The History of Yiddish Literature 11

The History of Yiddish Literature 11

"Help! Give me some emetic, give me newspaper discussions, give me Nechbi-ben-Wofsi's articles. Give me feuilletons, give me Jewish books,--and put them all in a bundle, "And make me a medicine to vomit, to vomit! Give me books of later generations! Give me the novels of Schaikewitsch,--I think they are excellent stuff for vomiting. "Give me books of the wise nineteenth century; give me criticisms, whosesoever you wish yourself; only give them quickly,--I am surprised I am not vomiting at mentioning these names!" On the shore of the waters, from Jaffa to Tarshish, one may hear a grumbling and growling;--an emetic, from Jaffa to Tarshish, a fish has swallowed there. And all is still and quiet; night is curling and braiding her sable locks; the stars in the sky,--they flame, it seems, like yellow, golden pustules. And all is still and quiet, and night is braiding and curling her dusky locks; nature wanders in silence, and it seems she walks on silken stockings.     Un' plutzling derhort sich a Kol in der Finster,     Gār furchterlich hāt er geschriegen;     Es hāt dort a Wallfisch, vun alle der dunster,     A groben Frummak ausgespiegen.     Un' nāch dem Ausspeien, un' g'rād zu Oleenu,     Dā thut er noch philosophiren;     Er sāgt: "Zu Newiim, uberhaupt zu die klēine,     Dā tor man sich gār nit zuruhren!"          D. FRISCHMANN. XII. STEMPENJU'S FIEDELE ('Stempenju,' pp. 8-10)      Ach, ich fuhl', as mein Feder is' schwach zu beschreiben, wie      Stempenju hāt besetzt a Kale! Dās is' nit gewe'n glatt gespielt,      gerumpelt: dās is' gewe'n a Min Aweede, a Gott's Dienst mit eppes      sēhr a hōchen Gefuhl, mit eppes sēhr an ēdlen Geist. Stempenju hāt      sich gestellt akegen der Kale un' hāt ihr Drosche gehalten auf'n      Fiedel,--a schoene, a lange Drosche, a ruhrende Drosche uber dem      frei un' glucklich Leben vun der Kale bis aher, vun ihr      Maedelstand, un' uber dem finsteren, bitteren Leben, wās erwartet      sie spater, spater: Aus Maedel! ubergedeckt dem Kopp, varstellt die      schoene, lange Hāar auf ēbig ... nit dā dās Froehlichkeit! Sei      gesund, Jugend, ot werst du a Judene!... Eppes sēhr nischt      froehlich, Gott soll nischt strāfen far die Rēd'!...        *       *       *       *       *      Ot asolche Worter horen sich kimat araus vun Stempenju's Fiedele;      alle Weiber varstēhen gut dem Pschat vun der dāsiger stummer      Drosche, alle Weiber fuhlen es; see fuhlen dās, un' wēinen derauf      mit bittere Trahren.      --Wie lang bin ich asō gesessen,--klahrt sich a And suddenly a voice is heard in the darkness; terribly he did cry; a whale, the thinnest of them all, has there spit out a bigot. And after his spitting up, just at the last prayer of Oleenu, he still continues to philosophize; he says: "With prophets, particularly the little ones, you must have nothing to do!" XII. STEMPENJU'S VIOLIN Oh, I feel that my pen is too weak to describe the manner of Stempenju's playing at the Enthronement of the Bride. That was not mere playing, mere fingering of the strings: that was a kind of religious service, devotion to the Lord, with a very elevated feeling, with such a noble spirit! Stempenju took his stand in front of the bride and began to address her with a sermon on his violin, a beautiful, a long sermon, a touching sermon, on the free and happy life she had led heretofore, on her girlish state, and the gloomy, bitter life that awaited her later, later. No longer a girl! the head covered, the beautiful long hair disguised forever ... gone all merriment! Farewell, youth, you are now turned into a married Jewess!... 'Tis somehow very sad! May God not visit us with punishment for such words!... Almost these words are heard on Stempenju's violin. The women all understand well the purport of that silent sermon, all the women feel it; they feel it, and weep thereupon bitter tears.        *       *       *       *       * "How long have I been sitting," meditates a young      jung Weibel, schlingendig die Trahren,--wie lang bin ich asō      gesessen mit zulāste, zuflochtene Zopp' un' hāb' nor gemēint, as      Malochim spielen sich gār mit mir, as ich bin Ēine, a gluckliche?      