But there is a merciful and compassionate God in this world, and He displays His great wonders and makes summer into winter for me, lifts me up and casts me down. He says to me: “Tevye, don’t start thinking like a fool. Let the world run itself the way it will!”
Listen to what can happen in this great world. And who do you think has all the luck? Tevye shlimazel.
To make a long story short—why should I fill your ear?—you probably remember what happened to me with my cousin Menachem-Mendl, how nicely he worked out our business in Yehupetz, investing in all those stocks and shares and gold imperials, may his name and memory be obliterated. I lost everything, may it happen to all my enemies. I was sure it was the end of Tevye and his dairy business! I was really downhearted.
“You fool!” my wife said to me. “Enough moping! It won’t do you any good! You’ll just eat your heart out, so enough! Tell yourself it’s as if robbers attacked us and took the money. Why don’t you go for a little ride to Anatevka, to Lazer-Wolf the butcher? He wants to talk to you about something.”
“He wants to talk to me? If he thinks he’s buying our milk cow, he might as well take a stick and knock that idea out of his head.”
“What’s so wonderful about our milk cow?” she said. “Is it for all the milk we get from her and the cheese and butter?”
“No,” I said, “just the idea of it. It’s a shame to sell her to be slaughtered, a pity on a living creature. It is written in the sacred Torah—”
“Oh, enough with the Torah, Tevye! Everybody knows you’re a man of the Torah. Listen to me, your wife. Go over to Lazer-Wolf’s. Every Thursday,” she said, “when our Tzeitl goes to his shop for meat, he doesn’t leave her alone. ‘Tell your father,’ he says, ‘to come see me. It’s important that I talk to him.’ ”
Well, sometimes you have to listen to a wife. So I let myself be talked into it and went to Lazer-Wolf’s in Anatevka, three versts from us, but didn’t find him at home. “Where is he?” I asked a snub-nosed woman who was bustling about the house. “He’s in the slaughterhouse,” she said. “They’re slaughtering an ox since early this morning. He’ll be back soon.” I wandered around the house and admired Lazer-Wolf’s household—kayn eyn horeh, may all my loved ones have the like: a cupboard full of copperware you couldn’t buy for a hundred and fifty rubles, a samovar and another samovar, a brass tray and another one from Warsaw, a pair of silver candlesticks, many gold-rimmed glasses, a wrought-iron Chanukah lamp, and much porcelain bric-a-brac. My God! I thought, wishing my children could live like this. What a lucky man this butcher was! Not only was he rich, but his two children were married, and he was a widower into the bargain!
Finally the door opened, and an angry Lazer-Wolf came in, furious at the shochet, the ritual slaughterer. He had ruined him. He had declared an ox that was the size of an oak to be unkosher, after finding a tiny scar on the animal’s lung the size of a pinhead—may he have a stroke, may he sink into the earth! “God Almighty, Reb Tevye,” he said to me, “how come it’s so hard to reach you? How are you?”
“How can I be?” I said. “I do and I do, and I’m still just beginning to get somewhere. As it says in the Torah, Neither Thy sting nor Thy honey—no money, no health, barely keeping life and limb together.”
“You sin, Reb Tevye,” he said to me. “Compared to the way you once were, may it never happen again, you are now, kayn eyn horeh, a rich man.”
“What I still need to be a rich man,” I said, “may we both have. But never mind, I thank God for what I do have. There is a saying in the Gemorah: Neither from Your sting nor from Your honey.” But in my heart I was thinking, You should live so long if you think there’s a phrase like that in the Gemorah, my fine butcher boy.
“You’re always there with a quote from the Gemorah,” he said to me. “Good for you, Reb Tevye, that you can read all that small print. But why waste time on all this learning and these quotations? Better let us talk about our business at hand. Sit, Reb Tevye,” he said, then yelled out, “Let’s have tea!” The snub-nosed woman appeared from nowhere, grabbed the samovar, and disappeared into the kitchen. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, “just the two of us, we can get down to business. This is the way it is: I have wanted to talk to you, Reb Tevye, for a long time now. I have asked your daughter many times to tell you, if you would be so kind to come talk to me. You understand I have had my eye on—”
“I know that you’ve had your eye on her, but it won’t work,” I said, “it won’t work, Reb Lazer-Wolf, it won’t work!”
