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

“Well,” she said, “what do you think we should do with the money, kayn eyn horeh ?”

“Well, again and yet again,” I said, “what do you think we should do with this kind of capital?” And we racked our brains trying to come up with an idea. We considered every kind of business: we would buy a pair of horses and sell them for a profit; we would open a grocery store in Boiberik, sell out the stock, and then open a dry-goods store. We would invest in timber, find a buyer, make some money, and get rid of it. We would buy an Anatevka tax-collecting contract and with the profit go into the moneylending business.

“Are you out of your mind?” my wife finally exclaimed. “Do you want to squander these few groschens and be left with nothing but your whip?”

“What, then?” I said. “Is it better to sell grain and go bankrupt?

Everyone is going broke selling wheat. Just see what’s happening in Odessa!”

“What do I care about Odessa?” she said. “My family never was there, and my children will never be there so long as I can stand on my own two feet.”

“What do you want?” I said.

“What do I want?” she said. “I want you to stop talking nonsense.”

“So now you’re the smart one. As they say: ‘If the money comes, the schemes follow, and if you are rich, you’re certainly clever.’ It’s always like that!”

In short, we had a spat but soon made up. We decided on a plan: in addition to the milk cow we’d have tomorrow, we would buy another cow, one that would also give milk.

You will probably ask, Why a cow and not a horse? To which I will answer, Why a horse and not a cow? Every summer all the rich folks from Yehupetz go to their dachas in Boiberik. And these Yehupetz folks are all very refined people who are used to having everything served up to them — wood for the fire, meat and eggs, chickens and onions, peppers and radishes. Why shouldn’t someone make it his business to bring to their doorstep every morning milk, cheese, butter, and sour cream? And as the Yehupetzers like to eat well and don’t give a fig about money, you can charge high prices. But it’s important that the merchandise be of the highest quality, and my merchandise you can’t get even in Yehupetz. May we both have as many blessings as the number of times that people, even high-up Christians, have begged me to sell them my merchandise.

“We hear, Tevel,” they say, “that you’re an honest man even though you’re a filthy Jew.” Would you ever hear a compliment like that from a Jew? May my enemies suffer until that ever happens! You never hear a kind word from our little Jews. They only know about looking into your private business. They see a new cow at Tevye’s, a new cart, and they’re breaking their heads: “Where did it come from? Is this Tevye possibly dealing with counterfeit banknotes? Or might he be cooking up some moonshine in a still?” Ha ha ha! Break your heads, boys, I am thinking!

I don’t know if you believe my story — you’re the first one I’ve told it to, how and what and when, but now I think I’ve gone on too long. Don’t be offended, but one must tend to one’s business. Or as they say, “Each to his own”—you to your books, I to my pots and my jugs. I would like to ask one thing of you, Pani. Don’t write about me in any of your books, and if you do, don’t mention my name. Be well and have a good life.

WRITTEN IN 1899.

Many are the thoughts in a man’s heart —isn’t that what it says in our holy Torah? I don’t need to interpret that verse for you, Reb Sholem Aleichem. But in Ashkenaz, or plain Yiddish, it means: “The best horse needs a whip, the smartest person — advice.” About what am I telling you this? About myself, in fact, because if I had had the sense not to go to a good friend and tell him thus and so, and this and that, things would surely not have turned out as badly as they did. But what could I do? If God wants to punish a person, he takes away his good sense. How many times have I thought, Think about it, Tevye, you ass. You’re no fool — why do you let yourself be led around by the nose in such a stupid way? I was already making a little living, kayn eyn horeh, with my dairy business, which had a good reputation everywhere, in Boiberik and in Yehupetz and where not. What was so wrong with that? How sweet and good it would have been now if those coins were still lying quietly in the money chest, safely hidden away, because whose business is it, I ask you, whether Tevye has any money or not?

I really mean it. Did the world show any interest in me when I was, may it never happen to a Jew, buried deep in poverty, perishing three times a day of hunger together with my wife and children? Only when God showed his favor to Tevye, suddenly made me rich so I could finally make something of myself, put away a few rubles, only then did the world take notice and Tevye become Reb Tevye — some joke! Many good friends suddenly began to show up, as the verse says: All are beloved, all are elect —when God grants a spoonful, people offer a shovelful. Every person came with his own advice. This one said a dry-goods store, that one a grocery; another one said a house, a good lasting investment. This one said wheat, that one timber, another auctioneering. “Friends!” I cried. “Back off! You are making a great mistake. Do you think I’m Brodsky? May we all have the amount less than three hundred, even two hundred and even one hundred and fifty, that I really have. It’s easy to imagine that another’s wealth glitters like gold, but when you get closer, it turns out to be a brass button.”

In short, our little Jews — don’t even mention them — gave me the evil eye! God sent me a relative, Menachem-Mendl was his name — a fly-by-night, a who knows what, a wheeler-dealer, a manipulator, may he never find a resting place! He roped me in and spun my head around with dreams of things that never were and never could be. You will ask how I met Menachem-Mendl. I will give you an answer: Slaves we were —it was fated to be. Listen to this story.

One day at the beginning of winter I arrived in Yehupetz with my little bit of dairy — some twenty or so pounds of the best fresh butter you can buy, and two fine wheels of cheese worth their weight in gold and silver, may we both have as much! Of course, I sold out my merchandise completely, nothing at all was left even if my life depended on it. I was so busy, I had no time to chat with my summer customers, the Boiberik dacha owners, who wait for me as if I were the Messiah because the Yehupetz merchants’ produce can’t hold a candle to Tevye’s. I needn’t tell you, as the prophet said: Let other men praise thee —good products praise themselves.

Having sold everything and thrown some hay to my horse, I decided to take a stroll around town. As it is said, Man is but dust —a man is only human. I wanted to see a bit of the world, breathe the air, and look at the fine goods that Yehupetz displays in its shopwindows, which seem to say, “Look with your eyes as much as you like, but to touch — don’t dare!” Standing just like that at a large shopwindow with a pocketful of coins and ruble notes, I thought, God in heaven! If I had a tenth of what I see here, I would never complain to God again. I’d make a match for my eldest daughter and give her a good dowry, besides wedding presents, a wardrobe, and wedding expenses. I’d sell the horse and wagon and the little cows and move right into town, buy a seat by the eastern wall of the shul . I’d get pearls for my wife, long may she live, and distribute charity like the biggest property owner. I’d see to it that the house of study had a metal roof, not a roof about to collapse any minute. I’d open a religious school in town and a hospital and a shelter like in other respectable cities so poor people wouldn’t have to lie around on the bare floor of the house of study. I’d get rid of Yenkl Sheygetz, the head of the burial society — enough drinking brandy and eating gizzards and chicken livers at the community’s expense.