Zum Ssof ... ach, zum Ssof....      --Bescher' ihr Gott,--thut beten an altere Judene, a Mutter vun      derwachsene Tochter,--bescher' ihr Gott, mein alterer Tochter, ihr      Siweg in Gichen, nor mit mehr Masel wie mir, nor mit a schonere      Dolje, wie ich hāb' bei mein Mann, Gott soll nit strāfen far die      Rēd'!      Ot in asolche Machschowes fallen arein die Weiber un' Stempenju      thut sich sein's: Er arbeit't mit alle Keelim, un' dās Fiedele      redt. Dās spielt Stempenju a Wēinendig's, un' die Kapelje halt't      ihm unter, es werd still, aus-Ljarem, aus-Gepilder! Alle, alle      willen horen Stempenjun. Juden wer'en vartracht, Weiber weren      anschwiegen; Junglech, Maedlech kletteren arauf auf Bank' un' auf      Tischen,--Jeder will horen Stempenjun!        *       *       *       *       *      --Sch--scha! Stiller! Ōlem, lās sein still!!      Un Stempenju zugiesst sich auf'n Fiedele un' zugēht sich wie a      Wachs: Tjoch, tjoch, tjoch,--mehr hort man nischt. A Hand flieht      auf un' āb,--mehr seht man nit, un' es horen sich allerlēi Kōles,      un' es giessen sich verschiedene Minee Gesangen, un' alls umetige,      trauerige, as es nemmt ān beim Harzen, es zieht die Neschome, es      nemmt araus dās Chijes; Der Ōlem gēht aus mit alle Kōches, der Ōlem      starbt, starbt mit alle Eewrim, dās Harz werd eppes asō vull, un'      es stellen sich Trahren in die Augen; Juden sufzen, Juden krachzen,      Juden wēinen ... un' Stempenju? Wer Stempenju? Me sēht ihm gār nit,      me sēht kein Fiedele, me hort nor die susse Kōles, die gottliche      Gesangen, wās fullen ān woman, swallowing her tears, "how long have I been sitting with flowing, unbraided hair, and thinking that angels are playing with me, that I am the happiest creature! And yet ... ah, and yet...."        *       *       *       *       * "God grant her," so begins her prayer an elderly woman, a mother of grown-up daughters, "God grant her, my oldest daughter, to be soon united in wedlock, but with more happiness than I have had, with a better lot than I have had with my husband,--may God not visit me with punishment for my words!" Such are the thoughts that fall upon the women, and Stempenju keeps on playing his way: he directs the whole band, and his violin talks eloquently. Stempenju is now playing a sad tune, and his musicians support him. All is quiet, there is no noise, not a sound! All, all want to hear Stempenju. Men fall to musing, women are grown silent. Boys and girls have climbed on benches and tables,--all want to hear Stempenju! "Hush! Keep still! People, let there be quiet!" And Stempenju dissolves on his violin and melts like wax; pitapat is all you may hear. An arm flies up and down,--that's all you may see, and you hear all kinds of voices, and all kinds of tunes are poured forth, all melancholy, sad, so that it tears out your heart, draws out your soul, takes away your life. The people grow faint, the people grow weak in all their limbs; the heart is full to overflowing, and tears appear in the eyes. Men sigh, men groan, women weep ... and Stempenju? But who pays attention to him? No one sees him, no one sees his violin; they only hear his sweet tones, the divine music which fills the whole room.... And Rochele the beautiful who had never      die ganze Stub' ... Un' Rochele die schoene, wās hāt noch bis aher      nischt gehort Stempenju's Spielen, Rochele, wās hāt gehort, as 's      is' dā a Stempenju, nor sie hāt noch nischt gehort asa Min Spielen,      stēht un' hort sich zu zu die kischefdige Gesangen, zu die seltene      Kōles, un' verstēht nit, wās dās is'. Eppes zieht dās ihr dās Harz,      eppes glatt't dās sie,--nor wās dās is' verstēht sie nit. Sie hōbt      auf die Augen ahin, vun wannen es giessen sich die susse Kōles un'      derseht a Pāar wunderschoene, schwarze Augen, feuerdige Augen, wās      kucken gleich auf ihr un' nehmen sie durch, wie Spiesen, wie      scharfe Spiesen. Die wunderschoene, schwarze, feuerdige Augen      kucken auf ihr un' winken zu ihr un' reden mit ihr; Rochele will      arāblāsen ihre Augen arāb,--un' kānn nit.      --Ot dās is' Stempenju?      Asō klahrt sich Rochele die schoene, wenn dās Besetzen hāt sich      schōn geendigt un' die Mechutonim hōben schōn ān zu trachten      mikōach Fuhren zu der Chupe.      --Wu senen ergez die Licht? fragt Chossen's Zad.        *       *       *       *       *      --Die Licht wu senen? entfert Kale's Zad.        *       *       *       *       *      Un' asō werd wieder der ēigener Gepilder, wās fruher; Alle laufen      un' me wēisst nit wuhin. Me kwetscht sich, me stuppt sich, me      tret't ān auf Masolim, me reisst Klēidlech, me schwitzt, me siedelt      die Ssarwers mit die Schamossim, un' see siedlen zuruck die      Mechutonim, un' die Mechutonim amperen sich zwischen sich,--es is'      borchaschem ganz lebedig! S. RABINOWITSCH. before heard Stempenju's playing, Rochele who had heard before of Stempenju, but who had never before heard such playing, stands and listens to the enticing music, the rare sounds, and does not understand what that all means. Something has touched her heart, a soft feeling has passed over her, but she does not understand what that is. She lifts her eyes to the place from which the sweet sounds proceed, and notices a pair of very beautiful black eyes, fiery eyes that are looking straight at her, and that transfix her like spears, like sharp spears. The beautiful, black, fiery eyes look at her and beckon to her and speak to her; Rochele wants to lower her eyes, and she cannot.        *       *       *       *       * "Oh, that is Stempenju!" So meditates Rochele the beautiful, as the Enthronement is ended, and the parents of the contracting parties are getting ready to lead them under the Baldachin.        *       *       *       *       * "Where are the candles?" comes the question from the bridegroom's side. "The candles, where are they?" comes the reply from the bride's side. And thus the same noise begins as before. All are running, not knowing whither. There is a jam, and they push each other, and step on people's toes, and tear dresses; they perspire, they scold the ushers and the beadles, and these again scold the parents of the marrying couple, and the parents wrangle among themselves,--praised be the Lord, all is lively! XIII. DER TALMUD (_Judische Volksbibliothēk_, Vol. II. pp. 195-197)     Alte Blatter vun'm Talmud,     Alte Sagen un' Legenden!     In mein trauerigen Leben     Oft thu' ich zu euch mich wenden.     Bei der Nacht, wenn in der Finster     Lauft der Schlāf vun meine Augen,     Un' ich sitz' allēin un' elend,     Zu der Brust dem Kopp gebōgen,     In die trauerige Stunden,     Wie a Steren in der blauer     Summernacht, hēbt ān zu scheinen     Der Sikoren in mein Trauer.     Ich dermāhn sich auf die Liebe,     Auf die susse Kindheitsjāhren,     Wenn ich bin noch frei gewesen     Von mein Kummer, Lēid un' Zoren;     Ich dermāhn' sich auf die Zeiten,     Wenn ich fleg' dem ersten, sussen,     Besten Koss vun Leben, Freiheit,     Frēud' un' Lustigkeit geniessen.     Ich dermāhn' sich auf die alte,     Auf die susse, liebe Jāhren,     Un' die Blatter vun'm Talmud     Stēhen auf in mein Sikoren.     Ach, die alte, alte Blatter!     Wie viel Licht un' wie viel Steren     Brennen, scheinen un' see konnen     Ēbig nit verloschen wer'en. XIII. THE TALMUD Old leaves of the Talmud, old stories and legends! In my saddened life I frequently turn to you. At night, when in the darkness sleep evades my eyes, and I sit alone and deserted, my head bowed to my breast, In those sad hours, like a star in the azure summer night, there begin to shine memories in my sadness. I recall my love, my sweet years of childhood, when I was still free from sorrow, pain and anger; I recall those times when I quaffed the first, sweet, the best chalice of life, freedom, joy and merriness. I recall the old, the sweet, delightful years, and the leaves of the Talmud arise in my memory. Oh, the old, old leaves! As many lights and as many stars there burn and shine, they can never be extinguished.     