“Why not?” He looked surprised.
“I have time to wait,” I said. “Where’s the fire?”
“Why should you wait,” he said, “when we can work things out right now?”
“I just gave you a reason. Second of all,” I said, “it’s simply a shame, a pity on a living creature.”
“Look at you putting on airs.” Lazer-Wolf gave a little laugh. “Someone would swear she was your only one! I imagine you have, kayn eyn horeh, enough, Reb Tevye!”
“Let those who envy me not have anything themselves,” I quoted.
“Envy? Who’s talking of envy?” he said. “On the contrary, it’s because she is so attractive, that’s the reason I want her, do you understand? Don’t forget, Reb Tevye, the advantage that could come out of this for you!”
“Sure, sure,” I said, “I know your favors, Reb Lazer-Wolf. You give ice in winter. We all know about that from before.”
“Eh! Why are you comparing then and now?” he said, as sweet as sugar. “Then was one story, but today is a different one. We’re practically in-laws, ha?”
“In-laws?” I said, surprised.
“Yes, in-laws!”
“What do you mean?” I said. “Reb Lazer-Wolf, what are we talking about?”
“On the contrary,” he said, “you tell me, Reb Tevye, what we’re talking about.”
“What else?” I said. “We’re talking about the milk cow you want to buy from me!”
“Ha ha ha!” he broke out laughing. “That’s some cow and a milk cow into the bargain, ha ha ha!”
“What, then, were you thinking, Reb Lazer-Wolf? Tell me so I can laugh too.”
“About your daughter!” he said to me. “I was speaking about your Tzeitl all this time! You know, Reb Tevye, I am a widower, may it not happen to you. I thought it over and decided, Why should I look elsewhere for a wife, bother with matchmakers and all that? After all, here we both are. I know you, you know me. And I’ve also taken to her. I see her every Thursday in the butcher shop, I’ve spoken with her several times, and she seems a quiet girl, not bad at all. I myself am, kayn eyn horeh, as you see, a bit of a success. I own my house, a few stores, and nice furnishings, as you can see, not to complain. I have some hides in the attic and money in the chest. Why should we have to haggle like gypsies? Let’s shake hands on it, one two three, do you get my meaning?”
Well, once he explained what he had in mind, I was speechless at the unexpected news. At first I thought, Lazer-Wolf? Tzeitl? He has children her age. But then I reminded myself that it was a stroke of luck for her. A stroke of luck! She would have everything she wanted! So he wasn’t the most generous man. Nowadays that wasn’t the greatest virtue. As the rabbis said: A man is dearest to his own self—if you were good to others, you were bad to yourself. He had one fault—he was somewhat common. Oh well, could everyone be a scholar? There were plenty of rich folks, fine people in Anatevka, in Mazepevka, and even in Yehupetz who didn’t know one letter from another. Still and all, if it was destined, that wouldn’t keep them from getting plenty of respect. As it is written: If there is no flour in the bin, there is no Torah— which means, the Torah lies in the chest, and wisdom in the purse.
“So, Reb Tevye,” he said, “why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Do you want me to shout?” I said, as if considering the matter further. “This is, Reb Lazer-Wolf, you understand me, a delicate question that has to be considered from all sides
. It’s not a laughing matter. My first child!”
“It’s really the other way around,” he said. “It’s important because she’s your first child. Afterward,” he said, “God willing, you’ll be able to marry off your second daughter too, and later, in good time, the third, do you understand?”
“Amen!” said I. “Marrying them off is no trick if the One Above sends each one her intended.”
“No,” he said, “that’s not what I mean, Reb Tevye. I mean something altogether different. I mean that for your Tzeitl, you no longer need a dowry, thank God. Her wedding dress and everything a girl needs, I will take on myself. And you,” he said, “will also find a little something in your purse.”
“Feh,” I said, “you’re talking, please forgive me, as if you were in your butcher shop! What do you mean, in my purse? Feh! My Tzeitl is not for sale, God forbid! Feh feh!”
