Little Portraits
by Chaim Yakov Epstein & Boruch Chaim Cassel
Drawings by Julija (2016)
Drawings by Julija (2016)
Reb Noach Rubens often suffered from toothaches. In those days there were no dentists in Keidan, and even if there were Reb Noach would not have been able to afford such a luxury. So he relied on various folk remedies. Once he allowed himself to be talked into a cure by the German baker on German Street. The baker and his wife Rashe brought a bottle of whiskey home and poured a small glassful for Reb Noach, telling him to keep it on his aching tooth.
A bit later, Noach called out, "Rashe, let me have another glass; I swallowed the first one." "Wretched man!" shouted Rashe, "Keep it on your tooth!" "Only the devil can stand that!" answered Reb Noach. |
Friday night.
There is a burning frost outdoors. The earth is covered with a thick, frozen snow. The steps of a passerby echo with a metallic ring.
Itse the water carrier, who lives next door to my teacher, Reb Hirshe Dovid, is done eating. But before he manages to get through the after-meal grace, he falls asleep with his head on the table.
And it's no wonder. This wintry Friday is so short, and the water carrier is so very tired, having had to arise an hour before daybreak to deliver water enough to last the homes in the neighborhood until Sunday.
It's very warm in the house. The furnace was stoked up twice on this Friday - first in the morning to bake the khallah and again in the afternoon for the tsholent.
The smell of tsholent stewing in the oven wafts throughout the house.
From the open area under the furnace emanates an odor of the several chickens nestled there, as well as the stink of the garbage pail nearby.
Several small children, asleep in the bedding laid out for them by their mother, are dishevelled, half-naked since it is so warm.
The overworked mother has also fallen asleep on her bench in the middle of her chores, embracing a pillow with both arms, bits of fluffy feathers escaping from a torn seam.
After a short but deep sleep, Itse awakens from his uncomfortable position.
The wax candles have burned out, except for one, flickering its last in the brass candlesticks and throwing strange lights and shadows through the room. The smell of the melting tallow mingles with the odors of the cold stew and the unwashed utensils under the table.
It is pleasantly warm. Itse's first thought is: "It's Friday night." He feels well-fed after a meat meal. Tomorrow it's Shabbos, and he doesn't have to go to his hard work with the water pails. The smell of the tcholent in the oven comforts him; the family will eat well again tomorrow.
He stands up, stretches, yawns and says happily:
"Oh, Creator of the Universe! How wonderful it is! They say that Friday night is only a thousandth part of the world to come. Just think then, how wonderful the world to come will be!"
There is a burning frost outdoors. The earth is covered with a thick, frozen snow. The steps of a passerby echo with a metallic ring.
Itse the water carrier, who lives next door to my teacher, Reb Hirshe Dovid, is done eating. But before he manages to get through the after-meal grace, he falls asleep with his head on the table.
And it's no wonder. This wintry Friday is so short, and the water carrier is so very tired, having had to arise an hour before daybreak to deliver water enough to last the homes in the neighborhood until Sunday.
It's very warm in the house. The furnace was stoked up twice on this Friday - first in the morning to bake the khallah and again in the afternoon for the tsholent.
The smell of tsholent stewing in the oven wafts throughout the house.
From the open area under the furnace emanates an odor of the several chickens nestled there, as well as the stink of the garbage pail nearby.
Several small children, asleep in the bedding laid out for them by their mother, are dishevelled, half-naked since it is so warm.
The overworked mother has also fallen asleep on her bench in the middle of her chores, embracing a pillow with both arms, bits of fluffy feathers escaping from a torn seam.
After a short but deep sleep, Itse awakens from his uncomfortable position.
The wax candles have burned out, except for one, flickering its last in the brass candlesticks and throwing strange lights and shadows through the room. The smell of the melting tallow mingles with the odors of the cold stew and the unwashed utensils under the table.
It is pleasantly warm. Itse's first thought is: "It's Friday night." He feels well-fed after a meat meal. Tomorrow it's Shabbos, and he doesn't have to go to his hard work with the water pails. The smell of the tcholent in the oven comforts him; the family will eat well again tomorrow.
He stands up, stretches, yawns and says happily:
"Oh, Creator of the Universe! How wonderful it is! They say that Friday night is only a thousandth part of the world to come. Just think then, how wonderful the world to come will be!"
Little Portraits
by Chaim Yakov Epstein & Boruch Chaim Cassel
Bunikov, Keidan's Justice of the Peace, once passed Chana Lipe's shack on the other side of the river. It was a miracle that the shack was still standing, what with its being propped up on all sides with boards. Its window panes were shattered and the roof was torn apart. Bunikov conceived a plan to help rehabilitate poor Chana's shack. He decided that whenever people were brought before him on charges – say someone didn't keep the area in front of his house clean, or a couple of peasants got to fighting in the marketplace – Bunikov would fine them an appropriate amount "for Chana."
