Sholem Aleichem was one of the most beloved writers of Yiddish literature, perhaps most famous for his stories about Tevye the Dairyman, which inspired the hit musical Fiddler on the Roof. What follows is a new translation of one of his lesser-known stories, In King Ahasuerus’ House, first published in 1901. It’s a powerful evocation of Purim in the shtetl, told with empathy and the author’s signature brand of humor.
Translated by Oren Cohen Roman and Rebecca Wolpe
1.
Do you know who I was jealous of when I was a little boy?
Of Ahasuerus. Not the famous Ahasuerus who reigned over 127 provinces from India to Ethiopia. I mean Kopl the tailor, with his golden crown — that is, his paper hat — and his long golden broomstick.
I was also really jealous of Mordecai, the king’s second-in-command (Levi the cobbler), with his long coat that he wore inside-out and a tousled flax beard glued to his chin.
I was jealous of Queen Vashti (Motl the carpenter), who wore a little dress over his long coat and would tie a handkerchief around his beard so people would think he was a woman.
And what was wrong, I ask you, with Queen Esther (Oyzer the deputy beadle) with his green apron? And what was wrong with Haman (Yoske the teacher’s assistant), who wore a piece of broken pottery on his head?
But more than anyone, I was jealous of Feivel the orphan, who would put on a red shirt and dress up as Joseph the Righteous when the actors performed that beautiful play called The Sale of Joseph. His brothers would tear the red shirt off him and throw him into the lions’ pit, and Joseph the Righteous (that is, Feivel) would kneel and fold his arms, singing an incantation so the wild beasts would not harm him — a sad song whose words touched every limb of your body:
Serpents and scorpions,
Close your mouths!
Close your mouths!
Do you happen to know,
Do you happen to know,
Do you know who I am?
I am Joseph the Righteous,
Isaac’s grandson,
Jacob’s son —
Jacob’s son!
And although Joseph the Righteous was an orphan — a poor, unmarried lad who lived in the lower prayer house and made a living doing odd jobs, while I was the son of a wealthy man, and the grandson of my grandfather, Rabbi Meyer, still I would have gladly traded places with him just for that one day, Purim.
When that joyous, sweet day arrived, I would wait eagerly from the early hours of the morning to catch sight of the “gang” of actors who went from house to house with a whole group of boys running after them barefoot in the snow. Why can’t I be part of that group? No! I’m not allowed, because I am the son of a wealthy man and the grandson of my grandfather, Rabbi Meyer. I have to lie around the house all day like a dog and then accompany all the adults to the house of my grandfather, Rabbi Meyer, for the festive meal.
“Why are you strutting about like a German Jew?” my father says to me as we all walk to Rabbi Meyer’s for the festive meal and I see the group of children in the distance.
“May God protect you from the evil eye, you’re a big boy already, you can walk a little faster!” my mother adds. “God willing, on the Sabbath before Passover, you will turn eight, may you live to be 120.”
“Leave him alone, he’s spotted the comedians!” cries out my older brother, Moyshele, who also loved to stop and gaze at the comedians.
“Get moving!” chimes in my teacher Itse — my very own Angel of Death — jabbing me from behind.
I look down at the mud and move forward with all the others, filled with gloomy thoughts and bitter reflections: “I always have to be with the grown-ups! Always with my teacher! Morning, night, Sabbaths and holidays! May the earth swallow up Reb Itse’s nose, red from snuff!”
2.
My grandfather, Rabbi Meyer, is the richest man in town. He lives like a king. He has a big room with a large silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling and brass sconces on the walls. A big, heavy silver candelabra stands on the table surrounded by numerous silver candlesticks. Grandmother Nechama takes them out only twice a year: on Passover for seder night and on Purim for the festive meal, ensuring that light reaches every corner.
At the very top of the table, on a grand chair that is covered in green, sits my grandfather, Rabbi Meyer himself — a short man with a thin beard and a nose that is a bit crooked. His hair is silver, but his black eyes are young. He wears a long silk coat and a braided belt, a fur shtreimel on his head. Right in front ofhim, on the table, is an incredibly large, braided Purim koyletsh bread, some of it already eaten, colored yellow with saffron and decorated with raisins.