“If it’s feh, it’s feh,” he said to me. “That’s not really what I meant. I meant it quite otherwise. But if you say feh, let it be feh! If you’re satisfied, I’m satisfied. The most important thing,” he said, “is it should be soon. I mean right away. As they say: ‘A house needs a mistress.’ Do you understand?”
“All right,” I said, “I have no objections. But I have to talk it over with my wife. In these matters she has her say. It’s no small matter. As Rashi says: Rachel weepeth for her children—a mother is not a pot lid. And Tzeitl herself,” I said, “has to be asked. As it is said: All the relatives came to the wedding and they left the bridegroom at home.”
“Nonsense,” he said, “why do you need to ask? You tell her, Reb Tevye. You go home and tell her this is the way it is and put up the wedding canopy. One word from you, and it’s done!”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “Don’t say that, Reb Lazer-Wolf. The girl is not, God forbid, a widow impatient for a match.”
“You’re right,” he said, “a girl is a girl, not a widow, and that’s why you must talk to her soon, about dresses, about the trousseau and her wardrobe. And in the meantime,” he said, “Reb Tevye, let’s drink a l’chayim, ha, no?”
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Why not? Isn’t peace always better than arguing? As it is said: ‘A man is a man, but brandy is brandy.’ There’s a saying in the Gemorah . . .” And I gave him a string of Gemorah quotes, one after another, on and on, from the Song of Songs and “Chad Gadyo.”
We drank the bitter drop, as God commanded. The snub-nosed maid brought out the samovar, and we drank glasses of punch, enjoyed ourselves, wished each other well, and chatted about the match many times over.
“Do you know, Reb Lazer-Wolf,” I said, “what a jewel of a girl she is?”
“I know,” he said, “believe me, I know. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have spoken!”
We continued our conversation. I shouted out, “A jewel, a diamond! You must take good care of her, not act like the butcher you are.”
“Don’t be afraid, Reb Tevye,” he said. “What she will eat by me during the week will be more than she ate by you on a holiday.”
“So,” I said, “what she eats is also your affair? The rich man,” I said, “doesn’t eat gold coins, and the poor man doesn’t eat stones. You’re a crude person, and you cannot appreciate her talents, her challah-baking, her fish, Reb Lazer-Wolf, her gefilte fish! It is a privilege to eat it.”
“Reb Tevye, you are, pardon me, really old-fashioned. You don’t know people, Reb Tevye, and you don’t know me!”
“On one side of a scale, put gold. On the other, Tzeitl. Do you hear, Reb Lazer-Wolf, even if you had thousands,” I said, “you still aren’t worth the sole of her foot!”
“Believe me, Reb Tevye, you are a big fool, even though you’re older than I am!”
We carried on this way for quite a while, louder and louder and getting tipsier and tipsier. When I arrived home, it was late, and my legs felt like lead. My wife, may she be well, saw I was drunk and gave me a proper welcome.
“Sha, don’t be angry, Golde!” I said to her cheerily, and I actually felt like dancing. “Don’t yell at me, my soul. We have a mazel tov coming!”
“Mazel tov? A mazel tov for selling that poor milk cow to Lazer-Wolf?”
“Worse than that!” I said.
“You traded her for another?” she said. “You tricked that poor Lazer-Wolf? A pity on him.”
“Even worse!” I said.
“Enough! Speak!” she said. “Look how I have to pry out every word!”
“Mazel tov to you, Golde,” I said again. “Mazel tov to both of us. Our Tzeitl is a bride!”
“Now I know you’re really in your cups,” she said. “You’re talking out of your head! You must have had quite a few glassfuls.”
“I did have a few with Lazer-Wolf, and some punch,” I said, “but I still have all my wits about me. I want you to know, my darling Golde, that our Tzeitl has been blessed with good fortune and is engaged to marry no one else but Lazer-Wolf!” And I told her the whole story from beginning to end, how and what and when and about everything we talked about, not leaving out a word.
“Do you want to hear something, Tevye?” my wife said to me. “May God be with me wherever I go, but my heart told me that when Lazer-Wolf called for you, it was not for nothing. But what could he want? I was afraid to think of it. Maybe, God forbid, it would come to nothing. Thank you, dear God,” she said, “thank you, dearest, benevolent Father. May she have good luck, may it be all for the best. May she grow old with him in honor and respect, not like his first wife, Frume-Sarah, may I not suffer her fate. She did not have too happy a life with him. She was, please forgive me, an embittered woman, couldn’t get along with anyone, not at all like our Tzeitl, may God grant her many years. Thank you, thank you, dear God! Nu, Tevye,” she said. “What did I tell you, you dummy? Does a person have to worry? If it’s meant to be,” she said, “it will come right to your doorstep.”
