune.\n\nIn the orchard, at the end of the Gass, however, which Avrohom hired of\nthe Gentiles, he had no need to exchange empty words with anyone.\nAvrohom had no large capital, and could not afford to hire an orchard\nfor more than thirty rubles. The orchard was consequently small, and\nonly grew about twenty apple-trees, a few pear-trees, and a cherry-tree.\nAvrohom used to move to the garden directly after the Feast of Weeks,\nalthough that was still very early, the fruit had not yet set, and there\nwas nothing to steal.\n\nBut Avrohom could not endure sitting at home any longer, where the wife\nscreamed, the children cried, and there was a continual \"fair.\" What\nshould he want there? He only wished to be alone with his thoughts and\nimaginings, and his quiet \"tunes,\" which were always weaving themselves\ninside him, and were nearly stifled.\n\nIt is early to go to the orchard directly after the Feast of Weeks, but\nAvrohom does not mind, he is drawn back to the trees that can think and\nhear so much, and keep so many things to themselves.\n\nAnd Avrohom betakes himself to the orchard. He carries with him, besides\nphylacteries and prayer-scarf, a prayer-book with the Psalms and the\n\"Stations,\" two volumes of the Gemoreh which he owns, a few works by the\nlater scholars, and the Tales of Jerusalem; he takes his wadded winter\ngarment and a cushion, makes them into a bundle, kisses the Mezuzeh,\nmutters farewell, and is off to the orchard.\n\nAs he nears the orchard his heart begins to beat loudly for joy, but he\nis hindered from going there at once. In the yard through which he must\npass lies a dog. Later on, when Avrohom has got to know the dog, he will\neven take him into the orchard, but the first time there is a certain\nrisk--one has to know a dog, otherwise it barks, and Avrohom dreads a\nbark worse than a bite--it goes through one's head! And Avrohom waits\ntill the owner comes out, and leads him through by the hand.\n\n\"Back already?\" exclaims the owner, laughing and astonished.\n\n\"Why not?\" murmurs Avrohom, shamefacedly, and feeling that it is,\nindeed, early.\n\n\"What shall you do?\" asks the owner, graver. \"There is no hut there at\nall--last year's fell to pieces.\"\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" begs Avrohom, \"it will be all right.\"\n\n\"Well, if you want to come!\" and the owner shrugs his shoulders, and\nlets Avrohom into the orchard.\n\nAvrohom immediately lays his bundle on the ground, stretches himself out\nfull length on the grass, and murmurs, \"Good! good!\"\n\nAt last he is silent, and listens to the quiet rustle of the trees. It\nseems to him that the trees also wonder at his coming so soon, and he\nlooks at them beseechingly, as though he would say:\n\n\"Trees--you, too! I couldn't help it ... it drew me....\"\n\nAnd soon he fancies that the trees have understood everything, and\nmurmur, \"Good, good!\"\n\nAnd Avrohom already feels at home in the orchard. He rises from the\nground, and goes to every tree in turn, as though to make its\nacquaintance. Then he considers the hut that stands in the middle of the\norchard.\n\nIt has fallen in a little certainly, but Avrohom is all the better\npleased with it. He is not particularly fond of new, strong things, a\nbuilding resembling a ruin is somehow much more to his liking. Such a\nruin is inwardly full of secrets, whispers, and melodies. There the\ntears fall quietly, while the soul yearns after something that has no\nname and no existence in time or space. And Avrohom creeps into the\nfallen-in hut, where it is dark and where there are smells of another\nworld. He draws himself up into a ball, and remains hid from everyone.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut to remain hid from the world is not so easy. At first it can be\nmanaged. So long as the fruit is ripening, he needs no one, and no one\nneeds him. When one of his children brings him food, he exchanges a few\nwords with it, asks what is going on at home, and how the mother is, and\nhe feels he has done his duty, if, when obliged to go home, he spends\nthere Friday night and Saturday morning. That over, and the hot stew\neaten, he returns to the orchard, lies down under a tree, opens the\nTales of Jerusalem, goes to sleep reading a fantastical legend, dreams\nof the Western Wall, Mother Rachel's Grave, the Cave of Machpelah, and\nother holy, quiet places--places where the air is full of old stories\nsuch as are given, in such easy Hebrew, in the Tales of Jerusalem.\n\nBut when the fruit is ripe, and the trees begin to bend under the burden\nof it, Avrohom must perforce leave his peaceful world, and become a\ntrader.\n\nWhen the first wind begins to blow in the orchard, and covers the ground\nthereof with apples and pears, Avrohom collects them, makes them into\nheaps, sorts them, and awaits the market-women with their loud tongues,\nwho destroy all the peace and quiet of his Garden of Eden.\n\nOn Sabbath he would like to rest, but of a Sabbath the trade in\napples--on tick of course--is very lively in the orchards. There is a\ncustom in the town to that effect, and Avrohom cannot do away with it.\nYoung gentlemen and young ladies come into the orchard, and hold a sort\nof revel; they sing and laugh, they walk and they chatter, and Avrohom\nmust listen to it all, and bear it, and wait for the night, when he can\ncreep back into his hut, and need look at no one but the trees, and hear\nnothing but the wind, and sometimes the rain and the thunder.\n\nBut it is worse in the autumn, when the fruit is getting over-ripe, and\nhe can no longer remain in the orchard. With a bursting heart he bids\nfarewell to the trees, to the hut in which he has spent so many quiet,\npeaceful moments. He conveys the apples to a shed belonging to the farm,\nwhich he has hired, ever since he had the orchard, for ten gulden a\nmonth, and goes back to the Gass.\n\nIn the Gass, at that time, there is mud and rain. Town Jews drag\nthemselves along sick and disheartened. They cough and groan. Avrohom\nstares round him, and fails to recognize the world.\n\n\"Bad!\" he mutters. \"Fe!\" and he spits. \"Where is one to get to?\"\n\nAnd Avrohom recalls the beautiful legends in the Tales of Jerusalem, he\nrecalls the land of Israel.\n\nThere he knows it is always summer, always warm and fine. And every\nautumn the vision draws him.\n\nBut there is no possibility of his being able to go there--he must sell\nthe apples which he has brought from the orchard, and feed the wife and\nthe children he has \"outside the land.\" And all through the autumn and\npart of the winter, Avrohom drags himself about with a basket of apples\non his arm and a yearning in his heart. He waits for the dear summer,\nwhen he will be able to go back and hide himself in the orchard, in the\nhut, and be alone, where the town mud and the town Jews with dulled\nsenses shall be out of sight, and the week-day noise, out of hearing.\n\n\n\n\nHIRSH DAVID NAUMBERG\n\n\nBorn, 1876, in Msczczonow, Government of Warsaw, Russian Poland, of\nHasidic parentage; traditional Jewish education in the house of his\ngrandfather; went to Warsaw in 1898; at present (1912) in America; first\nliterary work appeared in 1900; writer of stories, etc., in Hebrew and\nYiddish; co-editor of Ha-Zofeh, Der Freind, Ha-Boker; contributor to\nHa-Zeman, Heint, Ha-Dor, Ha-Shiloah, etc.; collected works, 5 vols.,\nWarsaw, 1908-1911.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RAV AND THE RAV'S SON\n\n\nThe Sabbath midday meal is over, and the Saken Rav passes his hands\nacross his serene and pious countenance, pulls out both earlocks,\nstraightens his skull-cap, and prepares to expound a passage of the\nTorah as God shall enlighten him. There sit with him at table, to one\nside of him, a passing guest, a Libavitch Chossid, like the Rav himself,\na man with yellow beard and earlocks, and a grubby shirt collar\nappearing above the grubby yellow kerchief that envelopes his throat; to\nthe other side of him, his son Sholem, an eighteen-year-old youth, with\na long pale face, deep, rather dreamy eyes, a velvet hat, but no\nearlocks, a secret Maskil, who writes Hebrew verses, and contemplates\ngrowing into a great Jewish author. The Rebbetzin has been suffering two\nor three months with rheumatism, and lies in another room.\n\nThe Rav is naturally humble-minded, and it is no trifle to him to\nexpound the Torah. To take a passage of the Bible and say, The meaning\nis this and that, is a thing he hasn't the cheek to do. It makes him\nfeel as uncomfortable as if he were telling lies. Up to twenty-five\nyears of age he was a Misnaggid, but under the influence of the Saken\nRebbetzin, he became a Chossid, bit by bit. Now he is over fifty, he\ndrives to the Rebbe, and comes home every time with increased faith in\nthe latter's supernatural powers, and, moreover, with a strong desire to\nexpound a little of the Torah himself; only, whenever a good idea comes\ninto his head, it oppresses him, because he has not sufficient\nself-confidence to express it.\n\nThe difficulty for him lies in making a start. He would like to do as\nthe Rebbe does (long life to him!)--give a push to his chair, a look,\nstern and somewhat angry, at those sitting at table, then a groaning\nsigh. But the Rav is ashamed to imitate him, or is partly afraid, lest\npeople should catch him doing it. He drops his eyes, holds one hand to\nhis forehead, while the other plays with the knife on the table, and one\nhardly hears:\n\n\"When thou goest forth to war with thine enemy--thine enemy--that is,\nthe inclination to evil, oi, oi,--a--\" he nods his head, gathers a\nlittle confidence, continues his explanation of the passage, and\ngradually warms to the part. He already looks the stranger boldly in the\nface. The stranger twists himself into a correct attitude, nods assent,\nbut cannot for the life of him tear his gaze from the brandy-bottle on\nthe table, and cannot wonder sufficiently at so much being allowed to\nremain in it at the end of a meal. And when the Rav comes to the fact\nthat to be in \"prison\" means to have bad habits, and \"well-favored\nwoman\" means that every bad habit has its good side, the guest can no\nlonger restrain himself, seizes the bottle rather awkwardly, as though\nin haste, fills up his glass, spills a little onto the cloth, and drinks\nwith his head thrown back, gulping it like a regular tippler, after a\nhoarse and sleepy \"to your health.\" This has a bad effect on the Rav's\nenthusiasm, it \"mixes his brains,\" and he turns to his son for help. To\ntell the truth, he has not much confidence in his son where the Law is\nconcerned, although he loves him dearly, the boy being the only one of\nhis children in whom he may hope, with God's help, to have comfort, and\nwho, a hundred years hence, shall take over from him the office of Rav\nin Saken. The elder son is rich, but he is a usurer, and his riches give\nthe Rav no satisfaction whatever. He had had one daughter, but she died,\nleaving some little orphans. Sholem is, therefore, the only one left\nhim. He has a good head, and is quick at his studies, a quiet,\nwell-behaved boy, a little obstinate, a bit opinionated, but that is no\nharm in a boy, thinks the old man. True, too, that last week people told\nhim tales. Sholem, they said, read heretical books, and had been seen\ncarrying \"burdens\" on Sabbath. But this the father does not believe, he\nwill not and cannot believe it. Besides, Sholem is certain to have made\namends. If a Talmid-Chochem commit a sin by day, it should be forgotten\nby nightfall, because a Talmid-Chochem makes amends, it says so in the\nGemoreh.\n\nHowever, the Rav is ashamed to give his own exegesis of the Law before\nhis son, and he knows perfectly well that nothing will induce Sholem to\ndrive with him to the Rebbe.\n\nBut the stranger and his brandy-drinking have so upset him that he now\nlooks at his son in a piteous sort of way. \"Hear me out, Sholem, what\nharm can it do you?\" says his look.\n\nSholem draws himself up, and pulls in his chair, supports his head with\nboth his hands, and gazes into his father's eyes out of filial duty. He\nloves his father, but in his heart he wonders at him; it seems to him\nhis father ought to learn more about his heretical leanings--it is quite\ntime he should--and he continues to gaze in silence and in wonder, not\nunmixed with compassion, and never ceases thinking, \"Upon my word, Tate,\nwhat a simpleton you are!\"\n\nBut when the Rav came in the course of his exposition to speak of \"death\nby kissing\" (by the Lord), and told how the righteous, the holy\nTzaddikim, die from the very sweetness of the Blessed One's kiss, a\nspark kindled in Sholem's eyes, and he moved in his chair. One of those\nwonders had taken place which do frequently occur, only they are seldom\nremarked: the Chassidic exposition of the Torah had suggested to Sholem\na splendid idea for a romantic poem!\n\nIt is an old commonplace that men take in, of what they hear and see,\nthat which pleases them. Sholem is fascinated. He wishes to die anyhow,\nso what could be more appropriate and to the purpose than that his love\nshould kiss him on his death-bed, while, in that very instant, his soul\ndeparts?\n\nThe idea pleased him so immensely that immediately after grace, the\nstranger having gone on his way, and the Rav laid himself down to sleep\nin the other room, Sholem began to write. His heart beat violently while\nhe made ready, but the very act of writing out a poem after dinner on\nSabbath, in the room where his father settled the cases laid before him\nby the townsfolk, was a bit of heroism well worth the risk. He took the\nwriting-materials out of his locked box, and, the pen and ink-pot in one\nhand and a collection of manuscript verse in the other, he went on\ntiptoe to the table.\n\nHe folded back the table-cover, laid down his writing apparatus, and\ntook another look around to make sure no one was in the room. He counted\non the fact that when the Rav awoke from his nap, he always coughed, and\nthat when he walked he shuffled so with his feet, and made so much noise\nwith his long slippers, that one could hear him two rooms off. In short,\nthere was no need to be anxious.\n\nHe grows calmer, reads the manuscript poems, and his face tells that he\nis pleased. Now he wants to collect his thoughts for the new one, but\nsomething or other hinders him. He unfastens the girdle, round his\nwaist, rolls it up, and throws it into the Rav's soft stuffed chair.\n\nAnd now that there is nothing to disturb from without, a second and\nthird wonder must take place within: the Rav's Torah, which was\ntransformed by Sholem's brain into a theme for romance, must now descend\ninto his heart, thence to pour itself onto the paper, and pass, by this\nmeans, into the heads of Sholem's friends, who read his poems with\nenthusiasm, and have sinful dreams afterwards at night.\n\nAnd he begins to imagine himself on his death-bed, sick and weak, unable\nto speak, and with staring eyes. He sees nothing more, but he feels a\nlight, ethereal kiss on his cheek, and his soul is aware of a sweet\nvoice speaking. He tries to take out his hands from under the coverlet,\nbut he cannot--he is dying--it grows dark.\n\nA still brighter and more unusual gleam comes into Sholem's eyes, his\nheart swells with emotion seeking an outlet, his brain works like\nrunning machinery, a whole dictionary of words, his whole treasure of\nconceptions and ideas, is turned over and over so rapidly that the mind\nis unconscious of its own efforts. His poetic instinct is searching for\nwhat it needs. His hand works quietly, forming letter on letter, word on\nword. Now and again Sholem lifts his eyes from the paper and looks\nround, he has a feeling as though the four walls and the silence were\nthinking to themselves: \"Hush, hush! Disturb not the poet at his work of\ncreation! Disturb not the priest about to offer sacrifice to God.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo the Rav, meanwhile, lying in the other room, there had come a fresh\nidea for the exposition of the Torah, and he required to look up\nsomething in a book. The door of the reception-room opened, the Rav\nentered, and Sholem had not heard him.\n\nIt was a pity to see the Rav's face, it was so contracted with dismay,\nand a pity to see Sholem's when he caught sight of his father, who,\nutterly taken aback, dropt into a seat exactly opposite Sholem, and gave\na groan--was it? or a cry?\n\nBut he did not sit long, he did not know what one should do or say to\none's son on such an occasion; his heart and his eyes inclined to\nweeping, and he retired into his own room. Sholem remained alone with a\nvery sore heart and a soul opprest. He put the writing-materials back\ninto their box, and went out with the manuscript verses tucked away\nunder his Tallis-koton.\n\nHe went into the house-of-study, but it looked dreadfully dismal; the\nbenches were pushed about anyhow, a sign that the last worshippers had\nbeen in a great hurry to go home to dinner. The beadle was snoring on a\nseat somewhere in a corner, as loud and as fast as if he were trying to\ninhale all the air in the building, so that the next congregation might\nbe suffocated. The cloth on the platform reading-desk was crooked and\ntumbled, the floor was dirty, and the whole place looked as dead as\nthough its Sabbath sleep were to last till the resurrection.\n\nHe left the house-of-study, walked home and back again; up and down,\nthere and back, many times over. The situation became steadily clearer\nto him; he wanted to justify himself, if only with a word, in his\nfather's eyes; then, again, he felt he must make an end, free himself\nonce and for all from the paternal restraint, and become a Jewish\nauthor. Only he felt sorry for his father; he would have liked to do\nsomething to comfort him. Only what? Kiss him? Put his arms round his\nneck? Have his cry out before him and say, \"Tatishe, you and I, we are\nneither of us to blame!\" Only how to say it so that the old man shall\nunderstand? That is the question.\n\nAnd the Rav sat in his room, bent over a book in which he would fain\nhave lost himself. He rubbed his brow with both hands, but a stone lay\non his heart, a heavy stone; there were tears in his eyes, and he was\nall but crying. He needed some living soul before whom he could pour out\nthe bitterness of his heart, and he had already turned to the Rebbetzin:\n\n\"Zelde!\" he called quietly.\n\n\"A-h,\" sighed the Rebbetzin from her bed. \"I feel bad; my foot aches,\nLord of the World! What is it?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Zelde. How are you getting on, eh?\" He got no further with\nher; he even mentally repented having so nearly added to her burden of\nlife.\n\nIt was an hour or two before the Rav collected himself, and was able to\nthink over what had happened. And still he could not, would not, believe\nthat his son, Sholem, had broken the Sabbath, that he was worthy of\nbeing stoned to death. He sought for some excuse for him, and found\nnone, and came at last to the conclusion that it was a work of Satan, a\nspecial onset of the Tempter. And he kept on thinking of the Chassidic\nlegend of a Rabbi who was seen by a Chossid to smoke a pipe on Sabbath.\nOnly it was an illusion, a deception of the Evil One. But when, after he\nhad waited some time, no Sholem appeared, his heart began to beat more\nsteadily, the reality of the situation made itself felt, he got angry,\nand hastily left the house in search of the Sabbath-breaker, intending\nto make an example of him.\n\nHardly, however, had he perceived his son walking to and fro in front of\nthe house-of-study, with a look of absorption and worry, than he stopped\nshort. He was afraid to go up to his son. Just then Sholem turned, they\nsaw each other, and the Rav had willy-nilly to approach him.\n\n\"Will you come for a little walk?\" asked the Rav gently, with downcast\neyes. Sholem made no reply, and followed him.\n\nThey came to the Eruv, the Rav looked in all his pockets, found his\nhandkerchief, tied it round his neck, and glanced at his son with a kind\nof prayer in his eye. Sholem tied his handkerchief round his neck.\n\nWhen they were outside the town, the old man coughed once and again and\nsaid:\n\n\"What is all this?\"\n\nBut Sholem was determined not to answer a word, and his father had to\nsummon all his courage to continue:\n\n\"What is all this? Eh? Sabbath-breaking! It is--\"\n\nHe coughed and was silent.\n\nThey were walking over a great, broad meadow, and Sholem had his gaze\nfixed on a horse that was moving about with hobbled legs, while the Rav\nshaded his eyes with one hand from the beams of the setting sun.\n\n\"How can anyone break the Sabbath? Come now, is it right? Is it a thing\nto do? Just to go and break the Sabbath! I knew Hebrew grammar, and\ncould write Hebrew, too, once upon a time, but break the Sabbath! Tell\nme yourself, Sholem, what you think! When you have bad thoughts, how is\nit you don't come to your father? I suppose I am your father, ha?\" the\nold man suddenly fired up. \"Am I your father? Tell me--no? Am I perhaps\n_not_ your father?\"\n\n\"For I _am_ his father,\" he reflected proudly. \"That I certainly am,\nthere isn't the smallest doubt about it! The greatest heretic could not\ndeny it!\"\n\n\"You come to your father,\" he went on with more decision, and falling\ninto a Gemoreh chant, \"and you tell him _all_ about it. What harm can it\ndo to tell him? No harm whatever. I also used to be tempted by bad\nthoughts. Therefore I began driving to the Rebbe of Libavitch. One\nmustn't let oneself go! Do you hear me, Sholem? One mustn't let oneself\ngo!\"\n\nThe last words were long drawn out, the Rav emphasizing them with his\nhands and wrinkling his forehead. Carried away by what he was saying, he\nnow felt all but sure that Sholem had not begun to be a heretic.\n\n\"You see,\" he continued very gently, \"every now and then we come to a\nstumbling-block, but all the same, we should not--\"\n\nMeantime, however, the manuscript folio of verses had been slipping out\nfrom under Sholem's Four-Corners, and here it fell to the ground. The\nRav stood staring, as though startled out of a sweet dream by the cry of\n\"fire.\" He quivered from top to toe, and seized his earlocks with both\nhands. For there could be no doubt of the fact that Sholem had now\nbroken the Sabbath a second time--by carrying the folio outside the town\nlimit. And worse still, he had practiced deception, by searching his\npockets when they had come to the Eruv, as though to make sure not to\ntransgress by having anything inside them.\n\nSholem, too, was taken by surprise. He hung his head, and his eyes\nfilled with tears. The old man was about to say something, probably to\nbegin again with \"What is all this?\" Then he hastily stopt and snatched\nup the folio, as though he were afraid Sholem might get hold of it\nfirst.\n\n\"Ha--ha--azoi!\" he began panting. \"Azoi! A heretic! A Goi.\"\n\nBut it was hard for him to speak. He might not move from where he stood,\nso long as he held the papers, it being outside the Eruv. His ankles\nwere giving way, and he sat down to have a look at the manuscript.\n\n\"Aha! Writing!\" he exclaimed as he turned the leaves. \"Come here to me,\"\nhe called to Sholem, who had moved a few steps aside. Sholem came and\nstood obediently before him. \"What is this?\" asked the Rav, sternly.\n\n\"Poems!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by poems? What is the good of them?\" He felt that he\nwas growing weak again, and tried to stiffen himself morally. \"What is\nthe good of them, heretic, tell me!\"\n\n\"They're just meant to read, Tatishe!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'read'? A Jeroboam son of Nebat, that's what you\nwant to be, is it? A Jeroboam son of Nebat, to lead others into heresy!\nNo! I won't have it! On no account will I have it!\"\n\nThe sun had begun to disappear; it was full time to go home; but the Rav\ndid not know what to do with the folio. He was afraid to leave it in the\nfield, lest Sholem or another should pick it up later, so he got up and\nbegan to recite the Afternoon Prayer. Sholem remained standing in his\nplace, and tried to think of nothing and to do nothing.\n\nThe old man finished \"Sacrifices,\" tucked the folio into his girdle,\nand, without moving a step, looked at Sholem, who did not move either.\n\n\"Say the Afternoon Prayer, Shegetz!\" commanded the old man.\n\nSholem began to move his lips. And the Rav felt, as he went on with the\nprayer, that this anger was cooling down. Before he came to the\nEighteen Benedictions, he gave another look at his son, and it seemed\nmadness to think of him as a heretic, to think that Sholem ought by\nrights to be thrown into a ditch and stoned to death.\n\nSholem, for his part, was conscious for the first time of his father's\nwill: for the first time in his life, he not only loved his father, but\nwas in very truth subject to him.\n\nThe flaming red sun dropt quietly down behind the horizon just before\nthe old man broke down with emotion over \"Thou art One,\" and took the\nsky and the earth to witness that God is One and His Name is One, and\nHis people Israel one nation on the earth, to whom He gave the Sabbath\nfor a rest and an inheritance. The Rav wept and swallowed his tears, and\nhis eyes were closed. Sholem, on the other hand, could not take his eye\noff the manuscript that stuck out of his father's girdle, and it was all\nhe could do not to snatch it and run away.\n\nThey said nothing on the way home in the dark, they might have been\ncoming from a funeral. But Sholem's heart beat fast, for he knew his\nfather would throw the manuscript into the fire, where it would be\nburnt, and when they came to the door of their house, he stopped his\nfather, and said in a voice eloquent of tears:\n\n\"Give it me back, Tatishe, please give it me back!\"\n\nAnd the Rav gave it him back without looking him in the face, and said:\n\n\"Look here, only don't tell Mother! She is ill, she mustn't be upset.\nShe is ill, not of you be it spoken!\"\n\n\n\n\nMEYER BLINKIN\n\n\nBorn, 1879, in a village near Pereyaslav, Government of Poltava, Little\nRussia, of Hasidic parentage; educated in Kieff, where he acquired the\ntrade of carpenter in order to win the right of residence; studied\nmedicine; began to write in 1906; came to New York in 1908; writer of\nstories to the number of about fifty, which have been published in\nvarious periodicals; wrote also Der Sod, and Dr. Makower.\n\n\n\n\nWOMEN\n\nA PROSE POEM\n\n\nHedged round with tall, thick woods, as though designedly, so that no\none should know what happens there, lies the long-drawn-out old town of\nPereyaslav.\n\nTo the right, connected with Pereyaslav by a wooden bridge, lies another\nbit of country, named--Pidvorkes.\n\nThe town itself, with its long, narrow, muddy streets, with the crowded\nhouses propped up one against the other like tombstones, with their\nmeagre grey walls all to pieces, with the broken window-panes stuffed\nwith rags--well, the town of Pereyaslav was hardly to be distinguished\nfrom any other town inhabited by Jews.\n\nHere, too, people faded before they bloomed. Here, too, men lived on\nmiracles, were fruitful and multiplied out of all season and reason.\nThey talked of a livelihood, of good times, of riches and pleasures,\nwith the same appearance of firm conviction, and, at the same time the\nutter disbelief, with which one tells a legend read in a book.\n\nAnd they really supposed these terms to be mere inventions of the\nwriters of books and nothing more! For not only were they incapable of a\ndistinct conception of their real meaning, but some had even given up\nthe very hope of ever being able to earn so much as a living, and\npreferred not to reach out into the world with their thoughts, straining\nthem for nothing, that is, for the sake of a thing so plainly out of\nthe question as a competence. At night the whole town was overspread by\na sky which, if not grey with clouds, was of a troubled and washed-out\nblue. But the people were better off than by day. Tired out,\noverwrought, exhausted, prematurely aged as they were, they sought and\nfound comfort in the lap of the dreamy, secret, inscrutable night. Their\nmisery was left far behind, and they felt no more grief and pain.\n\nAn unknown power hid everything from them as though with a thick, damp,\nstone wall, and they heard and saw nothing.\n\nThey did not hear the weak voices, like the mewing of blind kittens, of\ntheir pining children, begging all day for food as though on purpose--as\nthough they knew there was none to give them. They did not hear the\nsighs and groans of their friends and neighbors, filling the air with\nthe hoarse sound of furniture dragged across the floor; they did not\nsee, in sleep, Death-from-hunger swing quivering, on threads of\nspider-web, above their heads.