Sholem Aleichem - The Letters of Menakhem-Mendl and Sheyne-Sheyndl and Motl, the Cantor's Son

To make a long story short, I went to my partners and came back with a proposal itemized seventeen different ways. What do you say now, my dear wife: is your Menakhem-Mendl a businessman or not? Let God give us the go-ahead from Rothschild and I’m at the head of the class! The only problem is that meanwhile I’m strapped for cash. You should see how hard-up all Yehupetz is. A day doesn’t go by without a new bankruptcy. But don’t you fret, my dear. It’s only temporary. All our trials, God willing, will soon have a happy end. As soon as I get word from Paris, I’ll do some shopping for us and for the children, bless them all. And being busy and in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my fondest greetings to the children and to everyone,

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl

P.S. The story you ask about is an interesting one. It all begins with a Dreyfus who was a captain in Paris — that is, with a captain named Dreyfus. And Esterhazy was a major. (That’s higher than a captain, unless it’s the other way around.) Captain Dreyfus was a Jew but Major Esterhazy was a Christian and he wrote a memoveranda framing the captain. Dreyfus didn’t take that lying down and was sentenced to eternal life on an island in the sea. Along came Zola and made a stink showing that Dreyfus didn’t write the memoveranda. It was all the major’s fault, Esterhazy’s! And so Esterhazy went to jail. Then Zola upped and ran away and a colonel named Picquart raised a rumpus. That made a bunch of generals like Mercier and Roget tell more lies about Dreyfus. Pretty soon the Frenchies were fighting with themselves about bringing Dreyfus back from the island. There was a trial in Rennes with a big lawyer from Paris and they shot him in the back — the lawyer, that is, not Dreyfus. Then they wiped the floor with those generals and Dreyfus was convicted and set free. That’s because he was guilty even though he was innocent and go do something about it! I trust it’s all clear to you now.

Yours, etc.

To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!

First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.

Second, you’re a madman. You’re gushing with oil, you’re off to Paris, you’re throwing around millions! Next you’ll be howling like a dog in the streets. His lordship is one of your rich Yehupetz Jews, the proof being that he’s broke and so are they! “If it acts like a donkey and brays like a donkey,” my mother says, “it must be a donkey.”

Mark my words, Mendl: if you’re not brought home in chains, it will be in a straightjacket. One way or another, you’ll realize you have a wife, may she live to see the day, who knows better than you. And as for all your shopping, I thank you kindly. Yehupetz’s shops should have nothing but customers like you and your lying partners who are worth gadzillions and haven’t a kopeck! I only hope I’ve heard the worst of it. My very best wishes,

Your truly faithful wife,

Sheyne-Sheyndl

May I know no more sorrow in my life than I understood a word about your Dryfuss! How does a Jew get to be a captain? And what’s a memoveranda and how do you frame one? And why did Zola run away and why didn’t they shoot him to his face? But it’s as my mother says: “If you want to learn how to grow cabbages, ask the gardener, not the goat.”

To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!

Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.

Secondly, I wish the Caucasus had been swallowed by the earth before I heard of it! I can’t show my face at the Exchange. How come? It’s very simple. Yesterday I’m there when Todres says to me: “Listen here, my fine friend, just where is this Caucasus of yours?” “Where should it be?” I say. “It’s in the Caucasus.” “Well,” he says, “I’ve been searching the map for it. Your oil fields are a lot of baloney.” “What do you mean by that?” I say. “I mean,” he says, “that there’s no town called Caucasus anywhere. You won’t even find it in the Bible. Just how does a Jew come to another Jew with a business deal made of whole cloth? And meant for whose ears? For Rothschild’s! Do you have any idea who Rothschild is?” “Of course I do,” I say. “What makes you think I don’t? Just don’t go blaming me. I only passed on the information.”

Off I go to look for Long Cape. I find him sitting in the cafeteria with all the Jews and put him over the barrel. “Suppose you tell me, old man,” I say, “where this business of ours is supposed to be.” “You’re asking me?” he says. “It’s in your hands. You’re the one bringing the customer.” “That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I’m talking about the oil fields. Where are they? How do you get there? What’s the nearest town?” “To tell you the truth,” he says, “I don’t rightly know. You’ll have to ask my partner.” So we go and ask Weird Name and he tells us to ask Red Nose. Red Nose says he doesn’t have a clue; he only knows what he heard from Fat Lips, which is that Long Cape has a business in the Caucasus; he’ll be hanged if he knows where. In a word, the more we tried getting to the bottom of it, the more everyone pointed the finger at someone else until I was left holding the bag. Naturally! Who else would they stick with it?

Do you understand now, my dear wife, what I’ve been through? With luck like mine I might as well be buried alive. It doesn’t matter what I try. At first everything goes hunky-dory, the winning ticket is in my pocket, any day now I’ll cash in my chips — and then the wheel gives one more spin and it all blows up in my face. I reckon I’m not meant to strike it rich. Everyone in Yehupetz makes good but Menakhem-Mendl. The world parties and leaves me out in the cold, watching it count the millions I’m not allowed to touch.

But perhaps I haven’t found the right combination. No one knows when his luck will look up. It’s bound to happen if you wait long enough …but as I’m feeling low, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my greetings to your parents and write me how you are. And kiss the children for me and tell me what’s new in Kasrilevke.

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl

P.S. Misery loves company. The next man’s troubles makes your own easier to bear. Take the fellow sharing my room. He was a provisioner who owned stores and houses and now he’s in Yehupetz suing the government. He’s hoping for a settlement, a big one, but meanwhile he’s broke and staying with me. If he wins his case, God willing, he’ll keep me in mind.

I have another roommate, too, who’s even worse off. He’s a writer who writes for the papers and is working on a book; I’m putting him up until he’s done. Now and then the landlady pities him and brings him a glass of tea. And there’s a third fellow, a real pauper. Why, the writer has nothing on him! I can’t tell you myself what he does. He’s a part-time agent, part-time matchmaker, and part-time actor, besides being a singer and an exterminator. And a jolly Jew he is, though he’s dying of hunger and doesn’t have a cent! When you see so many troubles, you forget your own. Please write about your health and the children, bless them, and about your parents and everyone else.

Yours, etc.

To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!