Exactly at the center of the table sits Grandmother Nechama, a tall woman, still very beautiful, wearing a gold-colored silk dress decorated with white apples, her head covered with a shtern-tikhl bedecked with diamonds and gems, an expensive pearl necklace at her throat, and with rings and earrings. Near her lies a big platter full of steaming, aromatic, sweet and peppery fish, seasoned with onions, raisins and all kinds of spices. Grandmother serves the fish, her beautiful silk headscarf tucked behind her ears and ending in two tips, her diamonds and gems twinkling as she serves, her smiling face shining.
Around the table, on both sides, sit my uncles and aunts with their children, boys and girls all named after the same grandfathers and grandmothers, uncles and aunts. First, Uncle Zadok and Aunt Zivia with their three sons, Moyshele, Hershele and Velvele, and their two daughters, Sorele and Feygele. Then Uncle Naphtali and Aunt Debora with their four sons, Moyshele, Hershele, Velvele, Notele and three daughters, Sorele, Feygele, Rokhele. Then Uncle Avrom and Aunt Sossye with their five sons, Moyshele, Hershele, Velvele, Notele, Yankele, and four daughters, Sorele, Feygele, Rokhele, Taybele. Then Uncle Berish and Aunt Esterl with their six sons, Moyshele, Hershele, Velvele, Notele, Yankele, Fishele, and five daughters, Sorele, Feygele, Rokhele, Taybele, and Khantse. Then Uncle Binyomin and Aunt Leah with seven sons, Moyshele, Hershele, Velvele, Notele, Yankele, Fishele, Shmulikl, and six daughters, Sorele, Feygele, Rokhele, Taybele, Khantse, and Gnendl. Then Uncle Kalmen and Aunt Itel with eight sons …
But maybe that’s enough listing family members? It might, as they say, be detrimental. Once, out of curiosity, Grandfather wanted to count how many people were sitting at the table. He took a silver goblet in his hand and began counting: “Not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not six, not seven …” Grandmother tore the goblet from his hand and would not let him count any further: “May bad things only happen to my enemies! Why are you counting? There are enough plates, may God protect us from the evil eye!”
Once everyone gathers for the meal, Grandfather himself seats everyone around the table. My grandfather, Rabbi Meyer, likes everything to be nice, neat, clean, and orderly — and so it is: All the uncles sit next to one another, as do all the aunts. And he seats us, the children, so that brothers will not sit next to brothers and sisters will not sit next to sisters because siblings cannot behave nicely with one another. Therefore, one family’s Moyshele must sit next to another family’s Hershele, and another Hershele with a different family’s Velvele, and another Velvele with a Notele, another Notele with Yankele, another Yankele with a Fishele, another Fishele with a Shmulikl. The same goes for the girls: A Sorele with a Feygele, another Feygele with a Rokhele, another Rokhele with a Taybele, another Taybele with a Khantse, another Khantse with a Gnendl, another Gnendl with a Sorele, another Sorele with another Feygele, and so on. Only I have no pair! So they sit me down with my very own Angel of Death, my teacher Reb Itse. Reb Itse is not only my teacher, he is also my instructor, a guide or governess of sorts, in good manners, showing me how to sit at the table and how to eat.
“When you sit at the table,” so governess Reb Itse taught me, “sit like a decent human being. Look straight ahead, keep your hands under the table and don’t speak with your mouth full. And when you eat noodles in broth, you should scoop with your spoon exactly the same amount of noodles as broth. Sip the broth, then lay down the spoon and wipe your mouth. Then again sip some broth, and again lay down your spoon and wipe your mouth. Don’t guzzle one spoon after another like some goy!”
Reb Itse sits down next to me and says the blessing over bread. Then he takes out his red handkerchief from his breast pocket, shaking the tobacco crumbs straight onto my plate. Then he starts blowing his nose with a strange shrieking noise, which sounds like someone blowing the shofar, all the while watching me with one eye to ensure that I am sitting like a decent human being.