\n\nEven the little fires that flickered feverishly on their hearths, and\ntestified to the continued existence of breathing men, even these they\nsaw no longer. Silence cradled everything to sleep, extinguished it, and\ncaused it to be forgotten.\n\nHardly, however, was it dawn, hardly had the first rays pierced beneath\nthe closed eyelids, before a whole world of misery awoke and came to\nlife again.\n\nThe frantic cries of hundreds of starving children, despairing\nexclamations and imprecations and other piteous sounds filled the air.\nOne gigantic curse uncoiled and crept from house to house, from door to\ndoor, from mouth to mouth, and the population began to move, to bestir\nthemselves, to run hither and thither.\n\nHalf-naked, with parched bones and shrivelled skin, with sunken yet\nburning eyes, they crawled over one another like worms in a heap,\nfastened on to the bites in each other's mouth, and tore them away--\n\nBut this is summer, and they are feeling comparatively cheerful, bold,\nand free in their movements. They are stifled and suffocated, they are\nin a melting-pot with heat and exhaustion, but there are\ncounter-balancing advantages; one can live for weeks at a time without\nheating the stove; indeed, it is pleasanter indoors without fire, and\nlighting will cost very little, now the evenings are short.\n\nIn winter it was different. An inclement sky, an enfeebled sun, a sick\nday, and a burning, biting frost!\n\nPeople, too, were different. A bitterness came over them, and they went\nabout anxious and irritable, with hanging head, possessed by gloomy\ndespair. It never even occurred to them to tear their neighbor's bite\nout of his mouth, so depressed and preoccupied did they become. The days\nwere months, the evenings years, and the weeks--oh! the weeks were\neternities!\n\nAnd no one knew of their misery but the winter wind that tore at their\nroofs and howled in their all but smokeless chimneys like one bewitched,\nlike a lost soul condemned to endless wandering.\n\nBut there were bright stars in the abysmal darkness; their one pride and\nconsolation were the Pidvorkes, the inhabitants of the aforementioned\ndistrict of that name. Was it a question of the upkeep of a Reader or of\na bath, the support of a burial-society, of a little hospital or refuge,\na Rabbi, of providing Sabbath loaves for the poor, flour for the\nPassover, the dowry of a needy bride--the Pidvorkes were ready! The sick\nand lazy, the poverty-stricken and hopeless, found in them support and\nprotection. The Pidvorkes! They were an inexhaustible well that no one\nhad ever found to fail them, unless the Pidvorke husbands happened to be\npresent, on which occasion alone one came away with empty hands.\n\nThe fair fame of the Pidvorkes extended beyond Pereyaslav to all poor\ntowns in the neighborhood. Talk of husbands--they knew about the\nPidvorkes a hundred miles round; the least thing, and they pointed out\nto their wives how they should take a lesson from the Pidvorke women,\nand then they would be equally rich and happy.\n\nIt was not because the Pidvorkes had, within their border, great, green\nvelvety hills and large gardens full of flowers that they had reason to\nbe proud, or others, to be proud of them; not because wide fields,\nplanted with various kinds of corn, stretched for miles around them, the\ndelicate ears swaying in sunshine and wind; not even because there\nflowed round the Pidvorkes a river so transparent, so full of the\nreflection of the sky, you could not decide which was the bluest of the\ntwo. Pereyaslav at any rate was not affected by any of these things,\nperhaps knew nothing of them, and certainly did not wish to know\nanything, for whoso dares to let his mind dwell on the like, sins\nagainst God. Is it a Jewish concern? A townful of men who have a God,\nand religious duties to perform, with reward and punishment, who have\n_that_ world to prepare for, and a wife and children in _this_ one,\npeople must be mad (of the enemies of Zion be it said!) to stare at the\nsky, the fields, the river, and all the rest of it--things which a man\non in years ought to blush to talk about.\n\nNo, they are proud of the Pidvorke women, and parade them continually.\nThe Pidvorke women are no more attractive, no taller, no cleverer than\nothers. They, too, bear children and suckle them, one a year, after the\ngood old custom; neither are they more thought of by their husbands. On\nthe contrary, they are the best abused and tormented women going, and\nherein lies their distinction.\n\nThey put up, with the indifference of all women alike, to the belittling\nto which they are subjected by their husbands; they swallow their\ncontempt by the mouthful without a reproach, and yet they are\nexceptions; and yet they are distinguished from all other women, as the\nrushing waters of the Dnieper from the stagnant pools in the marsh.\n\nAbout five in the morning, when the men-folk turn in bed, and bury their\nfaces in the white feather pillows, emitting at the same time strange,\nbroken sounds through their big, stupid, red noses--at this early hour\ntheir wives have transacted half-a-day's business in the market-place.\nDressed in short, light skirts with blue aprons, over which depends on\ntheir left a large leather pocket for the receiving of coin and the\ngiving out of change--one cannot be running every minute to the\ncash-box--they stand in their shops with miscellaneous ware, and toil\nhard. They weigh and measure, buy and sell, and all this with wonderful\ncelerity. There stands one of them by herself in a shop, and tries to\npersuade a young, barefoot peasant woman to buy the printed cotton she\noffers her, although the customer only wants a red cotton with a large,\nflowery pattern. She talks without a pause, declaring that the young\npeasant may depend upon her, she would not take her in for the world,\nand, indeed, to no one else would she sell the article so cheap. But\nsoon her eye catches two other women pursuing a peasant man, and before\neven making out whether he has any wares with him or not, she leaves her\ncustomer and joins them. If they run, she feels so must she. The peasant\nis sure to be wanting grease or salt, and that may mean ten kopeks'\nunexpected gain. Meantime she is not likely to lose her present\ncustomer, fascinated as the latter must be by her flow of speech.\n\nSo she leaves her, and runs after the peasant, who is already surrounded\nby a score of women, shrieking, one louder than the other, praising\ntheir ware to the skies, and each trying to make him believe that he and\nshe are old acquaintances. But presently the tumult increases, there is\na cry, \"Cheap fowls, who wants cheap fowls?\" Some rich landholder has\nsent out a supply of fowls to sell, and all the women swing round\ntowards the fowls, keeping a hold on the peasant's cart with their left\nhand, so that you would think they wanted to drag peasant, horse, and\ncart along with them. They bargain for a few minutes with the seller of\nfowls, and advise him not to be obstinate and to take their offers, else\nhe will regret it later.\n\nSuddenly a voice thunders, \"The peasants are coming!\" and they throw\nthemselves as for dear life upon the cart-loads of produce; they run as\nthough to a conflagration, get under each other's feet, their eyes\nglisten as though they each wanted to pull the whole market aside. There\nis a shrieking and scolding, until one or another gets the better of the\nrest, and secures the peasant's wares. Then only does each woman\nremember that she has customers waiting in her shop, and she runs in\nwith a beaming smile and tells them that, as they have waited so long,\nthey shall be served with the best and the most beautiful of her store.\n\nBy eight o'clock in the morning, when the market is over, when they have\nfilled all the bottles left with them by their customers, counted up the\nchange and their gains, and each one has slipped a coin into her knotted\nhandkerchief, so that her husband should not know of its existence (one\nsimply must! One is only human--one is surely not expected to wrangle\nwith _him_ about every farthing?)--then, when there is nothing more to\nbe done in the shops, they begin to gather in knots, and every one tells\nat length the incidents and the happy strokes of business of the day.\nThey have forgotten all the bad luck they wished each other, all the\nabuse they exchanged, while the market was in progress; they know that\n\"Parnosseh is Parnosseh,\" and bear no malice, or, if they do, it is only\nif one has spoken unkindly of another during a period of quiet, on a\nSabbath or a holiday.\n\nEach talks with a special enthusiasm, and deep in her sunken eyes with\ntheir blue-black rings there burns a proud, though tiny, fire, as she\nrecalls how she got the better of a customer, and sold something which\nshe had all but thrown away, and not only sold it, but better than\nusual; or else they tell how late their husbands sleep, and then imagine\ntheir wives are still in bed, and set about waking them, \"It's time to\nget up for the market,\" and they at once pretend to be sleepy--then,\nwhen they have already been and come back!\n\nAnd very soon a voice is heard to tremble with pleasant excitement, and\na woman begins to relate the following:\n\n\"Just you listen to me: I was up to-day when God Himself was still\nasleep.\"--\"That is not the way to talk, Sheine!\" interrupts a\nsecond.--\"Well, well, well?\" (there is a good deal of curiosity). \"And\nwhat happened?\"--\"It was this way: I went out quietly, so that no one\nshould hear, not to wake them, because when Lezer went to bed, it was\ncertainly one o'clock. There was a dispute of some sort at the Rabbi's.\nYou can imagine how early it was, because I didn't even want to wake\nSoreh, otherwise she always gets up when I do (never mind, it won't hurt\nher to learn from her mother!). And at half past seven, when I saw there\nwere no more peasants coming in to market, I went to see what was going\non indoors. I heard my man calling me to wake up: 'Sheine, Sheine,\nSheine!' and I go quietly and lean against the bed, and wait to hear\nwhat will happen next. 'Look here!--There is no waking her!--Sheine!\nIt's getting-up time and past! Are you deaf or half-witted? What's come\nto you this morning?' I was so afraid I should laugh. I gave a jump and\ncalled out, O woe is me, why ever didn't you wake me sooner? Bandit!\nIt's already eight o'clock!\"\n\nHer hearers go off into contented laughter, which grows clearer, softer,\nmore contented still. Each one tells her tale of how _she_ was wakened\nby her husband, and one tells this joke: Once, when her husband had\ncalled to rouse her (he also usually woke her _after_ market), she\nanswered that on that morning she did not intend to get up for market,\nthat _he_ might go for once instead. This apparently pleases them still\nbetter, for their laughter renews itself, more spontaneous and hearty\neven than before. Each makes a witty remark, each feels herself in merry\nmood, and all is cheerfulness.\n\nThey would wax a little more serious only when they came to talk of\ntheir daughters. A woman would begin by trying to recall her daughter's\nage, and beg a second one to help her remember when the girl was born,\nso that she might not make a mistake in the calculation. And when it\ncame to one that had a daughter of sixteen, the mother fell into a brown\nstudy; she felt herself in a very, very critical position, because when\na girl comes to that age, one ought soon to marry her. And there is\nreally nothing to prevent it: money enough will be forthcoming, only let\nthe right kind of suitor present himself, one, that is, who shall insist\non a well-dowered bride, because otherwise--what sort of a suitor do you\ncall that? She will have enough to live on, they will buy a shop for\nher, she is quite capable of managing it--only let Heaven send a young\nman of acceptable parentage, so that one's husband shall have no need to\nblush with shame when he is asked about his son-in-law's family and\nconnections.\n\nAnd this is really what they used to do, for when their daughters were\nsixteen, they gave them in marriage, and at twenty the daughters were\n\"old,\" much-experienced wives. They knew all about teething,\nchicken-pox, measles, and more besides, even about croup. If a young\nmother's child fell ill, she hastened to her bosom crony, who knew a lot\nmore than she, having been married one whole year or two sooner, and got\nadvice as to what should be done.\n\nThe other would make close inquiry whether the round swellings about the\nchild's neck increased in size and wandered, that is, appeared at\ndifferent times and different places, in which case it was positively\nnothing serious, but only the tonsils. But if they remained in one place\nand grew larger, the mother must lose no time, but must run to the\ndoctor.\n\nTheir daughters knew that they needed to lay by money, not only for a\ndowry, but because a girl ought to have money of her own. They knew as\nwell as their mothers that a bridegroom would present himself and ask a\nlot of money (the best sign of his being the right sort!), and they\nprayed God for the same without ceasing.\n\nNo sooner were they quit of household matters than they went over to the\ndiscussion of their connections and alliances--it was the greatest\npleasure they had.\n\nThe fact that their children, especially their daughters, were so\ndiscreet that not one (to speak in a good hour and be silent in a bad!)\nhad as yet ever (far be it from the speaker to think of such a thing!)\ngiven birth to a bastard, as was known to happen in other places--this\nwas the crowning point of their joy and exultation.\n\nIt even made up to them for the other fact, that they never got a good\nword from their husbands for their hard, unnatural toil.\n\nAnd as they chat together, throwing in the remark that \"the apple never\nfalls far from the tree,\" that their daughters take after them in\neverything, the very wrinkles vanish from their shrivelled faces, a\nspring of refreshment and blessedness wells up in their hearts, they are\nlifted above their cares, a feeling of relaxation comes over them, as\nthough a soothing balsam had penetrated their strained and weary limbs.\n\nMeantime the daughters have secrets among themselves. They know a\nquantity of interesting things that have happened in their quarter, but\nno one else gets to know of them; they are imparted more with the eyes\nthan with the lips, and all is quiet and confidential.\n\nAnd if the great calamity had not now befallen the Pidvorkes, had it not\nstretched itself, spread its claws with such an evil might, had the\nshame not been so deep and dreadful, all might have passed off quietly\nas always. But the event was so extraordinary, so cruelly unique--such a\nthing had not happened since girls were girls, and bridegrooms,\nbridegrooms, in the Pidvorkes--that it inevitably became known to all.\nNot (preserve us!) to the men--they know of nothing, and need to know of\nnothing--only to the women. But how much can anyone keep to oneself? It\nwill rise to the surface, and lie like oil on the water.\n\nFrom early morning on the women have been hissing and steaming, bubbling\nand boiling over. They are not thinking of Parnosseh; they have\nforgotten all about Parnosseh; they are in such a state, they have even\nforgotten about themselves. There is a whole crowd of them packed like\nherrings, and all fire and flame. But the male passer-by hears nothing\nof what they say, he only sees the troubled faces and the drooping\nheads; they are ashamed to look into one another's eyes, as though they\nthemselves were responsible for the great affliction. An appalling\nmisfortune, an overwhelming sense of shame, a yellow-black spot on their\nreputation weighs them to the ground. Uncleanness has forced itself into\ntheir sanctuary and defiled it; and now they seek a remedy, and means to\nsave themselves, like one drowning; they want to heal the plague spot,\nto cover it up, so that no one shall find it out. They stand and think,\nand wrinkle the brows so used to anxiety; their thoughts evolve rapidly,\nand yet no good result comes of it, no one sees a way of escape out of\nthe terrifying net in which the worst of all evil has entangled them.\nShould a stranger happen to come upon them now, one who has heard of\nthem, but never seen them, he would receive a shock. The whole of\nPidvorkes looks quite different, the women, the streets, the very sun\nshines differently, with pale and narrow beams, which, instead of\ncheering, seem to burden the heart.\n\nThe little grey-curled clouds with their ragged edges, which have\ncollected somewhere unbeknown, and race across the sky, look down upon\nthe women, and whisper among themselves. Even the old willows, for whom\nthe news is no novelty, for many more and more complicated mysteries\nhave come to their knowledge, even they look sad, while the swallows, by\nthe depressed and gloomy air with which they skim the water, plainly\nexpress their opinion, which is no other than this: God is punishing the\nPidvorkes for _their_ great sin, what time they carried fire in their\nbeaks, long ago, to destroy the Temple.\n\nGod bears long with people's iniquity, but he rewards in full at the\nlast.\n\nThe peasants driving slowly to market, unmolested and unobstructed,\nneither dragged aside nor laid forcible hold of, were singularly\ndisappointed. They began to think the Jews had left the place.\n\nAnd the women actually forgot for very trouble that it was market-day.\nThey stood with hands folded, and turned feverishly to every newcomer.\nWhat does she say to it? Perhaps she can think of something to advise.\n\nNo one answered; they could not speak; they had nothing to say; they\nonly felt that a great wrath had been poured out on them, heavy as lead,\nthat an evil spirit had made its way into their life, and was keeping\nthem in a perpetual state of terror; and that, were they now to hold\ntheir peace, and not make an end, God Almighty only knows what might\ncome of it! No one felt certain that to-morrow or the day after the same\nthunderbolt might not fall on another of them.\n\nSomebody made a movement in the crowd, and there was a sudden silence,\nas though all were preparing to listen to a weak voice, hardly louder\nthan stillness itself. Their eyes widened, their faces were contracted\nwith annoyance and a consciousness of insult. Their hearts beat faster,\nbut without violence. Suddenly there was a shock, a thrill, and they\nlooked round with startled gaze, to see whence it came, and what was\nhappening. And they saw a woman forcing her way frantically through the\ncrowd, her hands working, her lips moving as in fever, her eyes flashing\nfire, and her voice shaking as she cried: \"Come on and see me settle\nthem! First I shall thrash _him_, and then I shall go for _her_! We must\nmake a cinder-heap of them; it's all we can do.\"\n\nShe was a tall, bony woman, with broad shoulders, who had earned for\nherself the nickname Cossack, by having, with her own hands, beaten off\nthree peasants who wanted to strangle her husband, he, they declared,\nhaving sold them by false weight--it was the first time he had ever\ntried to be of use to her.\n\n\"But don't shout so, Breindel!\" begged a woman's voice.\n\n\"What do you mean by 'don't shout'! Am I going to hold my tongue? Never\nyou mind, I shall take no water into my mouth. I'll teach them, the\napostates, to desecrate the whole town!\"\n\n\"But don't shout so!\" beg several more.\n\nBreindel takes no notice. She clenches her right fist, and, fighting the\nair with it, she vociferates louder than ever:\n\n\"What has happened, women? What are you frightened of? Look at them, if\nthey are not all a little afraid! That's what brings trouble. Don't let\nus be frightened, and we shall spare ourselves in the future. We shall\nnot be in terror that to-morrow or the day after (they had best not live\nto hear of it, sweet Father in Heaven!) another of us should have this\ncome upon her!\"\n\nBreindel's last words made a great impression. The women started as\nthough someone had poured cold water over them without warning. A few\neven began to come forward in support of Breindel's proposal. Soreh Leoh\nsaid: She advised going, but only to him, the bridegroom, and telling\nhim not to give people occasion to laugh, and not to cause distress to\nher parents, and to agree to the wedding's taking place to-day or\nto-morrow, before anything happened, and to keep quiet.\n\n\"I say, he shall not live to see it; he shall not be counted worthy to\nhave us come begging favors of him!\" cried an angry voice.\n\nBut hereupon rose that of a young woman from somewhere in the crowd, and\nall the others began to look round, and no one knew who it was speaking.\nAt first the young voice shook, then it grew firmer and firmer, so that\none could hear clearly and distinctly what was said:\n\n\"You might as well spare yourselves the trouble of talking about a\nthrashing; it's all nonsense; besides, why add to her parents' grief by\ngoing to them? Isn't it bad enough for them already? If we really want\nto do something, the best would be to say nothing to anybody, not to get\nexcited, not to ask anybody's help, and let us make a collection out of\nour own pockets. Never mind! God will repay us twice what we give. Let\nus choose out two of us, to take him the money quietly, so that no one\nshall know, because once a whisper of it gets abroad, it will be carried\nover seven seas in no time; you know that walls have ears, and streets,\neyes.\"\n\nThe women had been holding their breath and looking with pleasurable\npride at young Malkehle, married only two months ago and already so\nclever! The great thick wall of dread and shame against which they had\nbeaten their heads had retreated before Malkehle's soft words; they felt\neased; the world grew lighter again. Every one felt envious in her heart\nof hearts of her to whose apt and golden speech they had just listened.\nEveryone regretted that such an excellent plan had not occurred to\nherself. But they soon calmed down, for after all it was a sister who\nhad spoken, one of their own Pidvorkes. They had never thought that\nMalkehle, though she had been considered clever as a girl, would take\npart in their debate; and they began to work out a plan for getting\ntogether the necessary money, only so quietly that not a cock should\ncrow.\n\nAnd now their perplexities began! Not one of them could give such a\ngreat sum, and even if they all clubbed together, it would still be\nimpossible. They could manage one hundred, two hundred, three hundred\nrubles, but the dowry was six hundred, and now he says, that unless\nthey give one thousand, he will break off the engagement. What, says he,\nthere will be a summons out against him? Very likely! He will just risk\nit. The question went round: Who kept a store in a knotted handkerchief,\nhidden from her husband? They each had such a store, but were all the\ncontents put together, the half of the sum would not be attained, not by\na long way.\n\nAnd again there arose a tempest, a great confusion of women's tongues.\nPart of the crowd started with fiery eloquence to criticise their\nhusbands, the good-for-nothings, the slouching lazybones; they proved\nthat as their husbands did nothing to earn money, but spent all their\ntime \"learning,\" there was no need to be afraid of them; and if once in\na way they wanted some for themselves, nobody had the right to say them\nnay. Others said that the husbands were, after all, the elder, one must\nand should ask their advice! They were wiser and knew best, and why\nshould they, the women (might the words not be reckoned as a sin!), be\nwiser than the rest of the world put together? And others again cried\nthat there was no need that they should divorce their husbands because a\ngirl was with child, and the bridegroom demanded the dowry twice over.\n\nThe noise increased, till there was no distinguishing one voice from\nanother, till one could not make out what her neighbor was saying: she\nonly knew that she also must shriek, scold, and speak her mind. And who\nknows what would have come of it, if Breindel-Cossack, with her powerful\ngab, had not begun to shout, that she and Malkehle had a good idea,\nwhich would please everyone very much, and put an end to the whole\ndispute.\n\nAll became suddenly dumb; there was a tense silence, as at the first of\nthe two recitals of the Eighteen Benedictions; the women only cast\ninquiring looks at Malkehle and Breindel, who both felt their cheeks\nhot. Breindel, who, ever since the wise Malkehle had spoken such golden\nwords, had not left her side, now stepped forward, and her voice\ntrembled with emotion and pleasant excitement as she said: \"Malkehle and\nI think like this: that we ought to go to Chavvehle, she being so wise\nand so well-educated, a doctor's wife, and tell her the whole story from\nbeginning to end, so that she may advise us, and if you are ashamed to\nspeak to her yourselves, you should leave it to us two, only on the\ncondition that you go with us. Don't be frightened, she is kind; she\nwill listen to us.\"\n\nA faint smile, glistening like diamond dust, shone on all faces; their\neyes brightened and their shoulders straightened, as though just\nreleased from a heavy burden. They all knew Chavvehle for a good and\ngracious woman, who was certain to give them some advice; she did many\nsuch kindnesses without being asked; she had started the school, and she\ntaught their children for nothing; she always accompanied her husband on\nhis visits to the sick-room, and often left a coin of her own money\nbehind to buy a fowl for the invalid. It was even said that she had\nwritten about them in the newspapers! She was very fond of them. When\nshe talked with them, her manner was simple, as though they were her\nequals, and she would ask them all about everything, like any plain\nJewish housewife. And yet they were conscious of a great distance\nbetween them and Chavveh. They would have liked Chavveh to hear nothing\nof them but what was good, to stand justified in her eyes as (ten times\nlehavdil) in those of a Christian. They could not have told why, but the\nfeeling was there.\n\nThey are proud of Chavveh; it is an honor for them each and all (and who\nare they that they should venture to pretend to it?) to possess such a\nChavveh, who was highly spoken of even by rich Gentiles. Hence this\nembarrassed smile at the mention of her name; she would certainly\nadvise, but at the same time they avoided each other's look. The wise\nMalkeh had the same feeling, but she was able to cheer the rest. Never\nmind! It doesn't matter telling her. She is a Jewish daughter, too, and\nwill keep it to herself. These things happen behind the \"high windows\"\nalso. Whereupon they all breathed more freely, and went up the hill to\nChavveh. They went in serried ranks, like soldiers, shoulder to\nshoulder, relief and satisfaction reflected in their faces. All who met\nthem made way for them, stood aside, and wondered what it meant. Some of\ntheir own husbands even stood and looked at the marching women, but not\none dared to go up to them and ask what was doing. Their object grew\ndearer to them at every step. A settled resolve and a deep sense of\ngoodwill to mankind urged them on. They all felt that they were going in\na good cause, and would thereby bar the road to all such occurrences in\nthe future.\n\nThe way to Chavveh was long. She lived quite outside the Pidvorkes, and\nthey had to go through the whole market-place with the shops, which\nstood close to one another, as though they held each other by the hand,\nand then only through narrow lanes of old thatched peasant huts, with\nshy little window-panes. But beside nearly every hut stood a couple of\nacacia-trees, and the foam-white blossoms among the young green leaves\ngave a refreshing perfume to the neighborhood. Emerging from the\nstreets, they proceeded towards a pretty hill planted with\npink-flowering quince-trees. A small, clear stream flowed below it to\nthe left, so deceptively clear that it reflected the hillside in all its\nnatural tints. You had to go quite close in order to make sure it was\nonly a delusion, when the stream met your gaze as seriously as though\nthere were no question of _it_ at all.\n\nOn the top of the hill stood Chavveh's house, adorned like a bride,\ncovered with creepers and quinces, and with two large lamps under white\nglass shades, upheld in the right hands of two statues carved in white\nmarble. The distance had not wearied them; they had walked and conversed\npleasantly by the way, each telling a story somewhat similar to the one\nthat had occasioned their present undertaking.\n\n\"Do you know,\" began Shifreh, the wholesale dealer, \"mine tried to play\nme a trick with the dowry, too? It was immediately before the ceremony,\nand he insisted obstinately that unless a silver box and fifty rubles\nwere given to him in addition to what had been promised to him, he would\nnot go under the marriage canopy!