Tausend Stromen, tausend Teichen     Hāben see gethun verfliessen,     Samd hāt sich auf see geschotten,     Sturems hāben see gerissen,     Un' die alte, alte Blatter     Leben noch ... see senen take     Gell, verchōschecht, ābgerissen,     Dort a Loch un' dā a Make;     Dā a Stuckel ābgesmalet,     Dort a Schure taug' auf Zores,     Un' in Ganzen hāt a Ponim     Vun an alten Bess-hakwores ...     Meele wās? Nu, is' dās take     A Bessalmen, wu begrāben     Liegt in Keewer All's, wās ēbig     Wollen mir schon mehr nit hāben....     Un' ich, alter, kranker Jossem,     Vull mit Lēid, mit Eemas-mowes,     Stēh', mein grauen Kopp gebōgen,     Stēh' un' wēin' auf Keewer-owes....          S. FRUG. XIV. DĀS JUDISCHE KIND (_Hausfreund_, p. 44)     Tief begrāben in der Finster,     Weit vun Luft un' Licht,--     Sehst du dort dem blinden Worem,     Wie er kriecht?     In der Erd' is' er gebōren,     Un' beschert     Is' ihm, ēbig, ēbig kriechen     In der Erd'.... Thousands of streams, thousands of rivers have passed over them, sand has covered them, storms have torn them, Yet the old, old leaves live on ... though they be yellow, darkened, torn,--a hole here, a spot there; Here a bit charred, there a line obliterated, and the whole has the appearance of an old cemetery.... What of that? Yes, indeed, that is a burial-ground where lies buried in the grave all that which we shall never have again.... And I, old, sick orphan, full of sorrow, of the awe of death, stand with bent head, stand and weep at the grave of our fathers.... XIV. THE JEWISH CHILD Deeply buried in darkness, far from air and light,--do you see yonder the blind worm, as he creeps? In the ground he was born, and it is decreed that forever, yes forever, he shall creep upon the earth....     Wie a Worem in der Finster,     Schwach un' stumm un' blind,--     Lebst du āb die Kindheit's Jāhren,     Judisch Kind!     Auf dein Wiegel singt die Mame     Nit kēin Lied     Vun a ruhig stillen Leben,     Freiheit, Fried,     Vun die Gartner, vun die Felder,     Wu dās frische Kind     Spielt un' frēut sich frei un' lustig,     Wie der Wind.     Nēin! A Quall vun tiefen Jāmmer     Rauscht un' klingt....     Oi, wie bitter is' dās Liedel,     Wās sie singt!     Tiefe Sufzen, hēisse Trahren     Mit a starke Macht     Klingen, rauschen in dem Liedel     Tāg un' Nacht.     Tiefe Sufzen, hēisse Trahren,     Hunger, Kalt     Schleppen sich mit dir zusammen     Auf der Welt.     Un' vun Wiegel bis zum Keewer,     Auf dem langen Weg,     Wachsen ganze Walder Zores     Ohn' a Breg....           S. FRUG. Like a worm in the darkness, weak and mute and blind,--you live through the years of childhood, Jewish child! At your cradle your mother sings not a song of a quiet, peaceful life, of freedom, peace, Of the gardens, of the fields, where the blooming child plays and gladdens free and merry like the wind. No, a spring of deep sorrow bubbles and resounds.... Oh, how bitter is the song that she sings! Deep sobs, hot tears with a mighty power resound, bubble in the song day and night. Deep sobs, hot tears, hunger, cold, drag along with you in the world. And from your cradle to your grave, upon the long journey, there grow whole forests of sorrows without end.... XV. DER ADELIGER KĀTER (_Emeth_, Vol. I. p. 62)     A Fuchs, a chitrer Kerl un' a Lez     Hāt in an Unterhaltung mit a Kāter     Gemacht asō viel Chōsek vun die Katz',     As Jener is' in Kas gewor'en.     "Du wēisst nit, Fuchsel-chazuf"--hāt er     Zu ihm gesāgt mit Zorn,--     "As ich gehor' zum allerhochsten Adel     "Vun Chajes, weil ich kumm' vun a Mischpoche     "Vun Helden ohne Furcht un' Tadel,     "Wās seinen kēinmāl nit gegangen in Gespann,     "Nit in a Fuhr', nit in a Ssoche,     "Zum Fuhren Hēu, zum Ackern a Feld,     "Zum Thon, wās passt nit far a Thieren-held;     "Nor lebendig in Wōltāg, Jederer a Pan,     "Durch ehrenhafte Raub.     "Ich stamm' bekizer āb vun flinken Tiger,     "Wās kann verzucken jeden Rind;     "Ich bin dem Lempert's Schwesterkind,     "Sogar vun seine Majestat, dem Loeb     "A Korew nit kēin weiter.     "Ōbgleich ich bin allēin vielleicht,     "Kēin Held nit, nit kēin grōsser Krieger,     "Un' nit kēin mōrediger Streiter."     --"As du bist nit kēin Held, is' leicht     "Zu sehn"--hāt ihm geentwert unser Fuchs--     "I vun dein schwache Lapke,     "I vun dein Blick, i vun dein Wuchs.     "Wer wēiss nit, as dem klensten Huntel's Eck     "(Schōn gār nit rēdendig vun seine Zaehner)     "Verjāgt dich, wie die schwachste Žabke,     "In Thom arein var hōle Schreck? XV. THE NOBLE TOM-CAT A Fox, a cunning fellow and a jester, conversing once with a Tom-cat, made light of all the cats, so that he made him angry. "You know not, arrant Fox," said he to him, growing angry, "that I belong to the noblest tribe of beasts, for I am descended from a family of heroes without fear and reproach, who never have walked under a yoke of wain, nor plough, to gather in the hay, to till the field, to do what is not meet for a beast-hero,--nay, living aye in plenty, each his own master, by honorable robbery. In short, I am descended from the swift Tiger, who knows how to slay the kine; I am cousin to the Leopard, and even of his Majesty, the Lion, a not distant relative, although I myself, perhaps, be not a hero, nor great warrior, nor awful champion.        *       *       *       *       * "That you are not a hero is easily discerned," our Fox retorted, "both by your weak paw, and by your looks, and by your size. Who does not know that the tail of the smallest dog--not to speak of his teeth--will chase you away like the weakest frog into some hole, agog with fear? You, my friend, are bold only with bones, in a corner of the room, making war on a quiet, hungry mouse. I know of the high deeds of     "Du bist nor, Freund, a Chwat mit Bēiner     "In Winkele, in Haus,     "Bekampfendig a stille, hungerige Maus.     "Ich wēiss nit vun die Maissim-tōwim,     "Vun deine adelige Krōwim,     "Nor du lebst nit vun ehrenhaften Raub allēin,     "Du, Bruder, schamst sich nit zu ganwenen,     "Zu bettlen un' zu chanfenen,     "Afile naschen is' far dir nit zu gemēin."     Dās sāgendig hāt er sein āngepelzten Eck     Mit Spott a Hōb gethān un' is' aweg.            *       *       *       *       *     Die alte Welt     Is vull mit tausende asolche Kāters,     Jachsonim puste, adelige Pimpernātters,     Mit Wonzes lange, bliszendige Augen,     Ohn' Macht, ohn' Sinn, ohn' Geld,     Nefosches, welche taugen     Zum Klettern mit Planer in der Hōch,     Vun welche jeder endigt sich in Rauch;     Wās lecken Teller bei dem Reichen     Un' mjauken sich mit sejersgleichen     Aristokratisch fein zusammen,     Un' Alles, wās see wēissen,     Is' mehr nit, wie see hēissen,     Un' dann, vun welche Tigerkatz' see stammen.            M. WINCHEVSKY. XVI. JONKIPER (_Hausfreund_, Vol. II. pp. 88-91)      ... Es is' wieder Jonkiper, nor dreissig Jāhr senen vun jener Zeit      aruber.      Wieder is' die Schul vull mit Tales un' Kittel eingewickelte Juden;      der Pol is' mit Hēu ausgebett' itzt your noble relatives,--but you do not live by honorable prey alone; you, my friend, are not ashamed to steal, to beg, and to flatter; you do not think it beneath you to nibble secretly at dainties." Saying that, he raised his furry tail in scorn and went away.        *       *       *       *       * The Old World is full of thousands of such Tom-cats, empty-headed braggarts, noble dragons, with long mustaches and glittering eyes, without power, without sense, or money, souls that are good only to crawl on high with plans that all end in smoke; who lick the plates of the rich, and miaul together with their kind in aristocratic fashion, and all they know is only their own names, and then from what Tiger they are descended. XVI. THE ATONEMENT DAY ... It is again the day of Atonement, but since that time thirty years have passed. Again the synagogue is full of men wrapped in taliths and shrouds! The floor is strewn with hay now      wie demālt; in zwēi grōsse Kastens vull mit Samd vun bēide Seiten      Bime brennen heunt die wachsene Neschome-licht wie mit dreissig      Jāhr zuruck, chotsch nāch andere, frische Neschomes, wās senen erst      in die dreissig Jāhr Neschomes gewor'en. Un' see brennen manche      still un' ruhig un' manche flackerndig un' schmelzendig, un'      Junglech Kundeessim chappen die Stucklech ābgeschmolzene Wachs auch      heunt wie a Māl.      