“Shoshanas Ya-a-a-a-kov!” so my grandfather begins singing, with his very pleasant voice, right after the first glass of wine. He clicks his fingers as he sings, and all those present join him: “Tzohalo ve-somecho!” in many voices, growing louder and louder. My teacher Reb Itse, who is not much of a singer and has the voice of a frog, also sings along. That is, he keeps his mouth open, closes his eyes (but still keeps one eye half open to supervise me, checking that I am sitting like a decent human being), tilts his head a little to one side, taps with his finger on the table. In short, he is showing my grandfather that he is singing along with everyone. And when they get to the words “Boruch Mordecai” and “Orur Haman” they bless Mordecai and curse Haman, may even just one tenth of those curses fall upon them, God Almighty!
3.
“The Purim players have arrived!” shouts Tanchum the servant, a man with a red coat who addresses everyone, apart from my grandfather and grandmother, with great familiarity, using the informal “du.”
As soon as we hear the words “Purim players,” we, the children, immediately jump up from the table and surround King Ahasuerus with his golden crown.
“Happy holiday!” the players exclaim joyfully in unison, taking their places in two orderly lines. On a golden chair sits King Ahasuerus, and Memucan (Haim the coachman) appears on stage, standing on one foot, singing a quaint German-like song:
“I am Memucan of couriers’ camels so swift
Still a young gentleman, on my face that gift
On one foot I spring
And with my sweet voice I sing.”
King Ahasuerus asks him:
“Tell me, servant Memucan, my dear,
Why did you come crawling here?”
Memucan answers him:
“May the king have a look and see how
Some people to Haman refuse to bow.”
King Ahasuerus’ anger flares:
“Who is it that disobeys my word,
My command that everywhere is heard?”
Memucan answers him:
“A cursed Jew, on the Sabbath he does rest
With no crack in the back of his coat he is blessed
On the eighth day to circumcise his children he raises his hand
How can you tolerate such people anywhere in your land?”
King Ahasuerus says:
“If that is so, have that Jew brought to me
We will hang him on a high tree!”
Memucan sings:
“Enter, enter, enter
Mondrish, my friend, come stand in the center!”
Mondrish, with his tufted beard, enters the room and starts justifying himself to King Ahasuerus. He relates his pedigree, his origins:
“Abraham, Isaac and Jacob his ancestors be,
His witnesses, the commandments, all 600, ten and three!”
And he finishes with a song:
“Oh woe, it pains our poor heart,
That Haman the scoundrel you have set apart!”
***
“Are you Joseph the Righteous?” I call to Feivel the orphan. He is standing on the side, a shy, tormented look on his face
“Joseph the Righteous,” Feivel replies.
“Will you also be performing?” I ask him.
“If they tell me to perform, I will,” Joseph the Righteous tells me, and he bends toward my ear: “Give me a piece of your koyletsh bread.”
“People will notice and get angry,” I tell him quietly.
“So snatch it away so that no one will see,” he tells me, his eyes shining.
“You mean steal?” I say.
“Is that considered stealing?” he asks.
“Then what would you call it?” I say. “Borrowing?”
“I’m starving to death,” he tells me quietly, devouring the koyletsh bread with his eyes. “I haven’t had a bite to eat since early this morning.”
Everyone in the room is engrossed in the play, so I inch to the table, hold my arms low, break off a piece of the koyletsh bread, and slip it into my hand. Joseph the Righteous skillfully drops the piece of koyletsh bread into his pocket and squeezes my hand: “You’re a good boy! May God reward you with all the best!”
4.
“Perhaps you would also like us to perform The Sale of Joseph?” calls King Ahasuerus, removing his golden crown and donning a simple hat.
“Enough is enough,” says my grandfather, putting a silver coin in King Ahasuerus’ hand. He orders Tanchum the servant to grab a broom and sweep up the mud that the comedians brought in. There’s a bit of a commotion in the room, chairs are moved around. While my relatives take their seats again, I sneak outside for just one minute to see off the “gang.”
“Come!” Joseph the Righteous calls to me and takes my hand. “Follow me, come with me. I like you, you’re a nice boy, very nice indeed!”
“Where are we going?” I say, my heart pounding in my chest.
“To King Ahasuerus,” he tells me. “We aren’t doing any more performances today. Now we’re going to King Ahasuerus’ to have a banquet!”
Joseph the Righteous takes my hand, and we step over the mud.
Night begins to creep in; the mud becomes deeper the further we go. I feel as though I have wings that are carrying me through the air. In a minute, I’ll start flying, hovering.
