The old man finished the bowl of food, and Haim-Ber saw that he had still not been restored. The old man’s hands and feet were still trembling. It was obvious that he was still hungry.
Haim-Ber forgot about his wife and children, who had fallen asleep starving, and poured him another bowl of food. The old man was delighted. His eyes lit up. He was a human being again. And Haim-Ber swelled with pride.
The old man finished his meal, made the blessing after food, got up, looked around the house, and said to Haim-Ber:
“Well done! You’ve saved my life. I would have also liked to spend the night here as well. But I see that you too need your strength restored. Such a cramped house. Well, I’ll go find somewhere else to stay. Good night!”
He piously kissed the mezuzah and slowly walked out.
That very minute, Haya-Bashe woke up. With a weak voice, she asked her husband whether the water had boiled yet.
When Haim-Ber, confused and frightened, told her he had cooked the food himself, a big smile spread across her face. But when she stood up and peered into the pot, everything went black before her eyes. Nothing was left but a few bits of food at the bottom. Her husband, the glutton and guzzler, had eaten almost all the food himself.
She fell upon him with a cry and a shriek:
“How could anyone with a heart eat all the food and leave nothing for his poor children?”
Her anger grew, and she cursed him. She wanted to tear him limb from limb! Haim-Ber was afraid to tell her the truth in case it made things worse. He slid over to the door and dashed out of the house.
He ran, pale and flustered, over the deep snow. And once in a while, he looked back to make sure his wife was not chasing after him.
He saw she hadn’t followed him. He stood for a while in the marketplace, out of breath and with no strength left, and looked around at the dark houses. Shivering from the cold, he thought:
“I won’t be showing up back at home again today. Where else can I stay the night? In the study house? The beadle might not allow it….”
As he stood there and thought, he heard a familiar voice nearby crying out:
“Dear sir, dear sir, you who saved my life! Oh, help me out of the snow!”
He looked—it was the same bent-over old man to whom he’d given a bite to eat, and who now stood buried in the snow and unable to get out.
Haim-Ber ran to the spot, snow up to his belt, and tried with all his might to help the old man get himself out of the snow.
The old man lifted one foot out of the snow, but couldn’t pull out the other one. He had gotten himself caught on something. With great difficulty, the old man pulled his foot out together with the object. Something heavy and black…
“What is it?”
Haim-Ber looked down. It was a big heavy leather pouch.
He thought that if it contained money, the pouch would belong to both of them.
But he waited.
The old man said:
“Open it already! Let’s see what’s inside.”
Haim-Ber’s hands were shaking. He opened the pouch, and his eyes were dazzled. The pouch was full of gold coins!
The old man said to him, his eyes joyful and clear:
“You will, upon my word, find a use for these coins. You have a wife and eight children, may they live long. Take it all. I give my share over to you!”
As soon as he had said these words, the old man disappeared.
Haim-Ber understood who the old man was—the prophet Elijah. He grabbed the pouch of gold coins and ran home, filled with joy. His eyes sparkling, he cried out to Haya-Bashe and the children:
“Praised be His name! He has taken pity on us. Get up—we’ve been saved!”
And he poured a heap of gold coins onto the table, poured and poured, and his wife and children stood with their mouths agape.
Later, when the entire town had long fallen into deep sleep, Haim-Ber’s house was still brightly lit. Haim-Ber, his wife, and their children—revived and stomachs full—embraced one another in a circle, and sang and danced for joy late into the night.
Translated by Gavin Beinart-Smollan and David Stromberg
In a small, quiet town, there once lived a poor man who had three sons. Even though they were poor, they lived quietly and well. No cursing was ever heard in their home, no disparaging words ever spoken. In this way, they lived year in and year out, summer and winter, spring and fall.
Time, however, does not stand still. The man and his wife grew older, and their three sons grew to be tall and handsome, like oak trees. They felt cramped in their small home and were eager to travel the world, to see how Jews and other people lived.
They came home one day and said: “Father, we are now grown men, and our small home is too cramped for us. We would like to travel the world and see how people live. You know we are honest and enjoy work. When we earn a great deal of money, we’ll return and build a large, spacious house in which we’ll all live together again.”
