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

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl

P.S. I don’t understand why I haven’t received a response from the editorial board to my first piece. I haven’t gotten any money either. By now I’ve sent off two more pieces. God willing, I’m sure to hear from them tomorrow or the day after.

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, dear husband, I beg you in God’s name to come home as soon as you get this letter, because my poor father is dangerously ill. The doctors consulted and found that he has, I dread to say, water in his stomach. The pain is unbearable. You can imagine the state that my mother, bless her, is in. She cares nothing for herself, all her thoughts are only of him. “If you had lived with someone in one room for thirty years, you’d feel that way too,” she says. And you sit in your lovely Yehupetz, describing cretins I wouldn’t mention with my father in one breath! As always, I wish you health and happiness.

Your truly faithful wife,

Sheyne-Sheyndl

For the love of God, be sure to come at once and send a telegram!

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, your letter was like a knife in my heart. If I had wings, I’d fly to Kasrilevke. But I can’t afford to go anywhere. I’m flat broke and in debt to my landlady. Not only have I run up a large food bill, I owe her for paper and ink. I kept thinking I would hear from the editorial board, but after all my expenses, and all the fine things I wrote my fingers off about, it’s been as quiet as a mouse. Not very nice, I must say! If they didn’t like what I wrote, they could at least have told me to stop. But I suppose my time and effort don’t cost them anything. Anyone else would have raised Cain. To tell the truth, if I had the money for a telegram, I’d cable them to put up or shut up.

There are no words for how heartsick I feel. I can hardly get my pen to write. Who would have thought it? They didn’t even have the decency to answer when I asked for a free copy of the paper. I could have made more money chopping wood! I don’t know how it is with other writers, but I’ve been treated like the lowest of the low.

All that’s left is to pray to God. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help. I’m at the end of my rope, worse than this it can’t get — and because 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 and send your father a full recovery. And may I soon see the children healthy and well, because I miss them so that I’m pining away.

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl

P.S. This letter has been with me for several days because I had no money to buy stamps. I kept thinking: what do I do now? It seems there’s no way of making a living in this world that I haven’t tried. The one thing left is matchmaking. There’s a matchmaker here in the boarding house, and to listen to him talk, he does all right. It may not be as respectable as literature, but it’s a sight better than trading. If only God would pitch in!

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, I don’t know what to write. I showed your letter to my mother and she says it’s all my fault. The bed you make, she says, is the bed you sleep in. “If it had been me writing to that son-of-a-gun-in-law of mine,” she says, “I’d have brought him to his senses long ago. I’d have gone and collared him myself.” You’re in luck, she says, that my father is on his deathbed and the two of us are falling off our feet.

The money I’m sending is from my mother. I hope you appreciate her kindness. May I never read another letter of yours again! And may Yehupetz sink into the ground like Sodom once you leave it, with all its grand businesses, fortunes, traders, matchmakers, boards, and bawdy houses. I wish you much health and happiness, now and always.

Your truly faithful wife,

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, it’s no go. The harder I try, the less it works out. As soon as I received the rubles you sent, I paid my bill at the boarding house and packed my things. What can I tell you? I was already on my way to Khvostov, where I planned to change for Kasrilevke.

But God is greater than any of us. Listen to this. I mentioned in my last letter a matchmaker at my boarding house, Leybe Lebelski by name, who likes to boast that he has a fortune in his pocket — a list of the whole world. A while back he announced that he was going on a trip to arrange a match. He had received, he said, an urgent telegram, and was leaving his things with our landlady for safekeeping. Since then we’ve seen no more of him than you have. And so as I was saying good-bye, the landlady said: “Since you’re heading in the same direction, you might as well take Lebelski’s papers. Maybe you’ll run into the idiot and let him have them.” “But what do I want with someone else’s property?” I asked. “Never you mind,” she said. “It’s not money, it’s just a bunch of names.”

No sooner said than done. And as I was sitting in the carriage, curiosity got the better of me. I opened the envelope and took a peek — a gold mine! Correspondences with other matchmakers, names of satisfied parents, even a list of eligibles in alphabetical order! I give it to you verbatim:

Avritch — Khaveh d/o R. Levi Tankenog, Esq. & Miryem-Gitl. A+ family tree, tall & attractive, seeks young man w/ diploma, offering 4,000.

Balti — Faytl s/o Yoysef Hitelmakher, Esq. Educated, Zionite, certified accountant w/ draft exemption, regular synagogue-goer, cash only.

Boiberik — R. Mendl Lopita. Established, 3x widower, well-preserved ca. 70, seeking first-time bride.

Dubno — Leah d/o Meir Karzik. Good family, short, redhead, speaks French, will pay well.

Glokhiv — Yefim Bolosni. Pharmacist & part-time moneylender, beardless but prefers Jewish women, seeking brunette.

Heysen — Lipe Brosh, b.-in-law Itsi Koymen, consultant Zalman Radimishler’s sugar mill, only son, handsome boy w/ devil in eyes, seeks well-feathered nest.

Kasrilevke — Yoysef-Yitzkhok s/o R. Nosn Koyrakh. Father filthy rich & a wild man. Still-waters-run-deep intellectual type, knowledge of Hebrew, Russian, Torginnev & Darwen, seeks poor orphan but must be raving beauty, generous expense account. Pay the piper & I’ll dance to your tune.

Khmelnik — Basya Flekl, Esq’ess. Widow & usurer, shrewd old bird, seeks scholar, money unnecessary.

Kremenchug — educated run-for-your-life Cyanide, claims 100 incomes + total recall of Talmud. Chess whiz, can top all you say, talks and writes like the blazes, rumored to have wife already.

Lipovitz — s/o Leibush Kapoti. Wild-eyed Hasid, lives in Odessa, 8th grade matriculation, violin & some Hebrew, presentable.