\"\n\n\"Well, if it hadn't been Zorah, it would have been Chayyim Treitel,\"\nobserved some one, ironically.\n\nThey all laughed, but rather weakly, just for the sake of laughing; not\none of them really wished to part from her husband, even in cases where\nhe disliked her, and they quarrelled. No indignity they suffered at\ntheir husbands' hands could hurt them so deeply as a wish on his part to\nlive separately. After all they are man and wife. They quarrel and make\nit up again.\n\nAnd when they spied Chavvehle's house in the distance, they all cried\nout joyfully, with one accord:\n\n\"There is Chavvehle's house!\" Once more they forgot about themselves;\nthey were filled with enthusiasm for the common cause, and with a pain\nthat will lie forever at their heart should they not do all that sinful\nman is able.\n\nThe wise Malkehle's heart beat faster than anyone's. She had begun to\nconsider how she should speak to Chavvehle, and although apt, incisive\nphrases came into her head, one after another, she felt that she would\nnever be able to come out with them in Chavvehle's presence; were it not\nfor the other women's being there, she would have felt at her ease.\n\nAll of a sudden a voice exclaimed joyfully, \"There we are at the house!\"\nAll lifted their heads, and their eyes were gladdened by the sight of\nthe tall flowers arranged about a round table, in the shelter of a\nwidely-branching willow, on which there shone a silver samovar. In and\nout of the still empty tea-glasses there stole beams of the sinking sun,\nas it dropt lower and lower behind the now dark-blue hill.\n\n\"What welcome guests!\" Chavveh met them with a sweet smile, and her eyes\nawoke answering love and confidence in the women's hearts.\n\nNot a glance, not a movement betrayed surprise on Chavvehle's part, any\nmore than if she had been expecting them everyone.\n\nThey felt that she was behaving like any sage, and were filled with a\nsense of guilt towards her.\n\nChavvehle excused herself to one or two other guests who were present,\nand led the women into her summer-parlor, for she had evidently\nunderstood that what they had come to say was for her ears only.\n\nThey wanted to explain at once, but they couldn't, and the two who of\nall found it hardest to speak were the selected spokeswomen,\nBreindel-Cossack and Malkehle the wise. Chavvehle herself tried to lead\nthem out of their embarrassment.\n\n\"You evidently have something important to tell me,\" she said, \"for\notherwise one does not get a sight of you.\"\n\nAnd now it seemed more difficult than ever, it seemed impossible ever to\ntell the angelic Chavvehle of the bad action about which they had come.\nThey all wished silently that their children might turn out one-tenth as\ngood as she was, and their impulse was to take Chavvehle into their\narms, kiss her and hug her, and cry a long, long time on her shoulder;\nand if she cried with them, it would be so comforting.\n\nChavvehle was silent. Her great, wide-open blue eyes grew more and more\ncompassionate as she gazed at the faces of her sisters; it seemed as\nthough they were reading for themselves the sorrowful secret the women\nhad come to impart.\n\nAnd the more they were impressed with her tactful behavior, and the more\nthey felt the kindness of her gaze, the more annoyed they grew with\nthemselves, the more tongue-tied they became. The silence was so intense\nas to be almost seen and felt. The women held their breath, and only\nexchanged roundabout glances, to find out what was going on in each\nother's mind; and they looked first of all at the two who had undertaken\nto speak, while the latter, although they did not see this, felt as if\nevery one's gaze was fixed upon them, wondering why they were silent and\nholding all hearts by a thread.\n\nChavvehle raised her head, and spoke sweetly:\n\n\"Well, dear sisters, tell me a little of what it is about. Do you want\nmy help in any matter? I should be so glad----\"\n\n\"Dear sisters\" she called them, and lightning-like it flashed through\ntheir hearts that Chavveh was, indeed, their sister. How could they feel\notherwise when they had it from Chavveh herself? Was she not one of\ntheir own people? Had she not the same God? True, her speech was a\nlittle strange to them, and she was not overpious, but how should God be\nangry with such a Chavveh as this? If it must be, let him punish _them_\nfor her sin; they would willingly suffer in her place.\n\nThe sun had long set; the sky was grey, save for one red streak, and the\nroom had grown dark. Chavvehle rose to light the candles, and the women\nstarted and wiped their tearful eyes, so that Chavveh should not remark\nthem. Chavveh saw the difficulty they had in opening their hearts to\nher, and she began to speak to them of different things, offered them\nrefreshment according to their several tastes, and now Malkehle felt a\nlittle more courageous, and managed to say:\n\n\"No, good, kind Chavvehle, we are not hungry. We have come to consult\nwith you on a very important matter!\"\n\nAnd then Breindel tried hard to speak in a soft voice, but it sounded\ngruff and rasping:\n\n\"First of all, Chavveh, we want you to speak to us in Yiddish, not in\nPolish. We are all Jewish women, thank God, together!\"\n\nChavvehle, who had nodded her head during the whole of Breindel's\nspeech, made another motion of assent with her silken eyebrows, and\nreplied:\n\n\"I will talk Yiddish to you with pleasure, if that is what you prefer.\"\n\n\"The thing is this, Chavvehle,\" began Shifreh, the wholesale dealer, \"it\nis a shame and a sorrow to tell, but when the thunderbolt has fallen,\none must speak. You know Rochel Esther Leoh's. She is engaged, and the\nwedding was to have been in eight weeks--and now she, the\ngood-for-nothing, is with child--and he, the son of perdition, says now\nthat if he isn't given more than five hundred rubles, he won't take\nher----\"\n\nChavvehle was deeply troubled by their words. She saw how great was\ntheir distress, and found, to her regret, that she had little to say by\nway of consolation.\n\n\"I feel with you,\" she said, \"in your pain. But do not be so dismayed.\nIt is certainly very bad news, but these things will happen, you are not\nthe first----\"\n\nShe wanted to say more, but did not know how to continue.\n\n\"But what are we to do?\" asked several voices at once. \"That is what we\ncame to you for, dearie, for you to advise us. Are we to give him all\nthe money he asks, or shall they both know as much happiness as we know\nwhat to do else? Or are we to hang a stone round our necks and drown\nourselves for shame? Give us some advice, dear, help us!\"\n\nThen Chavvehle understood that it was not so much the women who were\nspeaking and imploring, as their stricken hearts, their deep shame and\ngrief, and it was with increased sympathy that she answered them:\n\n\"What can I say to help you, dear sisters? You have certainly not\ndeserved this blow; you have enough to bear as it is--things ought to\nhave turned out quite differently; but now that the misfortune has\nhappened, one must be brave enough not to lose one's head, and not to\nlet such a thing happen again, so that it should be the first and last\ntime! But what exactly you should do, I cannot tell you, because I don't\nknow! Only if you should want my help or any money, I will give you\neither with the greatest pleasure.\"\n\nThey understood each other----\n\nThe women parted with Chavveh in great gladness, and turned towards home\nconscious of a definite purpose. Now they all felt they knew just what\nto do, and were sure it would prevent all further misfortune and\ndisgrace.\n\nThey could have sung out for joy, embraced the hill, the stream, the\npeasant huts, and kissed and fondled them all together. Mind you, they\nhad even now no definite plan of action, it was just Chavvehle's\nsympathy that had made all the difference--feeling that Chavveh was\nwith them! Wrapped in the evening mist, they stepped vigorously and\ncheerily homewards.\n\nGradually the speed and the noise of their march increased, the air\nthrobbed, and at last a high, sharp voice rose above the rest, whereupon\nthey grew stiller, and the women listened.\n\n\"I tell you what, we won't beat them. Only on Sabbath we must all come\ntogether like one man, break into the house-of-study just before they\ncall up to the Reading of the Law, and not let them read till they have\nsworn to agree to our sentence of excommunication!\n\n\"She is right!\"\n\n\"Excommunicate him!\"\n\n\"Tear him in pieces!\"\n\n\"Let him be dressed in robe and prayer-scarf, and swear by the eight\nblack candles that he----\"\n\n\"Swear! Swear!\"\n\nThe noise was dreadful. No one was allowed to finish speaking. They were\nall aflame with one fire of revenge, hate, and anger, and all alike\nathirst for justice. Every new idea, every new suggestion was hastily\nand hotly seized upon by all together, and there was a grinding of teeth\nand a clenching of fists. Nature herself seemed affected by the tumult,\nthe clouds flew faster, the stars changed their places, the wind\nwhistled, the trees swayed hither and thither, the frogs croaked, there\nwas a great boiling up of the whole concern.\n\n\"Women, women,\" cried one, \"I propose that we go to the court of the\nShool, climb into the round millstones, and all shout together, so that\nthey may know what we have decided.\"\n\n\"Right! Right! To the Shool!\" cried a chorus of voices.\n\nA common feeling of triumph running through them, they took each other\nfriendly-wise by the hand, and made gaily for the court of the Shool.\nWhen they got into the town, they fell on each other's necks, and kissed\neach other with tears and joy. They knew their plan was the best and\nmost excellent that could be devised, and would protect them all from\nfurther shame and trouble.\n\nThe Pidvorkes shuddered to hear their tread.\n\nAll the remaining inhabitants, big and little, men and women, gathered\nin the court of the Shool, and stood with pale faces and beating hearts\nto see what would happen.\n\nThe eyes of the young bachelors rolled uneasily, the girls had their\nfaces on one another's shoulders, and sobbed.\n\nBreindel, agile as a cat, climbed on to the highest millstone, and\nproclaimed in a voice of thunder:\n\n\"Seeing that such and such a thing has happened, a great scandal such as\nis not to be hid, and such as we do not wish to hide, all we women have\ndecided to excommunicate----\"\n\nSuch a tumult arose that for a minute or two Breindel could not be\nheard, but it was not long before everyone knew who and what was meant.\n\n\"We also demand that neither he nor his nearest friends shall be called\nto the Reading of the Law; that people shall have nothing to do with\nthem till after the wedding!\"\n\n\"Nothing to do with them! Nothing to do with them!\" shook the air.\n\n\"That people shall not lend to them nor borrow of them, shall not come\nwithin their four ells!\" continued the voice from the millstone.\n\n\"And _she_ shall be shut up till her time comes, so that no one shall\nsee her. Then we will take her to the burial-ground, and the child shall\nbe born in the burial-ground. The wedding shall take place by day, and\nwithout musicians--\"\n\n\"Without musicians!\"\n\n\"Without musicians!\"\n\n'Without musicians!\"\n\n\"Serve her right!\"\n\n\"She deserves worse!\"\n\nA hundred voices were continually interrupting the speaker, and more\nwomen were climbing onto the millstones, and shouting the same things.\n\n\"On the wedding-day there will be great black candles burning throughout\nthe whole town, and when the bride is seated at the top of the\nmarriage-hall, with her hair flowing loose about her, all the girls\nshall surround her, and the Badchen shall tell her, 'This is the way we\ntreat one who has not held to her Jewishness, and has blackened all our\nfaces----'\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"So it is!\"\n\n\"The apostates!\"\n\nThe last words struck the hearers' hearts like poisoned arrows. A\ndeathly pallor, born of unrealized terror at the suggested idea,\noverspread all their faces, their feelings were in a tumult of shame and\nsuffering. They thirsted and longed after their former life, the time\nbefore the calamity disturbed their peace. Weary and wounded in spirit,\nwith startled looks, throbbing pulses, and dilated pupils, and with no\nmore than a faint hope that all might yet be well, they slowly broke the\nstillness, and departed to their homes.\n\n\n\n\nLOeB SCHAPIRO\n\n\nBorn, about 1880, in the Government of Kieff, Little Russia; came to\nChicago in 1906, and to New York for a short time in 1907-1908; now\n(1912) in business in Switzerland; contributor to Die Zukunft, New York;\ncollected works, Novellen, 1 vol., Warsaw, 1910.\n\n\n\n\nIF IT WAS A DREAM\n\n\nYes, it was a terrible dream! But when one is only nine years old, one\nsoon forgets, and Meyerl was nine a few weeks before it came to pass.\n\nYes, and things had happened in the house every now and then to remind\none of it, but then Meyerl lived more out of doors than indoors, in the\nwild streets of New York. Tartilov and New York--what a difference! New\nYork had supplanted Tartilov, effaced it from his memory. There remained\nonly a faint occasional recollection of that horrid dream.\n\nIf it really _was_ a dream!\n\nIt was this way: Meyerl dreamt that he was sitting in Cheder learning,\nbut more for show's sake than seriously, because during the Days of\nPenitence, near the close of the session, the Rebbe grew milder, and\nCheder less hateful. And as he sat there and learnt, he heard a banging\nof doors in the street, and through the window saw Jews running to and\nfro, as if bereft of their senses, flinging themselves hither and\nthither exactly like leaves in a gale, or as when a witch rises from the\nground in a column of dust, and whirls across the road so suddenly and\nunexpectedly that it makes one's flesh creep. And at the sight of this\nrunning up and down in the street, the Rebbe collapsed in his chair\nwhite as death, his under lip trembling.\n\nMeyerl never saw him again. He was told later that the Rebbe had been\nkilled, but somehow the news gave him no pleasure, although the Rebbe\nused to beat him; neither did it particularly grieve him. It probably\nmade no great impression on his mind. After all, what did it mean,\nexactly? Killed? and the question slipped out of his head unanswered,\ntogether with the Rebbe, who was gradually forgotten.\n\nAnd then the real horror began. They were two days hiding away in the\nbath-house--he and some other little boys and a few older\npeople--without food, without drink, without Father and Mother. Meyerl\nwas not allowed to get out and go home, and once, when he screamed, they\nnearly suffocated him, after which he sobbed and whimpered, unable to\nstop crying all at once. Now and then he fell asleep, and when he woke\neverything was just the same, and all through the terror and the misery\nhe seemed to hear only one word, Goyim, which came to have a very\ndefinite and terrible meaning for him. Otherwise everything was in a\nmaze, and as far as seeing goes, he really saw nothing at all.\n\nLater, when they came out again, nobody troubled about him, or came to\nsee after him, and a stranger took him home. And neither his father nor\nhis mother had a word to say to him, any more than if he had just come\nhome from Cheder as on any other day.\n\nEverything in the house was broken, they had twisted his father's arm\nand bruised his face. His mother lay on the bed, her fair hair tossed\nabout, and her eyes half-closed, her face pale and stained, and\nsomething about her whole appearance so rumpled and sluttish--it\nreminded one of a tumbled bedquilt. His father walked up and down the\nroom in silence, looking at no one, his bound arm in a white sling, and\nwhen Meyerl, conscious of some invisible calamity, burst out crying, his\nfather only gave him a gloomy, irritated look, and continued to span the\nroom as before.\n\nIn about three weeks' time they sailed for America. The sea was very\nrough during the passage, and his mother lay the whole time in her\nberth, and was very sick. Meyerl was quite fit, and his father did\nnothing but pace the deck, even when it poured with rain, till they came\nand ordered him down-stairs.\n\nMeyerl never knew exactly what happened, but once a Gentile on board the\nship passed a remark on his father, made fun of him, or something--and\nhis father drew himself up, and gave the other a look--nothing more than\na look! And the Gentile got such a fright that he began crossing\nhimself, and he spit out, and his lips moved rapidly. To tell the truth,\nMeyerl was frightened himself by the contraction of his father's mouth,\nthe grind of his teeth, and by his eyes, which nearly started from his\nhead. Meyerl had never seen him look like that before, but soon his\nfather was once more pacing the deck, his head down, his wet collar\nturned up, his hands in his sleeves, and his back slightly bent.\n\nWhen they arrived in New York City, Meyerl began to feel giddy, and it\nwas not long before the whole of Tartilov appeared to him like a dream.\n\nIt was in the beginning of winter, and soon the snow fell, the fresh\nwhite snow, and it was something like! Meyerl was now a \"boy,\" he went\nto \"school,\" made snowballs, slid on the slides, built little fires in\nthe middle of the street, and nobody interfered. He went home to eat\nand sleep, and spent what you may call his \"life\" in the street.\n\nIn their room were cold, piercing draughts, which made it feel dreary\nand dismal. Meyerl's father, a lean, large-boned man, with a dark, brown\nface and black beard, had always been silent, and it was but seldom he\nsaid so much as \"Are you there, Tzippe? Do you hear me, Tzippe?\" But now\nhis silence was frightening! The mother, on the other hand, used to be\nfull of life and spirits, skipping about the place, and it was\n\"Shloimeh!\" here, and \"Shloimeh!\" there, and her tongue wagging merrily!\nAnd suddenly there was an end of it all. The father only walked back and\nforth over the room, and she turned to look after him like a child in\ndisgrace, and looked and looked as though forever wanting to say\nsomething, and never daring to say it. There was something new in her\nlook, something dog-like! Yes, on my word, something like what there was\nin the eyes of Mishke the dog with which Meyerl used to like playing\n\"over there,\" in that little town in dreamland. Sometimes Meyerl, waking\nsuddenly in the night, heard, or imagined he heard, his mother sobbing,\nwhile his father lay in the other bed puffing at his cigar, but so hard,\nit was frightening, because it made a little fire every time in the\ndark, as though of itself, in the air, just over the place where his\nfather's black head must be lying. Then Meyerl's eyes would shut of\nthemselves, his brain was confused, and his mother and the glowing\nsparks and the whole room sank away from him, and Meyerl dropped off to\nsleep.\n\nTwice that winter his mother fell ill. The first time it lasted two\ndays, the second, four, and both times the illness was dangerous. Her\nface glowed like an oven, her lower lip bled beneath her sharp white\nteeth, and yet wild, terrifying groans betrayed what she was suffering,\nand she was often violently sick, just as when they were on the sea.\n\nAt those times she looked at her husband with eyes in which there was no\nprayer. Mishke once ran a thorn deep into his paw, and he squealed and\ngrowled angrily, and sucked his paw, as though he were trying to swallow\nit, thorn and all, and the look in his eyes was the look of Meyerl's\nmother in her pain.\n\nIn those days his father, too, behaved differently, for, instead of\nwalking to and fro across the room, he ran, puffing incessantly at his\ncigar, his brow like a thunder-cloud and occasional lightnings flashing\nfrom his eyes. He never looked at his wife, and neither of them looked\nat Meyerl, who then felt himself utterly wretched and forsaken.\n\nAnd--it is very odd, but--it was just on these occasions that Meyerl\nfelt himself drawn to his home. In the street things were as usual, but\nat home it was like being in Shool during the Solemn Days at the blowing\nof the ram's horn, when so many tall \"fathers\" stand with prayer-scarfs\nover their heads, and hold their breath, and when out of the distance\nthere comes, unfolding over the heads of the people, the long, loud\nblast of the Shofar.\n\nAnd both times, when his mother recovered, the shadow that lay on their\nhome had darkened, his father was gloomier than ever, and his mother,\nwhen she looked at him, had a still more crushed and dog-like\nexpression, as though she were lying outside in the dust of the street.\n\nThe snowfalls became rarer, then they ceased altogether, and there came\ninto the air a feeling of something new--what exactly, it would have\nbeen hard for Meyerl to say. Anyhow it was something good, very good,\nfor everyone in the street was glad of it, one could see that by their\nfaces, which were more lightsome and gay.\n\nOn the Eve of Passover the sky of home cleared a little too, street and\nhouse joined hands through the windows, opened now for the first time\nsince winter set in, and this neighborly act of theirs cheered Meyerl's\nheart.\n\nHis parents made preparations for Passover, and poor little preparations\nthey were: there was no Matzes-baking with its merry to-do; a packet of\ncold, stale Matzes was brought into the house; there was no pail of\nbeet-root soup in the corner, covered with a coarse cloth of unbleached\nlinen; no dusty china service was fetched from the attic, where it had\nlain many years between one Passover and another; his father brought in\na dinner service from the street, one he had bought cheap, and of which\nthe pieces did not match. But the exhilaration of the festival made\nitself felt for all that, and warmed their hearts. At home, in Tartilov,\nit had happened once or twice that Meyerl had lain in his little bed\nwith open eyes, staring stock-still, with terror, into the silent\nblackness of the night, and feeling as if he were the only living soul\nin the whole world, that is, the whole house; and the sudden crow of a\ncock would be enough on these occasions to send a warm current of relief\nand security through his heart.\n\nHis father's face looked a little more cheerful. In the daytime, while\nhe dusted the cups, his eyes had something pensive in them, but his lips\nwere set so that you thought: There, now, now they are going to smile!\nThe mother danced the Matzeh pancakes up and down in the kitchen, so\nthat they chattered and gurgled in the frying-pan. When a neighbor came\nin to borrow a cooking pot, Meyerl happened to be standing beside his\nmother. The neighbor got her pot, the women exchanged a few words about\nthe coming holiday, and then the neighbor said, \"So we shall soon be\nhaving a rejoicing at your house?\" and with a wink and a smile she\npointed at his mother with her finger, whereupon Meyerl remarked for the\nfirst time that her figure had grown round and full. But he had no time\njust then to think it over, for there came a sound of broken china from\nthe next room, his mother stood like one knocked on the head, and his\nfather appeared in the door, and said:\n\n\"Go!\"\n\nHis voice sent a quiver through the window-panes, as if a heavy wagon\nwere just crossing the bridge outside at a trot, the startled neighbor\nturned, and whisked out of the house.\n\nMeyerl's parents looked ill at ease in their holiday garb, with the\nfaces of mourners. The whole ceremony of the Passover home service was\nspoilt by an atmosphere of the last meal on the Eve of the Fast of the\nDestruction of the Temple. And when Meyerl, with the indifferent voice\nof one hired for the occasion, sang out the \"Why is this night\ndifferent?\" his heart shrank together; there was the same hush round\nabout him as there is in Shool when an orphan recites the first\n\"Sanctification\" for his dead parents.\n\nHis mother's lips moved, but gave forth no sound; from time to time she\nwetted a finger with her tongue, and turned over leaf after leaf in her\nservice-book, and from time to time a large, bright tear fell, over her\nbeautiful but depressed face onto the book, or the white table-cloth, or\nher dress. His father never looked at her. Did he see she was crying?\nMeyerl wondered. Then, how strangely he was reciting the Haggadah! He\nwould chant a portion in long-drawn-out fashion, and suddenly his voice\nwould break, sometimes with a gurgle, as though a hand had seized him by\nthe throat and closed it. Then he would look silently at his book, or\nhis eye would wander round the room with a vacant stare. Then he would\nstart intoning again, and again his voice would break.\n\nThey ate next to nothing, said grace to themselves in a whisper, after\nwhich the father said:\n\n\"Meyerl, open the door!\"\n\nNot without fear, and the usual uncertainty as to the appearance of the\nProphet Elijah, whose goblet stood filled for him on the table, Meyerl\nopened the door.\n\n\"Pour out Thy wrath upon the Gentiles, who do not know Thee!\"\n\nA slight shudder ran down between Meyerl's shoulders, for a strange,\nquite unfamiliar voice had sounded through the room from one end to the\nother, shot up against the ceiling, flung itself down again, and gone\nflapping round the four walls, like a great, wild bird in a cage. Meyerl\nhastily turned to look at his father, and felt the hair bristle on his\nhead with fright: straight and stiff as a screwed-up fiddle-string,\nthere stood beside the table a wild figure, in a snow-white robe, with a\ndark beard, a broad, bony face, and a weird, black flame in the eyes.\nThe teeth were ground together, and the voice would go over into a\nplaintive roar, like that of a hungry, bloodthirsty animal. His mother\nsprang up from her seat, trembling in every limb, stared at him for a\nfew seconds, and then threw herself at his feet. Catching hold of the\nedge of his robe with both hands, she broke into lamentation:\n\n\"Shloimeh, Shloimeh, you'd better kill me! Shloimeh! kill me! oi, oi,\nmisfortune!\"\n\nMeyerl felt as though a large hand with long fingernails had introduced\nitself into his inside, and turned it upside down with one fell twist.\nHis mouth opened widely and crookedly, and a scream of childish terror\nburst from his throat. Tartilov had suddenly leapt wildly into view,\naffrighted Jews flew up and down the street like leaves in a storm, the\nwhite-faced Rebbe sat in his chair, his under lip trembling, his mother\nlay on her bed, looking all pulled about like a rumpled counterpane.\nMeyerl saw all this as clearly and sharply as though he had it before\nhis eyes, he felt and knew that it was not all over, that it was only\njust beginning, that the calamity, the great calamity, the real\ncalamity, was still to come, and might at any moment descend upon their\nheads like a thunderbolt, only _what_ it was he did not know, or ask\nhimself, and a second time a scream of distraught and helpless terror\nescaped his throat.\n\nA few neighbors, Italians, who were standing in the passage by the open\ndoor, looked on in alarm, and whispered among themselves, and still the\nwild curses filled the room, one minute loud and resonant, the next with\nthe spiteful gasping of a man struck to death.\n\n\"Mighty God! Pour out Thy wrath on the peoples who have no God in their\nhearts! Pour out Thy wrath upon the lands where Thy Name is unknown! 'He\nhas devoured, devoured my body, he has laid waste, laid waste my\nhouse!'\"\n\n \"Thy wrath shall pursue them,\n Pursue them--o'ertake them!\n O'ertake them--destroy them,\n From under Thy heavens!\"\n\n\n\n\nSHALOM ASCH\n\n\nBorn, 1881, in Kutno, Government of Warsaw, Russian Poland; Jewish\neducation and Hasidic surroundings; began to write in 1900, earliest\nworks being in Hebrew; Sippurim was published in 1903, and A Staedtel in\n1904; wrote his first drama in 1905; distinguished for realism, love of\nnature, and description of patriarchal Jewish life in the villages;\nplaywright; dramas: Gott von Nekomoh, Meschiach's Zeiten, etc.;\ncollected works, Schriften, Warsaw, 1908-1912 (in course of\npublication).\n\n\n\n\nA SIMPLE STORY\n\n\nFeigele, like all young girls, is fond of dressing and decking herself\nout.\n\nShe has no time for these frivolities during the week, there is work in\nplenty, no evil eye! and sewing to do; rent is high, and times are bad.\nThe father earns but little, and there is a deal wanting towards her\nthree hundred rubles dowry, beside which her mother trenches on it\noccasionally, on Sabbath, when the family purse is empty.\n\n\"There are as many marriageable young men as dogs, only every dog wants\na fat bone,\" comes into her head.\n\nShe dislikes much thinking. She is a young girl and a pretty one. Of\ncourse, one shouldn't be conceited, but when she stands in front of the\nglass, she sees her bright face and rosy cheeks and the fall of her\nblack hair. But she soon forgets it all, as though she were afraid that\nto rejoice in it might bring her ill-luck.