Yiddish Folktales

by Beatrice Weinreich

  Sóre-Kháne swept the floor. Then a raven flew down and caught her up in his bill and carried her to the tip of the church tower. When her father and mother came home and saw her at the tip of the church tower, they said, “Sóre, dear. Sóre, dear. Come down from the tower.”

  But she replied,

  “No, father, no.

  You don’t know what I want.

  The maidens are all married

  And I’m still all alone.”

  Then her mother called up to her, “Sóre, dear. Sóre, dear. Come down from the tower.”

  But she replied,

  “No, mother, no.

  The maidens are all married

  And I’m still all alone.”

  Then her brother called up to her, “Sóre, dear. Sóre, dear. Come down from the tower.”

  But she replied,

  “No, brother, no.

  The maidens are all married

  And I’m still all alone.”

  Now her sister called up to her, “Sóre, dear. Sóre, dear. Come down from the tower.”

  But she replied,

  “No, sister, no.

  The maidens are all married

  And I’m still all alone.”

  When night fell, she climbed down from the tip of the church tower and went slowly to her house. She stood outside her father’s window and said, “Father, open up.”

  “No,” he said. “You wouldn’t come down from the tower when I asked you.”

  So she went to her mother’s window, but she also said no. Then to her brother’s—again, no.

  So she went to her sister’s window, and her sister opened the door and let her in and sat her down on the oven and fed her boiled groats with milk, and Sóre-Kháne ate it all and went to sleep at once.

  20

  Little Bean

  Once upon a time there was a couple who did not have children, and they often went to the cemetery,* where they prayed to have a child. One day, as they were praying, an angel flew down from heaven and told them: “God has heard your prayers. Which would you prefer: to have a son who will be no bigger than a bean, or a daughter who, when she is thirteen, will abandon Judaism for another faith?”

  “Better,” they said, “to have a son no bigger than a bean.” A year went by and they had a son who was indeed no bigger than a bean. And he never grew any bigger, which is why he was called Little Bean.

  One day when the mother was preparing a meal, she poured what she was cooking into an earthen pot and gave it to Little Bean to take to his father in the marketplace. Little Bean, delighted with the task, put the pot on his head and ran off to his father.

  He ran and he ran and he ran until he met an old beggar. The beggar said, “It’s three days since any food has passed my lips.” Little Bean pitied him and gave him all of his father’s meal. The beggar thanked him warmly: “God bless your little bones. May the light of happiness and good fortune shine on you.”

  When the beggar had done eating, Little Bean put the empty pot on his head and started off at a run. He ran and he ran and he ran until he met a gang of thieves.

  “Where are you off to so fast?” they said.

  “I’m running to tell my father that I’ve given his supper to a beggar,” he said.

  “Well, if you’re so nice, we’ll take you into our gang and you can come stealing with us.”

  Little Bean wanted to say, “Stealing is forbidden,” but he was afraid they would kill him, so he said, “Good. I’ll join you.”

  They went on together until they came to a locked stable. And as the thieves were looking the place over, Little Bean leaped up into the keyhole and disappeared.

  The thieves wondered, “Where did the little fellow get to? He was here just a minute ago.” They searched everywhere but couldn’t find him. In the end they left.

  Little Bean looked around and hid in a tub of chopped beets, and so the cow ate him up with the beets. When Little Bean saw how dark it was in the cow’s belly, and found that there was no way to get out, he was very angry. “The devil take you!” he shouted at the cow. “I hope the cholera gets you.”

  In the morning a servant who was milking the cow heard someone shouting. “The devil take you! I hope the cholera gets you.” So frightened she was, more dead than alive, she ran out of the stable. “Mistress,” she cried, “the cow is cursing!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” said her mistress. “I’ve never heard of a cursing cow.” She went to the stable to milk the cow herself, but as she was milking, she heard someone cry, “The devil take you! I hope the cholera gets you.” More dead than alive, the woman ran to the rabbi and told him the whole story. The rabbi said, “Kill the cow and throw the innards into the street.”

  The next morning the shoykhet, the butcher, came and killed the cow. Just as he was cutting the cow’s stomach to take out the innards, he heard a voice that cried, “Don’t cut from the belly, cut from the side.” The shoykhet too was frightened, and he began to cut from the side. Little by little he drew out the innards, which he threw into the street.

  A hungry beggar passing by saw the fresh innards and thought, “God has sent me a real gift. I’ll take these home and cook a fine meal.” So he put them into his sack, slung the sack over his shoulder, and went happily on his way.

  He walked and he walked and he walked, when suddenly he felt something stabbing his shoulder. Since he couldn’t imagine what it was, he ignored it and continued on. But as he walked, something stabbed his shoulder again. “I wonder what that can be,” he thought. “I don’t have any pins in the sack, nothing there but soft innards. Then what’s stabbing me?” Again he tried to ignore it, but the farther he went the sharper the stabs, until finally he couldn’t stand them.

  He stopped and said to himself, “Shall I throw the innards away? But that would be sinful, and I’d have nothing to eat. But if I keep carrying them, who knows what will happen to my shoulder? It’s a bad business.”