“I’m scared,” I tell Joseph the Righteous, holding onto his hand firmly.
“What are you scared of, foolish boy?” he replies, chewing the piece of koyletsh bread that I gave him. “There’s going to be a banquet there, you little fool. You will hear how we sing songs. Wow! Some koyletsh bread you have! It tastes like paradise! It melts in your mouth like butter! I don’t understand how people can see such a wonderful thing in front of them and not eat it all up?”
“It’s not so special!” I say with pride. “In my house, we eat koyletsh bread on weekdays too.”
“Always koyletsh bread?” says Joseph the Righteous, smacking his lips. “And what about meat?”
“Every day,” I say.
“Every day!?” he says and swallows. “I eat meat only once a week, on the Sabbath. And even that doesn’t happen every week, because not always does a rich man let me eat at his table. Sometimes God ‘helps’ and you find yourself in the house of a beggar, so you don’t get anything to eat but a good fever.”
“What do you mean, you eat a fever?” I say.
“You don’t know what it means to eat a fever? It means that you get a beating,” he explains to me. “If you don’t have anything to eat, you get a beating. I live off whatever people give me. Oyzer the beadle, may he live long, helps me out from time to time with a piece of bread. Sometimes a potato. Oyzer is a good man, his soul is like a diamond! Do you know him? He plays Queen Esther.”
“Where’s your father?” I ask him.
“I don’t have a father.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t have a mother.”
“Your grandfather, your grandmother?”
“I don’t have a grandfather, and I don’t have a grandmother.”
“An uncle, an aunt?”
“I don’t have an uncle, and I don’t have an aunt.”
“A brother or a sister?”
“I don’t have a brother, and I don’t have a sister. I don’t have anyone, nobody! I am an orphan, I am!”
I take a look at his face and then at the moon, and it seems to me that both are the same color. I move even closer to him, and with great agility, our small feet chase after the “gang.”
5.
“King Ahasuerus lives right here,” Joseph the Righteous tells me, and we all go down to a little dark house covered with a roof made of mud.
“Freyda Etel, get out of bed!” King Ahasuerus calls to his wife, a sickly, asthmatic woman who holds her head with one hand and her heart with the other as she coughs. The members of the “gang” have been singing to themselves all day long and are now used to speaking in rhymes, so they cannot help but continue.
“Serve the fish on a fine dish!” says Memucan.
“We have koyletsh bread for our crew,
something for our teeth to chew.
Also triangular hamantashen as a treat,
no need to wash your hands before you eat.
And floden cakes and little pockets of dough,
next to Purim dumplings, you know,
and a small bottle of brandy too.
Mondrish, untie the bag or I’ll hit you!”
“Rather than a smack on the back, it’s better to untie my sack,” says Mondrish with a threefold rhyme, and he proceeds to open his bag.
“You started eating, but the cash you weren’t keeping!” says Vashti.
“Vashti is not drunk blind, he keeps the main thing, pennies, in mind!” exclaims Haman, and Queen Esther supports him, as usual, also with a rhyme.
Yet when it comes to dividing up the money, they stop speaking in rhymes and talk in a straightforward way, as everyone does when it comes to money. The largest portion usually goes to King Ahasuerus. That’s the rule every year. However, when it comes to the other players, a bit of a dispute ensues. Memucan asks why Vashti gets more than him. He, Memucan, has to work harder than everyone else, hopping around on one foot, talking to people, scattering rhymes, using nice words. But when it comes to dividing up the money, all of a sudden, Vashti gets special treatment! What’s the reason for this? Because he’s a good friend of King Ahasuerus; tailors and carpenters always share a common cause.
“Quiet, everyone!” King Ahasuerus shouts at him. “You coachman, you horse driver, you wagon greaser, you wagon-shaft made from clay, reins of paper, glass peg, leather axis! You have the nerve to speak out against King Ahasuerus?! I’ll give you a beating to the chin, and you’ll start behaving like a little pony!”
Memucan falls silent. All the actors have great respect for King Ahasuerus because he is the boss. The entrepreneur, that is. Mondrish still grumbles under his breath, as do the others, but then Queen Esther drops those few coins in his pocket and says a witty remark, and the “gang” is happy and cheerful again, and they start speaking in rhymes once more.