\n\nSabbath it is quite another thing--there is time and to spare, and on\nSabbath Feigele's toilet knows no end.\n\nThe mother calls, \"There, Feigele, that's enough! You will do very well\nas you are.\" But what should old-fashioned women like her know about it?\nAnything will do for them. Whether you've a hat and jacket on or not,\nthey're just as pleased.\n\nBut a young girl like Feigele knows the difference. _He_ is sitting out\nthere on the bench, he, Eleazar, with a party of his mates, casting\nfurtive glances, which he thinks nobody sees, and nudging his neighbor,\n\"Look, fire and flame!\" and she, Feigele, behaves as though unaware of\nhis presence, walks straight past, as coolly and unconcernedly as you\nplease, and as though Eleazar might look and look his eyes out after\nher, take his own life, hang himself, for all _she_ cares.\n\nBut, O Feigele, the vexation and the heartache when one fine day you\nwalk past, and he doesn't look at _you_, but at Malkeh, who has a new\nhat and jacket that suit her about as well as a veil suits a dog--and\nyet he looks at her, and you turn round again, and yet again, pretending\nto look at something else (because it isn't proper), but you just glance\nover your shoulder, and he is still looking after Malkeh, his whole face\nshining with delight, and he nudges his mate, as to say, \"Do you see?\" O\nFeigele, you need a heart of adamant, if it is not to burst in twain\nwith mortification!\n\nHowever, no sooner has Malkeh disappeared down a sidewalk, than he gets\nup from the bench, dragging his mate along with him, and they follow,\narm-in-arm, follow Feigele like her shadow, to the end of the avenue,\nwhere, catching her eye, he nods a \"Good Sabbath!\" Feigele answers with\na supercilious tip-tilt of her head, as much as to say, \"It is all the\nsame to me, I'm sure; I'll just go down this other avenue for a change,\"\nand, lo and behold, if she happens to look around, there is Eleazar,\ntoo, and he follows, follows like a wearisome creditor.\n\nAnd then, O Feigele, such a lovely, blissful feeling comes over you.\nDon't look, take no notice of him, walk ahead stiffly and firmly, with\nyour head high, let him follow and look at you. And he looks, and he\nfollows, he would follow you to the world's end, into the howling\ndesert. Ha, ha, how lovely it feels!\n\nBut once, on a Sabbath evening, walking in the gardens with a girl\nfriend, and he following, Feigele turned aside down a dark path, and sat\ndown on a bench behind a bushy tree.\n\nHe came and sat down, too, at the other end of the bench.\n\nEvening: the many branching trees overshadow and obscure, it grows dark,\nthey are screened and hidden from view.\n\nA breeze blows, lightly and pleasantly, and cools the air.\n\nThey feel it good to be there, their hearts beat in the stillness.\n\nWho will say the first word?\n\nHe coughs, ahem! to show that he is there, but she makes no sign,\nimplying that she neither knows who he is, nor what he wants, and has no\nwish to learn.\n\nThey are silent, they only hear their own beating hearts and the wind in\nthe leaves.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, do you know what time it is?\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" she replies stiffly, meaning, \"I know quite well what you\nare after, but don't be in such a hurry, you won't get anything the\nsooner.\"\n\nThe girl beside her gives her a nudge. \"Did you hear that?\" she\ngiggles.\n\nFeigele feels a little annoyed with her. Does the girl think _she_ is\nthe object? And she presently prepares to rise, but remains, as though\nglued to the seat.\n\n\"A beautiful night, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, a beautiful evening.\"\n\nAnd so the conversation gets into swing, with a question from him and an\nanswer from her, on different subjects, first with fear and fluttering\nof the heart, then they get closer one to another, and become more\nconfidential. When she goes home, he sees her to the door, they shake\nhands and say, \"Till we meet again!\"\n\nAnd they meet a second and a third time, for young hearts attract each\nother like a magnet. At first, of course, it is accidental, they meet by\nchance in the company of two other people, a girl friend of hers and a\nchum of his, and then, little by little, they come to feel that they\nwant to see each other alone, all to themselves, and they fix upon a\nquiet time and place.\n\nAnd they met.\n\nThey walked away together, outside the town, between the sky and the\nfields, walked and talked, and again, conscious that the talk was an\nartificial one, were even more gladly silent. Evening, and the last\nsunbeams were gliding over the ears of corn on both sides of the way.\nThen a breeze came along, and the ears swayed and whispered together, as\nthe two passed on between them down the long road. Night was gathering,\nit grew continually darker, more melancholy, more delightful.\n\n\"I have been wanting to know you for a long time, Feigele.\"\n\n\"I know. You followed me like a shadow.\"\n\nThey are silent.\n\n\"What are you thinking about, Feigele?\"\n\n\"What are _you_ thinking about, Eleazar?\"\n\nAnd they plunge once more into a deep converse about all sorts of\nthings, and there seems to be no reason why it should ever end.\n\nIt grows darker and darker.\n\nThey have come to walk closer together.\n\nNow he takes her hand, she gives a start, but his hand steals further\nand further into hers.\n\nSuddenly, as dropt from the sky, he bends his face, and kisses her on\nthe cheek.\n\nA thrill goes through her, she takes her hand out of his and appears\nrather cross, but he knows it is put on, and very soon she is all right\nagain, as if the incident were forgotten.\n\nAn hour or two go by thus, and every day now they steal away and meet\noutside the town.\n\nAnd Eleazar began to frequent her parents' house, the first time with an\nexcuse--he had some work for Feigele. And then, as people do, he came to\nknow when the work would be done, and Feigele behaved as though she had\nnever seen him before, as though not even knowing who he was, and\npolitely begged him to take a seat.\n\nSo it came about by degrees that Eleazar was continually in and out of\nthe house, coming and going as he pleased and without stating any\npretext whatever.\n\nFeigele's parents knew him for a steady young man, he was a skilled\nartisan earning a good wage, and they knew quite well why a young man\ncomes to the home of a young girl, but they feigned ignorance, thinking\nto themselves, \"Let the children get to know each other better, there\nwill be time enough to talk it over afterwards.\"\n\nEvening: a small room, shadows moving on the walls, a new table on which\nburns a large, bright lamp, and sitting beside it Feigele sewing and\nEleazar reading aloud a novel by Shomer.\n\nFather and mother, tired out with a whole day's work, sleep on their\nbeds behind the curtain, which shuts off half the room.\n\nAnd so they sit, both of them, only sometimes Eleazar laughs aloud,\ntakes her by the hand, and exclaims with a smile, \"Feigele!\"\n\n\"What do you want, silly?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, nothing at all.\"\n\nAnd she sews on, thinking, \"I have got you fast enough, but don't\nimagine you are taking somebody from the street, just as she is; there\nare still eighty rubles wanting to make three hundred in the bank.\"\n\nAnd she shows him her wedding outfit, the shifts and the bedclothes, of\nwhich half lie waiting in the drawers.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThey drew closer one to another, they became more and more intimate, so\nthat all looked upon them as engaged, and expected the marriage contract\nto be drawn up any day. Feigele's mother was jubilant at her daughter's\ngood fortune, at the prospect of such a son-in-law, such a golden\nson-in-law!\n\nReb Yainkel, her father, was an elderly man, a worn-out peddler, bent\nsideways with the bag of junk continually on his shoulder.\n\nNow he, too, has a little bit of pleasure, a taste of joy, for which God\nbe praised!\n\nEveryone rejoices, Feigele most of all, her cheeks look rosier and\nfresher, her eyes darker and brighter.\n\nShe sits at her machine and sews, and the whole room rings with her\nvoice:\n\n \"Un was ich hob' gewollt, hob' ich ausgefuehrt,\n Soll ich azoi leben!\n Ich hob' gewollt a shenem Choson,\n Hot' mir Gott gegeben.\"\n\nIn the evening comes Eleazar.\n\n\"Well, what are you doing?\"\n\n\"What should I be doing? Wait, I'll show you something.\"\n\n\"What sort of thing?\"\n\nShe rises from her place, goes to the chest that stands in the stove\ncorner, takes something out of it, and hides it under her apron.\n\n\"Whatever have you got there?\" he laughs.\n\n\"Why are you in such a hurry to know?\" she asks, and sits down beside\nhim, brings from under her apron a picture in fine woolwork, Adam and\nEve, and shows it him, saying:\n\n\"There, now you see! It was worked by a girl I know--for me, for us. I\nshall hang it up in our room, opposite the bed.\"\n\n\"Yours or mine?\"\n\n\"You wait, Eleazar! You will see the house I shall arrange for you--a\nparadise, I tell you, just a little paradise! Everything in it will have\nto shine, so that it will be a pleasure to step inside.\"\n\n\"And every evening when work is done, we two shall sit together, side by\nside, just as we are doing now,\" and he puts an arm around her.\n\n\"And you will tell me everything, all about everything,\" she says,\nlaying a hand on his shoulder, while with the other she takes hold of\nhis chin, and looks into his eyes.\n\nThey feel so happy, so light at heart.\n\nEverything in the house has taken on an air of kindliness, there is a\nsoft, attractive gloss on every object in the room, on the walls and the\ntable, the familiar things make signs to her, and speak to her as friend\nto friend.\n\nThe two are silent, lost in their own thoughts.\n\n\"Look,\" she says to him, and takes her bank-book out of the chest, \"two\nhundred and forty rubles already. I shall make it up to three hundred,\nand then you won't have to say, 'I took you just as you were.'\"\n\n\"Go along with you, you are very unjust, and I'm cross with you,\nFeigele.\"\n\n\"Why? Because I tell you the truth to your face?\" she asks, looking into\nhis face and laughing.\n\nHe turns his head away, pretending to be offended.\n\n\"You little silly, are you feeling hurt? I was only joking, can't you\nsee?\"\n\nSo it goes on, till the old mother's face peeps out from behind the\ncurtain, warning them that it is time to go to rest, when the young\ncouple bid each other good-night.\n\n * * * * *\n\nReb Yainkel, Feigele's father, fell ill.\n\nIt was in the beginning of winter, and there was war between winter and\nsummer: the former sent a snowfall, the latter a burst of sun. The snow\nturned to mud, and between times it poured with rain by the bucketful.\n\nThis sort of weather made the old man ill: he became weak in the legs,\nand took to his bed.\n\nThere was no money for food, and still less for firing, and Feigele had\nto lend for the time being.\n\nThe old man lay abed and coughed, his pale, shrivelled face reddened,\nthe teeth showed between the drawn lips, and the blue veins stood out on\nhis temples.\n\nThey sent for the doctor, who prescribed a remedy.\n\nThe mother wished to pawn their last pillow, but Feigele protested, and\ngave up part of her wages, and when this was not enough, she pawned her\njacket--anything sooner than touch the dowry.\n\nAnd he, Eleazar, came every evening, and they sat together beside the\nwell-known table in the lamplight.\n\n\"Why are you so sad, Feigele?\"\n\n\"How can you expect me to be cheerful, with father so ill?\"\n\n\"God will help, Feigele, and he will get better.\"\n\n\"It's four weeks since I put a farthing into the savings-bank.\"\n\n\"What do you want to save for?\"\n\n\"What do I want to save for?\" she asked with a startled look, as though\nsomething had frightened her. \"Are you going to tell me that you will\ntake me without a dowry?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'without a dowry'? You are worth all the money in\nthe world to me, worth my whole life. What do I want with your money?\nSee here, my five fingers, they can earn all we need. I have two\nhundred rubles in the bank, saved from my earnings. What do I want with\nmore?\"\n\nThey are silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. \"And your mother?\" she\nasks quietly.\n\n\"Will you please tell me, are you marrying my mother or me? And what\nconcern is she of yours?\"\n\nFeigele is silent.\n\n\"I tell you again, I'll take you _just as you are_--and you'll take me\nthe same, will you?\"\n\nShe puts the corner of her apron to her eyes, and cries quietly to\nherself.\n\nThere is stillness around. The lamp sheds its brightness over the little\nroom, and casts their shadows onto the walls.\n\nThe heavy sleeping of the old people is audible behind the curtain.\n\nAnd her head lies on his shoulder, and her thick black hair hides his\nface.\n\n\"How kind you are, Eleazar,\" she whispers through her tears.\n\nAnd she opens her whole heart to him, tells him how it is with them now,\nhow bad things are, they have pawned everything, and there is nothing\nleft for to-morrow, nothing but the dowry!\n\nHe clasps her lovingly, and dries her cheeks with her apron end, saying:\n\"Don't cry, Feigele, don't cry. It will all come right. And to-morrow,\nmind, you are to go to the postoffice, and take a little of the dowry,\nas much as you need, until your father, God helping, is well again, and\nable to earn something, and then....\"\n\n\"And then ...\" she echoes in a whisper.\n\n\"And then it will all come right,\" and his eyes flash into hers. \"Just\nas you are ...\" he whispers.\n\nAnd she looks at him, and a smile crosses her face.\n\nShe feels so happy, so happy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNext morning she went to the postoffice for the first time with her\nbank-book, took out a few rubles, and gave them to her mother.\n\nThe mother sighed heavily, and took on a grieved expression; she\nfrowned, and pulled her head-kerchief down over her eyes.\n\nOld Reb Yainkel lying in bed turned his face to the wall.\n\nThe old man knew where the money came from, he knew how his only child\nhad toiled for those few rubles. Other fathers gave money to their\nchildren, and he took it--\n\nIt seemed to him as though he were plundering the two young people. He\nhad not long to live, and he was robbing them before he died.\n\nAs he thought on this, his eyes glazed, the veins on his temple swelled,\nand his face became suffused with blood.\n\nHis head is buried in the pillow, and turns to the wall, he lies and\nthinks these thoughts.\n\nHe knows that he is in the way of the children's happiness, and he prays\nthat he may die.\n\nAnd she, Feigele, would like to come into a fortune all at once, to have\na lot of money, to be as rich as any great lady.\n\nAnd then suppose she had a thousand rubles now, this minute, and he came\nin: \"There, take the whole of it, see if I love you! There, take it, and\nthen you needn't say you love me for nothing, just as I am.\"\n\nThey sit beside the father's bed, she and her Eleazar.\n\nHer heart overflows with content, she feels happier than she ever felt\nbefore, there are even tears of joy on her cheeks.\n\nShe sits and cries, hiding her face with her apron.\n\nHe takes her caressingly by the hands, repeating in his kind, sweet\nvoice, \"Feigele, stop crying, Feigele, please!\"\n\nThe father lies turned with his face to the wall, and the beating of his\nheart is heard in the stillness.\n\nThey sit, and she feels confidence in Eleazar, she feels that she can\nrely upon him.\n\nShe sits and drinks in his words, she feels him rolling the heavy stones\nfrom off her heart.\n\nThe old father has turned round and looked at them, and a sweet smile\nsteals over his face, as though he would say, \"Have no fear, children, I\nagree with you, I agree with all my heart.\"\n\nAnd Feigele feels so happy, so happy....\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe father is still lying ill, and Feigele takes out one ruble after\nanother, one five-ruble-piece after another.\n\nThe old man lies and prays and muses, and looks at the children, and\nholds his peace.\n\nHis face gets paler and more wrinkled, he grows weaker, he feels his\nstrength ebbing away.\n\nFeigele goes on taking money out of the savings-bank, the stamps in her\nbook grow less and less, she knows that soon there will be nothing left.\n\nOld Reb Yainkel wishes in secret that he did not require so much, that\nhe might cease to hamper other people!\n\nHe spits blood-drops, and his strength goes on diminishing, and so do\nthe stamps in Feigele's book. The day he died saw the last farthing of\nFeigele's dowry disappear after the others.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFeigele has resumed her seat by the bright lamp, and sews and sews till\nfar into the night, and with every seam that she sews, something is\nadded to the credit of her new account.\n\nThis time the dowry must be a larger one, because for every stamp that\nis added to the account-book there is a new grey hair on Feigele's black\nhead.\n\n\n\n\nA JEWISH CHILD\n\n\nThe mother came out of the bride's chamber, and cast a piercing look at\nher husband, who was sitting beside a finished meal, and was making\npellets of bread crumbs previous to saying grace.\n\n\"You go and talk to her! I haven't a bit of strength left!\"\n\n\"So, Rochel-Leoh has brought up children, has she, and can't manage\nthem! Why! People will be pointing at you and laughing--a ruin to your\nyears!\"\n\n\"To my years?! A ruin to _yours_! _My_ children, are they? Are they not\nyours, too? Couldn't you stay at home sometimes to care for them and\nhelp me to bring them up, instead of trapesing round--the black year\nknows where and with whom?\"\n\n\"Rochel, Rochel, what has possessed you to start a quarrel with me now?\nThe bridegroom's family will be arriving directly.\"\n\n\"And what do you expect me to do, Moishehle, eh?! For God's sake! Go in\nto her, we shall be made a laughing-stock.\"\n\nThe man rose from the table, and went into the next room to his\ndaughter. The mother followed.\n\nOn the little sofa that stood by the window sat a girl about eighteen,\nher face hidden in her hands, her arms covered by her loose, thick,\nblack hair. She was evidently crying, for her bosom rose and fell like a\nstormy sea. On the bed opposite lay the white silk wedding-dress, the\nChuppeh-Kleid, with the black, silk Shool-Kleid, and the black stuff\nmorning-dress, which the tailor who had undertaken the outfit had\nbrought not long ago. By the door stood a woman with a black scarf round\nher head and holding boxes with wigs.\n\n\"Channehle! You are never going to do me this dishonor? to make me the\ntalk of the town?\" exclaimed the father. The bride was silent.\n\n\"Look at me, daughter of Moisheh Groiss! It's all very well for Genendel\nFreindel's daughter to wear a wig, but not for the daughter of Moisheh\nGroiss? Is that it?\"\n\n\"And yet Genendel Freindel might very well think more of herself than\nyou: she is more educated than you are, and has a larger dowry,\" put in\nthe mother.\n\nThe bride made no reply.\n\n\"Daughter, think how much blood and treasure it has cost to help us to a\nbit of pleasure, and now you want to spoil it for us? Remember, for\nGod's sake, what you are doing with yourself! We shall be\nexcommunicated, the young man will run away home on foot!\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish,\" said the mother, took a wig out of a box from the\nwoman by the door, and approached her daughter. \"Let us try on the wig,\nthe hair is just the color of yours,\" and she laid the strange hair on\nthe girl's head.\n\nThe girl felt the weight, put up her fingers to her head, met among her\nown soft, cool, living locks, the strange, dead hair of the wig, stiff\nand cold, and it flashed through her, Who knows where the head to which\nthis hair belonged is now? A shuddering enveloped her, and as though\nshe had come in contact with something unclean, she snatched off the\nwig, threw in onto the floor and hastily left the room.\n\nFather and mother stood and looked at each other in dismay.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe day after the marriage ceremony, the bridegroom's mother rose early,\nand, bearing large scissors, and the wig and a hood which she had\nbrought from her home as a present for the bride, she went to dress the\nlatter for the \"breakfast.\"\n\nBut the groom's mother remained outside the room, because the bride had\nlocked herself in, and would open her door to no one.\n\nThe groom's mother ran calling aloud for help to her husband, who,\ntogether with a dozen uncles and brothers-in-law, was still sleeping\nsoundly after the evening's festivity. She then sought out the\nbridegroom, an eighteen-year-old boy with his mother's milk still on his\nlips, who, in a silk caftan and a fur cap, was moving about the room in\nbewildered fashion, his eyes on the ground, ashamed to look anyone in\nthe face. In the end she fell back on the mother of the bride, and these\ntwo went in to her together, having forced open the door between them.\n\n\"Why did you lock yourself in, dear daughter. There is no need to be\nashamed.\"\n\n\"Marriage is a Jewish institution!\" said the groom's mother, and kissed\nher future daughter-in-law on both cheeks.\n\nThe girl made no reply.\n\n\"Your mother-in-law has brought you a wig and a hood for the procession\nto the Shool,\" said her own mother.\n\nThe band had already struck up the \"Good Morning\" in the next room.\n\n\"Come now, Kallehshi, Kalleh-leben, the guests are beginning to\nassemble.\"\n\nThe groom's mother took hold of the plaits in order to loosen them.\n\nThe bride bent her head away from her, and fell on her own mother's\nneck.\n\n\"I can't, Mame-leben! My heart won't let me, Mame-kron!\"\n\nShe held her hair with both hands, to protect it from the other's\nscissors.\n\n\"For God's sake, my daughter? my life,\" begged the mother.\n\n\"In the other world you will be plunged for this into rivers of fire.\nThe apostate who wears her own hair after marriage will have her locks\ntorn out with red hot pincers,\" said the other with the scissors.\n\nA cold shiver went through the girl at these words.\n\n\"Mother-life, mother-crown!\" she pleaded.\n\nHer hands sought her hair, and the black silky tresses fell through them\nin waves. Her hair, the hair which had grown with her growth, and lived\nwith her life, was to be cut off, and she was never, never to have it\nagain--she was to wear strange hair, hair that had grown on another\nperson's head, and no one knows whether that other person was alive or\nlying in the earth this long time, and whether she might not come any\nnight to one's bedside, and whine in a dead voice:\n\n\"Give me back my hair, give me back my hair!\"\n\nA frost seized the girl to the marrow, she shivered and shook.\n\nThen she heard the squeak of scissors over her head, tore herself out of\nher mother's arms, made one snatch at the scissors, flung them across\nthe room, and said in a scarcely human voice:\n\n\"My own hair! May God Himself punish me!\"\n\nThat day the bridegroom's mother took herself off home again, together\nwith the sweet-cakes and the geese which she had brought for the wedding\nbreakfast for her own guests. She wanted to take the bridegroom as well,\nbut the bride's mother said: \"I will not give him back to you! He\nbelongs to me already!\"\n\nThe following Sabbath they led the bride in procession to the Shool\nwearing her own hair in the face of all the town, covered only by a\nlarge hood.\n\nBut may all the names she was called by the way find their only echo in\nsome uninhabited wilderness.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA summer evening, a few weeks after the wedding: The young man had just\nreturned from the Stuebel, and went to his room. The wife was already\nasleep, and the soft light of the lamp fell on her pale face, showing\nhere and there among the wealth of silky-black hair that bathed it. Her\nslender arms were flung round her head, as though she feared that\nsomeone might come by night to shear them off while she slept. He had\ncome home excited and irritable: this was the fourth week of his married\nlife, and they had not yet called him up to the Reading of the Law, the\nChassidim pursued him, and to-day Chayyim Moisheh had blamed him in the\npresence of the whole congregation, and had shamed him, because _she_,\nhis wife, went about in her own hair. \"You're no better than a clay\nimage,\" Reb Chayyim Moisheh had told him. \"What do you mean by a woman's\nsaying she won't? It is written: 'And he shall rule over thee.'\"\n\nAnd he had come home intending to go to her and say: \"Woman, it is a\nprecept in the Torah! If you persist in wearing your own hair, I may\ndivorce you without returning the dowry,\" after which he would pack up\nhis things and go home. But when he saw his little wife asleep in bed,\nand her pale face peeping out of the glory of her hair, he felt a great\npity for her. He went up to the bed, and stood a long while looking at\nher, after which he called softly:\n\n\"Channehle ... Channehle ... Channehle....\"\n\nShe opened her eyes with a frightened start, and looked round in sleepy\nwonder:\n\n\"Nosson, did you call? What do you want?\n\n\"Nothing, your cap has slipped off,\" he said, lifting up the white\nnightcap, which had fallen from her head.\n\nShe flung it on again, and wanted to turn towards the wall.\n\n\"Channehle, Channehle, I want to talk to you.\"\n\nThe words went to her heart. The whole time since their marriage he had,\nso to say, not spoken to her. During the day she saw nothing of him, for\nhe spent it in the house-of-study or in the Stuebel. When he came home to\ndinner, he sat down to the table in silence. When he wanted anything, he\nasked for it speaking into the air, and when really obliged to exchange\na word with her, he did so with his eyes fixed on the ground, too shy to\nlook her in the face. And now he said he wanted to talk to her, and in\nsuch a gentle voice, and they two alone together in their room!\n\n\"What do you want to say to me?\" she asked softly.\n\n\"Channehle,\" he began, \"please, don't make a fool of me, and don't make\na fool of yourself in people's eyes. Has not God decreed that we should\nbelong together? You are my wife and I am your husband, and is it\nproper, and what does it look like, a married woman wearing her own\nhair?\"\n\nSleep still half dimmed her eyes, and had altogether clouded her thought\nand will. She felt helpless, and her head fell lightly towards his\nbreast.\n\n\"Child,\" he went on still more gently, \"I know you are not so depraved\nas they say. I know you are a pious Jewish daughter, and His blessed\nName will help us, and we shall have pious Jewish children. Put away\nthis nonsense! Why should the whole world be talking about you? Are we\nnot man and wife? Is not your shame mine?\"\n\nIt seemed to her as though _someone_, at once very far away and very\nnear, had come and was talking to her. Nobody had ever yet spoken to her\nso gently and confidingly. And he was her husband, with whom she would\nlive so long, so long, and there would be children, and she would look\nafter the house!\n\nShe leant her head lightly against him.\n\n\"I know you are very sorry to lose your hair, the ornament of your\ngirlhood, I saw you with it when I was a guest in your home. I know\nthat God gave you grace and loveliness, I know. It cuts me to the heart\nthat your hair must be shorn off, but what is to be done? It is a rule,\na law of our religion, and after all we are Jews. We might even, God\nforbid, have a child conceived to us in sin, may Heaven watch over and\ndefend us.\"\n\nShe said nothing, but remained resting lightly in his arm, and his face\nlay in the stream of her silky-black hair with its cool odor. In that\nhair dwelt a soul, and he was conscious of it. He looked at her long and\nearnestly, and in his look was a prayer, a pleading with her for her own\nhappiness, for her happiness and his.\n\n\"Shall I?\" ... he asked, more with his eyes than with his lips.\n\nShe said nothing, she only bent her head over his lap.\n\nHe went quickly to the drawer, and took out a pair of scissors.\n\nShe laid her head in his lap, and gave her hair as a ransom for their\nhappiness, still half-asleep and dreaming. The scissors squeaked over\nher head, shearing off one lock after the other, and Channehle lay and\ndreamt through the night.\n\nOn waking next morning, she threw a look into the glass which hung\nopposite the bed. A shock went through her, she thought she had gone\nmad, and was in the asylum! On the table beside her lay her shorn hair,\ndead!