  Then he heard someone call, “Throw them away. Throw them away.” Frightened, he threw the innards into the street. As he stood looking, he saw a tiny boy, no larger than a bean, creep out of them. The beggar recognized Little Bean at once. “You’re the boy who gave me his father’s supper to eat,” he said.

  “That’s me,” said Little Bean.

  “Then what were you doing in there?” asked the beggar. And Little Bean told him the whole story.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the beggar. “What strange things can happen in this world.”

  “I was afraid you would eat me for supper,” Little Bean said.

  “Well, do you want to go home?” asked the beggar.

  “Yes,” Little Bean said, “I want to go home.”

  So they went to Little Bean’s house, and when his father and mother saw him they cried, “Little Bean! Where were you?” And Little Bean told them the whole story.

  A rooster and a hen …

  Now my story’s begun.

  A cat and a mouse …

  Now my story is done.

  * There is a belief that ancestors, particularly deceased parents and grandparents, can intercede on one’s behalf in heaven. For this reason, Jews sometimes went to the cemetery to pray that a particular wish be granted.

  21

  A Topsy-Turvy Tale

  Once upon a time, four live dead people were out walking. One of them was blind, the other was mute, the third was lame, and the fourth was naked.

  The blind man saw a tree loaded with apples, so he said to the mute, “Tell the lame fellow to climb up into the tree and throw us down some apples.” So the lame man climbed into the tree and threw down an apronful of apples for the naked man.

  That done, the blind man went on. Then, seeing what he saw, he stopped. It was a crowded marketplace, so crowded that one wagon was a mile away from another. He went up to a peasant woman and said, “I want to buy a goose.”

  She said, “That will be twenty kopecks for the turkey.”

  So he bought the du
ck.

  Then he saw a woman who was selling fish—a fish that weighed some twenty pounds, but when he picked it up, nothing was there. So he took it home and said to his wife, “Cook this fish.”

  “All right,” she said, “I’ll cook the fish if you’ll bring me a pot the size of three thimbles into which I can put three yards of flour.”

  So he brought her a pot the size of three thimbles which could hold three yards of flour, and she cooked the fish.

  Now guess what the sly young rascal did? He took the head of the fish for himself and gave the tail to his wife.

  A tail is an end, and an end is a finish, and this is the finish of my tale.

  22

  Clever Khashinke and Foolish Bashinke

  There was a woman who had two daughters, one clever and the other foolish. The clever one was called Khashinke, and the foolish one was Bashinke. The mother preferred the clever daughter to the foolish one and finally drove the foolish one from the house.

  The foolish daughter walked and walked and walked, until she came to a little pear tree. The pear tree said, “Why are you crying?”

  Bashinke said, “Because my mother drove me away from home.”

  The pear tree said, “Shake my branches, then you’ll have a measure of pears, and I’ll have a measure.”

  So she did, and took away her measure of pears. She walked on, still crying and crying, until she saw a little cow. The little cow said, “Why are you crying?”

  “Because my mother drove me away from home,” said Bashinke.

  The little cow said, “Well, milk me and then you’ll have a quart of milk, and I’ll have a quart.”

  So she did, and went on her way, crying and crying until she saw a kneading trough filled with flour. “Why are you crying?” asked the kneading trough.

  “Because my mother drove me away from home,” replied Bashinke.

  The kneading trough said, “Take my flour. Knead it and bake it. That way you’ll have a loaf of bread, and I’ll have a loaf.”

  So she did. And now she had bread and milk and pears, all of which she ate. Then she lay down to sleep.

  When she woke the next morning, she walked on, still crying, till she came to a little hut, where she found an old granny. And the old bobetske said to her, “Why are you crying, girl?”

  “Because my mother drove me away from home,” said Bashinke.

  “Why did she do that?” asked the bobetske.

  “Because she says I’m foolish. And I have a sister who’s clever,and my mother loves her and hates me. That’s why she drove me away from home.”

  “In that case,” said the bobetske, “just wait a minute. I’ll fix things so your mother will care for you.” The old woman spread out a sheet and threw all sorts of good things on it: candies and cookies, gold and silver. Then she tied the sheet up and said, “Take that home to your mother.”

  Bashinke carried the good things home with her, stood in front of the house, and cried, “Mother, Mother, open the door.”

  “The plague take you,” came the reply. “Be off!”

  Bashinke, seeing that her mother would not open the door, called, “Mother, I’ve brought you all sorts of good things.”

  When her mother heard that Bashinke had brought all sorts of good things, she opened the door at once and let her in. And when she untied the sheet, her eyes were dazzled by the brightness of the gold and silver and everything else. “Ah, ah, what wonderful things!” she said. “Where did you get them?”

  Bashinke told her about the old bobetske who lived in the little hut. “Ah,” thought her mother, “if Bashinke, who is a fool, could bring such wonderful things, just think what my clever Khashinke will bring.” And she drove her clever daughter from the house so that she too would come home bearing all sorts of good things.

  Khashinke walked and walked until she came to the little hut. She went in, crying. The old bobetske sitting there asked, “Why are you crying?”

