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

“Thank God we’re rid of that pain in the neck, the Heissen tailor!” our Pinni rejoices.

My brother Elyahu says, “Wait, don’t be so sure! If we’re worthy of God, we’ll live long enough to meet up with him more than once in New York.”

A.

The ride into the city of New York is dreadful. The ride itself isn’t so bad, but transferring from one trolley to another is difficult. As soon as you sit down — aha! you’re flying like eagles through the air over a long, narrow bridge, afraid for your life. They call it the elevated here. Do you think that’s it? Just wait a bit. You get yourself out of the elevated, and you have to switch over to another car. You reach it by going down steps, as if into a cellar, where you ride under the ground so fast that your eyes pop out of your head. They call this the subway. Why is one car called elevated and the other subway?

My sister-in-law Bruche says America would be much better if they didn’t fly around so much. She swears she’ll never ride either the elevated or the subway, no matter what. She’d rather walk than fly like crazy through the clouds, or run under the ground. I, on the contrary, would be happy to ride around on the elevated and the subway all day and night, and so would my friend Mendl.

B.

It seems we’ve already been everywhere. We’ve seen enough of the shoving, pressing, and suffocating in this gehennam such as we’ve never experienced anywhere! We’re packed in body against body, one passenger out, two in. No place to sit — you must stand. You’ve got to hold on to what they call a strap, otherwise you’ll fall. You get twisted around. If God helps, a seat becomes empty — and many passengers dive for it. With great difficulty you find a spot. You’re sitting between two Gentiles, both black, a man and a woman with huge, fat lips, enormous white teeth, and white nails, who are chewing on something like cows chewing their cud. Only later do I find out that it’s is called chewing gum. It’s a kind of candy made of rubber. You keep it in your mouth and chew it. You mustn’t swallow it. Young boys, old people, and cripples make a living selling it. Our friend Pinni, as you know, has a sweet tooth. He got hold of a package of chewing gum and slowly swallowed the whole thing. It clogged up his stomach, almost poisoning him. Doctors had to pump his stomach through his throat to save his life. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to our first entry into the city of New York.

C.

For the entire ride on the elevated and in the subway, the men and women keep talking. I say talking, but that’s not altogether correct. Who can talk on the elevated or on the subway when the noise and din and the screeching of the wheels make you deaf? You can’t hear your own voice. You have to yell as if you’re speaking to someone hard of hearing. We get hoarse screaming. My mother several times begs Pessi, “Pessi’nyu, dear soul, my heart, my love, leave it for later!”

We quiet down for a minute but soon start screaming again at the top of our lungs. We are, after all, lively people, good friends, and former neighbors. How can you hold back and not say what’s in your heart? We haven’t seen each other for so long, and there is so much to say, so much!

D.

Having talked and screamed our lungs out over small matters, we finally come to the most important matter of all: where to stay. After many arguments and negotiations we decide that my mother and I, our friend Pinni, and his Teibl will stay with our neighbor Fat Pessi. My brother Elyahu and his wife Bruche will stay with their in-laws Yoneh and Rivele. And what about Mendl? Pessi says she’ll take Mendl. Rivele says no. At Pessi’s, she says, there are a good number of hefty eaters, which hurts Pessi’s feelings. She says just as there’s no such thing as having too many teeth, so a mother can never have too many children.

“Quiet down! Let’s ask the boy himself!” says Moishe the bookbinder. So they ask Mendl, “Where would you rather go — to him or the baker?” Mendl answers that he wants to go wherever his friend Motl goes. That’s exactly what I thought Mendl should say.

E.

“In one more station we’ll stop!” cries Yoneh, using new American words. We don’t know what station and stop mean. He explains.

“In-law! When did you start speaking the local language?” my mother asks.

Rivele answers for her husband. “I promise you that in a week you’ll begin talking the local language. Let’s say you go out on the street and ask, ‘Where is the kotzev ?’ You can say kotzev from today till the day after tomorrow, and no one will answer you.”

My mother asks, “How then shall I say it?”

Fat Pessi breaks in, “You must say ‘the butcher.’ ”

“A plague on them!” Bruche interrupts. “Even if they burst, I’ll say kotzev, kotzev, and still kotzev !”

F.

Suddenly we stop. Our in-law Yoneh grabs Rivele, my brother Elyahu, and Bruche and pushes them toward the exit. My mother stands up and wants to say goodbye to her children. Pinni stands up as well to say goodbye to my brother Elyahu and wants to arrange with him where and when to meet again. But before they know it, Yoneh, his wife, my brother Elyahu, and Bruche are on the other side of the door, which the conductor has closed shut. The train begins moving, and Pinni, distracted and bewildered, is thrown off balance. He lands on a Negro woman’s lap. She pushes him off with both hands so hard, he flies over to the seat across from her, and his cap flies off toward the door. As if that isn’t enough, all the people in the train laugh. I and my friend Mendl join in and are scolded by my mother and Teibl for laughing. How can a person not laugh?!

G.

Everything must come to an end, and so must our train ride into New York. We’re on the street. If I didn’t know we were in America, I’d surely think we were in Brod or in Lemberg — the same Jews, the same women, the same hustle and bustle, the same dirt as there, except the din and tumult are worse, as are the noise and hurrying. The buildings are taller, much taller. A six-story building is nothing. Some buildings are twelve, twenty, thirty, forty, or more stories high, but more about that later.

In the meantime we’re on the street with our belongings and still have a way to walk. Leading the walk is Moishe with his short legs, followed by Fat Pessi, her legs barely carrying her because she is so fat and heavy. Walking behind are Pinni and his Teibl. To watch Pinni walk, you lose your belly from laughter. When he walks, he prances with a skip and a hop on his long, skinny legs that get tangled. One trouser leg is rolled up, the other is down. His cap is pushed to the side, his tie is askew — he’s a strange figure, begging to be drawn on paper. I and my friend Mendl walk behind, stopping at almost every shopwindow. We’re pleased to see the signs printed in Yiddish letters and all kinds of Jewish things displayed: prayer books, small prayer shawls, yarmulkes, mezuzahs, matzos. Imagine — smack at the beginning of winter, matzos! It’s obviously a Jewish city. But we aren’t permitted to lag behind. My mother calls us, “Come on, hurry up!” And we must go.

H.

Whoever has not seen a New York street has missed a wonderful sight. What can you not find on the street? Men are doing all kinds of business. Women sit and chat. Children in look-alike carriages are napping. The babies suck milk from little bottles right on the street. Older children play games with buttons, small wheels, balls, wagons, sleds, and skates. Skates are contraptions with four wheels tied to the feet, and you roll on them. You can go deaf from the racket the children raise on the street. The street belongs to the children. No one would dare chase them off. In general, America is a country created for children’s sake. And that’s why I love it. Just let someone lay a finger on a child!