“I know she did,” I say. “But she was just standing here by my bed, talking to me. And then she grabbed me by the throat and tried to choke me!”
“Oh, my God, Tevye,” she says, “you’re delirious. It was only a dream. Spit three times against the Evil Eye, tell me what you dreamed, and you’ll see that it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“God bless you, Golde,” I say. “If it weren’t for you, I would have croaked on the spot from sheer fright. Bring me a glass of water and I’ll tell you my dream. But I’ll have to ask you, Golde, to control yourself and not panic, because our holy books say that no dream can come true more than seventy-five percent, and that the rest of it is pure poppycock, such stuff and nonsense that only a fool would believe in … And now listen. At first I dreamed that we were having some sort of celebration, a wedding or an engagement party, I’m not sure which. All sorts of people were there, the rabbi too, even a band of musicians. Then a door opened and in came your Grandmother Tsaytl, God rest her soul …”
As soon as I mentioned her grandmother, my wife turned as white as the wall and cried out, “How did she look and what was she wearing?”
“She looked,” I said, “like your enemies should, as yellow as wax, and she was wearing something white, it must have been a funeral shroud … ‘Mazel tov!’ she says to me. ‘I’m so pleased to hear that you’ve chosen a fine young man for your Tsaytl, your eldest daughter who’s named for me. He’s called Motl Komzoyl, after my cousin Mordechai, and he’s an excellent fellow, even if he is a tailor …’ ”
“Why in the world,” says my Golde, “is she bringing us a tailor? We’ve always had teachers in our family, cantors, beadles, even undertakers — I won’t say that some of them weren’t poor, but we never, God forbid, had a shoemaker or a tailor.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Golde,” I said. “Your Grandmother Tsaytl must know what she’s talking about — though in fact I also said, ‘Grandma, I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong: Tsaytl’s fiancé is a butcher, not a tailor, and his name is Layzer Wolf, not Motl Komzoyl …’ ‘No,’ says your Grandma Tsaytl. ‘No, Tevye, you’ve got it wrong: Tsaytl’s young man is called Motl. He’s a tailor, all right, and he and she, God willing, will have a long and happy life together …’ ‘Right you are, Grandma,’ I say. ‘But what exactly do you propose that we do about Layzer Wolf? I hope you realize that I’ve given him my word …’ No sooner had I said that than I looked up — your Grandmother Tsaytl was gone! Now Frume Soreh was standing in her place, and this is what she said to me: ‘Reb Tevye! I’ve always thought you were a learned, honorable Jew; would you kindly explain to me, then, how you can let your daughter take over my house, sit in my chairs, carry my keys, walk around in my coats, put on my jewelry, and wear my pearls?’ ‘But why blame me?’ I say to her. ‘That’s what your Layzer Wolf wants.’ ‘Layzer Wolf?’ she says. ‘Layzer Wolf will come to no good end, while as for your daughter Tsaytl — I feel sorry for your daughter, Reb Tevye, because she won’t live out three weeks with him. If she does, I promise you that I’ll come to her in person the next night and throttle her, like this …’ And with those very words, Golde, Frume Soreh grabbed me by the throat and began to squeeze so hard that if you hadn’t waked me when you did, I’d be in the world to come now.”
“Tfu! Tfu! Tfu!” goes my wife, spitting three times. “May the river drown it, may the earth swallow it up, may the wind carry it off, may the forest blot it out, and no harm come to us and our children! May the butcher have black dreams himself! He should break a hand and a foot before anything happens to Motl Komzoyl’s little finger, even if he is a tailor! Believe me, if he’s named after my cousin Mordechai he doesn’t have a tailor’s soul. And if my grandmother, may she rest in peace, has taken the trouble of coming all the way from the next world to wish us a mazel tov, we’d better say mazel tov ourselves. It should only turn out for the best. They should have lots of happiness, amen and amen!”
