Sholem Aleichem - Tevye the Dairyman and Motl the Cantor's Son

Tevye is presented as Tevye’s account of his life as he relates it to his friend Sholem Aleichem, who records Tevye’s words. It is thus written in the first person, and its language is that of a simple, poor, and — except in religious traditions and biblical matters — uneducated man living in a Russian shtetl. Could I imagine Tevye using a sophisticated word, even though it might be the most accurate?

My husband, Howie, a gifted writer, Yiddish speaker, and frustrated actor, loved reading aloud from Tevye as we worked together. The film of Fiddler on the Roof, however wonderful, gives no hint of the many tragedies that befall Tevye throughout the novel, and we frequently had to pause in our work to cry. I will always remember this collaboration with the most heartfelt gratitude and pleasure.

Motl, like Tevye, is written in the first person, but its narrator is a clever, mischievous nine-year-old boy, high-spirited and insatiably curious, eager to try anything for the fun of it. His vocabulary needed to reflect these qualities, something I had great fun with.

Several years ago my friend the fine actress Suzanne Toren performed with me two of the episodes from Motl at a family program at YIVO, alternating Yiddish and English. The audience of children and their parents enjoyed it immensely. Sholem Aleichem’s love of children is apparent in Motl, so it’s no wonder the young audience responded so well.

Translating Motl was a great pleasure but also deeply sad, for it was as Sholem Aleichem was writing it that he died. The book ends in midsentence, and there’s an explanatory epilogue by his son-in-law I. D. Berkovitch. Having translated Sholem Aleichem over many years and many books, I could tell where in the text he’d begun to grow weak, his powers dwindling as the story drew to a close. The dimming of his usual bright, sharp style alerted me to bad things to come. He was dying as he was writing the very words I was translating, and yet Motl the cantor’s son lives on. May the reader enjoy this lovable little hellion.

A letter from Tevye the dairyman to the author

WRITTEN IN 1895.

In honor of my dear, beloved friend Reb Sholem Aleichem, may God grant you health and prosperity together with your wife and children, and may you have great fulfillment whatever you do and wherever you go. Amen. Selah!

Kotonti! — I am unworthy! This I tell you in the language our Father Jacob spoke to God in the portion Vayishlach, when he went to meet Esau. But if this is not entirely appropriate, I beg you, Pani Sholem Aleichem, not to be upset with me, as I am an ordinary man and you certainly know more than I do — who can question that? After all, living one’s whole life in a little village, one is ignorant. Who has time to look into a holy book or to learn a verse of the Bible or Rashi? Luckily when summer comes around, the Yehupetz rich folk take off to their dachas in Boiberik, and every now and then I can get together with an educated person to hear some wisdom. Believe me when I tell you how well I remember that day when you sat with me in the woods listening to my foolish tales. That meant more to me than anything in the world!

I don’t know what you found so interesting that you would devote your time to an insignificant person like myself, to write me letters and, unbelievably, to put my name in a book, make a big fuss over me, as if I were who knows who. For that I can certainly say, Kotonti! — I am unworthy! True, I am a good friend of yours, may God grant me a hundredth portion of what I wish for you! You know very well that I served you in bygone years when you were still living in the big dacha — do you remember? I bought you a cow for fifty rubles that I bargained down from fifty-five. It was a steal. So she died on the third day? It wasn’t my fault. Why did the other cow I gave you also die? You know very well how that upset me. I was beside myself! Do I know why she died? Even with the best intentions things like that can happen!

May God help me and you in the new year. It should be — how is it said? — Bless us as in days of old. May God help me in my livelihood, may I and my horse be well, and may my cows give enough milk that, with my cheese and butter, I will be able to serve you for a long time to come. May God grant you and all the Yehupetz rich folk success and prosperity. May your lives be filled with great joy. And for the trouble you’ve gone through for my sake, and for the honor you do me through your book, I can only say again: Kotonti! — I am unworthy!

How do I deserve the honor of having a world of people suddenly learning that on the other side of Boiberik, not far from Anatevka, lives a Jew called Tevye the dairyman? But you must know what you are doing. I don’t need to teach you anything. How to write, you certainly know. As for the rest, I rely on your noble character to see to it that I might earn a little something from your book, because it is sorely needed now. I soon have to think about marrying off a daughter, God willing. And if God grants us life, we might have two to marry off at the same time.

In the meanwhile, be well and have a happy life, as I wish you with all my heart, from me, your best friend,

TEVYE

Yes, one more thing! When the book is finished and you are ready to send me some money, would you please send it to Anatevka, in care of the town ritual slaughterer? I will be staying with him in the fall before Pokraveh, and another time around Novegod when I have to be in shul to say kaddish, which means at those times I am a city Jew. Otherwise, you can send me letters right to Boiberik in my name, Tevye.

A wondrous tale of how Tevye the dairyman, a poor Jew burdened with many children, suddenly became rich through a most unusual circumstance, as told by Tevye himself and set down word for word.

WRITTEN IN 1895.

If you are meant to receive a great windfall, do you hear, Pani Sholem Aleichem, it will fall right into your lap. As they say, it never rains but it pours. A stroke of good luck doesn’t take brains or ability. But should it be the other way around — God forbid, you can talk until you are blue in the face, and it will do as much good as last winter’s snow. The Talmud says: Without wisdom and a good idea— you might as well ride a dead horse. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink. A man toils, a man suffers; he might as well save time and die right on the spot! And then all of a sudden, who knows why, who knows how — money pours in from all sides. As it is written: Enlargement and deliverance shall arise for the Jews . I don’t have to tell you where that comes from, but this is the interpretation: a Jew, so long as he has a breath of life in him, cannot give up hope. I can tell you from my own experience how the Almighty set me up in my own livelihood. After all, how else would I come to be selling cheese and butter when, as far back as my grandmother’s grandmother, no one in my family ever sold dairy? It’s really worth your while to hear the whole story from beginning to end. Let’s sit down here on the grass a bit. Let the horse nibble a little in the meantime, for as they say, “It’s also one of God’s creatures.”

It was around Shevuos, or maybe, I don’t want you to think I’m lying, even a week or two before Shevuos and. . wait a minute, perhaps a few weeks after Shevuos. . Hold on a bit, it was, let me think a minute. . It was exactly nine or ten years ago and maybe a little bit more. At that time I wasn’t at all the man you see today. Of course, I was the same Tevye but not really the same. How do they say: the same yente but sporting a different hat. In what way was I different? May it not happen to you, but I was a beggar in rags. Come to think of it, I’m still far from being rich. The difference between me and Brodsky the millionaire, may you and I both earn between summer and Succos. But compared to that time, today I am a wealthy man. I own a horse and wagon, kayn eyn horeh, two milk cows, and another one about to calve. Forgive me for boasting, but we have cheese and butter and fresh sour cream every day, and we make it all ourselves. Everyone works, no one sits idle. My wife, long life to her, milks the cows, the children carry the milk pails and churn the butter, and I myself, as you can see, go out early every morning to the market, then drive from dacha to dacha in Boiberik. I drop in on this one, on that one, the biggest businessmen from Yehupetz, chat a little with each one like I’m also somebody and not, as they say, a lame tailor. And when Shabbes, the Sabbath, comes — then I am a king! I glance into a Yiddish book, read a portion of the Torah and a few commentaries, the Psalms, a chapter of Mishnah — a little of this, a little of that, and a bit of something else. You’re looking at me, Pani Sholem Aleichem, and probably thinking to yourself, Aha! This Tevye is really some Jew!