  Khashinke said, “Because my mother has driven me out of the house so that I too can bring back all sorts of good things.”

  “Ah,” said the old woman, “she drove you from the house so that you can bring her good things? She likes good things, does she? Well, then,” she said, “I’ll send her good things.” With that she spread a sheet out on the floor and oh, the good things she threw on it. Alas and alack: snakes and frogs and mice and cats—and more. Then she tied them all up and gave the bundle to Khashinke, saying, “Here, take these good things home to your mother.”

  And that’s what Khashinke did. When she got home, she called, “Mother, let me in.”

  Her mother ran eagerly to the door and Khashinke came in. No sooner had she set her bundle down than the snakes and the frogs and the mice and the cats began to leap up into her mother’s face. Her mother screamed, “Oh, the devil take you. What have you brought me? Oh, Lord, what will I do? What will I do? Help! People, save me! I feel sick.”

  A crowd came running into the house and stood around staring at her. Finally the mother gave Khashinke a good beating and drove her away from home.

  Foolish Bashinke was now the clever one, while the clever Khashinke went away like a fool and disappeared.

  23

  The Granny Bear

  Once upon a time there was a granny bear whose children, all ten of them, loved to eat farfl with beans. One day the granny bear cooked up a pot farfl with beans, then went off to the forest to gather wood. As soon as she was gone, her children ate all the farfl and beans in the pot. And when they were done, they were afraid that the granny bear would spank them for it.

  This is what they did: they took a towel and stuck it full of needles, because they knew that when the granny bear came home, the first thing she always did was to wash and dry her hands.

  Then the children all hid. One hid in the closet while another crawled under the closet. One climbed on top of the clock while another crawled under the clock. One got into a chest while another crawled on top of the chest. One got into a cubbyhole while another crawled under the cubbyhole.

  When the granny bear came home from the forest, she knocked at the door, but no one answered. “Children, children,” she called, “open the door.” But the door stayed shut. Again she cried, “Children, children, open the door. I’ll give you some piping hot farfl and beans.”

  When the children heard the words farfl and beans, they came out of hiding and opened the door for the granny bear. “Granny Bear, Granny Bear,” they said, “wash and dry your hands.” And the granny bear did. She washed up, and when she wiped her hands on the towel they got so badly stuck by the pins that she couldn’t spank the children.

  24

  Moyshele and Sheyndele

  Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who had a wife and two small children, a boy and a girl. The boy was called Moyshele, the girl Sheyndele. The woodcutter’s wife died and he married a second wife who was a very wicked woman and a cruel stepmother to the children.

  One day the woodcutter left the house to chop wood in the forest, and the stepmother got ready to go to market to do the Sabbath shopping. Before she left, she gave the children some food, putting Moyshele’s in a pot and Sheyndele’s on a plate. She said,

  “Moyshele, if you break the pot

  I’ll chop off your head,

  So you’d better not.”

  She told Sheyndele,

  “Sheyndele, Sheyndele, just you wait,

  I’ll chop off your legs

  If you break this plate.”

  Then she slammed the door and went to market.

  The children were afraid to eat lest they break something, but the rooster suddenly flew up on the table and knocked over the pot. It fell to the ground and broke into teeny-tiny pieces. Moyshele, seeing them, was terrified and began to cry. Sheyndele comforted him, saying, “Hush, Moyshele. Don’t cry.” And she took the shards of the pot and pushed them into a corner of the room.

  When the stepmother came home, she couldn�
��t find the pot. “Where is the pot?” she asked Moyshele.

  “The rooster broke it,” he said.

  The stepmother was very angry, but she pretended that nothing was the matter. Later she said to Moyshele, “Come with me and I’ll wash your hair.” So Moyshele went with her. She took him into another room and cut off his head, after which she cooked it for supper.

  When the woodcutter came back from the forest he said, “Where is Moyshele?”

  “I don’t know,” said the stepmother. Then they sat down at the table and ate the soup and the meat. Sheyndele, unaware of what she was eating, sucked the marrow from the bones and threw them out the window.

  A little mound of earth covered the bones and when the glad summer came again, a new Moyshele grew up out of it. Moyshele stood there on his little mound until, seeing a tailor pass by, he called, “Tailor, tailor, make me a pair of trousers and I’ll sing you a song:

  Murdered by my mother,

  Eaten by my father,

  and Sheyndele, when they were done,

  Sucked the marrow from my bones

  And threw them out the window.”

  The tailor, hearing the song, pitied him and made him a pair of trousers. Moyshele put them on, and then a shoemaker went by. Moyshele called, “Shoemaker, shoemaker, make me a pair of boots and I’ll sing you a song:

  Murdered by my mother,

  Eaten by my father,

  and Sheyndele, when they were done,

  Sucked the marrow from my bones

  And threw them out the window.”

  The shoemaker, hearing the song, pitied him and made him a pair of boots. Moyshele put them on, and then a hatmaker went by. Moyshele called, “Hatmaker, hatmaker, make me a hat and I’ll sing you a song:

  Murdered by my mother,

  Eaten by my father,