Why make a short story long? I must be made of iron if I could manage to lie there under the blankets without bursting from laughter. Borukh shelo osoni ishoh—a woman is always a woman … Needless to say, we celebrated the engagement the next day and the wedding soon after, and the two lovebirds are as happy as can be. He tailors in Boiberik, going from dacha to dacha for work, and she’s busy day and night, cooking, and baking, and washing, and scrubbing, and fetching water from the well. They barely manage to get by. In fact, if I didn’t bring them some produce now and then, and sometimes a bit of cash, they’d be in a real fix — but listen to her and she’s sitting on top of the world as long as she has her Motl …
Well, go argue with today’s children! It’s like I said at the beginning, bonim gidalti veroymamti: you can slave for them, you can knock your head against the wall—veheym poshu vi, they still think they know better than you do. No, say what you will, today’s children are too smart for their own good. But I’m afraid I’ve chewed your ear off even more than usual today. Please don’t hold it against me — you should only take care and be well!
(1899)
HODL
You’ve been wondering, have you, Pan Sholem Aleichem, where I’ve been all this time? Tevye’s changed quite a bit, you say, grown suddenly gray? Ah, if only you knew the troubles, the heartache, that I’ve been through! It’s written that odom yesoydoy mi’ofor vesoyfoy le’ofor, that a man can be weaker than a fly and stronger than steel — I tell you, that’s a description of me! Maybe you can tell me, though, why it is that whenever something goes wrong in this world, it’s Tevye it goes wrong with. Do you think that’s because I’m a gullible fool who believes whatever he’s told? If only I’d managed to remember what our rabbis said a thousand times, kabdeyhu vekhoshdeyhu—a man musn’t trust his own dog … But what can I do, I ask you, if that’s my nature? And besides, I’m a man of faith, as you know, I have no complaints against God. Not that they would do me the least bit of good if I had them! Whatever He does must be for a reason, though. It’s like the prayer book says, haneshomoh lokh vehaguf shelokh—what does a man ever know and what is he really worth? My wife and I quarrel about that. “Golde,” I’m always telling her, “it’s a sin even to think such things. There’s a story in the Talmud that—” “Leave me alone with your Talmud!” she says. “We have a daughter to marry off, and after her, touch wood, two others, and after them three more, if first they don’t break a leg …” “You musn’t talk that way, Golde,” I say. “Our rabbis warned against it. In the Talmud it also says—” But she never lets me finish. “A house full of growing daughters,” she says, “is all the Talmud I need to know!” Go argue with a woman, I tell you!
In short, I don’t have to remind you that I have, touch wood, some fine goods at home, each better-looking than the other. God forgive me for boasting. It’s not a man’s job to praise his own daughters, but you should hear the whole world tell me what knockouts they are! And most of all my Hodl, who’s next after Tsaytl, the one who fell for the tailor, if you recall. I can’t begin to tell you how gorgeous she is — I mean Hodl, my second daughter; she’s like the Bible says of Queen Esther, ki toyvas mar’eh hi—prettier than a picture! And if looks aren’t bad enough, she has the brains to go with them; she reads and writes both Yiddish and Russian and swallows books like hot cakes. What, you may ask, do a book and a dairyman’s daughter have in common? Well, I ask them the same riddle — I mean all those nice Jewish youngsters who, begging your pardon, don’t own a pair of britches for their backsides, yet only want to study all day long. Kulonu khakhomim, kulonu nevoynim, as it says in the Haggadah — nowadays everyone wants to be a student. Where? How? Why, a cow can sooner jump over a roof than a Jew get into a Russian university! Al tishlakh yodkho: they guard their schools from us like a bowl of cream from a cat. Not that it keeps us from studying anyway — and plain ordinary boys and girls too, the children of tailors and shoemakers, God help me if I don’t see them everywhere! They leave home for Yehupetz or Odessa, they live there in attics and garrets, they eat the ten plagues of Egypt with the eleventh for dessert, they go for months on end without seeing a scrap of meat, a single roll and a herring is a feast for a dozen of them. Vesomakhto bekhagekho—life for them is one big holiday …