Their father listened to them and said: “Fine, children. A man must see the world and its people. But all three of you can’t leave, since we’re old and weak and can’t be left alone. First my eldest, Shloyme, shall leave. And upon his return, my second-born, Yoysef, shall leave. Afterward Moyshele, my third-born, shall leave. But remember, children, that you must be honest and good, and God will help you.”
Having listened to his father’s words, Shloyme prepared to leave. He didn’t have many things to take with him, and on the third day he kissed his parents and brothers goodbye. He looked one last time at their home, the place where he had been raised, and set off.
He left the town, and in front of his eyes green fields of wheat stretched outward, with a lovely little path in their midst. He set out on the path and walked and walked until it led him into a thick, quiet forest. The farther he went into the forest, the darker and quieter it became. Only the wind moved the branches, and sometimes a bird would suddenly flap its wings….
Shloyme grew uneasy, and took cover under a tree.
Under another tall tree, he saw a clear spring glistening, as if someone had tossed liquid silver onto the ground. He got up, came up to the spring and wanted to drink his fill—he was thirsty—when suddenly he saw an old man with a white beard down to his feet. His eyes twinkled with a kind, bright light. The old man called out: “You want to drink, but I want to eat. Maybe you can give me something to eat?”
Shloyme took from his bag the only challah his mother had baked for his journey and said: “Here, old man, eat in good health. I can’t give you anything more or better. I don’t have anything.” The old man ate some challah and asked: “Where are you going and what is your name?”
“I don’t know myself where I’m headed,” Shloyme answered. “My path is not yet determined, but I’m going onward.”
The old man was silent for a moment and then said: “In that case, maybe you would like to come with me? I will give you work and you will earn something.”
Shloyme looked the old man over. A warm light emerged from his face and eyes and drew Shloyme closer. “I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
And together they walked through the dark forest. Shloyme noticed that the old man’s feet did not touch the ground—the dry twigs and leaves did not crackle under him. Shloyme was amazed but kept silent.
Soon they reached a tall mountain on which stood a very beautiful castle. Three thick walls wrapped around the castle, with a golden door at the center.
When Shloyme approached the door with the old man, it opened on its own, and they entered the castle. For a while, Shloyme stood still in amazement: he saw gold and silver and diamonds and flowers and people in the most astonishing and beautiful clothes—but they were all turned to stone. Even the horses in their stalls, even the flowers on the windowsills, were made of s
tone.
The old man said: “You will live here, my child, and your job will be to walk every day through every room—through every corner and passageway of the castle—every day, and you will call out: ‘Good is the person who treats others well, who is brave and courageous!’ ”
And the old man disappeared.
The next day, Shloyme began his job. He walked through every room, every corner and hall, and called out in a loud voice: “Good is the person who treats others well, who is brave and courageous!”
And every time, someone answered: “Amen!”
At first, Shloyme was startled. He just could not see the person who was answering “Amen!” And it seemed to him as if someone were floating above his head. But he overcame his fear and did his job. This way, he passed an entire day.
In his bundle, he still had a piece of challah, which the old man had left for him. He ate the challah and went to bed.
The next morning, he rose before the sun. He washed himself, combed his hair, and began to walk through the rooms. He did his job and called out: “Good is the person who treats others well, who is brave and courageous!”
And every time, someone answered: “Amen!”
When he finished his work, the old man appeared with a small package. “I’ve brought you some food,” he said. “You must be hungry.” He handed Shloyme the package.
“Are you happy with your job?” the old man asked.
“I am,” Shloyme answered, and smiled quietly.
The old man disappeared again, and Shloyme sat down to eat. In the package, he found only grapes, apples, and nuts, but they tasted of every dish imaginable in the world. If you wanted to taste meat, you tasted meat. If you wanted to taste fish, you tasted fish.
In this way, an entire year passed. Shloyme became so accustomed to the castle, with its quiet rooms set in stone, that he completely forgot about the whole world. True, he’d sometimes feel forlorn and sad: he never saw any people there. But when he called out “Good is the person…,” it rang in his ears the entire day, like a tender song, which would always comfort his heart.