Jews who paid fines did it with pleasure, since they knew their money was going to help a poor Jewish widow. But one Thursday a bunch of drunk peasants who had been fighting were brought to Bunikov. When the magistrate saw how many people were before him, he realized he could complete his fund for Chana’s shack by fining each of them two rubles.
A short while later his clerk came in and said that none of the peasants had any money, but they would be willing to sit in jail "for Chana." --E.
* *
Reb Itse Moishe Yudes was long established as the city gravedigger, but at least one faction in town thought he should be replaced. In due course a committee was organized and a candidate was found. After a long debate, it was decided to test the applicant’s fearlessness by having him go to the cemetery one night and dig up a grave. The candidate gathered his courage, drank a healthy shot of schnapps and headed for the boneyard.
Reb Itse Moishe Yudes' friends did not stand idly by, however. A group of them, men, women and children as well, donned white robes and sheets and went to confront the would-be replacement.
As the candidate approached the cemetery gate, he encountered what appeared to be a crowd of corpses. Frightened, he at first retreated, but then returned, and called out three times: "Please forgive me. Return to your resting places!" Seeing no one move, he became angry and lifted his shovel high with both hands and shouted: "Well, I can forgive the adult corpses. But you kids. I'll knock you over with my shovel if you don't return to your resting places!" --E.
* *
Khaim Zalmen the cobbler was a cobbler in name only. His main occupation was being involved with synagogue and community activities. He helped the assistant shames select candles for the Sabbath; he traversed the city with one of the preachers to collect charitable contributions and engaged in other such communal affairs. But his status was not "official" enough to allow him to canvass the houses in the city for Chanukah money.
Once on a dark Chanukah night, Leyzer the Shames got very excited when he was entering a well-to-do person's home to collect Chanukah money, and he ran into Chaim Zalmen the cobbler in the anteroom, on his way out carrying a lantern.
Leyzer said: "Zalmen, do you mean to tell me that you're going about collecting Chanukah money?"
"Yes," answered Zalmen, "but not for myself."
"For whom, then?" asked Leyzer.
"For Mnukhe Esther's."
"What do you mean, for Mnukhe Esther's?" Leyzer asked, bewildered.
"It's very simple," Chaim Zalmen answered artlessly. "I owe Mnukhe for three loaves of bread, so I'm collecting Chanukah money to pay her back."
* *
From "The Keidaner" bulletin, Mar. 1, 1941The CoachmanBy B. Cassel
Feive Shmiser was the well-established wagon-driver and a person of influence among the coachmen in Keidan. He had a pair of coaches with several horses, and used to take passengers from Keidan to the surrounding towns.
That was before the railroad came through town. When building began on the train line, Feive thought nothing would come of it, assuming that without a wagon driver people wouldn't be able to find their way to unfamiliar towns town. So Feive continued to behave arrogantly towards his passengers, believing himself indispensible.
But after the railroad began to operate, Feive's town-to-town transportation business began to dry up. He had to sell one coach and a couple of horses, and kept only one horse and wagon. Making a living became a struggle, and he was reduced, like other, less stubborn coachmen, to merely shuttling passengers from town to the train station.
One morning Feive Shmiser started out with a wagonload of passengers to catch the morning train, which left the Keidan station for Kovno at 7 a.m.
From his years as a big-shot coachman he was still quite imperious, and used to scold any passenger impudent enough to suggest to him that it might be time to get going already. Accordingly, he assumed that the rail schedule wasn’t his worry; the “choo-choo” would never leave before he delivered his passengers to the station.
He had just reached the crossing where the road to the station met the railroad tracks, and had just lowered the crossing gate from under his horse's nose, when the train flew by on its way to Kovno, rumbling loudly and tooting its whistle, as if to sneer at the dumbfounded Feive and his passengers.
They, as well as the horse, were at first startled by the rude train whistle. As he restrained his nervous horse, and calmed himself down as well, Feive remarked philosophically: "Blow, blow; we'll see how long you blow. In my life I've seen bigger coachmen than you blowing their whistles, and in the end they all died in the poorhouse!"
And, spitting in the direction of the departing train, he turned the horse back toward the town.
The passengers made themselves hoarse calling down curses on Feive's head; but Feive, deep in thought, just pulled his had down lower on his brow and answered not a word.
Yosse-Itse's PayesB. Cassel
From "the Keidaner" bulletin,
They were two partners, both cutters of wooden shingles. Yisroel Hindas was a tall, dark man with a full head of thick hair and a long, broad beard that covered his chest and reached down to his belt. An easygoing, thoughtful fellow, he contemplated life philosophically.
Yosse-Itse was completely the opposite. A small, dry character with a pointy, sand-colored little beard, he came from a priestly family of Kohanim, and was always in a state of excited motion.