\n\nShe hid her face in her hands, and the little room was filled with the\nsound of weeping!\n\n\n\n\nA SCHOLAR'S MOTHER\n\n\nThe market lies foursquare, surrounded on every side by low, whitewashed\nlittle houses. From the chimney of the one-storied house opposite the\nwell and inhabited by the baker, issues thick smoke, which spreads low\nover the market-place. Beneath the smoke is a flying to and fro of white\npigeons, and a tall boy standing outside the baker's door is whistling\nto them.\n\nEqually opposite the well are stalls, doors laid across two chairs and\ncovered with fruit and vegetables, and around them women, with\nhead-kerchiefs gathered round their weary, sunburnt faces in the hottest\nweather, stand and quarrel over each other's wares.\n\n\"It's certainly worth my while to stand quarrelling with _you_! A tramp\nlike you keeping a stall!\"\n\nYente, a woman about forty, whose wide lips have just uttered the above,\nwears a large, dirty apron, and her broad, red face, with the composed\nglance of the eyes under the kerchief, gives support to her words.\n\n\"Do you suppose you have got the Almighty by the beard? He is mine as\nwell as yours!\" answers Taube, pulling her kerchief lower about her\nears, and angrily stroking down her hair.\n\nA new customer approached Yente's stall, and Taube, standing by idle,\npassed the time in vituperations.\n\n\"What do I want with the money of a fine lady like you? You'll die like\nthe rest of us, and not a dog will say Kaddish for you,\" she shrieked,\nand came to a sudden stop, for Taube had intended to bring up the\nsubject of her own son Yitzchokel, when she remembered that it is\nagainst good manners to praise one's own.\n\nYente, measuring out a quarter of pears to her customer, made answer:\n\n\"Well, if you were a little superior to what you are, your husband\nwouldn't have died, and your child wouldn't have to be ashamed of you,\nas we all know he is.\"\n\nWhereon Taube flew into a rage, and shouted:\n\n\"Hussy! The idea of my son being ashamed of me! May you be a sacrifice\nfor his littlest finger-nail, for you're not worthy to mention his\nname!\"\n\nShe was about to burst out weeping at the accusation of having been the\ncause of her husband's death and of causing her son to be ashamed of\nher, but she kept back her tears with all her might in order not to give\npleasure to Yente.\n\nThe sun was dropping lower behind the other end of the little town, Jews\nwere hurrying across the market-place to Evening Prayer in the\nhouse-of-study street, and the Cheder-boys, just let out, began to\ngather round the well.\n\nTaube collected her few little baskets into her arms (the door and the\nchairs she left in the market-place; nobody would steal them), and with\ntwo or three parting curses to the rude Yente, she quietly quitted the\nscene.\n\nWalking home with her armful of baskets, she thought of her son\nYitzchokel.\n\nYente's stinging remarks pursued her. It was not Yente's saying that she\nhad caused her husband's death that she minded, for everyone knew how\nhard she had worked during his illness, it was her saying that\nYitzchokel was ashamed of her, that she felt in her \"ribs.\" It occurred\nto her that when he came home for the night, he never would touch\nanything in her house.\n\nAnd thinking this over, she started once more abusing Yente.\n\n\"Let her not live to see such a thing, Lord of the World, the One\nFather!\"\n\nIt seemed to her that this fancy of hers, that Yitzchokel was ashamed of\nher, was all Yente's fault, it was all her doing, the witch!\n\n\"My child, my Yitzchokel, what business is he of yours?\" and the cry\nescaped her:\n\n\"Lord of the World, take up my quarrel, Thou art a Father to the\norphaned, Thou shouldst not forgive her this!\"\n\n\"Who is that? Whom are you scolding so, Taube?\" called out Necheh, the\nrich man's wife, standing in the door of her shop, and overhearing\nTaube, as she scolded to herself on the walk home.\n\n\"Who should it be, housemistress, who but the hussy, the abortion, the\nwitch,\" answered Taube, pointing with one finger towards the\nmarket-place, and, without so much as lifting her head to look at the\nperson speaking to her, she went on her way.\n\nShe remembered, as she walked, how, that morning, when she went into\nNecheh's kitchen with a fowl, she heard her Yitzchokel's voice in the\nother room disputing with Necheh's boys over the Talmud. She knew that\non Wednesdays Yitzchokel ate his \"day\" at Necheh's table, and she had\ntaken the fowl there that day on purpose, so that her Yitzchokel should\nhave a good plate of soup, for her poor child was but weakly.\n\nWhen she heard her son's voice, she had been about to leave the kitchen,\nand yet she had stayed. Her Yitzchokel disputing with Necheh's children?\nWhat did they know as compared with him? Did they come up to his level?\n\"He will be ashamed of me,\" she thought with a start, \"when he finds me\nwith a chicken in my hand. So his mother is a market-woman, they will\nsay, there's a fine partner for you!\" But she had not left the kitchen.\nA child who had never cost a farthing, and she should like to know how\nmuch Necheh's children cost their parents! If she had all the money that\nYitzchokel ought to have cost, the money that ought to have been spent\non him, she would be a rich woman too, and she stood and listened to his\nvoice.\n\n\"Oi, _he_ should have lived to see Yitzchokel, it would have made him\nwell.\" Soon the door opened, Necheh's boys appeared, and her Yitzchokel\nwith them. His cheeks flamed.\n\n\"Good morning!\" he said feebly, and was out at the door in no time. She\nknew that she had caused him vexation, that he was ashamed of her before\nhis companions.\n\nAnd she asked herself: Her child, her Yitzchokel, who had sucked her\nmilk, what had Necheh to do with him? And she had poured out her\nbitterness of heart upon Yente's head for this also, that her son had\ncost her parents nothing, and was yet a better scholar than Necheh's\nchildren, and once more she exclaimed:\n\n\"Lord of the World! Avenge my quarrel, pay her out for it, let her not\nlive to see another day!\"\n\nPassers-by, seeing a woman walking and scolding aloud, laughed.\n\nNight came on, the little town was darkened.\n\nTaube reached home with her armful of baskets, dragged herself up the\nsteps, and opened the door.\n\n\"Mame, it's Ma-a-me!\" came voices from within.\n\nThe house was full of smoke, the children clustered round her in the\nmiddle of the room, and never ceased calling out Mame! One child's voice\nwas tearful: \"Where have you been all day?\" another's more cheerful:\n\"How nice it is to have you back!\" and all the voices mingled together\ninto one.\n\n\"Be quiet! You don't give me time to draw my breath!\" cried the mother,\nlaying down the baskets.\n\nShe went to the fireplace, looked about for something, and presently the\nhouse was illumined by a smoky lamp.\n\nThe feeble shimmer lighted only the part round the hearth, where Taube\nwas kindling two pieces of stick--an old dusty sewing-machine beside a\nbed, sign of a departed tailor, and a single bed opposite the lamp,\nstrewn with straw, on which lay various fruits, the odor of which filled\nthe room. The rest of the apartment with the remaining beds lay in\nshadow.\n\nIt is a year and a half since her husband, Lezer the tailor, died. While\nhe was still alive, but when his cough had increased, and he could no\nlonger provide for his family, Taube had started earning something on\nher own account, and the worse the cough, the harder she had to toil, so\nthat by the time she became a widow, she was already used to supporting\nher whole family.\n\nThe eldest boy, Yitzchokel, had been the one consolation of Lezer the\ntailor's cheerless existence, and Lezer was comforted on his death-bed\nto think he should leave a good Kaddish behind him.\n\nWhen he died, the householders had pity on the desolate widow, collected\na few rubles, so that she might buy something to traffic with, and,\nseeing that Yitzchokel was a promising boy, they placed him in the\nhouse-of-study, arranged for him to have his daily meals in the houses\nof the rich, and bade him pass his time over the Talmud.\n\nTaube, when she saw her Yitzchokel taking his meals with the rich, felt\nsatisfied. A weakly boy, what could _she_ give him to eat? There, at the\nrich man's table, he had the best of everything, but it grieved her that\nhe should eat in strange, rich houses--she herself did not know whether\nshe had received a kindness or the reverse, when he was taken off her\nhands.\n\nOne day, sitting at her stall, she spied her Yitzchokel emerge from the\nShool-Gass with his Tefillin-bag under his arm, and go straight into the\nhouse of Reb Zindel the rich, to breakfast, and a pang went through her\nheart. She was still on terms, then, with Yente, because immediately\nafter the death of her husband everyone had been kind to her, and she\nsaid:\n\n\"Believe me, Yente, I don't know myself what it is. What right have I to\ncomplain of the householders? They have been very good to me and to my\nchild, made provision for him in rich houses, treated him as if he were\n_no_ market-woman's son, but the child of gentlefolk, and yet every day\nwhen I give the other children their dinner, I forget, and lay a plate\nfor my Yitzchokel too, and when I remember that he has his meals at\nother people's hands, I begin to cry.\"\n\n\"Go along with you for a foolish woman!\" answered Yente. \"How would he\nturn out if he were left to you? What is a poor person to give a child\nto eat, when you come to think of it?\"\n\n\"You are right, Yente,\" Taube replied, \"but when I portion out the\ndinner for the others, it cuts me to the heart.\"\n\nAnd now, as she sat by the hearth cooking the children's supper, the\nsame feeling came over her, that they had stolen her Yitzchokel away.\n\nWhen the children had eaten and gone to bed, she stood the lamp on the\ntable, and began mending a shirt for Yitzchokel.\n\nPresently the door opened, and he, Yitzchokel, came in.\n\nYitzchokel was about fourteen, tall and thin, his pale face telling out\nsharply against his black cloak beneath his black cap.\n\n\"Good evening!\" he said in a low tone.\n\nThe mother gave up her place to him, feeling that she owed him respect,\nwithout knowing exactly why, and it was borne in upon her that she and\nher poverty together were a misfortune for Yitzchokel.\n\nHe took a book out of the case, sat down, and opened it.\n\nThe mother gave the lamp a screw, wiped the globe with her apron, and\npushed the lamp nearer to him.\n\n\"Will you have a glass of tea, Yitzchokel?\" she asked softly, wishful to\nserve him.\n\n\"No, I have just had some.\"\n\n\"Or an apple?\"\n\nHe was silent.\n\nThe mother cleaned a plate, laid two apples on it, and a knife, and\nplaced it on the table beside him.\n\nHe peeled one of the apples as elegantly as a grown-up man, repeated the\nblessing aloud, and ate.\n\nWhen Taube had seen Yitzchokel eat an apple, she felt more like his\nmother, and drew a little nearer to him.\n\nAnd Yitzchokel, as he slowly peeled the second apple, began to talk more\namiably:\n\n\"To-day I talked with the Dayan about going somewhere else. In the\nhouse-of-study here, there is nothing to do, nobody to study with,\nnobody to ask how and where, and in which book, and he advises me to go\nto the Academy at Makove; he will give me a letter to Reb Chayyim, the\nheadmaster, and ask him to befriend me.\"\n\nWhen Taube heard that her son was about to leave her, she experienced a\ngreat shock, but the words, Dayan, Rosh-Yeshiveh, mekarev-sein, and\nother high-sounding bits of Hebrew, which she did not understand,\noverawed her, and she felt she must control herself. Besides, the words\nheld some comfort for her: Yitzchokel was holding counsel with her, with\nher--his mother!\n\n\"Of course, if the Dayan says so,\" she answered piously.\n\n\"Yes,\" Yitzchokel continued, \"there one can hear lectures with all the\ncommentaries; Reb Chayyim, the author of the book \"Light of the Torah,\"\nis a well-known scholar, and there one has a chance of getting to be\nsomething decent.\"\n\nHis words entirely reassured her, she felt a certain happiness and\nexaltation, because he was her child, because she was the mother of such\na child, such a son, and because, were it not for her, Yitzchokel would\nnot be there at all. At the same time her heart pained her, and she grew\nsad.\n\nPresently she remembered her husband, and burst out crying:\n\n\"If only _he_ had lived, if only he could have had this consolation!\"\nshe sobbed.\n\nYitzchokel minded his book.\n\nThat night Taube could not sleep, for at the thought of Yitzchokel's\ndeparture the heart ached within her.\n\nAnd she dreamt, as she lay in bed, that some great Rabbis with tall fur\ncaps and long earlocks came in and took her Yitzchokel away from her;\nher Yitzchokel was wearing a fur cap and locks like theirs, and he held\na large book, and he went far away with the Rabbis, and she stood and\ngazed after him, not knowing, should she rejoice or weep.\n\nNext morning she woke late. Yitzchokel had already gone to his studies.\nShe hastened to dress the children, and hurried to the market-place. At\nher stall she fell athinking, and fancied she was sitting beside her\nson, who was a Rabbi in a large town; there he sits in shoes and socks,\na great fur cap on his head, and looks into a huge book. She sits at his\nright hand knitting a sock, the door opens, and there appears Yente\ncarrying a dish, to ask a ritual question of Taube's son.\n\nA customer disturbed her sweet dream.\n\nAfter this Taube sat up whole nights at the table, by the light of the\nsmoky lamp, rearranging and mending Yitzchokel's shirts for the journey;\nshe recalled with every stitch that she was sewing for Yitzchokel, who\nwas going to the Academy, to sit and study, and who, every Friday, would\nput on a shirt prepared for him by his mother.\n\nYitzchokel sat as always on the other side of the table, gazing into a\nbook. The mother would have liked to speak to him, but she did not know\nwhat to say.\n\nTaube and Yitzchokel were up before daylight.\n\nYitzchokel kissed his little brothers in their sleep, and said to his\nsleeping little sisters, \"Remain in health\"; one sister woke and began\nto cry, saying she wanted to go with him. The mother embraced and\nquieted her softly, then she and Yitzchokel left the room, carrying his\nbox between them.\n\nThe street was still fast asleep, the shops were still closed, behind\nthe church belfry the morning star shone coldly forth onto the cold\nmorning dew on the roofs, and there was silence over all, except in the\nmarket-place, where there stood a peasant's cart laden with fruit. It\nwas surrounded by women, and Yente's voice was heard from afar:\n\n\"Five gulden and ten groschen,' and I'll take the lot!\"\n\nAnd Taube, carrying Yitzchokel's box behind him, walked thus through the\nmarket-place, and, catching sight of Yente, she looked at her with\npride.\n\nThey came out behind the town, onto the highroad, and waited for an\n\"opportunity\" to come by on its way to Lentschitz, whence Yitzchokel was\nto proceed to Kutno.\n\nThe sky was grey and cold, and mingled in the distance with the dingy\nmist rising from the fields, and the road, silent and deserted, ran away\nout of sight.\n\nThey sat down beside the barrier, and waited for the \"opportunity.\"\n\nThe mother scraped together a few twenty-kopek-pieces out of her pocket,\nand put them into his bosom, twisted up in his shirt.\n\nPresently a cart came by, crowded with passengers. She secured a seat\nfor Yitzchokel for forty groschen, and hoisted the box into the cart.\n\n\"Go in health! Don't forget your mother!\" she cried in tears.\n\nYitzchokel was silent.\n\nShe wanted to kiss her child, but she knew it was not the thing for a\ngrown-up boy to be kissed, so she refrained.\n\nYitzchokel mounted the cart, the passengers made room for him among\nthem.\n\n\"Remain in health, mother!\" he called out as the cart set off.\n\n\"Go in health, my child! Sit and study, and don't forget your mother!\"\nshe cried after him.\n\nThe cart moved further and further, till it was climbing the hill in the\ndistance.\n\nTaube still stood and followed it with her gaze; and not till it was\nlost to view in the dust did she turn and walk back to the town.\n\nShe took a road that should lead her past the cemetery.\n\nThere was a rather low plank fence round it, and the gravestones were\nall to be seen, looking up to Heaven.\n\nTaube went and hitched herself up onto the fence, and put her head over\ninto the \"field,\" looking for something among the tombs, and when her\neyes had discovered a familiar little tombstone, she shook her head:\n\n\"Lezer, Lezer! Your son has driven away to the Academy to study Torah!\"\n\nThen she remembered the market, where Yente must by now have bought up\nthe whole cart-load of fruit. There would be nothing left for her, and\nshe hurried into the town.\n\nShe walked at a great pace, and felt very pleased with herself. She was\nconscious of having done a great thing, and this dissipated her\nannoyance at the thought of Yente acquiring all the fruit.\n\nTwo weeks later she got a letter from Yitzchokel, and, not being able to\nread it herself, she took it to Reb Yochanan, the teacher, that he might\nread it for her.\n\nReb Yochanan put on his glasses, cleared his throat thoroughly, and\nbegan to read:\n\n\"Le-Immi ahuvossi hatzenuoh\" ...\n\n\"What is the translation?\" asked Taube.\n\n\"It is the way to address a mother,\" explained Reb Yochanan, and\ncontinued.\n\nTaube's face had brightened, she put her apron to her eyes and wept for\njoy.\n\nThe reader observed this and read on.\n\n\"What is the translation, the translation, Reb Yochanan?\" the woman kept\non asking.\n\n\"Never mind, it's not for you, you wouldn't understand--it is an\nexposition of a passage in the Gemoreh.\"\n\nShe was silent, the Hebrew words awed her, and she listened respectfully\nto the end.\n\n\"I salute Immi ahuvossi and Achoissai, Sarah and Goldeh, and Ochi Yakov;\ntell him to study diligently. I have all my 'days' and I sleep at Reb\nChayyim's,\" gave out Reb Yochanan suddenly in Yiddish.\n\nTaube contented herself with these few words, took back the letter, put\nit in her pocket, and went back to her stall with great joy.\n\n\"This evening,\" she thought, \"I will show it to the Dayan, and let him\nread it too.\"\n\nAnd no sooner had she got home, cooked the dinner, and fed the children,\nthan she was off with the letter to the Dayan.\n\nShe entered the room, saw the tall bookcases filled with books covering\nthe walls, and a man with a white beard sitting at the end of the table\nreading.\n\n\"What is it, a ritual question?\" asked the Dayan from his place.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"A letter from my Yitzchokel.\"\n\nThe Dayan rose, came up and looked at her, took the letter, and began to\nread it silently to himself.\n\n\"Well done, excellent, good! The little fellow knows what he is saying,\"\nsaid the Dayan more to himself than to her.\n\nTears streamed from Taube's eyes.\n\n\"If only _he_ had lived! if only he had lived!\"\n\n\"Shechitas chutz ... Rambam ... Tossafos is right ...\" went on the\nDayan.\n\n\"Her Yitzchokel, Taube the market-woman's son,\" she thought proudly.\n\n\"Take the letter,\" said the Dayan, at last, \"I've read it all through.\"\n\n\"Well, and what?\" asked the woman.\n\n\"What? What do you want then?\"\n\n\"What does it say?\" she asked in a low voice.\n\n\"There is nothing in it for you, you wouldn't understand,\" replied the\nDayan, with a smile.\n\nYitzchokel continued to write home, the Yiddish words were fewer every\ntime, often only a greeting to his mother. And she came to Reb Yochanan,\nand he read her the Yiddish phrases, with which she had to be satisfied.\n\"The Hebrew words are for the Dayan,\" she said to herself.\n\nBut one day, \"There is nothing in the letter for you,\" said Reb\nYochanan.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" he said shortly.\n\n\"Read me at least what there is.\"\n\n\"But it is all Hebrew, Torah, you won't understand.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, I _won't_ understand....\"\n\n\"Go in health, and don't drive me distracted.\"\n\nTaube left him, and resolved to go that evening to the Dayan.\n\n\"Rebbe, excuse me, translate this into Yiddish,\" she said, handing him\nthe letter.\n\nThe Dayan took the letter and read it.\n\n\"Nothing there for you,\" he said.\n\n\"Rebbe,\" said Taube, shyly, \"excuse me, translate the Hebrew for me!\"\n\n\"But it is Torah, an exposition of a passage in the Torah. You won't\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Well, if you would only read the letter in Hebrew, but aloud, so that I\nmay hear what he says.\"\n\n\"But you won't understand one word, it's Hebrew!\" persisted the Dayan,\nwith a smile.\n\n\"Well, I _won't_ understand, that's all,\" said the woman, \"but it's my\nchild's Torah, my child's!\"\n\nThe Dayan reflected a while, then he began to read aloud.\n\nPresently, however, he glanced at Taube, and remembered he was\nexpounding the Torah to a woman! And he felt thankful no one had heard\nhim.\n\n\"Take the letter, there is nothing in it for you,\" he said\ncompassionately, and sat down again in his place.\n\n\"But it is my child's Torah, my Yitzchokel's letter, why mayn't I hear\nit? What does it matter if I don't understand? It is my own child!\"\n\nThe Dayan turned coldly away.\n\nWhen Taube reached home after this interview, she sat down at the table,\ntook down the lamp from the wall, and looked silently at the letter by\nits smoky light.\n\nShe kissed the letter, but then it occurred to her that she was defiling\nit with her lips, she, a sinful woman!\n\nShe rose, took her husband's prayer-book from the bookshelf, and laid\nthe letter between its leaves.\n\nThen with trembling lips she kissed the covers of the book, and placed\nit once more in the bookcase.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SINNER\n\n\nSo that you should not suspect me of taking his part, I will write a\nshort preface to my story.\n\nIt is written: \"A man never so much as moves his finger, but it has been\nso decreed from above,\" and whatsoever a man does, he fulfils God's\nwill--even animals and birds (I beg to distinguish!) carry out God's\nwishes: whenever a bird flies, it fulfils a precept, because God,\nblessed is He, formed it to fly, and an ox the same when it lows, and\neven a dog when it barks--all praise God with their voices, and sing\nhymns to Him, each after his manner.\n\nAnd even the wicked who transgresses fulfils God's will in spite of\nhimself, because why? Do you suppose he takes pleasure in transgressing?\nIsn't he certain to repent? Well, then? He is just carrying out the will\nof Heaven.\n\nAnd the Evil Inclination himself! Why, every time he is sent to persuade\na Jew to sin, he weeps and sighs: Woe is me, that I should be sent on\nsuch an errand!\n\nAfter this little preface, I will tell you the story itself.\n\nFormerly, before the thing happened, he was called Reb Avrohom, but\nafterwards they ceased calling him by his name, and said simply the\nSinner.\n\nReb Avrohom was looked up to and respected by the whole town, a\nGod-fearing Jew, beloved and honored by all, and mothers wished they\nmight have children like him.\n\nHe sat the whole day in the house-of-study and learned. Not that he was\na great scholar, but he was a pious, scrupulously observant Jew, who\nfollowed the straight and beaten road, a man without any pride. He used\nto recite the prayers in Shool together with the strangers by the door,\nand quite quietly, without any shouting or, one may say, any special\nenthusiasm. His prayer that rose to Heaven, the barred gates opening\nbefore it till it entered and was taken up into the Throne of Glory,\nthis prayer of his did not become a diamond there, dazzling the eye, but\na softly glistening pearl.\n\nAnd how, you ask, did he come to be called the Sinner? On this wise: You\nmust know that everyone, even those who were hardest on him after the\naffair, acknowledged that he was a great lover of Israel, and I will add\nthat his sin and, Heaven defend us, his coming to such a fall, all\nproceeded from his being such a lover of Israel, such a patriot.\n\nAnd it was just the simple Jew, the very common folk, that he loved.\n\nHe used to say: A Jew who is a driver, for instance, and busy all the\nweek with his horses and cart, and soaked in materialism for six days at\na stretch, so that he only just manages to get in his prayers--when he\ncomes home on Sabbath and sits down to table, and the bed is made, and\nthe candles burning, and his wife and children are round him, and they\nsing hymns together, well, the driver dozing off over his prayer-book\nand forgetting to say grace, I tell you, said Reb Avrohom, the Divine\nPresence rests on his house and rejoices and says, \"Happy am I that I\nchose me out this people,\" for such a Jew keeps Sabbath, rests himself,\nand his horse rests, keeps Sabbath likewise, stands in the stable, and\nis also conscious that it is the holy Sabbath, and when the driver rises\nfrom his sleep, he leads the animal out to pasture, waters it, and they\nall go for a walk with it in the meadow.\n\nAnd this walk of theirs is more acceptable to God, blessed is He, than\nrepeating \"Bless the Lord, O my soul.\" It may be this was because he\nhimself was of humble origin; he had lived till he was thirteen with his\nfather, a farmer, in an out-of-the-way village, and ignorant even of his\nletters. True, his father had taken a youth into the house to teach him\nHebrew, but Reb Avrohom as a boy was very wild, wouldn't mind his book,\nand ran all day after the oxen and horses.\n\nHe used to lie out in the meadow, hidden in the long grasses, near him\nthe horses with their heads down pulling at the grass, and the view\nstretched far, far away, into the endless distance, and above him spread\nthe wide sky, through which the clouds made their way, and the green,\njuicy earth seemed to look up at it and say: \"Look, sky, and see how\ncheerfully I try to obey God's behest, to make the world green with\ngrass!\" And the sky made answer: \"See, earth, how I try to fulfil God's\ncommand, by spreading myself far and wide!\" and the few trees scattered\nover the fields were like witnesses to their friendly agreement. And\nlittle Avrohom lay and rejoiced in the goodness and all the work of God.\nSuddenly, as though he had received a revelation from Heaven, he went\nhome, and asked the youth who was his teacher, \"What blessing should\none recite on feeling happy at sight of the world?\" The youth laughed,\nand said: \"You stupid boy! One says a blessing over bread and water, but\nas to saying one over _this world_--who ever heard of such a thing?\"\n\nAvrohom wondered, \"The world is beautiful, the sky so pretty, the earth\nso sweet and soft, everything is so delightful to look at, and one says\nno blessing over it all!\"\n\nAt thirteen he had left the village and come to the town. There, in the\nhouse-of-study, he saw the head of the Academy sitting at one end of the\ntable, and around it, the scholars, all reciting in fervent, appealing\ntones that went to his heart.\n\nThe boy began to cry, whereupon the head of the Academy turned, and saw\na little boy with a torn hat, crying, and his hair coming out through\nthe holes, and his boots slung over his shoulder, like a peasant lad\nfresh from the road. The scholars laughed, but the Rosh ha-Yeshiveh\nasked him what he wanted.\n\n\"To learn,\" he answered in a low, pleading voice.\n\nThe Rosh ha-Yeshiveh had compassion on him, and took him as a pupil.\nAvrohom applied himself earnestly to the Torah, and in a few days could\nread Hebrew and follow the prayers without help.\n\nAnd the way he prayed was a treat to watch. You should have seen him! He\njust stood and talked, as one person talks to another, quietly and\naffectionately, without any tricks of manner.\n\nOnce the Rosh ha-Yeshiveh saw him praying, and said before his whole\nAcademy, \"I can learn better than he, but when it comes to praying, I\ndon't reach to his ankles.\" That is what he said.\n\nSo Reb Avrohom lived there till he was grown up, and had married the\ndaughter of a simple tailor. Indeed, he learnt tailoring himself, and\nlived by his ten fingers. By day he sat and sewed with an open\nprayer-book before him, and recited portions of the Psalms to himself.\nAfter dark he went into the house-of-study, so quietly that no one\nnoticed him, and passed half the night over the Talmud.