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

Your doubts about the volatility of the market reveal a weak grasp of politics. There’s a regular at Fanconi’s, Gambetta is the name, who talks politics day and night. He has a thousand proofs that war is coming. In fact, he can already hear the cannon booming. Not here, he says, but in France. The French, he says, won’t forgive Bismarck in a thousand years. It’s a sure thing, he says — why, it’s surer than sure — that war will break out any day. There are no two ways about it. If you go by Gambetta you’ll sell everything, roll up your sleeves, and buy short, short, short all you can.

And as for buying you a coat, my dear wife, I’ve seen something better: a gold watch with a metalian, chain, and matching brooch, and a pair of bracelets in a window near Fanconi’s — all the very best quality. But being 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.

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl.

P.S. This town is so rich, and its Jews are so busy getting richer, that no one thinks about Sabbaths or Jewish holidays. I needn’t tell you, though, that for me the Sabbath is still the Sabbath. I don’t care if it’s raining stones out, it’s my day to go to synagogue. The Odessa synagogue is something to see. It’s called the Choir Synagogue and everyone wears a top hat and sits on all sides of the cantor. His name is Pini and can he sing, even if he doesn’t have a beard! And he knows Hebrew a sight better than that old dodo of a Moyshe-Dovid in Kasrilevke. You can pass out just from listening to him. I tell you, they could sell tickets! And the choir boys wear the cutest little prayer shawls. If Saturday came twice a week, I’d go both times just to hear Pini. Don’t ask me why the local Jews stay away. Even those who come don’t pray. They sit chewing their cud in their little prayer shawls and ritzy top hats and — shhhh, not a sound! Try praying loud enough for God to hear you and a beadle comes over and tells you to hush. I never saw such weird Jews in my life.

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, it’s beyond me, dear husband, what’s so special about your blamed Franconi’s. I may never have eaten creamed ice on marble, but I know enough to ask: where’s the money in it? And what kind of loon are you running around with who hears shooting in his dreams? He deserves to be shot dead himself! Is it wars that he wants? “One man’s blood is another’s water,” my mother says…. You’ve seen gold watches and bracelets in a window? Well, bless my great-grandmother’s soul! What are gifts in a window to me, Mendl? My mother says dumplings in a dream are a dream and not dumplings. You’d do better to step into a shop and buy new linen, cotton cloth for pillow cases, a couple of padded quilts, a few pieces of silver, and whatever else we could use around the house. Would you believe that Blume-Zlate has taken to preening herself each time she sees me? Let her preen till she bursts! So she has a pearl necklace, so what? For my part, let her choke on it. Is it my fault her husband gives her whatever she asks for? Some people have luck and mine was to be born on the wrong day. I have to remind his lordship of everything. All you think of is your longs and your shorts. I tell you to sell and what do you do? You rush right out and buy more! Are you afraid the world will run out of Lumdums? It’s some business you’re in and some city Odessa must be when a Sabbath is no Sabbath and a Jewish holiday is no holiday and a cantor has no beard. I wish he had my aches and pains! If I were you, I’d run from Odessa like the plague. But his lordship likes it there. Well, to quote my mother, a worm lies in horseradish and thinks there’s nothing sweeter. I’m asking you, my husband, to think again and give up your merry life there. Let Odessa burn to the ground! I am, from the bottom of my heart,

Your truly faithful wife,

Sheyne-Sheyndl

And by the way, Mendl, who is this Franconi you’re spending all your time with? Is it a he or a she?

To my dear, 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’m now earning in the high thousands. If my position holds, I’ll be a wealthy man. I’ll cash in my spread, come back to Kasrilevke, and bring you with me, God willing, to Odessa. We’ll rent a place on the boulevard, fill it with fine furniture, and live as only we Odessans know how to.

Meanwhile, I’m having stomach trouble. It shouldn’t happen to you but all that iced cream has done me no good. Nowadays at Fanconi’s I order a drink that’s sipped through a straw: it has a bittersweet, licoricy taste and two or three glasses are my limit. After that I have to hang out in the street and worry about the officer, which is no fun at all because he has his eye on me. But by the grace of God, I’ve given him the slip so far. What a Jew mustn’t do to earn a living! God grant the market goes my way and I’ll buy you two of whatever Blume-Zlate has, more than you could ever imagine…. And as for Gambetta, he may be a hothead but he’s no madman. God help the man who argues politics with him! He’s quite capable of tearing him to shreds. He’s sure war will break out any second — the calmer things are, the more certain it is. “It’s the lull before the storm,” he says. Yesterday I could have sold a few shorts on spot and come away with a nice little bundle, but Gambetta put his foot down. “I’ll skin you alive,” says he, “if you unload a single share now!” It won’t be long, he says, before 50 rubles of shorts are worth 2 or 3 hundred, even 4. Why, they could even top 1,000! Let him be half-right and I’m sitting pretty. I’ll take my profit, God willing, and switch to longs. I’ll buy rubles and sell Londons like crazy and show the world a thing or two about the market. But as I’m 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.

Your husband,

Menakhem-Mendl

P.S. Regarding Fanconi (and not “Franconi,” as you write), it’s neither a he nor a she but a cafe. That’s a place where you drink coffee, eat iced cream, and deal in Londons. I wish I were worth half the daily volume there!

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, all three children have the measles and keep me up all night. And his lordship sits in Odessa drinking likrish-water! But why care about my worries in Kasrilevke when you’re all in a sweat to carry me off from here? You think it’s enough to say “Odessa” for me to sprout wings and f ly away to you. Listen here, Mendl: take a deep breath and get it out of your head. My great-grandmother managed without Odessa and so will I. Don’t think you can talk me into ditching my parents and good friends and moving to a wilderness. I’ll see Odessa in f lames first! Say what you will, the more I hear of it, the less I like it. Don’t ask me why — I just don’t. Something tells me you’re pushing your luck. “The best dairy dish is a piece of meat,” my mother says. Or are you afraid prices will keep rising and you’ll look foolish for selling now? Everyone should only be such a fool!