Chotsch die Stimme vun dem Chasen is' itzt andersch, āber die      Worter, wās er sagt, un' der Nigen, wās er singt, senen dieselbe,      gār dieselbe, nit geandert auf ēin Hāar.      Dieselbe senen auch die Trahren, wās giessen sich heunt teichenweis      dort hinter die varhangene Fensterlech in der weiberscher Schul,      chotsch vun andere Augen, vun andere gepeinigte Herzer fliessen      see....      Auf dem Ort, wu mit dreissig Jāhr fruher is' die ungluckliche      Mutter gestan'en un' bewēint ihr liebe Tochter, wās is' asō jung      vun der Welt aweg, stēht heunt auch a Mutter un' zugiesst ihr      schwer Harz in hēisse Trahren. Sie wēint un' klāgt uber ihr schoene      Tochter, wās sie hāt sich a Māl gebentscht mit ihr, a Maedel,      schoen wie Gold, wās is' pluzling wie vun a Kischef varfuhrt      gewor'en, un' wās mit ihr thut sich itzt, is' schwer un' bitter      selbst auszurēden; un' die standig getreue Mutter bet' itzt mit      Trahren, hēiss wie Feuer, nit Gesund, nit lange Jāhren far ihr      Kind, āber a Tōdt a gichen, wās wet gleicher sein far dem Kind noch      mehr wie far der Mutter.      Sie hāt noch ihr mutterliche Treuheit in ihr Harzen, wie noch ēhder      das Ungluck is' geschehn.... Nor take derfar bett' sie bei Gott asō      hēiss ot dem Tōdt auf ihr Kind. Kēin bessere Sach seht sie nit in      der Welt un' kēin ander Sach kānn sie bei Gott dem lebedigen heunt as then; in two large boxes filled with sand on both sides of the altar there are burning to-day the waxen soul-lights just as thirty years ago, though for other, fresh souls that have become souls only within the last thirty years. And they burn, some quietly and softly, and some flickering and melting, and urchins are now as then picking up the pieces of molten wax.        *       *       *       *       * Although the voice of the Precentor is now different, yet the words which he says, and the tune which he sings, are the same, precisely the same, not a bit changed. And the tears are the same that flow to-day in streams there behind the curtained windows in the woman's gallery, though from other eyes they flow, from other tortured hearts.... On the same spot where thirty years ago the unfortunate mother had been standing and mourning her beloved daughter who had departed so young from this world, there is to-day also standing a mother and dissolving her heart in hot tears. She is bewailing and lamenting her beautiful daughter who had once been her blessing, a girl, as pure as gold, who had been misled as if by witchery, and of whom it would be hard and bitter to say what she is doing now; and the ever-true mother prays now with tears, as hot as fire, not for health, not for long years for her child, but for quick death, which would be better for the child even than for the mother. She still harbors her mother's truth in her heart, even as before the calamity had happened.... For that very reason she prays to God so fervently to grant death to her child. She sees no better thing in the world, and she can ask for no better thing to-day of the living God.      nit betten. Un' es giessen sich ihre Trahren still un' fallen uber      die Worter vun ihre Tchines; sie halt dem Kopp in Ssider      eingegrāben un' schamt sich ihre Augen arauszunehmen, tomer      begegnen see sich mit Augen, wās wollen ihr Schand' dersehn, wās      is' wie a Fleck auf ihr Ponim gewor'en....      Un' punkt dort, wu die āreme Almone is' gestan'en mit dreissig Jāhr      zuruck un' hāt minutenweis gekuckt, ihre Jessomim in Schul zu sehn,      ōb see dawnen, ōb see nehmen a judisch Wort in Maul arein, un' hāt      gechlipet wēinendig, as ihre Augen hāben nit gefun'en, wās see      hāben gesucht, stēht heunt a judische Tochter un' kuckt durch dās      Vorhangel, un' sie wēiss allēin nit, auf wemen sie kuckt mehr, zi      auf ihr Mann, wās macht wilde Bewegungen mit bēide Hand' un' mit      sein ganzen Korper, oder auf dem jungen Menschen, wās sitzt auch in      Misrach-wand nit weit vun ihm un' dawent wie a Jud' un' sitzt ruhig      wie a Mensch.        *       *       *       *       *      Welche Gedanken laufen ihr durch ihr Kopp itzund! Wieviel Trahren      hāt sie vargossen vun jenem Tāg ān, as der junger Mann is' gewor'en      aus Chossen ihrer un' der wilder Chossen is' ihr Mann, ihr      Brōtgeber gewor'en! Wieviel Wunden trāgt sie seitdem still un' tief      varschlossen in ihr judischen Harzen un' peinigt sich vun ihre      ēigene Gedanken, wās tracht sich ihr nit wollendig, nor sie hāt      kēin Kōach nit, nit zu trachten. Un' wie bett' sie itzt Gott, er      soll ausloschen dās sundige Feuer vun ihr sundig Harz, ausloschen      All's, wās brennt un' kocht in ihr, sie soll vargessen, wās is'      gewesen, nit wissen, wie es darf zu sein, nor ēin Sach soll sie      wissen, wie lieb zu hāben ihr Mann, welcher wet un' mus ihr Mann      bleiben bis ihr Tōdt! Sie soll ihm lieben bei alle seine      Unmenschlichkeit, bei sein Wildkeit, un' selbst wenn And her tears flow quietly and fall on the words of her Prayer; she holds her head buried on the Prayer-book and is ashamed to lift her eyes, lest they meet some eyes that may recognize her shame which has become as a spot upon her face....        *       *       *       *       * And precisely there where the poor widow had been standing thirty years before and had looked every minute to catch a glimpse of her orphans, to see whether they were praying, whether they were reciting the Hebrew words, and had burst out in sobs when her eyes did not find that which she had been looking for, there is standing to-day a young Jewess, and she peeps through the curtain, and she does not know herself at whom she is looking more, whether at her husband who is wildly gesticulating with both his arms and his whole body, or at the young man who is also seated at the Eastern wall not far from him and is praying as behooves a Jew and is sitting quietly as behooves a man. What thoughts are now rushing through her head! How many tears she has shed since that day when the young man broke off his relations with her, and the uncouth man had become her husband, her breadgiver! How many wounds she has been carrying since then quietly and deeply buried in her Jewish heart, and has been tortured by her own thoughts which crowd upon her against her will, and which she has no strength to repel! And how she now implores God that He may extinguish the sinful fire from her sinful heart, that He may extinguish all that burns and boils within her, that she should forget all that had been, that she should not know how it ought to have been, that she should know but one thing, how to love her husband, who is and must remain her husband until her death! To love      er schlāgt sie, soll sie nor allēin wissen, Ssonim sollen nit      derfrēut wer'en un' sie soll alle ihre Pein far Gut konnen      ānnehmen, wie Der, wās thēilt dem Gōrel ein jeder Ischo, hāt a      judischer Frau geboten....        *       *       *       *       *      Un' es fliessen ihre Trahren auf dem ēigenem Ort, wu es hāben      asolche Trahren gegossen mit dreissig Jāhr zuruck vun a ganz ander      Grund un' Quelle. Un' see fallen auf dieselbe Worter vun Machser,      wās jede judische Frau varstēht see andersch als die andere.      Nor dort in Mairew-seit, nit weit vun Thur', wēinen die āreme      judische Frauen auch heunt mit dem ēigenem Nigen, mit dem ēigenem      betrubten Harzen wie mit dreissig Jāhr zuruck.      Āremkeit, Hunger, Nōt un' Mangel hāben alle Māl ēin Ponim, ēin Tam      un' ēin Ort bei der Thur. Asō sauer un' bitter dās Gewēin, wās      kummt vun Niedergeschlāgene, is' a Māl gewesen, wet auch ēbig sein.      Alle Wunsche un' Geluste vun Menschen wollen sich uberbeiten un'      beiten sich, nor der Wunsch vun dem Hungerigen wet ēbig bleiben dās      Stuckele Brōt; die Geluste vun dem Nōtbedurftigen wet auch ēbig      hēissen: Vun der Nōt befreit zu wer'en un' nit mehr zu wissen vun      dem Tam, wās es hāt!...      