\n\nOnce some strangers came to the town, and spent the night in the\nhouse-of-study behind the stove. Suddenly they heard a thin, sweet voice\nthat was like a tune in itself. They started up, and saw him at his\nbook. The small lamp hanging by a cord poured a dim light upon him where\nhe sat, while the walls remained in shadow. He studied with ardor, with\nenthusiasm, only his enthusiasm was not for beholders, it was all\nwithin; he swayed slowly to and fro, and his shadow swayed with him, and\nhe softly chanted the Gemoreh. By degrees his voice rose, his face\nkindled, and his eyes began to glow, one could see that his very soul\nwas resolving itself into his chanting. The Divine Presence hovered over\nhim, and he drank in its sweetness. And in the middle of his reading, he\ngot up and walked about the room, repeating in a trembling whisper,\n\"Lord of the World! O Lord of the World!\"\n\nThen his voice grew as suddenly calm, and he stood still, as though he\nhad dozed off where he stood, for pure delight. The lamp grew dim, and\nstill he stood and stood and never moved.\n\nAwe fell on the travellers behind the stove, and they cried out. He\nstarted and approached them, and they had to close their eyes against\nthe brightness of his face, the light that shone out of his eyes! And he\nstood there quite quietly and simply, and asked in a gentle voice why\nthey had called out. Were they cold?\n\nAnd he took off his cloak and spread it over them.\n\nNext morning the travellers told all this, and declared that no sooner\nhad the cloak touched them than they had fallen asleep, and they had\nseen and heard nothing more that night. After this, when the whole town\nhad got wind of it, and they found out who it was that night in the\nhouse-of-study, the people began to believe that he was a Tzaddik, and\nthey came to him with Petitions, as Chassidim to their Rebbes, asking\nhim to pray for their health and other wants. But when they brought him\nsuch a petition, he would smile and say: \"Believe me, a little boy who\nsays grace over a piece of bread which his mother has given him, he can\nhelp you more than twenty such as I.\"\n\nOf course, his words made no impression, except that they brought more\npetitions than ever, upon which he said:\n\n\"You insist on a man of flesh and blood such as I being your advocate\nwith God, blessed is He. Hear a parable: To what shall we liken the\nthing? To the light of the sun and the light of a small lamp. You can\nrejoice in the sunlight as much as you please, and no one can take your\njoy from you; the poorest and most humble may revive himself with it, so\nlong as his eyes can behold it, and even though a man should sit, which\nGod forbid, in a dungeon with closed windows, a reflection will make\nits way in through the chinks, and he shall rejoice in the brightness.\nBut with the poor light of a lamp it is otherwise. A rich man buys a\nquantity of lamps and illumines his house, while a poor man sits in\ndarkness. God, blessed be He, is the great light that shines for the\nwhole world, reviving and refreshing all His works. The whole world is\nfull of His mercy, and His compassion is over all His creatures. Believe\nme, you have no need of an advocate with Him; God is your Father, and\nyou are His dear children. How should a child need an advocate with his\nfather?\"\n\nThe ordinary folk heard and were silent, but our people, the Chassidim,\nwere displeased. And I'll tell you another thing, I was the first to\nmention it to the Rebbe, long life to him, and he, as is well known,\ncommanded Reb Avrohom to his presence.\n\nSo we set to work to persuade Reb Avrohom and talked to him till he had\nto go with us.\n\nThe journey lasted four days.\n\nI remember one night, the moon was wandering in a blue ocean of sky that\nspread ever so far, till it mingled with a cloud, and she looked at us,\npitifully and appealingly, as though to ask us if we knew which way she\nought to go, to the right or to the left, and presently the cloud came\nupon her, and she began struggling to get out of it, and a minute or two\nlater she was free again and smiling at us.\n\nThen a little breeze came, and stroked our faces, and we looked round to\nthe four sides of the world, and it seemed as if the whole world were\nwrapped in a prayer-scarf woven of mercy, and we fell into a slight\nmelancholy, a quiet sadness, but so sweet and pleasant, it felt like on\nSabbath at twilight at the Third Meal.\n\nSuddenly Reb Avrohom exclaimed: \"Jews, have you said the blessings on\nthe appearance of the new moon?\" We turned towards the moon, laid down\nour bundles, washed our hands in a little stream that ran by the\nroadside, and repeated the blessings for the new moon.\n\nHe stood looking into the sky, his lips scarcely moving, as was his\nwont. \"Sholom Alechem!\" he said, turning to me, and his voice quivered\nlike a violin, and his eyes called to peace and unity. Then an awe of\nReb Avrohom came over me for the first time, and when we had finished\nsanctifying the moon our melancholy left us, and we prepared to continue\nour way.\n\nBut still he stood and gazed heavenward, sighing: \"Lord of the Universe!\nHow beautiful is the world which Thou hast made by Thy goodness and\ngreat mercy, and these are over all Thy creatures. They all love Thee,\nand are glad in Thee, and Thou art glad in them, and the whole world is\nfull of Thy glory.\"\n\nI glanced up at the moon, and it seemed that she was still looking at\nme, and saying, \"I'm lost; which way am I to go?\"\n\nWe arrived Friday afternoon, and had time enough to go to the bath and\nto greet the Rebbe.\n\nHe, long life to him, was seated in the reception-room beside a table,\nhis long lashes low over his eyes, leaning on his left hand, while he\ngreeted incomers with his right. We went up to him, one at a time, shook\nhands, and said \"Sholom Alechem,\" and he, long life to him, said\nnothing to us. Reb Avrohom also went up to him, and held out his hand.\n\nA change came over the Rebbe, he raised his eyelids with his fingers,\nand looked at Reb Avrohom for some time in silence.\n\nAnd Reb Avrohom looked at the Rebbe, and was silent too.\n\nThe Chassidim were offended by such impertinence.\n\nThat evening we assembled in the Rebbe's house-of-study, to usher in the\nSabbath. It was tightly packed with Jews, one pushing the other, or\nseizing hold of his girdle, only beside the ark was there a free space\nleft, a semicircle, in the middle of which stood the Rebbe and prayed.\n\nBut Reb Avrohom stood by the door among the poor guests, and prayed\nafter his fashion.\n\n\"To Kiddush!\" called the beadle.\n\nThe Rebbe's wife, daughters, and daughters-in-law now appeared, and\ntheir jewelry, their precious stones, and their pearls, sparkled and\nshone.\n\nThe Rebbe stood and repeated the prayer of Sanctification.\n\nHe was slightly bent, and his grey beard swept his breast. His eyes were\nscreened by his lashes, and he recited the Sanctification in a loud\nvoice, giving to every word a peculiar inflection, to every sign an\nexpression of its own.\n\n\"To table!\" was called out next.\n\nAt the head of the table sat the Rebbe, sons and sons-in-law to the\nleft, relations to the right of him, then the principal aged Jews, then\nthe rich.\n\nThe people stood round about.\n\nThe Rebbe ate, and began to serve out the leavings, to his sons and\nsons-in-law first, and to the rest of those sitting at the table after.\n\nThen there was silence, the Rebbe began to expound the Torah. The\nportion of the week was Numbers, chapter eight, and the Rebbe began:\n\n\"When a man's soul is on a low level, enveloped, Heaven defend us, in\nuncleanness, and the Divine spark within the soul wishes to rise to a\nhigher level, and cannot do so alone, but must needs be helped, it is a\nMitzveh to help her, to raise her, and this Mitzveh is specially\nincumbent on the priest. This is the meaning of 'the seven lamps shall\ngive light over against the candlestick,' by which is meant the holy\nTorah. The priest must bring the Jew's heart near to the Torah; in this\nway he is able to raise it. And who is the priest? The righteous in his\ngeneration, because since the Temple was destroyed, the saint must be a\npriest, for thus is the command from above, that he shall be the\npriest....\"\n\n\"Avrohom!\" the Rebbe called suddenly, \"Avrohom! Come here, I am calling\nyou.\"\n\nThe other went up to him.\n\n\"Avrohom, did you understand? Did you make out the meaning of what I\nsaid?\n\n\"Your silence,\" the Rebbe went on, \"is an acknowledgment. I must raise\nyou, even though it be against my will and against your will.\"\n\nThere was dead stillness in the room, people waiting to hear what would\ncome next.\n\n\"You are silent?\" asked the Rebbe, now a little sternly.\n\n\"_You_ want to be a raiser of souls? Have _you_, bless and preserve us,\nbought the Almighty for yourself? Do you think that a Jew can approach\nnearer to God, blessed is He, through _you_? That _you_ are the 'handle\nof the pestle' and the rest of the Jews nowhere? God's grace is\neverywhere, whichever way we turn, every time we move a limb we feel\nGod! Everyone must seek Him in his own heart, because there it is that\nHe has caused the Divine Presence to rest. Everywhere and always can the\nJew draw near to God....\"\n\nThus answered Reb Avrohom, but our people, the Rebbe's followers, shut\nhis mouth before he had made an end, and had the Rebbe not held them\nback, they would have torn him in pieces on the spot.\n\n\"Leave him alone!\" he commanded the Chassidim.\n\nAnd to Reb Avrohom he said:\n\n\"Avrohom, you have sinned!\"\n\nAnd from that day forward he was called the Sinner, and was shut out\nfrom everywhere. The Chassidim kept their eye on him, and persecuted\nhim, and he was not even allowed to pray in the house-of-study.\n\nAnd I'll tell you what I think: A wicked man, even when he acts\naccording to his wickedness, fulfils God's command. And who knows?\nPerhaps they were both right!\n\n\n\n\nISAAC DOB BERKOWITZ\n\n\nBorn, 1885, in Slutzk, Government of Minsk (Lithuania), White\nRussia; was in America for a short time in 1908; contributor to Die\nZukunft; co-editor of Ha-Olam, Wilna; Hebrew and Yiddish writer;\ncollected works: Yiddish, Gesammelte Schriften, Warsaw, 1910;\nHebrew, Sippurim, Cracow, 1910.\n\n\n\n\nCOUNTRY FOLK\n\n\nFeivke was a wild little villager, about seven years old, who had\ntumbled up from babyhood among Gentile urchins, the only Jewish boy in\nthe place, just as his father Mattes, the Kozlov smith, was the only\nJewish householder there. Feivke had hardly ever met, or even seen,\nanyone but the people of Kozlov and their children. Had it not been for\nhis black eyes, with their moody, persistent gaze from beneath the shade\nof a deep, worn-out leather cap, it would have puzzled anyone to make\nout his parentage, to know whence that torn and battered face, that red\nscar across the top lip, those large, black, flat, unchild-like feet.\nBut the eyes explained everything--his mother's eyes.\n\nFeivke spent the whole summer with the village urchins in the\nneighboring wood, picking mushrooms, climbing the trees, driving\nwood-pigeons off their high nests, or wading knee-deep in the shallow\nbog outside to seek the black, slippery bog-worms; or else he found\nhimself out in the fields, jumping about on the top of a load of hay\nunder a hot sky, and shouting to his companions, till he was bathed in\nperspiration. At other times, he gathered himself away into a dark, cool\nbarn, scrambled at the peril of his life along a round beam under the\nroof, crunched dried pears, saw how the sun sprinkled the darkness with\na thousand sparks, and--thought. He could always think about Mikita, the\nson of the village elder, who had almost risen to be conductor on a\nrailway train, and who came from a long way off to visit his father,\nbrass buttons to his coat and a purse full of silver rubles, and piped\nto the village girls of an evening on the most cunning kind of whistle.\n\nHow often it had happened that Feivke could not be found, and did not\neven come home to bed! But his parents troubled precious little about\nhim, seeing that he was growing up a wild, dissolute boy, and the\ndispleasure of Heaven rested on his head.\n\nFeivke was not a timid child, but there were two things he was afraid\nof: God and davvening. Feivke had never, to the best of his\nrecollection, seen God, but he often heard His name, they threatened him\nwith It, glanced at the ceiling, and sighed. And this embittered\nsomewhat his sweet, free days. He felt that the older he grew, the\nsooner he would have to present himself before this terrifying, stern,\nand unfamiliar God, who was hidden somewhere, whether near or far he\ncould not tell. One day Feivke all but ran a danger. It was early on a\nwinter morning; there was a cold, wild wind blowing outside, and indoors\nthere was a black stranger Jew, in a thick sheepskin, breaking open the\ntin charity boxes. The smith's wife served the stranger with hot\npotatoes and sour milk, whereupon the stranger piously closed his eyes,\nand, having reopened them, caught sight of Feivke through the white\nsteam rising from the dish of potatoes--Feivke, huddled up in a\ncorner--and beckoned him nearer.\n\n\"Have you begun to learn, little boy?\" he questioned, and took his cheek\nbetween two pale, cold fingers, which sent a whiff of snuff up Feivke's\nnose. His mother, standing by the stove, reddened, and made some\ninaudible answer. The black stranger threw up his eyes, and slowly shook\nhis head inside the wide sheepskin collar. This shaking to and fro of\nhis head boded no good, and Feivke grew strangely cold inside. Then he\ngrew hot all over, and, for several nights after, thousands of long,\ncold, pale fingers pursued and pinched him in his dreams.\n\nThey had never yet taught him to recite his prayers. Kozlov was a lonely\nvillage, far from any Jewish settlement. Every Sabbath morning Feivke,\nsnug in bed, watched his father put on a mended black cloak, wrap\nhimself in the Tallis, shut his eyes, take on a bleating voice, and,\nturning to the wall, commence a series of bows. Feivke felt that his\nfather was bowing before God, and this frightened him. He thought it a\nvery rash proceeding. Feivke, in his father's place, would sooner have\nhad nothing to do with God. He spent most of the time while his father\nwas at his prayers cowering under the coverlet, and only crept out when\nhe heard his mother busy with plates and spoons, and the pungent smell\nof chopped radishes and onions penetrated to the bedroom.\n\nWinters and summers passed, and Feivke grew to be seven years old, just\nsuch a Feivke as we have described. And the last summer passed, and gave\nway to autumn.\n\nThat autumn the smith's wife was brought to bed of a seventh child, and\nbefore she was about again, the cold, damp days were upon them, with the\nmisty mornings, when a fish shivers in the water. And the days of her\nconfinement were mingled for the lonely village Jewess with the Solemn\nDays of that year into a hard and dreary time. She went slowly about the\nhouse, as in a fog, without help or hope, and silent as a shadow. That\nyear they all led a dismal life. The elder children, girls, went out to\nservice in the neighboring towns, to make their own way among strangers.\nThe peasants had become sharper and worse than formerly, and the smith's\nstrength was not what it had been. So his wife resolved to send the two\nmen of the family, Mattes and Feivke, to a Minyan this Yom Kippur.\nMaybe, if _two_ went, God would not be able to resist them, and would\nsoften His heart.\n\nOne morning, therefore, Mattes the smith washed, donned his mended\nSabbath cloak, went to the window, and blinked through it with his red\nand swollen eyes. It was the Eve of the Day of Atonement. The room was\nwell-warmed, and there was a smell of freshly-stewed carrots. The\nsmith's wife went out to seek Feivke through the village, and brought\nhim home dishevelled and distracted, and all of a glow. She had torn him\naway from an early morning of excitement and delight such as could\nnever, never be again. Mikita, the son of the village elder, had put his\nfather's brown colt into harness for the first time. The whole\ncontingent of village boys had been present to watch the fiery young\nanimal twisting between the shafts, drawing loud breaths into its\ndilated and quivering nostrils, looking wildly at the surrounding boys,\nand stamping impatiently, as though it would have liked to plow away the\nearth from under its feet. And suddenly it had given a bound and started\ncareering through the village with the cart behind it. There was a\nglorious noise and commotion! Feivke was foremost among those who, in a\ncloud of dust and at the peril of their life, had dashed to seize the\ncolt by the reins.\n\nHis mother washed him, looked him over from the low-set leather hat down\nto his great, black feet, stuffed a packet of food into his hands, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Go and be a good and devout boy, and God will forgive you.\"\n\nShe stood on the threshold of the house, and looked after her two men\nstarting for a distant Minyan. The bearing of seven children had aged\nand weakened the once hard, obstinate woman, and, left standing alone in\nthe doorway, watching her poor, barefoot, perverse-natured boy on his\nway to present himself for the first time before God, she broke down by\nthe Mezuzeh and wept.\n\nSilently, step by step, Feivke followed his father between the desolate\nstubble fields. It was a good ten miles' walk to the large village where\nthe Minyan assembled, and the fear and the wonder in Feivke's heart\nincreased all the way. He did not yet quite understand whither he was\nbeing taken, and what was to be done with him there, and the impetus of\nthe brown colt's career through the village had not as yet subsided in\nhis head. Why had Father put on his black mended cloak? Why had he\nbrought a Tallis with him, and a white shirt-like garment? There was\ncertainly some hour of calamity and terror ahead, something was\npreparing which had never happened before.\n\nThey went by the great Kozlov wood, wherein every tree stood silent and\nsad for its faded and fallen leaves. Feivke dropped behind his father,\nand stepped aside into the wood. He wondered: Should he run away and\nhide in the wood? He would willingly stay there for the rest of his\nlife. He would foregather with Nasta, the barrel-maker's son, he of the\nknocked-out eye; they would roast potatoes out in the wood, and now and\nagain, stolen-wise, milk the village cows for their repast. Let them\nbeat him as much as they pleased, let them kill him on the spot, nothing\nshould induce him to leave the wood again!\n\nBut no! As Feivke walked along under the silent trees and through the\nfallen leaves, and perceived that the whole wood was filled through and\nthrough with a soft, clear light, and heard the rustle of the leaves\nbeneath his step, a strange terror took hold of him. The wood had grown\nso sparse, the trees so discolored, and he should have to remain in the\nstillness alone, and roam about in the winter wind!\n\nMattes the smith had stopped, wondering, and was blinking around with\nhis sick eyes.\n\n\"Feivke, where are you?\"\n\nFeivke appeared out of the wood.\n\n\"Feivke, to-day you mustn't go into the wood. To-day God may yet--to-day\nyou must be a good boy,\" said the smith, repeating his wife's words as\nthey came to his mind, \"and you must say Amen.\"\n\nFeivke hung his head and looked at his great, bare, black feet. \"But if\nI don't know how,\" he said sullenly.\n\n\"It's no great thing to say Amen!\" his father replied encouragingly.\n\"When you hear the other people say it, you can say it, too! Everyone\nmust say Amen, then God will forgive them,\" he added, recalling again\nhis wife and her admonitions.\n\nFeivke was silent, and once more followed his father step by step. What\nwill they ask him, and what is he to answer? It seemed to him now that\nthey were going right over away yonder where the pale, scarcely-tinted\nsky touched the earth. There, on a hill, sits a great, old God in a\nlarge sheepskin cloak. Everyone goes up to him, and He asks them\nquestions, which they have to answer, and He shakes His head to and fro\ninside the sheepskin collar. And what is he, a wild, ignorant little\nboy, to answer this great, old God?\n\nFeivke had committed a great many transgressions concerning which his\nmother was constantly admonishing him, but now he was thinking only of\ntwo great transgressions committed recently, of which his mother knew\nnothing. One with regard to Anishka the beggar. Anishka was known to the\nvillage, as far back as it could remember, as an old, blind beggar, who\nwent the round of the villages, feeling his way with a long stick. And\none day Feivke and another boy played him a trick: they placed a ladder\nin his way, and Anishka stumbled and fell, hurting his nose. Some\npeasants had come up and caught Feivke. Anishka sat in the middle of the\nroad with blood on his face, wept bitterly, and declared that God would\nnot forget his blood that had been spilt. The peasants had given the\nlittle Zhydek a sound thrashing, but Feivke felt now as if that would\nnot count: God would certainly remember the spilling of Anishka's blood.\n\nFeivke's second hidden transgression had been committed outside the\nvillage, among the graves of the peasants. A whole troop of boys, Feivke\nin their midst, had gone pigeon hunting, aiming at the pigeons with\nstones, and a stone of Feivke's had hit the naked figure on the cross\nthat stood among the graves. The Gentile boys had started and taken\nfright, and those among them who were Feivke's good friends told him he\nhad actually hit the son of God, and that the thing would have\nconsequences; it was one for which people had their heads cut off.\n\nThese two great transgressions now stood before him, and his heart\nwarned him that the hour had come when he would be called to account for\nwhat he had done to Anishka and to God's son. Only he did not know what\nanswer he could make.\n\nBy the time they came near the windmill belonging to the large strange\nvillage, the sun had begun to set. The village river with the trees\nbeside it were visible a long way off, and, crossing the river, a long\nhigh bridge.\n\n\"The Minyan is there,\" and Mattes pointed his finger at the thatched\nroofs shining in the sunset.\n\nFeivke looked down from the bridge into the deep, black water that lay\nsmooth and still in the shadow of the trees. The bridge was high and the\nwater deep! Feivke felt sick at heart, and his mouth was dry.\n\n\"But, Tate, I won't be able to answer,\" he let out in despair.\n\n\"What, not Amen? Eh, eh, you little silly, that is no great matter.\nWhere is the difficulty? One just ups and answers!\" said his father,\ngently, but Feivke heard that the while his father was trying to quiet\nhim, his own voice trembled.\n\nAt the other end of the bridge there appeared the great inn with the\ncovered terrace, and in front of the building were moving groups of Jews\nin holiday garb, with red handkerchiefs in their hands, women in yellow\nsilk head-kerchiefs, and boys in new clothes holding small prayer-books.\nFeivke remained obstinately outside the crowd, and hung about the\nstable, his black eyes staring defiantly from beneath the worn-out\nleather cap. But he was not left alone long, for soon there came to him\na smart, yellow-haired boy, with restless little light-colored eyes, and\na face like a chicken's, covered with freckles. This little boy took a\nlittle bottle with some essence in it out of his pocket, gave it a twist\nand a flourish in the air, and suddenly applied it to Feivke's nose, so\nthat the strong waters spurted into his nostril. Then he asked:\n\n\"To whom do you belong?\"\n\nFeivke blew the water out of his nose, and turned his head away in\nsilence.\n\n\"Listen, turkey, lazy dog! What are you doing there? Have you said\nMinchah?\"\n\n\"N-no....\"\n\n\"Is the Jew in a torn cloak there your father?\"\n\n\"Y-yes ... T-tate....\"\n\nThe yellow-haired boy took Feivke by the sleeve.\n\n\"Come along, and you'll see what they'll do to your father.\"\n\nInside the room into which Feivke was dragged by his new friend, it was\nhot, and there was a curious, unfamiliar sound. Feivke grew dizzy. He\nsaw Jews bowing and bending along the wall and beating their\nbreasts--now they said something, and now they wept in an odd way.\nPeople coughed and spat sobbingly, and blew their noses with their red\nhandkerchiefs. Chairs and stiff benches creaked, while a continual\nclatter of plates and spoons came through the wall.\n\nIn a corner, beside a heap of hay, Feivke saw his father where he stood,\nlooking all round him, blinking shamefacedly and innocently with his\nweak, red eyes. Round him was a lively circle of little boys whispering\nwith one another in evident expectation.\n\n\"That is his boy, with the lip,\" said the chicken-face, presenting\nFeivke.\n\nAt the same moment a young man came up to Mattes. He wore a white collar\nwithout a tie and with a pointed brass stud. This young man held a whip,\nwhich he brandished in the air like a rider about to mount his horse.\n\n\"Well, Reb Smith.\"\n\n\"Am I ... I suppose I am to lie down?\" asked Mattes, subserviently,\nstill smiling round in the same shy and yet confiding manner.\n\n\"Be so good as to lie down.\"\n\nThe young man gave a mischievous look at the boys, and made a gesture in\nthe air with the whip.\n\nMattes began to unbutton his cloak, and slowly and cautiously let\nhimself down onto the hay, whereupon the young man applied the whip with\nmight and main, and his whole face shone.\n\n\"One, two, three! Go on, Rebbe, go on!\" urged the boys, and there were\nshouts of laughter.\n\nFeivke looked on in amaze. He wanted to go and take his father by the\nsleeve, make him get up and escape, but just then Mattes raised himself\nto a sitting posture, and began to rub his eyes with the same shy smile.\n\n\"Now, Rebbe, this one!\" and the yellow-haired boy began to drag Feivke\ntowards the hay. The others assisted. Feivke got very red, and silently\ntried to tear himself out of the boy's hands, making for the door, but\nthe other kept his hold. In the doorway Feivke glared at him with his\nobstinate black eyes, and said:\n\n\"I'll knock your teeth out!\"\n\n\"Mine? You? You booby, you lazy thing! This is _our_ house! Do you know,\non New Year's Eve I went with my grandfather to the town! I shall call\nLeibrutz. He'll give you something to remember him by!\"\n\nAnd Leibrutz was not long in joining them. He was the inn driver, a\nstout youth of fifteen, in a peasant smock with a collar stitched in\nred, otherwise in full array, with linen socks and a handsome bottle of\nstrong waters against faintness in his hands. To judge by the size of\nthe bottle, his sturdy looks belied a peculiarly delicate constitution.\nHe pushed towards Feivke with one shoulder, in no friendly fashion, and\nlooked at him with one eye, while he winked with the other at the\nfreckled grandson of the host.\n\n\"Who is the beauty?\"\n\n\"How should I know? A thief most likely. The Kozlov smith's boy. He\nthreatened to knock out my teeth.\"\n\n\"So, so, dear brother mine!\" sang out Leibrutz, with a cold sneer, and\npassed his five fingers across Feivke's nose. \"We must rub a little\nhorseradish under his eyes, and he'll weep like a beaver. Listen, you\nKozlov urchin, you just keep your hands in your pockets, because\nLeibrutz is here! Do you know Leibrutz? Lucky for you that I have a\nJewish heart: to-day is Yom Kippur.\"\n\nBut the chicken-faced boy was not pacified.\n\n\"Did you ever see such a lip? And then he comes to our house and wants\nto fight us!\"\n\nThe whole lot of boys now encircled Feivke with teasing and laughter,\nand he stood barefooted in their midst, looking at none of them, and\nreminding one of a little wild animal caught and tormented.\n\nIt grew dark, and quantities of soul-lights were set burning down the\nlong tables of the inn. The large building was packed with red-faced,\nperspiring Jews, in flowing white robes and Tallesim. The Confession was\nalready in course of fervent recital, there was a great rocking and\nswaying over the prayer-books and a loud noise in the ears, everyone\npresent trying to make himself heard above the rest. Village Jews are\nsimple and ignorant, they know nothing of \"silent prayer\" and whispering\nwith the lips. They are deprived of prayer in common a year at a time,\nand are distant from the Lord of All, and when the Awful Day comes, they\nwant to take Him by storm, by violence. The noisiest of all was the\nprayer-leader himself, the young man with the white collar and no tie.\nHe was from town, and wished to convince the country folk that he was an\nadept at his profession and to be relied on. Feivke stood in the\nstifling room utterly confounded. The prayers and the wailful chanting\npassed over his head like waves, his heart was straitened, red sparks\nwhirled before his eyes. He was in a state of continual apprehension. He\nsaw a snow-white old Jew come out of a corner with a scroll of the Torah\nwrapped in a white velvet, gold-embroidered cover. How the gold sparkled\nand twinkled and reflected itself in the illuminated beard of the old\nman! Feivke thought the moment had come, but he saw it all as through a\nmist, a long way off, to the sound of the wailful chanting, and as in a\nmist the scroll and the old man vanished together. Feivke's face and\nbody were flushed with heat, his knees shook, and at the same time his\nhands and feet were cold as ice.