From Passover to Shevues the two worked the forest not far from Kroke, making shingles for the local landowning nobility. On the day before Shevues, Yosse-Itse said to Yisroel: "Let us put aside the work early and go home, so that my wife can cut my hair, which has been growing these last forty days. I'm supposed to give the priestly blessing in synagogue over the holiday, and I can't be seen looking like a wild man.''
"Why trouble your wife, who already has enough to do preparing for the holiday?" Yisroel answered him philosophically. "I'll give you a better haircut myself, right here on the workbench. All I need is some shears, and we won't have to give up a half-day of work."
Yosse-Itse grabbed the idea. "Shears? No problem! I'll just run over to Uzhik, the goy who shears the sheep, and borrow his."
No sooner said than done. In a little while Yosse-Itse was back with Uzhik's shears, which were almost as big as Yosse-Itse himself. And shortly, before Yosse-Itse was sitting on the workbench, hatless, as Yisroel Hindas approached him armed with the very big, very sharp shears. A snip and a snip, and Yisroel was demonstrating his artistry as a barber. In truth, the barbered head was adorned with indents all around, but still, the head was shorn.
After his haircut, the first thing Yosse-Itse did was reach up and feel for his payes, his side-curls. And like a thunderbolt it hit him: there was no trace! How could he, a Kohen, perform the priestly benediction before the town without his side-curls? He’d be better off remaining in the forest a couple of months until the hair grew back.
But Yosse-Itse had a lively imagination, and was not the kind to let trouble slow him down. After thinking it over briefly, he got down on the ground and scraped some of the freshly cut-off hair together into bundles. And with some of the wooden hinge material that he used to make shingles, fastened the little bunches of hair to the interior of his hat on both sides. With his hat pulled down, the earlocks hung down over his ears, just as nice as you please.
The next morning, the first day of Shevues, the congregation noticed nothing unusual about Yosse-Itse. But after he had delivered the priestly benediction and was accepting congratulations from the crowd, Yisroel came up and, grasping the visor of Yosse-Itse's hat, gave it a turn to the side. It was then that the surprised congregation saw one of Yosse-Itse's payes growing out of his forehead, and the other from the nape of his neck.
by Chaim Yakov Epstein & Boruch Chaim Cassel
Bunikov, Keidan's Justice of the Peace, once passed Chana Lipe's shack on the other side of the river. It was a miracle that the shack was still standing, what with its being propped up on all sides with boards. Its window panes were shattered and the roof was torn apart. Bunikov conceived a plan to help rehabilitate poor Chana's shack. He decided that whenever people were brought before him on charges – say someone didn't keep the area in front of his house clean, or a couple of peasants got to fighting in the marketplace – Bunikov would fine them an appropriate amount "for Chana."
Jews who paid fines did it with pleasure, since they knew their money was going to help a poor Jewish widow. But one Thursday a bunch of drunk peasants who had been fighting were brought to Bunikov. When the magistrate saw how many people were before him, he realized he could complete his fund for Chana’s shack by fining each of them two rubles.
A short while later his clerk came in and said that none of the peasants had any money, but they would be willing to sit in jail "for Chana." --E.
* *
Reb Itse Moishe Yudes was long established as the city gravedigger, but at least one faction in town thought he should be replaced. In due course a committee was organized and a candidate was found. After a long debate, it was decided to test the applicant’s fearlessness by having him go to the cemetery one night and dig up a grave. The candidate gathered his courage, drank a healthy shot of schnapps and headed for the boneyard.
Reb Itse Moishe Yudes' friends did not stand idly by, however. A group of them, men, women and children as well, donned white robes and sheets and went to confront the would-be replacement.
As the candidate approached the cemetery gate, he encountered what appeared to be a crowd of corpses. Frightened, he at first retreated, but then returned, and called out three times: "Please forgive me. Return to your resting places!" Seeing no one move, he became angry and lifted his shovel high with both hands and shouted: "Well, I can forgive the adult corpses. But you kids. I'll knock you over with my shovel if you don't return to your resting places!" --E.
* *
Khaim Zalmen the cobbler was a cobbler in name only. His main occupation was being involved with synagogue and community activities. He helped the assistant shames select candles for the Sabbath; he traversed the city with one of the preachers to collect charitable contributions and engaged in other such communal affairs. But his status was not "official" enough to allow him to canvass the houses in the city for Chanukah money.
Once on a dark Chanukah night, Leyzer the Shames got very excited when he was entering a well-to-do person's home to collect Chanukah money, and he ran into Chaim Zalmen the cobbler in the anteroom, on his way out carrying a lantern.
Leyzer said: "Zalmen, do you mean to tell me that you're going about collecting Chanukah money?"
"Yes," answered Zalmen, "but not for myself."
"For whom, then?" asked Leyzer.
"For Mnukhe Esther's."