After a year had gone by, the old man appeared and said: “Well, you can leave now. You’ve done your duty. I’ll give you a small package that will grow in your hand every hour, and when you arrive at home, you’ll be a rich man.”
The old man handed him the package, and Shloyme kissed him goodbye. Then the old man placed his hands on Shloyme’s head and blessed him. Shloyme set out with light and joyful steps.
On the way, his package grew from hour to hour, and when he arrived home, it was already a large pack. When Shloyme opened it, thousands of golden ducats shone inside….
His father, mother, and brothers embraced him and cried with joy. They passed the day like a holiday.
The next morning, Shloyme was already talking with workers about building a large house. At the same time, Yoysef, the second-born, said: “Well, Father, now the time has come for me to see the world and earn a living.”
His father said: “True, my son. Go. But remember that one must be honest and good.”
Yoysef kissed his father, mother, and brothers goodbye, and set out on the same path as Shloyme. And the same thing happened to him as to Shloyme. He also lived in the enchanted castle, but longer than Shloyme. For a full two years, he called out in every room, hallway, and corner: “Good is the person who treats others well, who is brave and courageous!”
After two years, Yoysef returned home. He didn’t bring back any money, but he did bring rays of light. Wherever he went and wherever he stood, it became as bright as if the sun were following him. Soon he came to be known across the world as a great sage, and from everywhere people traveled to him for words of advice and consolation. There was no one in need whom he didn’t help or whose heart he didn’t brighten.
After Yoysef’s return, Moyshele, the youngest, said: “Dear father, now my time has come. Let me see the world, too.”
His father blessed him and said the same thing he told the others: “Be honest and good.”
On a beautiful day, he bade his parents and brothers farewell and set out. He walked unhurriedly on the same path as his brothers.
Deep in the forest, he, too, met the old man, who led him into the castle. And in the castle, Moyshele did the same thing as his brothers. He, too, called out in all the rooms, hallways, and corners: “Good is the person who treats others well, who is brave and courageous!”
But Moyshele’s voice was different. In his voice, one could feel his good heart, which never wished to do anything bad. While his voice resounded loudly in the rooms, it felt as if everything warmed and came back to life. Even the old man once remarked: “My child, your voice is as sweet as a prayer.”
Three years did Moyshele spend there, and for three years he praised the “good person” in every dead corner of the castle. But exactly on the day Moyshele was preparing to leave, a stranger entered and set the table. Afterward, he motioned with his finger for Moyshele to sit down. Moyshele obeyed.
Such delicious dishes Moyshele had never eaten. As he rose from the table, everything began to change in front of his eyes. Everything came to life. The stone birds began to sing, the trees in the garden grew leaves, dead flowers began to bloom and spread a wonderful scent. Horses neighed in their stalls, and a herd of cows could be heard mooing. At the same time, the stone people began to move, and among them Moyshele noticed an extraordinarily beautiful girl.
Soon she came over to Moyshele and said: “I was born in this castle. My father and mother lived here as lord and lady. But God punished all of us because we behaved badly toward others. I was punished for the following: One evening, I went out for a walk. I encountered an old beggar woman, who asked me for alms. But instead of giving her alms, I set my dog on her, and it bit her badly. The old woman wept bitterly and said: ‘May God punish you!’ I turned into stone at once. Along with me, everyone was turned to stone, and our castle became a dead place.”
The girl looked at Moyshele earnestly: “But you and your brothers saved us. Every day, I heard you calling out and I wanted to answer you, but I couldn’t. Ah! How I tortured myself! But I felt how the stone was gradually dissolving inside me and how my heart was slowly filling up with warm blood. And today I suddenly felt I could take a step, and I began to walk.”
And in a resonant voice, she repeated what Moyshele would always proclaim in the dead and silent rooms. Then they quietly gazed at each other and she said: “I know your name. Moyshele….If you want, Moyshele, I shall give you all my fortune, everything I own, because you gave me my breath and turned me from cold stone into warm blood. Everything happened on account of you!”