\n\nOnce, while Feivke was standing by the table facing the bright flames of\nthe soul-lights, a dizziness came over him, and he closed his eyes.\nThousands of little bells seemed to ring in his ears. Then some one gave\na loud thump on the table, and there was silence all around. Feivke\nstarted and opened his eyes. The sudden stillness frightened him, and he\nwanted to move away from the table, but he was walled in by men in white\nrobes, who had begun rocking and swaying anew. One of them pushed a\nprayer-book towards him, with great black letters, which hopped and\nfluttered to Feivke's eyes like so many little black birds.\n\nHe shook visibly, and the men looked at him in silence: \"Nu-nu, nu-nu!\"\nHe remained for some time squeezed against the prayer-book, hemmed in by\nthe tall, strange men in robes swaying and praying over his head. A cold\nperspiration broke out over him, and when at last he freed himself, he\nfelt very tired and weak. Having found his way to a corner close to his\nfather, he fell asleep on the floor.\n\nThere he had a strange dream. He dreamt that he was a tree, growing like\nany other tree in a wood, and that he saw Anishka coming along with\nblood on his face, in one hand his long stick, and in the other a\nstone--and Feivke recognized the stone with which he had hit the\ncrucifix. And Anishka kept turning his head and making signs to some one\nwith his long stick, calling out to him that here was Feivke. Feivke\nlooked hard, and there in the depths of the wood was God Himself, white\nall over, like freshly-fallen snow. And God suddenly grew ever so tall,\nand looked down at Feivke. Feivke felt God looking at him, but he could\nnot see God, because there was a mist before his eyes. And Anishka came\nnearer and nearer with the stone in his hand. Feivke shook, and cold\nperspiration oozed out all over him. He wanted to run away, but he\nseemed to be growing there like a tree, like all the other trees of the\nwood.\n\nFeivke awoke on the floor, amid sleeping men, and the first thing he saw\nwas a tall, barefoot person all in white, standing over the sleepers\nwith something in his hand. This tall, white figure sank slowly onto its\nknees, and, bending silently over Mattes the smith, who lay snoring\nwith the rest, it deliberately put a bottle to his nose. Mattes gave a\nsqueal, and sat up hastily.\n\n\"Ha, who is it?\" he asked in alarm.\n\nIt was the young man from town, the prayer-leader, with a bottle of\nstrong smelling-salts.\n\n\"It is I,\" he said with a _degage_ air, and smiled. \"Never mind, it will\ndo you good! You are fasting, and there is an express law in the Chayye\nOdom on the subject.\"\n\n\"But why me?\" complained Mattes, blinking at him reproachfully. \"What\nhave I done to you?\"\n\nDay was about to dawn. The air in the room had cooled down; the\nsoul-lights were still playing in the dark, dewy window-panes. A few of\nthe men bedded in the hay on the floor were waking up. Feivke stood in\nthe middle of the room with staring eyes. The young man with the\nsmelling-bottle came up to him with a lively air.\n\n\"O you little object! What are you staring at me for? Do you want a\nsniff? There, then, sniff!\"\n\nFeivke retreated into a corner, and continued to stare at him in\nbewilderment.\n\nNo sooner was it day, than the davvening recommenced with all the fervor\nof the night before, the room was as noisy, and very soon nearly as hot.\nBut it had not the same effect on Feivke as yesterday, and he was no\nlonger frightened of Anishka and the stone--the whole dream had\ndissolved into thin air. When they once more brought out the scroll of\nthe Law in its white mantle, Feivke was standing by the table, and\nlooked on indifferently while they uncovered the black, shining, crowded\nletters. He looked indifferently at the young man from town swaying over\nthe Torah, out of which he read fluently, intoning with a strangely free\nand easy manner, like an adept to whom all this was nothing new.\nWhenever he stopped reading, he threw back his head, and looked down at\nthe people with a bright, satisfied smile.\n\nThe little boys roamed up and down the room in socks, with\nsmelling-salts in their hands, or yawned into their little prayer-books.\nThe air was filled with the dust of the trampled hay. The sun looked in\nat a window, and the soul-lights grew dim as in a mist. It seemed to\nFeivke he had been at the Minyan a long, long time, and he felt as\nthough some great misfortune had befallen him. Fear and wonder continued\nto oppress him, but not the fear and wonder of yesterday. He was tired,\nhis body burning, while his feet were contracted with cold. He got away\noutside, stretched himself out on the grass behind the inn and dozed,\nfacing the sun. He dozed there through a good part of the day. Bright\nred rivers flowed before his eyes, and they made his brains ache. Some\none, he did not know who, stood over him, and never stopped rocking to\nand fro and reciting prayers. Then--it was his father bending over him\nwith a rather troubled look, and waking him in a strangely gentle voice:\n\n\"Well, Feivke, are you asleep? You've had nothing to eat to-day yet?\"\n\n\"No....\"\n\nFeivke followed his father back into the house on his unsteady feet.\nWeary Jews with pale and lengthened noses were resting on the terrace\nand the benches. The sun was already low down over the village and\nshining full into the inn windows. Feivke stood by one of the windows\nwith his father, and his head swam from the bright light. Mattes stroked\nhis chin-beard continually, then there was more davvening and more\nrocking while they recited the Eighteen Benedictions. The Benedictions\nended, the young man began to trill, but in a weaker voice and without\ncharm. He was sick of the whole thing, and kept on in the half-hearted\nway with which one does a favor. Mattes forgot to look at his\nprayer-book, and, standing in the window, gazed at the tree-tops, which\nhad caught fire in the rays of the setting sun. Nobody was expecting\nanything of him, when he suddenly gave a sob, so loud and so piteous\nthat all turned and looked at him in astonishment. Some of the people\nlaughed. The prayer-leader had just intoned \"Michael on the right hand\nuttereth praise,\" out of the Afternoon Service. What was there to cry\nabout in that? All the little boys had assembled round Mattes the smith,\nand were choking with laughter, and a certain youth, the host's new\nson-in-law, gave a twitch to Mattes' Tallis:\n\n\"Reb Kozlover, you've made a mistake!\"\n\nMattes answered not a word. The little fellow with the freckles pushed\nhis way up to him, and imitating the young man's intonation, repeated,\n\"Reb Kozlover, you've made a mistake!\"\n\nFeivke looked wildly round at the bystanders, at his father. Then he\nsuddenly advanced to the freckled boy, and glared at him with his black\neyes.\n\n\"You, you--kob tebi biessi!\" he hissed in Little-Russian.\n\nThe laughter and commotion increased; there was an exclamation: \"Rascal,\nin a holy place!\" and another: \"Aha! the Kozlover smith's boy must be a\nfirst-class scamp!\" The prayer-leader thumped angrily on his\nprayer-book, because no one was listening to him.\n\nFeivke escaped once more behind the inn, but the whole company of boys\nfollowed him, headed by Leibrutz the driver.\n\n\"There he is, the Kozlov lazy booby!\" screamed the freckled boy. \"Have\nyou ever heard the like? He actually wanted to fight again, and in our\nhouse! What do you think of that?\"\n\nLeibrutz went up to Feivke at a steady trot and with the gesture of one\nwho likes to do what has to be done calmly and coolly.\n\n\"Wait, boys! Hands off! We've got a remedy for him here, for which I\nhope he will be thankful.\"\n\nSo saying, he deliberately took hold of Feivke from behind, by his two\narms, and made a sign to the boy with yellow hair.\n\n\"Now for it, Aarontche, give it to the youngster!\"\n\nThe little boy immediately whipped the smelling-bottle out of his\npocket, took out the stopper with a flourish, and held it to Feivke's\nnose. The next moment Feivke had wrenched himself free, and was making\nfor the chicken-face with nails spread, when he received two smart,\nsounding boxes on the ears, from two great, heavy, horny hands, which so\nclouded his brain that for a minute he stood dazed and dumb. Suddenly he\nmade a spring at Leibrutz, fell upon his hand, and fastened his sharp\nteeth in the flesh. Leibrutz gave a loud yell.\n\nThere was a great to-do. People came running out in their robes, women\nwith pale, startled faces called to their children. A few of them\nreproved Mattes for his son's behavior. Then they dispersed, till there\nremained behind the inn only Mattes and Feivke. Mattes looked at his boy\nin silence. He was not a talkative man, and he found only two or three\nwords to say:\n\n\"Feivke, Mother there at home--and you--here?\"\n\nAgain Feivke found himself alone on the field, and again he stretched\nhimself out and dozed. Again, too, the red streams flowed before his\neyes, and someone unknown to him stood at his head and recited prayers.\nOnly the streams were thicker and darker, and the davvening over his\nhead was louder, sadder, more penetrating.\n\nIt was quite dark when Mattes came out again, took Feivke by the hand,\nset him on his feet, and said, \"Now we are going home.\"\n\nIndoors everything had come to an end, and the room had taken on a\nweek-day look. The candles were gone, and a lamp was burning above the\ntable, round which sat men in their hats and usual cloaks, no robes to\nbe seen, and partook of some refreshment. There was no more davvening,\nbut in Feivke's ears was the same ringing of bells. It now seemed to him\nthat he saw the room and the men for the first time, and the old Jew\nsitting at the head of the table, presiding over bottles and\nwine-glasses, and clicking with his tongue, could not possibly be the\nold man with the silver-white beard who had held the scroll of the Law\nto his breast.\n\nMattes went up to the table, gave a cough, bowed to the company, and\nsaid, \"A good year!\"\n\nThe old man raised his head, and thundered so loudly that Feivke's face\ntwitched as with pain:\n\n\"Ha?\"\n\n\"I said--I am just going--going home--home again--so I wish--wish you--a\ngood year!\"\n\n\"Ha, a good year? A good year to you also! Wait, have a little brandy,\nha?\"\n\nFeivke shut his eyes. It made him feel bad to have the lamp burning so\nbrightly and the old man talking so loud. Why need he speak in such a\nhigh, rasping voice that it went through one's head like a saw?\n\n\"Ha? Is it your little boy who scratched my Aarontche's face? Ha? A\nrascal is he? Beat him well! There, give him a little brandy, too--and a\nbit of cake! He fasted too, ha? But he can't recite the prayers? Fie!\n_You_ ought to be beaten! Ha? Are you going home? Go in health! Ha? Your\nwife has just been confined?--Perhaps you need some money for the\nholidays? Ha? What do you say?\"\n\nMattes and Feivke started to walk home. Mattes gave a look at the clear\nsky, where the young half-moon had floated into view. \"Mother will be\nexpecting us,\" he said, and began to walk quickly. Feivke could hardly\ndrag his feet.\n\nOn the tall bridge they were met by a cool breeze blowing from the\nwater. Once across the bridge, Mattes again quickened his pace.\nPresently he stopped to look around--no Feivke! He turned back and saw\nFeivke sitting in the middle of the road. The child was huddled up in a\nsilent, shivering heap. His teeth chattered with cold.\n\n\"Feivke, what is the matter? Why are you sitting down? Come along home!\"\n\n\"I won't\"--Feivke clattered out with his teeth--\"I c-a-n-'t--\"\n\n\"Did they hit you so hard, Feivke?\"\n\nFeivke was silent. Then he stretched himself out on the ground, his\nhands and feet quivering.\n\n\"Cold--.\"\n\n\"Aren't you well, Feivke?\"\n\nThe child made an effort, sat up, and looked fixedly at his father, with\nhis black, feverish eyes, and suddenly he asked:\n\n\"Why did you cry there? Tate, why? Tell me, why?!\"\n\n\"Where did I cry, you little silly? Why, I just cried--it's Yom Kippur.\nMother is fasting, too--get up, Feivke, and come home. Mother will make\nyou a poultice,\" occurred to him as a happy thought.\n\n\"No! Why did you cry, while they were laughing?\" Feivke insisted, still\nsitting in the road and shaking like a leaf. \"One mustn't cry when they\nlaugh, one mustn't!\"\n\nAnd he lay down again on the damp ground.\n\n\"Feivele, come home, my son!\"\n\nMattes stood over the boy in despair, and looked around for help. From\nsome way off, from the tall bridge, came a sound of heavy footsteps\ngrowing louder and louder, and presently the moonlight showed the figure\nof a peasant.\n\n\"Ai, who is that? Matke the smith? What are you doing there? Are you\ncasting spells? Who is that lying on the ground?\"\n\n\"I don't know myself what I'm doing, kind soul. That is my boy, and he\nwon't come home, or he can't. What am I to do with him?\" complained\nMattes to the peasant, whom he knew.\n\n\"Has he gone crazy? Give him a kick! Ai, you little lazy devil, get up!\"\nFeivke did not move from the spot, he only shivered silently, and his\nteeth chattered.\n\n\"Ach, you devil! What sort of a boy have you there, Matke? A visitation\nof Heaven! Why don't you beat him more? The other day they came and told\ntales of him--Agapa said that--\"\n\n\"I don't know, either, kind soul, what sort of a boy he is,\" answered\nMattes, and wrung his bands in desperation.\n\n * * * * *\n\nEarly next morning Mattes hired a conveyance, and drove Feivke to the\ntown, to the asylum for the sick poor. The smith's wife came out and saw\nthem start, and she stood a long while in the doorway by the Mezuzeh.\n\nAnd on another fine autumn morning, just when the villagers were\nbeginning to cart loads of fresh earth to secure the village against\noverflowing streams, the village boys told one another the news of\nFeivke's death.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST OF THEM\n\n\nThey had been Rabbonim for generations in the Misnagdic community of\nMouravanke, old, poverty-stricken Mouravanke, crowned with hoary honor,\nhidden away in the thick woods. Generation on generation of them had\nbeen renowned far and near, wherever a Jewish word was spoken, wherever\nthe voice of the Torah rang out in the warm old houses-of-study.\n\nPeople talked of them everywhere, as they talk of miracles when miracles\nare no more, and of consolation when all hope is long since dead--talked\nof them as great-grandchildren talk of the riches of their\ngreat-grandfather, the like of which are now unknown, and of the great\nseven-branched, old-fashioned lamp, which he left them as an inheritance\nof times gone by.\n\nFor as the lustre of an old, seven-branched lamp shining in the\ndarkness, such was the lustre of the family of the Rabbonim of\nMouravanke.\n\nThat was long ago, ever so long ago, when Mouravanke lay buried in the\ndark Lithuanian forests. The old, low, moss-grown houses were still set\nin wide, green gardens, wherein grew beet-root and onions, while the hop\ntwined itself and clustered thickly along the wooden fencing. Well-to-do\nJews still went about in linen pelisses, and smoked pipes filled with\ndry herbs. People got a living out of the woods, where they burnt pitch\nthe whole week through, and Jewish families ate rye-bread and\ngroats-pottage.\n\nA new baby brought no anxiety along with it. People praised God, carried\nthe pitcher to the well, filled it, and poured a quart of water into the\npottage. The newcomer was one of God's creatures, and was assured of his\nportion along with the others.\n\nAnd if a Jew had a marriageable daughter, and could not afford a dowry,\nhe took a stick in his hand, donned a white shirt with a broad mangled\ncollar, repeated the \"Prayer of the Highway,\" and set off on foot to\nVolhynia, that thrice-blessed wonderland, where people talk with a\n\"Chirik,\" and eat Challeh with saffron even in the middle of the\nweek--with saffron, if not with honey.\n\nThere, in Volhynia, on Friday evenings, the rich Jewish householder of\nthe district walks to and fro leisurely in his brightly lit room. In all\nlikelihood, he is a short, plump, hairy man, with a broad, fair beard, a\ngathered silk sash round his substantial figure, a cheery singsong\n\"Sholom-Alechem\" on his mincing, \"chiriky\" tongue, and a merry crack of\nthe thumb. The Lithuanian guest, teacher or preacher, the shrunk and\nshrivelled stranger with the piercing black eyes, sits in a corner,\nmerely moving his lips and gazing at the floor--perhaps because he feels\nill at ease in the bright, nicely-furnished room; perhaps because he is\nthinking of his distant home, of his wife and children and his\nmarriageable daughter; and perhaps because it has suddenly all become\noddly dear to him, his poor, forsaken native place, with its moiling,\npoverty-struck Jews, whose week is spent pitch-burning in the forest;\nwith its old, warm houses-of-study; with its celebrated giants of the\nTorah, bending with a candle in their hand over the great hoary\nGemorehs.\n\nAnd here, at table, between the tasty stuffed fish and the soup, with\nthe rich Volhynian \"stuffed monkeys,\" the brusque, tongue-tied guest is\nsuddenly unable to contain himself, and overflows with talk about his\ncorner in Lithuania.\n\n\"Whether we have our Rabbis at home?! N-nu!!\"\n\nAnd thereupon he holds forth grandiloquently, with an ardor and\nincisiveness born of the love and the longing at his heart. The piercing\nblack eyes shoot sparks, as the guest tells of the great men of\nMouravanke, with their fiery intellects, their iron perseverance, who\nsit over their books by day and by night. From time to time they take an\nhour and a half's doze, falling with their head onto their fists, their\nbeards sweeping the Gemoreh, the big candle keeping watch overhead and\nwaking them once more to the study of the Torah.\n\nAt dawn, when the people begin to come in for the Morning Prayer, they\nwalk round them on tiptoe, giving them their four-ells' distance, and\navoid meeting their look, which is apt to be sharp and burning.\n\n\"That is the way we study in Lithuania!\"\n\nThe stout, hairy householder, good-natured and credulous, listens\nattentively to the wonderful tales, loosens the sash over his pelisse in\nleisurely fashion, unbuttons his waistcoat across his generous waist,\nblows out his cheeks, and sways his head from side to side, because--one\nmay believe anything of the Lithuanians!\n\nThen, if once in a long, long while the rich Volhynian householder\nstumbled, by some miracle or other, into Lithuania, sheer curiosity\nwould drive him to take a look at the Lithuanian celebrity. But he would\nstand before him in trembling and astonishment, as one stands before a\nhigh granite rock, the summit of which can barely be discerned. Is he\nterrified by the dark and bushy brows, the keen, penetrating looks, the\ndeep, stern wrinkles in the forehead that might have been carved in\nstone, they are so stiffly fixed? Who can say? Or is he put out of\ncountenance by the cold, hard assertiveness of their speech, which bores\ninto the conscience like a gimlet, and knows of no mercy?--for from\nbetween those wrinkles, from beneath those dark brows, shines out the\neverlasting glory of the Shechinah.\n\nSuch were the celebrated Rabbonim of Mouravanke.\n\nThey were an old family, a long chain of great men, generation on\ngeneration of tall, well-built, large-boned Jews, all far on in years,\nwith thick, curly beards. It was very seldom one of these beards showed\na silver hair. They were stern, silent men, who heard and saw\neverything, but who expressed themselves mostly by means of their\nwrinkles and their eyebrows rather than in words, so that when a\nMouravanke Rav went so far as to say \"N-nu,\" that was enough.\n\nThe dignity of Rav was hereditary among them, descending from father to\nson, and, together with the Rabbinical position and the eighteen gulden\na week salary, the son inherited from his father a tall, old\nreading-desk, smoked and scorched by the candles, in the old\nhouse-of-study in the corner by the ark, and a thick, heavy-knotted\nstick, and an old holiday pelisse of lustrine, the which, if worn on a\nbright Sabbath-day in summer-time, shines in the sun, and fairly shouts\nto be looked at.\n\nThey arrived in Mouravanke generations ago, when the town was still in\nthe power of wild highwaymen, called there \"Hydemakyes,\" with huge,\nterrifying whiskers and large, savage dogs. One day, on Hoshanah Rabbah,\nearly in the morning, there entered the house-of-study a tall youth,\nevidently village-born and from a long way off, barefoot, with turned-up\ntrousers, his boots slung on a big, knotted stick across his shoulders,\nand a great bundle of big Hoshanos. The youth stood in the centre of the\nhouse-of-study with his mouth open, bewildered, and the boys quickly\nsnatched his willow branches from him. He was surrounded, stared at,\nquestioned as to who he was, whence he came, what he wanted. Had he\nparents? Was he married? For some time the youth stood silent, with\ndowncast eyes, then he bethought himself, and answered in three words:\n\"I want to study!\"\n\nAnd from that moment he remained in the old building, and people began\nto tell wonderful tales of his power of perseverance--of how a tall,\nbarefoot youth, who came walking from a far distance, had by dint of\ndetermination come to be reckoned among the great men in Israel; of how,\non a winter midnight, he would open the stove doors, and study by the\nlight of the glowing coals; of how he once forgot food and drink for\nthree days and three nights running, while he stood over a difficult\nlegal problem with wrinkled brows, his eyes piercing the page, his\nfingers stiffening round the handle of his stick, and he motionless; and\nwhen suddenly he found the solution, he gave a shout \"Nu!\" and came down\nso hard on the desk with his stick that the whole house-of-study shook.\nIt happened just when the people were standing quite quiet, repeating\nthe Eighteen Benedictions.\n\nThen it was told how this same lad became Rav in Mouravanke, how his\ngenius descended to his children and children's children, till late in\nthe generations, gathering in might with each generation in turn. They\nrose, these giants, one after the other, persistent investigators of the\nLaw, with high, wrinkled foreheads, dark, bushy brows, a hard, cutting\nglance, sharp as steel.\n\nIn those days Mouravanke was illuminated as with seven suns. The\nhouses-of-study were filled with students; voices, young and old, rang\nout over the Gemorehs, sang, wept, and implored. Worried and\ntired-looking fathers and uncles would come into the Shools with\nblackened faces after the day's pitch-burning, between Afternoon and\nEvening Prayer, range themselves in leisurely mood by the doors and the\nstove, cock their ears, and listen, Jewish drivers, who convey people\nfrom one town to another, snatched a minute the first thing in the\nmorning, and dropped in with their whips under their arms, to hear a\npassage in the Gemoreh expounded. And the women, who washed the linen at\nthe pump in summer-time, beat the wet clothes to the melody of the Torah\nthat came floating into the street through the open windows, sweet as a\nlong-expected piece of good news.\n\nThus Mouravanke came to be of great renown, because the wondrous power\nof the Mouravanke Rabbonim, the power of concentration of thought, grew\nfrom generation to generation. And in those days the old people went\nabout with a secret whispering, that if there should arise a tenth\ngeneration of the mighty ones, a new thing, please God, would come to\npass among Jews.\n\nBut there was no tenth generation; the ninth of the Mouravanke Rabbonim\nwas the last of them.\n\nHe had two sons, but there was no luck in the house in his day: the sons\nphilosophized too much, asked too many questions, took strange paths\nthat led them far away.\n\nOnce a rumor spread in Mouravanke that the Rav's eldest son had become\ncelebrated in the great world because of a book he had written, and had\nacquired the title of \"professor.\" When the old Rav was told of it, he\nat first remained silent, with downcast eyes. Then he lifted them and\nejaculated:\n\n\"Nu!\"\n\nAnd not a word more. It was only remarked that he grew paler, that his\nlook was even more piercing, more searching than before. This is all\nthat was ever said in the town about the Rav's children, for no one\ncared to discuss a thing on which the old Rav himself was silent.\n\nOnce, however, on the Great Sabbath, something happened in the spacious\nold house-of-study. The Rav was standing by the ark, wrapped in his\nTallis, and expounding to a crowded congregation. He had a clear,\nresonant, deep voice, and when he sent it thundering over the heads of\nhis people, the air seemed to catch fire, and they listened dumbfounded\nand spellbound.\n\nSuddenly the old man stopped in the midst of his exposition, and was\nsilent. The congregation thrilled with speechless expectation. For a\nminute or two the Rav stood with his piercing gaze fixed on the people,\nthen he deliberately pulled aside the curtain before the ark, opened the\nark doors, and turned to the congregation:\n\n\"Listen, Jews! I know that many of you are thinking of something that\nhas just occurred to me, too. You wonder how it is that I should set\nmyself up to expound the Torah to a townful of Jews, when my own\nchildren have cast the Torah behind them. Therefore I now open the ark\nand declare to you, Jews, before the holy scrolls of the Law, I have no\nchildren any more. I am the last Rav of our family!\"\n\nHereupon a piteous wail came from out of the women's Shool, but the\nRav's sonorous voice soon reduced them to silence, and once more the\nTorah was being expounded in thunder over the heads of the open-mouthed\nassembly.\n\nYears, a whole decade of them, passed, and still the old Rav walked\nerect, and not one silver hair showed in his curly beard, and the town\nwas still used to see him before daylight, a tall, solitary figure\ncarrying a stick and a lantern, on his way to the large old Bes\nha-Midrash, to study there in solitude--until Mouravanke began to ring\nwith the fame of her Charif, her great new scholar.\n\nHe was the son of a poor tailor, a pale, thin youth, with a pointed nose\nand two sharp, black eyes, who had gone away at thirteen or so to study\nin celebrated, distant academies, whence his name had spread round and\nabout. People said of him, that he was growing up to be a Light of the\nExile, that with his scholastic achievements he would outwit the acutest\nintellects of all past ages; they said that he possessed a brain power\nthat ground \"mountains\" of Talmud to powder. News came that a quantity\nof prominent Jewish communities had sent messengers, to ask him to come\nand be their Rav.\n\nMouravanke was stirred to its depths. The householders went about\ngreatly perturbed, because their Rav was an old man, his days were\nnumbered, and he had no children to take his place.\n\nSo they came to the old Rav in his house, to ask his advice, whether it\nwas possible to invite the Mouravanke Charif, the tailor's son, to come\nto them, so that he might take the place of the Rav on his death, in a\nhundred and twenty years--seeing that the said young Charif was a\nscholar distinguished by the acuteness of his intellect the only man\nworthy of sitting in the seat of the Mouravanke Rabbonim.\n\nThe old Rav listened to the householders with lowering brows, and never\nraised his eyes, and he answered them one word:\n\n\"Nu!\"\n\nSo Mouravanke sent a messenger to the young Charif, offering him the\nRabbinate. The messenger was swift, and soon the news spread through the\ntown that the Charif was approaching.\n\nWhen it was time for the householders to go forth out of the town, to\nmeet the young Charif, the old Rav offered to go with them, and they\ntook a chair for him to sit in while he waited at the meeting-place.\nThis was by the wood outside the town, where all through the week the\nJewish townsfolk earned their bread by burning pitch. Begrimed and\ntoil-worn Jews were continually dropping their work and peeping out\nshamefacedly between the tree-stems.\n\nIt was Friday, a clear day in the autumn. She appeared out of a great\ncloud of dust--she, the travelling-wagon in which sat the celebrated\nyoung Charif. Sholom-Alechems flew to meet him from every side, and his\nold father, the tailor, leant back against a tree, and wept aloud for\njoy.\n\nNow the old Rav declared that he would not allow the Charif to enter the\ntown till he had heard him, the Charif, expound a portion of the Torah.