"What do you mean, for Mnukhe Esther's?" Leyzer asked, bewildered.
"It's very simple," Chaim Zalmen answered artlessly. "I owe Mnukhe for three loaves of bread, so I'm collecting Chanukah money to pay her back."
* *
From "The Keidaner" bulletin, Mar. 1, 1941The CoachmanBy B. Cassel
Feive Shmiser was the well-established wagon-driver and a person of influence among the coachmen in Keidan. He had a pair of coaches with several horses, and used to take passengers from Keidan to the surrounding towns.
That was before the railroad came through town. When building began on the train line, Feive thought nothing would come of it, assuming that without a wagon driver people wouldn't be able to find their way to unfamiliar towns town. So Feive continued to behave arrogantly towards his passengers, believing himself indispensible.
But after the railroad began to operate, Feive's town-to-town transportation business began to dry up. He had to sell one coach and a couple of horses, and kept only one horse and wagon. Making a living became a struggle, and he was reduced, like other, less stubborn coachmen, to merely shuttling passengers from town to the train station.
One morning Feive Shmiser started out with a wagonload of passengers to catch the morning train, which left the Keidan station for Kovno at 7 a.m.
From his years as a big-shot coachman he was still quite imperious, and used to scold any passenger impudent enough to suggest to him that it might be time to get going already. Accordingly, he assumed that the rail schedule wasn’t his worry; the “choo-choo” would never leave before he delivered his passengers to the station.
He had just reached the crossing where the road to the station met the railroad tracks, and had just lowered the crossing gate from under his horse's nose, when the train flew by on its way to Kovno, rumbling loudly and tooting its whistle, as if to sneer at the dumbfounded Feive and his passengers.
They, as well as the horse, were at first startled by the rude train whistle. As he restrained his nervous horse, and calmed himself down as well, Feive remarked philosophically: "Blow, blow; we'll see how long you blow. In my life I've seen bigger coachmen than you blowing their whistles, and in the end they all died in the poorhouse!"
And, spitting in the direction of the departing train, he turned the horse back toward the town.
The passengers made themselves hoarse calling down curses on Feive's head; but Feive, deep in thought, just pulled his had down lower on his brow and answered not a word.
Yosse-Itse's PayesB. Cassel
From "the Keidaner" bulletin,
They were two partners, both cutters of wooden shingles. Yisroel Hindas was a tall, dark man with a full head of thick hair and a long, broad beard that covered his chest and reached down to his belt. An easygoing, thoughtful fellow, he contemplated life philosophically.
Yosse-Itse was completely the opposite. A small, dry character with a pointy, sand-colored little beard, he came from a priestly family of Kohanim, and was always in a state of excited motion.
From Passover to Shevues the two worked the forest not far from Kroke, making shingles for the local landowning nobility. On the day before Shevues, Yosse-Itse said to Yisroel: "Let us put aside the work early and go home, so that my wife can cut my hair, which has been growing these last forty days. I'm supposed to give the priestly blessing in synagogue over the holiday, and I can't be seen looking like a wild man.''
"Why trouble your wife, who already has enough to do preparing for the holiday?" Yisroel answered him philosophically. "I'll give you a better haircut myself, right here on the workbench. All I need is some shears, and we won't have to give up a half-day of work."
Yosse-Itse grabbed the idea. "Shears? No problem! I'll just run over to Uzhik, the goy who shears the sheep, and borrow his."
No sooner said than done. In a little while Yosse-Itse was back with Uzhik's shears, which were almost as big as Yosse-Itse himself. And shortly, before Yosse-Itse was sitting on the workbench, hatless, as Yisroel Hindas approached him armed with the very big, very sharp shears. A snip and a snip, and Yisroel was demonstrating his artistry as a barber. In truth, the barbered head was adorned with indents all around, but still, the head was shorn.
After his haircut, the first thing Yosse-Itse did was reach up and feel for his payes, his side-curls. And like a thunderbolt it hit him: there was no trace! How could he, a Kohen, perform the priestly benediction before the town without his side-curls? He’d be better off remaining in the forest a couple of months until the hair grew back.
But Yosse-Itse had a lively imagination, and was not the kind to let trouble slow him down. After thinking it over briefly, he got down on the ground and scraped some of the freshly cut-off hair together into bundles. And with some of the wooden hinge material that he used to make shingles, fastened the little bunches of hair to the interior of his hat on both sides. With his hat pulled down, the earlocks hung down over his ears, just as nice as you please.
The next morning, the first day of Shevues, the congregation noticed nothing unusual about Yosse-Itse. But after he had delivered the priestly benediction and was accepting congratulations from the crowd, Yisroel came up and, grasping the visor of Yosse-Itse's hat, gave it a turn to the side. It was then that the surprised congregation saw one of Yosse-Itse's payes growing out of his forehead, and the other from the nape of his neck.