“For sure,” I said, “there’s a particular passage about that—”
“Don’t bother me now with passages,” she said. “We have to start getting ready for the wedding. First of all, we have to make out a list for Lazer-Wolf of what Tzeitl needs to have for the wedding, starting with linens. She doesn’t have enough underthings, or even so much as a pair of stockings. And,” she said, “dresses—a silk one for the wedding ceremony and a woolen one for winter, another for summer, and housedresses, and petticoats, and cloaks. I want her to have two of them: one cape with a cat-fur hood for weekdays, and another good one with ruffles for Shabbes. And she needs little boots with straps and buttons, a corset, gloves, handkerchiefs, a parasol, and all the things a girl has to have nowadays.”
“How come, Golde, my sweetheart,” I said, “you know about all these fancy things?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she said. “Haven’t I been out in the world? And haven’t I seen in Kasrilevka how the fine people dress? Leave it to me,” she said, “and I’ll do the talking with him. Lazer-Wolf, you can be sure, is a wealthy man and will not like others to talk about him. If you must eat pig, at least let the fat run down your beard.”
That’s how we spent the rest of the night, talking almost till dawn. “It’s time to pack up the bit of cheese and butter, my wife,” I said to her, “and let me start out for Boiberik. True, everything is wonderful and good all around, but the business,” I said, “cannot be laid aside. As it is written in the Psalms: The heavens are the Lord’s—but life down here must go on.”
And while it was still dark, I hitched up my horse and wagon and was off to Boiberik. I arrived at the market and—aha! Can you keep a secret from Jews? The word was out. I was getting mazel tovs from all sides: “Mazel tov to you, Reb Tevye. When is the wedding?”
“May you all have luck as well,” I said. “It’s as they say: ‘Even before you can enjoy your own good luck, the whole world wants to join in.’ ”
“Nonsense,” they said. “You can’t get away with it, Reb Tevye. You must buy us all a drink. After all, what a l
ucky break—you’ve stumbled on a gold mine.”
“The gold runs out,” I said, “and leaves a deep hole behind. But still,” I said, “you can’t be selfish and exclude your friends. As soon as I finish my Yehupetz deliveries, we will have a glass of whiskey and a bite to eat, live it up, and to hell with it. Rejoice and be glad.” Celebrate, you beggars! I said to myself.
And so, as quickly as always, I finished my rounds, and together, as it is supposed to be, my good friends and I had a few drinks, wished one another well, and I rode home in my wagon, lively and happy, if a bit tipsy. As I rode along in the woods on a lovely summer day, the aroma of the pines quickened the soul, and the sun beat down; the trees on either side of the road softened it with their shadows. I leaned back like a count and eased up on the reins. “Go on by yourself, my boy,” I said to my horse. “You know the way by now.” I sang a little tune. My heart was full. I was in a holiday mood. But for some reason I was singing bits from the High Holidays service.
I looked up toward the heavens, but my thoughts were a confused tangle here on earth. The heavens are the Lord’s, but the Earth He hath given to the children of Adam—so they would fight like cats for the honor of being called up to recite the opening and closing prayers for the Torah reading, and for the honor of mourning at the grave. The dead cannot praise God—they can’t appreciate that you must praise Him for the favors He does for you, while we, the living, the poor and destitute, when we have one good day, we thank and praise Him. I love my God because when He hears my voice and my entreaties He bends His ear to me, even as the sorrows of death doth encompass me. I am besieged on all sides with suffering, with sorrows, with afflictions. Here a cow suddenly drops dead in midday, here I am suddenly visited by a shlimazel of a relative, this Menachem-Mendl from Yehupetz, who cheats me out of my last bit of life, and I am thinking the world has come to an end. All men deceiveth—there is no honesty on earth.
Tevye the Dairyman & Motl the Cantor's Son Page 9