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

“What do you mean?” I said. “You are saying goodbye to me forever?” And I looked down so she would not see my stricken face.

“It means,” she said, “I am going away tomorrow, very early, and we will never see each other. . never again.”

Ah, she was not thinking of harming herself — my heart was eased. It could have been worse, but it could also have been better. “Whereto,” I said, “if I may have the honor of knowing?”

“I am going to him.”

“To him? Where is he now?”

“For the time being,” she said, “he is in prison, but soon they will be sending him away.”

“Are you going to say goodbye to him?” I was playing dumb.

“No, I am going to follow him there.”

“There? Where is that? What do they call the place?”

“We don’t know exactly what it’s called, but it’s far away, terribly far, and the way is dangerous.”

She seemed to be speaking with pride, as if he had done some great deed for which he deserved a medal made from a pound of iron! What could I say? Most fathers would have scolded her, slapped her, punished her, or they would have imagined all the worst that could happen to her. But Tevye is not a woman. I am of the opinion that anger is the work of the devil. And so I replied as usual with a commentary: “I see, my daughter, that you have made your decision. As it says in the Holy Torah, Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother . Because of Fefferl you are abandoning your parents and going off to a place you don’t know, somewhere — as I once read in a storybook — over a desert beyond the frozen sea, where Alexander of Macedonia sailed and was lost on a distant island among wild savages.”

I said it half-jokingly, half in anger, as my heart was breaking. But Tevye is not a woman, Tevye kept it inside himself.

Nor did Hodl lose her dignity. She answered every question I asked, quietly, unhurriedly, thoughtfully. Tevye’s daughters know how to speak.

And though my head was bowed and my eyes were lowered, I could see Hodl — her face was like the moon, pale and round, and her voice was muted, trembling. Should I throw my arms around her, beg her, plead with her not to leave? But it would be useless. Those daughters of mine — when they fall in love, it’s with body and soul and heart and life itself!

As you can imagine, we sat on the stoop quite a while, almost through the night, more silent than speaking, and when we spoke, it was almost like not speaking — no more than a word here, a word there. I asked her, whoever heard of a girl getting married to a boy for the sake of following him to the ends of the earth?

And she answered me: “With him it doesn’t matter. I will go anywhere with him, even to the ends of the earth.” I tried to explain with logic, as usual, how foolish that was. Then she explained to me with her logic that I will never understand. So I told her a parable about a hen that hatched ducklings. As soon as the ducklings were able to stand on their legs, they jumped into the water and swam away, while the poor hen stood there clucking. “What do you say to that, my dear daughter?”

“What can I say? It’s certainly a pity for the hen. But because the hen stood there clucking, is that a reason the ducklings shouldn’t swim?”

Do you appreciate those words? Tevye’s daughter spoke to the point.

Meanwhile time wasn’t standing still. Day was breaking, and my wife was stirring in the house. Several times she sent someone out to us, to say it was time for bed, but it did no good. So she stuck her head out of the window and said to me, with her usual fine blessing, “Tevye, what are you still doing out there?”

“Be quiet, Golde,” I said. “As it says in the Psalms: Why do the heathens rage! — you’ve forgotten that it’s Hoshana Raba today? That’s the day when our fates are decided and the verdict is sealed. So you must stay up. Listen to me, Golde,” I said, “please go and light the samovar, and let us have tea while I hitch up the wagon. I am going with Hodl to the train.”

And once again I manufactured for her a lie, saying that Hodl was going off to Yehupetz, and from there somewhere else, on account of you-know-who’s inheritance. “And it’s possible,” I said, “she’ll remain there all winter and perhaps over winter and summer and another winter. And so we have to give her provisions — some linens, a dress, a pair of pillows, pillowcases, a little of this and that.”

That’s what I ordered Golde to do, and I insisted Hodl and her sisters were not to cry. It was Hoshana Raba. “On this day,” I said, “you’re not allowed to cry. The law definitely prohibits it!” But they paid no attention to the law and did cry, and when it came time to say goodbye, they were all wailing — the mother, the children, and even Hodl herself. And my eldest daughter Tzeitl was also there — she comes to us for the holidays with her Motl Komzoil. Both sisters clasped each other closely — they could hardly be separated.

I alone was like steel and iron. That’s easy to say, steel and iron. Inside I was more like a boiling samovar, but for anyone to see it — feh! Tevye is not a woman.

All the way to Boiberik we were silent, but when we were approaching the train station, I asked her once and for all to tell me what Fefferl had done. “Everything has to have a reason.”

She swore that he was innocent. “He never cares about himself. Everything he does is for the sake of others, for the sake of humanity, especially for those who toil with their hands, the workers.” Now be a sage and try to figure that out!

“So he worries about humanity. Why then,” I said, “doesn’t humanity worry about him if he is such a wonderful person? Please give him my regards, your Alexander of Macedonia. Tell him that I am relying on him as an honorable man not to mistreat my daughter and to make sure she writes an occasional letter to an old father.”

And as I spoke, didn’t she suddenly throw her arms around my neck and start to cry? “Let us say goodbye,” she said. “Be well, Papa. God only knows when we shall see each other again.”

Well, that was too much for me. I could no longer control myself. I remembered this same Hodl when she was still a baby and I held her in my arms. . in my arms. .

Forgive me, Pani, for acting like a woman. I must tell you what sort of daughter Hodl is! You should see the letters she writes. She is a gift from God! She is right here. . right here. . deep, deep. . I cannot begin to say it. .

Do you know what, Pani Sholem Aleichem? Let’s better speak of something happier. What do you hear about the cholera in Odessa?

WRITTEN IN 1906.

Give thanks unto the Lord for He is good. Whatever He ordains is for the best. It has to be for the best, because just try being wiser and making it better! I thought I would be clever, twisting the meaning of the commentaries this way and that, but it made no difference whatsoever. I took my hand away from my heart and said to myself, Tevye, you’re a fool! You can’t change the world. The One Above gave us the great sorrows of child-raising, which means: when children cause you grief, you must count it as love. As an example, take my eldest daughter, Tzeitl, who fell in love with the tailor Motl Komzoil. I have nothing against him. True, he’s a simple soul, doesn’t understand any of the fine points in a text, can’t master the small print. But what can I do? Not everyone can be learned! Still and all, he is an honest person and works hard. They already have a full house of little ones, you should see, kayn eyn horeh, while they both struggle to survive in honor and dignity. When you talk to Tzeitl, she says that she is happy as can be, it couldn’t be better, but there is not enough food. There you have daughter number one.