\n\nThe young man accepted the condition. Men, women, and little children\nstood expectant, all eyes were fastened on the tailor's son, all hearts\nbeat rapidly.\n\nThe Charif expounded the Torah standing in the wagon. At first he looked\nfairly scared, and his sharp black eyes darted fearfully hither and\nthither over the heads of the silent crowd. Then came a bright idea, and\nlit up his face. He began to speak, but his was not the familiar\nteaching, such as everyone learns and understands. His words were like\nfiery flashes appearing and disappearing one after the other, lightnings\nthat traverse and illumine half the sky in one second of time, a play of\nswords in which there are no words, only the clink and ring of\nfinely-tempered steel.\n\nThe old Rav sat in his chair leaning on his old, knobbly, knotted stick,\nand listened. He heard, but evil thoughts beset him, and deep, hard\nwrinkles cut themselves into his forehead. He saw before him the Charif,\nthe dried-up youth with the sharp eyes and the sharp, pointed nose, and\nthe evil thought came to him, \"Those are needles, a tailor's needles,\"\nwhile the long, thin forefinger with which the Charif pointed rapidly in\nthe air seemed a third needle wielded by a tailor in a hurry.\n\n\"You prick more sharply even than your father,\" is what the old Rav\nwanted to say when the Charif ended his sermon, but he did not say it.\nThe whole assembly was gazing with caught breath at his half-closed\neyelids. The lids never moved, and some thought wonderingly that he had\nfallen into a doze from sheer old age.\n\nSuddenly a strange, dry snap broke the stillness, the old Rav started in\nhis chair, and when they rushed forward to assist him, they found that\nhis knotted, knobbly stick had broken in two.\n\nPale and bent for the first time, but a tall figure still, the old Rav\nstood up among his startled flock. He made a leisurely motion with his\nhand in the direction of the town, and remarked quietly to the young\nCharif:\n\n\"Nu, now you can go into the town!\"\n\nThat Friday night the old Rav came into the house-of-study without his\nsatin cloak, like a mourner. The congregation saw him lead the young Rav\ninto the corner near the ark, where he sat him down by the high old\ndesk, saying:\n\n\"You will sit here.\"\n\nHe himself went and sat down behind the pulpit among the strangers, the\nSabbath guests.\n\nFor the first minute people were lost in astonishment; the next minute\nthe house-of-study was filled with wailing. Old and young lifted their\nvoices in lamentation. The young Rav looked like a child sitting behind\nthe tall desk, and he shivered and shook as though with fever.\n\nThen the old Rav stood up to his full height and commanded:\n\n\"People are not to weep!\"\n\nAll this happened about the Solemn Days. Mouravanke remembers that time\nnow, and speaks of it at dusk, when the sky is red as though streaming\nwith fire, and the men stand about pensive and forlorn, and the women\nfold their babies closer in their aprons.\n\nAt the close of the Day of Atonement there was a report that the old Rav\nhad breathed his last in robe and prayer-scarf.\n\nThe young Charif did not survive him long. He died at his father's the\ntailor, and his funeral was on a wet Great Hosannah day. Aged folk said\nhe had been summoned to face the old Rav in a lawsuit in the Heavenly\nCourt.\n\n\n\n\nA FOLK TALE\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLEVER RABBI\n\n\nThe power of man's imagination, said my Grandmother, is very great.\nHereby hangs a tale, which, to our sorrow, is a true one, and as clear\nas daylight.\n\nListen attentively, my dear child, it will interest you very much.\n\nNot far from this town of ours lived an old Count, who believed that\nJews require blood at Passover, Christian blood, too, for their Passover\ncakes.\n\nThe Count, in his brandy distillery, had a Jewish overseer, a very\nhonest, respectable fellow.\n\nThe Count loved him for his honesty, and was very kind to him, and the\nJew, although he was a simple man and no scholar, was well-disposed, and\nserved the Count with heart and soul. He would have gone through fire\nand water at the Count's bidding, for it is in the nature of a Jew to be\nfaithful and to love good men.\n\nThe Count often discussed business matters with him, and took pleasure\nin hearing about the customs and observances of the Jews.\n\nOne day the Count said to him, \"Tell me the truth, do you love me with\nyour whole heart?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Jew, \"I love you as myself.\"\n\n\"Not true!\" said the Count. \"I shall prove to you that you hate me even\nunto death.\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried the Jew. \"Why does my lord say such terrible things?\"\n\nThe Count smiled and answered: \"Let me tell you! I know quite well that\nJews must have Christian blood for their Passover feast. Now, what\nwould you do if I were the only Christian you could find? You would have\nto kill me, because the Rabbis have said so. Indeed, I can scarcely hold\nyou to blame, since, according to your false notions, the Divine command\nis precious, even when it tells us to commit murder. I should be no more\nto you than was Isaac to Abraham, when, at God's command, Abraham was\nabout to slay his only son. Know, however, that the God of Abraham is a\nGod of mercy and lovingkindness, while the God the Rabbis have created\nis full of hatred towards Christians. How, then, can you say that you\nlove me?\"\n\nThe Jew clapped his hands to his head, he tore his hair in his distress\nand felt no pain, and with a broken heart he answered the Count, and\nsaid: \"How long will you Christians suffer this stain on your pure\nhearts? How long will you disgrace yourselves? Does not my lord know\nthat this is a great lie? I, as a believing Jew, and many besides me, as\nbelieving Jews--we ourselves, I say, with our own hands, grind the corn,\nwe keep the flour from getting damp or wet with anything, for if only a\nlittle dew drop onto it, it is prohibited for us as though it had yeast.\n\n\"Till the day on which the cakes are baked, we keep the flour as the\napple of our eye. And when the flour is baked, and we are eating the\ncakes, even then we are not sure of swallowing it, because if our gums\nshould begin to bleed, we have to spit the piece out. And in face of all\nthese stringent regulations against eating the blood of even beasts and\nbirds, some people say that Jews require human blood for their Passover\ncakes, and swear to it as a fact! What does my lord suppose we are\nlikely to think of such people? We know that they swear falsely--and a\nfalse oath is of all things the worst.\"\n\nThe Count was touched to the heart by these words, and these two men,\nbeing both upright and without guile, believed one the other.\n\nThe Count believed the Jew, that is, he believed that the Jew did not\nknow the truth of the matter, because he was poor and untaught, while\nthe Rabbis all the time most certainly used blood at Passover, only they\nkept it a secret from the people. And he said as much to the Jew, who,\nin his turn, believed the Count, because he knew him to be an honorable\nman. And so it was that he began to have his doubts, and when the Count,\non different occasions, repeated the same words, the Jew said to\nhimself, that perhaps after all it was partly true, that there must be\nsomething in it--the Count would never tell him a lie!\n\nAnd he carried the thought about with him for some time.\n\nThe Jew found increasing favor in his master's eyes. The Count lent him\nmoney to trade with, and God prospered the Jew in everything he\nundertook. Thanks to the Count, he grew rich.\n\nThe Jew had a kind heart, and was much given to good works, as is the\nway with Jews.\n\nHe was very charitable, and succored all the poor in the neighboring\ntown. And he assisted the Rabbis and the pious in all the places round\nabout, and earned for himself a great and beautiful name, for he was\nknown to all as \"the benefactor.\"\n\nThe Rabbis gave him the honor due to a pious and influential Jew, who is\na wealthy man and charitable into the bargain.\n\nBut the Jew was thinking:\n\n\"Now the Rabbis will let me into the secret which is theirs, and which\nthey share with those only who are at once pious and rich, that great\nand pious Jews must have blood for Passover.\"\n\nFor a long time he lived in hope, but the Rabbis told him nothing, the\nsubject was not once mentioned. But the Jew felt sure that the Count\nwould never have lied to him, and he gave more liberally than before,\nthinking, \"Perhaps after all it was too little.\"\n\nHe assisted the Rabbi of the nearest town for a whole year, so that the\nRabbi opened his eyes in astonishment. He gave him more than half of\nwhat is sufficient for a livelihood.\n\nWhen it was near Passover, the Jew drove into the little town to visit\nthe Rabbi, who received him with open arms, and gave him honor as unto\nthe most powerful and wealthy benefactor. And all the representative men\nof the community paid him their respects.\n\nThought the Jew, \"Now they will tell me of the commandment which it is\nnot given to every Jew to observe.\"\n\nAs the Rabbi, however, told him nothing, the Jew remained, to remind the\nRabbi, as it were, of his duty.\n\n\"Rabbi,\" said the Jew, \"I have something very particular to say to you!\nLet us go into a room where we two shall be alone.\"\n\nSo the Rabbi went with him into an empty room, shut the door, and said:\n\n\"Dear friend, what is your wish? Do not be abashed, but speak freely,\nand tell me what I can do for you.\"\n\n\"Dear Rabbi, I am, you must know, already acquainted with the fact that\nJews require blood at Passover. I know also that it is a secret\nbelonging only to the Rabbis, to very pious Jews, and to the wealthy who\ngive much alms. And I, who am, as you know, a very charitable and good\nJew, wish also to comply, if only once in my life, with this great\nobservance.\n\n\"You need not be alarmed, dear Rabbi! I will never betray the secret,\nbut will make you happy forever, if you will enable me to fulfil so\ngreat a command.\n\n\"If, however, you deny its existence, and declare that Jews do not\nrequire blood, from that moment I become your bitter enemy.\n\n\"And why should I be treated worse than any other pious Jew? I, too,\nwant to try to perform the great commandment which God gave in secret. I\nam not learned in the Law, but a great and wealthy Jew, and one given to\ngood works, that am I in very truth!\"\n\nYou can fancy--said my Grandmother--the Rabbi's horror on hearing such\nwords from a Jew, a simple countryman. They pierced him to the quick,\nlike sharp arrows.\n\nHe saw that the Jew believed in all sincerity that his coreligionists\nused blood at Passover.\n\nHow was he to uproot out of such a simple heart the weeds sown there by\nevil men?\n\nThe Rabbi saw that words would just then be useless.\n\nA beautiful thought came to him, and he said: \"So be it, dear friend!\nCome into the synagogue to-morrow at this time, and I will grant your\nrequest. But till then you must fast, and you must not sleep all night,\nbut watch in prayer, for this is a very grave and dreadful thing.\"\n\nThe Jew went away full of gladness, and did as the Rabbi had told him.\nNext day, at the appointed time, he came again, wan with hunger and lack\nof sleep.\n\nThe Rabbi took the key of the synagogue, and they went in there\ntogether. In the synagogue all was quiet.\n\nThe Rabbi put on a prayer-scarf and a robe, lighted some black candles,\nthrew off his shoes, took the Jew by the hand, and led him up to the\nark.\n\nThe Rabbi opened the ark, took out a scroll of the Law, and said:\n\n\"You know that for us Jews the scroll of the Law is the most sacred of\nall things, and that the list of denunciations occurs in it twice.\n\n\"I swear to you by the scroll of the Law: If any Jew, whosoever he be,\nrequires blood at Passover, may all the curses contained in the two\nlists of denunciations be on my head, and on the head of my whole\nfamily!\"\n\nThe Jew was greatly startled.\n\nHe knew that the Rabbi had never before sworn an oath, and now, for his\nsake, he had sworn an oath so dreadful!\n\nThe Jew wept much, and said:\n\n\"Dear Rabbi, I have sinned before God and before you. I pray you, pardon\nme and give me a hard penance, as hard as you please. I will perform it\nwillingly, and may God forgive me likewise!\"\n\nThe Rabbi comforted him, and told no one what had happened, he only told\na few very near relations, just to show them how people can be talked\ninto believing the greatest foolishness and the most wicked lies.\n\nMay God--said my Grandmother--open the eyes of all who accuse us\nfalsely, that they may see how useless it is to trump up against us\nthings that never were seen or heard.\n\nJews will be Jews while the world lasts, and they will become, through\nsuffering, better Jews with more Jewish hearts.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY AND NOTES\n\n[Abbreviations: Dimin. = diminutive; Ger. = German, corrupt German, and\nYiddish; Heb. = Hebrew, and Aramaic; pl. = plural; Russ. = Russian;\nSlav. = Slavic; trl. = translation.\n\nPronunciation: The transliteration of the Hebrew words attempts to\nreproduce the colloquial \"German\" (Ashkenazic) pronunciation. _Ch_ is\npronounced as in the German _Dach_.]\n\n\nADDITIONAL SERVICE. _See_ EIGHTEEN BENEDICTIONS.\n\nAL-CHET (Heb.). \"For the sin\"; the first two words of each line of an\nAtonement Day prayer, at every mention of which the worshipper beats the\nleft side of his breast with his right fist.\n\nALEF-BES (Heb.). The Hebrew alphabet.\n\nASHRE (Heb.). The first word of a Psalm verse used repeatedly in the\nliturgy.\n\nAeUS KLEMENKE! (Ger.). Klemenke is done for!\n\nAZOI (= Ger. also). That's the way it is!\n\nBADCHEN (Heb.). A wedding minstrel, whose quips often convey a moral\nlesson to the bridal couple, each of whom he addresses separately.\n\nBAR-MITZVEH (Heb.). A boy of thirteen, the age of religious majority.\n\nBAS-KOL (Heb.). \"The Daughter of the Voice\"; an echo; a voice from\nHeaven.\n\nBEIGEL (Ger.). Ring-shaped roll.\n\nBES HA-MIDRASH (Heb.). House-of-study, used for prayers, too.\n\nBITTUL-TORAH (Heb.). Interference with religious study.\n\nBOBBE (Slav.). Grandmother; midwife.\n\nBORSHTSH (Russ.). Sour soup made of beet-root.\n\nCANTONIST (Ger.). Jewish soldier under Czar Nicholas I, torn from his\nparents as a child, and forcibly estranged from Judaism.\n\nCHALLEH (Heb.). Loaves of bread prepared for the Sabbath, over which the\nblessing is said; always made of wheat flour, and sometimes yellowed\nwith saffron.\n\nCHARIF (Heb.). A Talmudic scholar and dialectician.\n\nCHASSIDIM (sing. Chossid) (Heb.). \"Pious ones\"; followers of Israel Baal\nShem, who opposed the sophisticated intellectualism of the Talmudists,\nand laid stress on emotionalism in prayer and in the performance of\nother religious ceremonies. The Chassidic leader is called Tzaddik\n(\"righteous one\"), or Rebbe. _See_ art. \"Hasidim,\" in the Jewish\nEncyclopedia, vol. vi.\n\nCHAYYE ODOM. A manual of religious practice used extensively by the\ncommon people.\n\nCHEDER (pl. Chedorim) (Heb.). Jewish primary school.\n\nCHILLUL HA-SHEM (Heb.). \"Desecration of the Holy Name\"; hence, scandal.\n\nCHIRIK (Heb.). Name of the vowel \"i\"; in Volhynia \"u\" is pronounced like\n\"i.\"\n\nDAVVENING. Saying prayers.\n\nDAYAN (pl. Dayonim) (Heb.). Authority on Jewish religious law, usually\nassistant to the Rabbi of a town.\n\nDIN TORAH (Heb.). Lawsuit.\n\nDREIER, DREIERLECH (Ger.). A small coin.\n\nEIGHTEEN BENEDICTIONS. The nucleus of each of the three daily services,\nmorning, afternoon, evening, and of the \"Additional Service\" inserted on\nSabbaths, festivals, and the Holy Days, between the morning and\nafternoon services. Though the number of benedictions is actually\nnineteen, and at some of the services is reduced to seven, the technical\ndesignation remains \"Eighteen Benedictions.\" They are usually said as a\n\"silent prayer\" by the congregation, and then recited aloud by the\ncantor, or precentor.\n\nERETZ YISROEL (Heb.). Palestine.\n\nEREV (Heb.). Eve.\n\nERUV (Heb.). A cord, etc., stretched round a town, to mark the limit\nbeyond which no \"burden\" may be carried on the Sabbath.\n\nFAST OF ESTHER. A fast day preceding Purim, the Feast of Esther.\n\n\"FOUNTAIN OF JACOB.\" A collection of all the legends, tales, apologues,\nparables, etc., in the Babylonian Talmud.\n\nFOUR-CORNERS (trl. of Arba Kanfos). A fringed garment worn under the\nordinary clothes; called also Tallis-koton. _See_ Deut. xxii. 12.\n\nFOUR ELLS. Minimum space required by a human being.\n\nFOUR QUESTIONS. Put by the youngest child to his father at the Seder.\n\nGANZE GOYIM (Ger. and Heb.). Wholly estranged from Jewish life and\ncustoms. _See_ Goi.\n\nGASS (Ger.). The Jews' street.\n\nGEHENNA (Heb.). The nether world; hell.\n\nGEMOREH (Heb.). The Talmud, the Rabbinical discussion and elaboration of\nthe Mishnah; a Talmud folio. It is usually read with a peculiar singsong\nchant, and the reading of argumentative passages is accompanied by a\ngesture with the thumb. _See, for instance_, pp. 17 and 338.\n\nGEMOREH-KOePLECH (Heb. and Ger.). A subtle, keen mind; precocious.\n\nGEVIR (Heb.). An influential, rich man.--GEVIRISH, appertaining to a\nGevir.\n\nGOI (pl. Goyim) (Heb.). A Gentile; a Jew estranged from Jewish life and\ncustoms.\n\nGOTTINYU (Ger. with Slav. ending). Dear God.\n\nGREAT SABBATH, THE. The Sabbath preceding Passover.\n\nHAGGADAH (Heb.). The story of the Exodus recited at the home service on\nthe first two evenings of Passover.\n\nHOSHANAH (pl. Hoshanos) (Heb.). Osier withe for the Great Hosannah.\n\nHOSHANAH-RABBAH (Heb.). The seventh day of the Feast of Tabernacles; the\nGreat Hosannah.\n\nHOSTRE CHASSIDIM. Followers of the Rebbe or Tzaddik who lived at\nHostre.\n\nKADDISH (Heb.). Sanctification, or doxology, recited by mourners,\nspecifically by children in memory of parents during the first eleven\nmonths after their death, and thereafter on every anniversary of the day\nof their death; applied to an only son, on whom will devolve the duty of\nreciting the prayer on the death of his parents; sometimes applied to\nthe oldest son, and to sons in general.\n\nKALLEH (Heb.) Bride.\n\nKALLEH-LEBEN (Heb. and Ger.). Dear bride.\n\nKALLEHSHI (Heb. and Russ. dimin.). Dear bride.\n\nKASHA (Slav.). Pap.\n\nKEDUSHAH (Heb.). Sanctification; the central part of the public service,\nof which the \"Holy, holy, holy,\" forms a sentence.\n\nKERBEL, KERBLECH (Ger.). A ruble.\n\nKIDDUSH (Heb.). Sanctification; blessing recited over wine in ushering\nin Sabbaths and holidays.\n\nKLAUS (Ger.). \"Hermitage\"; a conventicle; a house-of-study.\n\nKOB TEBI BIESSI (Little Russ.) \"Demons take you!\"\n\nKOL NIDRE (Heb.). The first prayer recited at the synagogue on the Eve\nof the Day of Atonement.\n\nKOSHER (Heb.). Ritually clean or permitted.\n\nKOSHER-TANZ (Heb. and Ger.). Bride's dance.\n\nKOeST (Ger.). Board.--AUF KOeST. Free board and lodging given to a man and\nhis wife by the latter's parents during the early years of his married\nlife.\n\n\"LEARN.\" Studying the Talmud, the codes, and the commentaries.\n\nLE-CHAYYIM (Heb.). Here's to long life!\n\nLEHAVDIL (Heb.). \"To distinguish.\" Elliptical for \"to distinguish\nbetween the holy and the secular\"; equivalent to \"excuse the\ncomparison\"; \"pardon me for mentioning the two things in the same\nbreath,\" etc.\n\nLIKKUTE ZEVI (Heb.). A collection of prayers.\n\nLOKSHEN. Macaroni.--TORAS-LOKSHEN, macaroni made in approved style.\n\nMAARIV (Heb.). The Evening Prayer, or service.\n\nMAGGID (Heb.). Preacher.\n\nMAHARSHO (MAHARSHO). Hebrew initial letters of Morenu ha-Rab Shemuel\nEdels, a great commentator.\n\nMALKES (Heb.). Stripes inflicted on the Eve of the Day of Atonement, in\nexpiation of sins. _See_ Deut. xxv. 2, 3.\n\nMASKIL (pl. Maskilim) (Heb.). An \"intellectual.\" The aim of the\n\"intellectuals\" was the spread of modern general education among the\nJews, especially in Eastern Europe. They were reproached with\nsecularizing Hebrew and disregarding the ceremonial law.\n\nMATZES (Heb.). The unleavened bread used during Passover.\n\nMECHUTENESTE (Heb.). Mother-in-law; prospective mother-in-law; expresses\nchiefly the reciprocal relation between the parents of a couple about to\nbe married.\n\nMECHUTTON (Heb.). Father-in-law; prospective father-in-law; expresses\nchiefly the reciprocal relation between the parents of a couple about to\nbe married.\n\nMEHEREH (Heb.). The \"quick\" dough for the Matzes.\n\nMELAMMED (Heb.). Teacher.\n\nMEZUZEH (Heb.). \"Door-post;\" Scripture verses attached to the door-posts\nof Jewish houses. _See_ Deut. vi. 9.\n\nMIDRASH (Heb.). Homiletic exposition of the Scriptures.\n\nMINCHAH (Heb.). The Afternoon Prayer, or service.\n\nMIN HA-MEZAR (Heb.). \"Out of the depth,\" Ps. 118. 5.\n\nMINYAN (Heb.). A company of ten men, the minimum for a public service;\nspecifically, a temporary congregation, gathered together, usually in a\nvillage, from several neighboring Jewish settlements, for services on\nNew Year and the Day of Atonement.\n\nMISHNAH (Heb.). The earliest code (ab. 200 C. E.) after the Pentateuch,\nportions of which are studied, during the early days of mourning, in\nhonor of the dead.\n\nMISNAGGID (pl. Misnagdim) (Heb.). \"Opponents\" of the Chassidim. The\nMisnagdic communities are led by a Rabbi (pl. Rabbonim), sometimes\ncalled Rav.\n\nMITZVEH (Heb.). A commandment, a duty, the doing of which is\nmeritorious.\n\nNASHERS (Ger.). Gourmets.\n\nNISHKOSHE (Ger. and Heb.). Never mind!\n\nNISSAN (Heb.). Spring month (March-April), in which Passover is\ncelebrated.\n\nOLENU (Heb.). The concluding prayer in the synagogue service.\n\nOLOM HA-SHEKER (Heb.). \"The world of falsehood,\" this world.\n\nOLOM HA-TOHU (Heb.). World of chaos.\n\nOLOM HO-EMESS (Heb.). \"The world of truth,\" the world-to-come.\n\nPARNOSSEH (Heb.). Means of livelihood; business; sustenance.\n\nPIYYUTIM (Heb.). Liturgical poems for festivals and Holy Days recited in\nthe synagogue.\n\nPORUSH (Heb.). Recluse.\n\nPRAYER OF THE HIGHWAY. Prayer on setting out on a journey.\n\nPRAYER-SCARF. _See_ TALLIS.\n\nPUD (Russ.). Forty pounds.\n\nPURIM (Heb.). The Feast of Esther.\n\nRASHI (RASHI). Hebrew initial letters of Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, a\ngreat commentator; applied to a certain form of script and type.\n\nRAV (Heb.). Rabbi.\n\nREBBE. Sometimes used for Rabbi; sometimes equivalent to Mr.; sometimes\napplied to the Tzaddik of the Chassidim; and sometimes used as the title\nof a teacher of young children.\n\nREBBETZIN. Wife of a Rabbi.\n\nROSH-YESHIVEH (Rosh ha-Yeshiveh) (Heb.). Headmaster of a Talmudic\nAcademy.\n\nSCAPE-FOWLS (trl. of Kapporos). Roosters or hens used in a ceremony on\nthe Eve of the Day of Atonement.\n\nSEDER (Heb.). Home service on the first two Passover evenings.\n\nSELICHES (Heb.). Penitential prayers.\n\nSEVENTEENTH OF TAMMUZ. Fast in commemoration of the first breach made in\nthe walls of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar.\n\nSHALOM (Heb. in Sefardic pronunciation). Peace. _See_ SHOLOM ALECHEM.\n\nSHAMASH (Heb.). Beadle.\n\nSHECHINAH (Heb.). The Divine Presence.\n\nSHEGETZ (Heb.). \"Abomination;\" a sinner; a rascal.\n\nSHLIMM-MAZEL (Ger. and Heb.). Bad luck; luckless fellow.\n\nSHMOOREH-MATZES (Heb.). Unleavened bread specially guarded and watched\nfrom the harvesting of the wheat to the baking and storing.\n\nSHOCHET (Heb.). Ritual slaughterer.\n\nSHOFAR (Heb.). Ram's horn, sounded on New Year's Day and the Day of\nAtonement. _See_ Lev. xxiii. 24.\n\nSHOLOM (SHALOM) ALECHEM (Heb.). \"Peace unto you\"; greeting, salutation,\nespecially to one newly arrived after a journey.\n\nSHOMER. Pseudonym of a Yiddish author, Nahum M. Schaikewitz.\n\nSHOOL (Ger., Schul'). Synagogue.\n\nSHULCHAN ARUCH (Heb.). The Jewish code.\n\nSILENT PRAYER. _See_ EIGHTEEN BENEDICTIONS.\n\nSOLEMN DAYS. The ten days from New Year to the Day of Atonement\ninclusive.\n\nSOUL-LIGHTS. Candles lighted in memory of the dead.\n\nSTUFFED MONKEYS. Pastry filled with chopped fruit and spices.\n\nTALLIS (popular plural formation, Tallesim) (Heb.). The prayer-scarf.\n\nTALLIS-KOTON (Heb.). _See_ FOUR-CORNERS.\n\nTALMID-CHOCHEM (Heb.). Sage; scholar.\n\nTALMUD TORAH (Heb.). Free communal school.\n\nTANO (Heb.). A Rabbi cited in the Mishnah as an authority.\n\nTARARAM. Noise; tumult; ado.\n\nTATE, TATISHE (Ger. and Russ. dimin.). Father.\n\nTEFILLIN-SAeCKLECH (Heb. and Ger.). Phylacteries bag.\n\nTISHO-B'OV (Heb.). Ninth of Ab, day of mourning and fasting to\ncommemorate the destruction of Jerusalem; hence, colloquially, a sad\nday.\n\nTORAH (Heb.). The Jewish Law in general, and the Pentateuch in\nparticular.\n\nTSISIN. Season.\n\nTZADDIK (pl. Tzaddikim) (Heb.). \"Righteous\"; title of the Chassidic\nleader.\n\nU-MIPNE CHATOENU (Heb.). \"And on account of our sins,\" the first two\nwords of a prayer for the restoration of the sacrificial service,\nrecited in the Additional Service of the Holy Days and the festivals.\n\nU-NESANNEH-TOIKEF (Heb.). \"And we ascribe majesty,\" the first two words\nof a Piyyut recited on New Year and on the Day of Atonement.\n\nVERFALLEN! (Ger.). Lost; done for.\n\nVERSHOK (Russ.). Two inches and a quarter.\n\nVIERER (Ger.). Four kopeks.\n\nVIVAT. Toast.\n\nYESHIVEH (Heb.). Talmud Academy.\n\nYOHRZEIT (Ger.). Anniversary of a death.\n\nYOM KIPPUR (Heb.). Day of Atonement.\n\nYOM-TOV (Heb.). Festival.\n\nZHYDEK (Little Russ.). Jew.\n\nP. 15. \"It was seldom that parties went 'to law' ... before the\nRav.\"--The Rabbi with his Dayonim gave civil as well as religious\ndecisions.\n\nP. 15. \"Milky Sabbath.\"--All meals without meat. In connection with\nfowl, ritual questions frequently arise.\n\nP. 16. \"Reuben's ox gores Simeon's cow.\"--Reuben and Simeon are\nfictitious plaintiff and defendant in the Talmud; similar to John Doe\nand Richard Roe.\n\nP. 17. \"He described a half-circle,\" etc.--_See under_ GEMOREH.\n\nP. 57. \"Not every one is worthy of both tables!\"--Worthy of Torah and\nriches.\n\nP. 117. \"They salted the meat.\"--The ritual ordinance requires that meat\nshould be salted down for an hour after it has soaked in water for half\nan hour.\n\nP. 150. \"Puts off his shoes!\"--To pray in stocking-feet is a sign of\nmourning and a penance.\n\nP. 190. \"We have trespassed,\" etc.--The Confession of Sins.\n\nP. 190. \"The beadle deals them out thirty-nine blows,\" etc.--_see_\nMALKES.\n\nP. 197. \"With the consent of the All-Present,\" etc.--The Introduction to\nthe solemn Kol Nidre prayer.\n\nP. 220. \"He began to wear the phylacteries and the prayer-scarf,\"\netc.--They are worn first when a boy is Bar-Mitzveh (_which see_);\nEzrielk was married at the age of thirteen.\n\nP. 220. \"He could not even break the wine-glass,\" etc.--A marriage\ncustom.\n\nP. 220. \"Waving of the sacrificial fowls.\"--_See_ SCAPE-FOWLS.\n\nP. 220. \"The whole company of Chassidim broke some plates.\"--A betrothal\ncustom.\n\nP. 227. \"Had a double right to board with their parents\n'forever.'\"--_See_ Koest.\n\nP. 271. \"With the consent of the All-Present,\" etc.--_See note under_ p.\n197.\n\nP. 273. \"Nothing was lacking for their journey from the living to the\ndead.\"--_See note under_ p. 547.\n\nP. 319. \"Give me a teacher who can tell,\" etc.--Reference to the story\nof the heathen who asked, first of Shammai, and then of Hillel, to be\ntaught the whole of the Jewish Law while standing on one leg.\n\nP. 326. \"And those who do not smoke on Sabbath, raised their eyes to the\nsky.\"--To look for the appearance of three stars, which indicate\nnightfall, and the end of the Sabbath.\n\nP. 336. \"Jeroboam the son of Nebat.\"--The Rabbinical type for one who\nnot only sins himself, but induces others to sin, too.\n\nP. 401. \"Thursday.\"--_See note under_ p. 516.\n\nP. 403. \"Monday,\" \"Wednesday,\" \"Tuesday.\"--_See note under_ p. 516.\n\nP. 427. \"Six months' 'board.'\"--_See_ Koest.\n\nP. 443. \"I knew Hebrew grammar, and could write Hebrew, too.\"--_See_\nMASKIL.\n\nP. 445. \"A Jeroboam son of Nebat.\"--_See note under_ p. 336.\n\nP. 489. \"In a snow-white robe.\"--The head of the house is clad in his\nshroud at the Seder on the Passover.\n\nP. 516. \"She knew that on Wednesdays Yitzchokel ate his 'day',\" etc.--At\nthe houses of well-to-do families meals were furnished to poor students,\neach student having a specific day of the week with a given family\nthroughout the year.\n\nP. 547. \"Why had he brought ... a white shirt-like garment?\"--The\nworshippers in the synagogue on the Day of Atonement wear shrouds.\n\nP. 552. \"Am I ... I suppose I am to lie down?\"--_See_ MALKES.\n\nP. 574. \"In a hundred and twenty years.\"--The age attained by Moses and\nAaron; a good old age. The expression is used when planning for a future\nto come after the death of the person spoken to, to imply that there is\nno desire to see his days curtailed for the sake of the plan.","title":"Yiddish Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":143369}