Moyshele lowered his gaze and blushed with shame. “No,” he said quietly, “I don’t want anything. I do not need to be paid anything. I did what I did because it is the best deed in life: we must be good to one another.”
Now the old man suddenly appeared and said: “Stay in the castle, my child. That’s what I instruct you to do. Truly, on account of you, the castle has been revived. Don’t leave this place just when you’ve given everyone life.”
And so it happened: Moyshele remained in the castle.
To this day, a blue flame burns on the castle’s roof. Those who wander through the dark forest and notice the small flame are reminded that in that place a good person once warmed and revived bad, cold people who’d been turned to stone. And those who enter the castle to warm up are received with arms spread wide open.
Translated by Sandra Chiritescu
Glossaries usually give the meanings of specialized words that appear in a text—usually in the same language. This one does something different: it tells the story of Yiddish words that do not appear in any of the stories, but for which there were no perfect English translations. Words like these are usually lost in the fray as translators find solutions that
work in the target language. By providing a peek into the process, this glossary rescues some of the words that would otherwise have been lost in translation.
Arbes: Appears in “Broken In.” Though arbes refers to a type of pea, determining which variety is difficult. It comes from the German Erbse, meaning pea, usually referring to green peas. Yiddish-English dictionaries also define arbes as pea. Yet when Yiddish speakers today say arbes, they often refer to chickpeas seasoned with black pepper. Yiddish has another word for chickpea—though it does not appear in all the dictionaries—and that’s nahit, which apparently comes from the Turkish nohut through the Russian nut, pronounced noot. (That’s not to be mistaken with the English nut, which comes from the German Nuss!) The variation appears to be related to the region. It would seem that Yiddish speakers from Russian-speaking lands used nahit for chickpeas and arbes for green peas, whereas Yiddish speakers from Poland called chickpeas arbes. All this would be irrelevant if, in the story, the wagon bearing the child and his mother didn’t pass a field of arbes. It is difficult to know whether they pass a field of green peas or chickpeas—especially as it appears that both were grown at some point in the region. And so because both are in the legume family, the surest way to present the scene is to refer to a field of bean stakes and leave the rest to the imagination.
Gevaldiker: Appears in “Broken In” and comes from the German word Gewalt, which means violence. In Yiddish, however, it has broader connotations and is often used to describe anything surprising. It is used as an exclamation—Gevald!—comparable to Oh no! In the story, when the boy arrives to live with his uncle, he sees a large group of children, and the narrator describes a gevaldiker tumult. While it is possible to say there is a violent tumult, the tone would be considerably different from the rest of the story, so instead the scene is described as extremely loud.
Holipitshes: Featured in “The King Who Licked Honey” and isn’t in any dictionary. It describes what the sages and stargazers eat after failing to come up with a solution for getting the king’s tongue out of the jar where it is stuck. A clue to what holipitshes might be is that pitsh sounds like a Yiddishization of peach in English. But while there are many types of peaches—yellow, white, freestone, clingstone—there is none called holly. Another clue to what holipitshes might be is that it sounds a little like holeptses or holishkes, Slavic-origin synonyms for stuffed cabbage in Yiddish. But this dish is usually meat-based, and considering the author’s sensitivity to animals—recall that in the title story the animals are not slaughtered but “unzipped” for their meat—it seems unlikely that he would feature an image of the sages eating ground beef. An investigation into the history of canning in America, however, led to a potential breakthrough: in the 1920s, the California Packing Corporation sold Holly Brand Yellow Cling Peaches. It is possible that the wordplay-loving author noticed that Holly Peaches, pronounced in Yiddish as holipitshes, sounds a little like holeptses and holishkes, and so invented the Yiddish American mishmash that appears in the story. Since Yiddish is written in the Hebrew alphabet and the word looks like this——it lost all connection to an American product that actually existed. Only after discovering Holly Brand Peaches, and thinking about the ingredients of dishes originating in Eastern Europe, could the sages and stargazers finally be described simply as eating canned peaches.
In the Land of Happy Tears Page 10