Un' dort bei der Thur stēhn itzt auch nit wēniger Finstere,      Ausgetruckente un Schofele, nebech, horen oder horen nit die      Sāgerke un' wēinen, wie see zum Harzen is',--es is' Jonkiper.      Nor in rechten mitten Misrach-wand, auf dem ēigenem Ort, wu die      frumme Gutele hāt mit dreissig Jāhr zuruck gedawent, seht man itzt      auch a choschewe Frau, korew zu fufzig Jāhr, sitzt still un'      trauerig, wie a Derhargete, ihre Lippen varschlossen. Die Augen      kucken in offenem Korben-minche, nor see sehn die Worter nit. him with all his inhumanity, with all his uncouthness, and even when he beats her, she alone to know it, lest her enemies be not rejoiced, and that she may accept all her troubles in good spirits, just as He who gives each woman her lot, has bidden a Jewish woman to do.... And her tears flow on the same spot where just such tears have flowed thirty years before for another reason and from another source. And they fall on the same words of the Prayer-book, which every Jewish woman interprets in her own way. Only at the Western wall, not far from the door, the poor women are weeping to-day with the same intonation, with the same burdened heart as thirty years ago.        *       *       *       *       * Poverty, hunger, misery, and want have always the same face, the same appearance, and the same place at the door. Just as oppressive and as bitter as the weeping that issues from the downtrodden has been before, it will eternally be. All desires and longings will change and are actually changing, but the want of the hungry will eternally remain a piece of bread; the longings of the needy will eternally be: To be freed from want and not to know the feeling thereof!...        *       *       *       *       * And there at the door there now stand just such gloomy, emaciated, and dispirited women, who listen or do not listen to the Reader and weep out of the fulness of their hearts,--it is the Atonement day. In the very centre of the Eastern wall, in the same spot where the pious Gutele had been praying thirty years before, one may even now discern a woman, nigh unto fifty years, sitting quietly and sadly, like one struck dead, with closely pressed lips. Her eyes look into the open Prayer-book, but they do not see the words.      Farwās wēint sie nit?      Is' ihr asō gut zu Muth, as selbst Jonkiper kann sie ihr Harz nit      zuthun, zu dermāhnen, as kēin Gut's is' nit ēbig un' der lebediger      Mensch wēiss nit, wās morgen kann sein?      Oder is' sie nit a judische Frau, a Frau vun a Mann un' Kinder, un'      welche judische Frau hāt nit ergez ēine oder mehrere Ursachen,      wegen wās Jonkiper zu betten un' a hēissen Trahr lāsen fallen?        *       *       *       *       *      Is' sie efscher asō hart un' asō schlecht, asō stolz un' vornehm      bei sich, as ihr passt nit zu wēinen, Leut' sollen ihre Trahren nit      sehn un' nit klahren, sie is gleich zu Allemen?      Nēin! Chanele, "die Gute, die Kluge" is' ihr Namen,--ihre jetzt      truckene Augen sāgen noch Eedes, as see hāben in sejer Zeit viel,      viel gewēeint; sie is' nit stolz un' schamt sich nit zu wēinen,      bifrat Jonkiper, wās wēint sich memeele!      Farwās-e wēint sie nit?      Es kucken auf ihr viel Augen un' wundern sich: Wās is' heunt mit      ihr der Mahr mehr als alle Jāhr? Nor sie kuckt trucken, wie      varstēinert, in ihr Ssider; nit sie wēint, nit sie dawent. A Pāar      Māl hāt sie dās Vorhangel varbōgen, a Kuck gethun in mannerscher      Schul, sich bald zuruck aweggesetzt un' jeder Māl alls traueriger      un' beklemmter wie fruher.        *       *       *       *       *      As der Chasen hāt āngehōben dawnen Mussaf, hāt sie noch a Māl a      Kuck gethun durch dās Fensterl, die Augen senen unruhig umgeloffen      uber der ganzer Schul,--sie hāt sich zuruck aweggesetzt.      "Er is' noch alls nitdā!" hāt ihr Harz geredt innerlich, "Zu Mussaf      afile hāt er nit gekonnt kummen? Why does she not weep?