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

“You’re always there with a quote from the Gemorah,” he said to me. “Good for you, Reb Tevye, that you can read all that small print. But why waste time on all this learning and these quotations? Better let us talk about our business at hand. Sit, Reb Tevye,” he said, then yelled out, “Let’s have tea!” The snub-nosed woman appeared from nowhere, grabbed the samovar, and disappeared into the kitchen. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, “just the two of us, we can get down to business. This is the way it is: I have wanted to talk to you, Reb Tevye, for a long time now. I have asked your daughter many times to tell you, if you would be so kind to come talk to me. You understand I have had my eye on—”

“I know that you’ve had your eye on her, but it won’t work,” I said, “it won’t work, Reb Lazer-Wolf, it won’t work!”

“Why not?” He looked surprised.

“I have time to wait,” I said. “Where’s the fire?”

“Why should you wait,” he said, “when we can work things out right now?”

“I just gave you a reason. Second of all,” I said, “it’s simply a shame, a pity on a living creature.”

“Look at you putting on airs.” Lazer-Wolf gave a little laugh. “Someone would swear she was your only one! I imagine you have, kayn eyn horeh, enough, Reb Tevye!”

“Let those who envy me not have anything themselves,” I quoted.

“Envy? Who’s talking of envy?” he said. “On the contrary, it’s because she is so attractive, that’s the reason I want her, do you understand? Don’t forget, Reb Tevye, the advantage that could come out of this for you!”

“Sure, sure,” I said, “I know your favors, Reb Lazer-Wolf. You give ice in winter. We all know about that from before.”

“Eh! Why are you comparing then and now?” he said, as sweet as sugar. “ Then was one story, but today is a different one. We’re practically in-laws, ha?”

“In-laws?” I said, surprised.

“Yes, in-laws!”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Reb Lazer-Wolf, what are we talking about?”

“On the contrary,” he said, “you tell me, Reb Tevye, what we’re talking about.”

“What else?” I said. “We’re talking about the milk cow you want to buy from me!”

“Ha ha ha!” he broke out laughing. “That’s some cow and a milk cow into the bargain, ha ha ha!”

“What, then, were you thinking, Reb Lazer-Wolf? Tell me so I can laugh too.”

“About your daughter!” he said to me. “I was speaking about your Tzeitl all this time! You know, Reb Tevye, I am a widower, may it not happen to you. I thought it over and decided, Why should I look elsewhere for a wife, bother with matchmakers and all that? After all, here we both are. I know you, you know me. And I’ve also taken to her. I see her every Thursday in the butcher shop, I’ve spoken with her several times, and she seems a quiet girl, not bad at all. I myself am, kayn eyn horeh, as you see, a bit of a success. I own my house, a few stores, and nice furnishings, as you can see, not to complain. I have some hides in the attic and money in the chest. Why should we have to haggle like gypsies? Let’s shake hands on it, one two three, do you get my meaning?”

Well, once he explained what he had in mind, I was speechless at the unexpected news. At first I thought, Lazer-Wolf? Tzeitl? He has children her age. But then I reminded myself that it was a stroke of luck for her. A stroke of luck! She would have everything she wanted! So he wasn’t the most generous man. Nowadays that wasn’t the greatest virtue. As the rabbis said: A man is dearest to his own self —if you were good to others, you were bad to yourself. He had one fault — he was somewhat common. Oh well, could everyone be a scholar? There were plenty of rich folks, fine people in Anatevka, in Mazepevka, and even in Yehupetz who didn’t know one letter from another. Still and all, if it was destined, that wouldn’t keep them from getting plenty of respect. As it is written: If there is no flour in the bin, there is no Torah— which means, the Torah lies in the chest, and wisdom in the purse.

“So, Reb Tevye,” he said, “why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Do you want me to shout?” I said, as if considering the matter further. “This is, Reb Lazer-Wolf, you understand me, a delicate question that has to be considered from all sides. It’s not a laughing matter. My first child!”

“It’s really the other way around,” he said. “It’s important because she’s your first child. Afterward,” he said, “God willing, you’ll be able to marry off your second daughter too, and later, in good time, the third, do you understand?”

“Amen!” said I. “Marrying them off is no trick if the One Above sends each one her intended.”

“No,” he said, “that’s not what I mean, Reb Tevye. I mean something altogether different. I mean that for your Tzeitl, you no longer need a dowry, thank God. Her wedding dress and everything a girl needs, I will take on myself. And you,” he said, “will also find a little something in your purse.”

“Feh,” I said, “you’re talking, please forgive me, as if you were in your butcher shop! What do you mean, in my purse? Feh! My Tzeitl is not for sale, God forbid! Feh feh!”

“If it’s feh, it’s feh,” he said to me. “That’s not really what I meant. I meant it quite otherwise. But if you say feh, let it be feh! If you’re satisfied, I’m satisfied. The most important thing,” he said, “is it should be soon. I mean right away. As they say: ‘A house needs a mistress.’ Do you understand?”

“All right,” I said, “I have no objections. But I have to talk it over with my wife. In these matters she has her say. It’s no small matter. As Rashi says: Rachel weepeth for her children— a mother is not a pot lid. And Tzeitl herself,” I said, “has to be asked. As it is said: All the relatives came to the wedding and they left the bridegroom at home .”

“Nonsense,” he said, “why do you need to ask? You tell her, Reb Tevye. You go home and tell her this is the way it is and put up the wedding canopy. One word from you, and it’s done!”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “Don’t say that, Reb Lazer-Wolf. The girl is not, God forbid, a widow impatient for a match.”

“You’re right,” he said, “a girl is a girl, not a widow, and that’s why you must talk to her soon, about dresses, about the trousseau and her wardrobe. And in the meantime,” he said, “Reb Tevye, let’s drink a l’chayim, ha, no?”

“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Why not? Isn’t peace always better than arguing? As it is said: ‘A man is a man, but brandy is brandy.’ There’s a saying in the Gemorah. .” And I gave him a string of Gemorah quotes, one after another, on and on, from the Song of Songs and “Chad Gadyo.”

We drank the bitter drop, as God commanded. The snub-nosed maid brought out the samovar, and we drank glasses of punch, enjoyed ourselves, wished each other well, and chatted about the match many times over.

“Do you know, Reb Lazer-Wolf,” I said, “what a jewel of a girl she is?”

“I know,” he said, “believe me, I know. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have spoken!”

We continued our conversation. I shouted out, “A jewel, a diamond! You must take good care of her, not act like the butcher you are.”

“Don’t be afraid, Reb Tevye,” he said. “What she will eat by me during the week will be more than she ate by you on a holiday.”

“So,” I said, “what she eats is also your affair? The rich man,” I said, “doesn’t eat gold coins, and the poor man doesn’t eat stones. You’re a crude person, and you cannot appreciate her talents, her challah-baking, her fish, Reb Lazer-Wolf, her gefilte fish! It is a privilege to eat it.”