“May the rich people not have in their lives any more than what we bring to our wives!” says Memucan.
I observe this gathering hosted by King Ahasuerus: In the middle of the room is a large table covered with a coarse dark tablecloth. On one side is a workshop full of tools, on the other a little wooden bed with many cushions piled high, reaching almost to the ceiling. In front of the oven is a wooden bench, on which a black cat is napping, his paws under his body. From the top of the oven, a few pairs of black, brown and grey eyes peek down at us.
“Get down, you brats!” says Joseph the Righteous, signaling to them with his finger. The black, brown and grey eyes don’t need to be told again. They slide down from the top of the oven one after another, wearing shabby shirts that reach only just below the navel. Joseph the Righteous, it appears, is a regular guest here. Indeed, the half-naked children approach him like little sheep, lowering their curly heads, asking him to stroke them.
“Are you hungry?” Joseph the Righteous asks them. “We’ll eat in just a moment! We brought you loads of delicious food!”
He lists all the delicious foods they have brought today, and the little sheep look at one another, swallow deeply and smack their lips. Joseph the Righteous strokes their curly heads, swallowing and smacking his lips just like them. They wait impatiently for the people to go to the table and start eating. Finally, thank God, King Ahasuerus takes the bottle, pours a glass of brandy and drinks the first glass to celebrate the “holy” holiday of Purim. Afterwards, everyone else drinks a glass of brandy. And everyone, young and old alike, sits at the table, except for Freyda-Etel, who toils away at the oven. Even the black cat gets up, stretches his back with a yawn, approaches the table and stands in front of it, hoping perhaps to get a snack from the meal. Joseph the Righteous, me and the half-naked little sheep with the curly heads sit down on a long, unsteady bench — one leg is shorter than the other — which sways beneath us. And we, the children, laugh ourselves silly about the wobbly bench, as though it were the best joke ever. And at that moment, the members of the “gang” notice me and wonder who this new, unfamiliar person can be!
“Who’s the gooseberry?” asks King Ahasuerus.
Joseph the Righteous tells them who I am and how I came to be there. Apparently, everybody takes immense pleasure in this because each one of them comes up to me and gives me a pat on the shoulder, or pinches my cheek. And each one says something else, as is customary with rhymes, and the meal begins. Freyda Etel brings from the oven very peppery fish with potatoes, and although the dish is not seasoned with all kinds of spices, as it is in the home ofmy grandfather, Rabbi Meyer, I find it very flavorful. The only disadvantage is that it’s full of little fish bones! On the other hand, everyone eats from one plate, and I actually like that idea a lot: Everyone sticks his fork in — it’s a lot of fun! After the fish, the members of the “gang” again drink a little bit of brandy. They make a toast and drink, and people become extraordinarily merry. They stand up, hold hands and start dancing while singing a song:
“We are
What we are,
But Jews
We are!
We have
What we have
But we have
Trouble!”
“Russkaya pesnya! ” Mondrish shouts. “Russkaya pesnya, podavay! ”
And the “gang” sings a Russian song, dancing and clapping their hands:
“Nado znat’
Kak gulyat’!
Pered Bogom
Otvechat’!
My p’yom, my gulyaem,
Ve’ato melekh khay ve-kayem!
Lomir yidn trinken lekhayim!
Le-shono ha-bo’o bi’Yrusholayim!”
(Russian: “One must know how to carousel! / And how to answer before God! / We drink, we revel.” Hebrew and Yiddish: “And you are a living and eternal King / Fellow Jews, let’s raise a toast! / Next year in Jerusalem!”)
“It’s nice being with us, isn’t it?” Joseph the Righteous asks me. After satisfying his hunger, he is a completely different person. He takes a little bit of brandy, gives me a drop too, and drags me off to dance. I don’t know why I’m so happy, but I feel like some weight has been lifted, I feel good, infinitely good! Suddenly …
6.
Suddenly, the door opens, and I see my father and Reb Itse, my teacher, and all at once, my world goes black. I do not know what went through my father’s mind when he saw me dancing with the “gang” in a circle. I only saw him standing there as though nailed in place, staring at me, at the “gang,” then at my teacher. My teacher stared at me, at the “gang,” then at my father. I stared at my father, at the “gang,” then at my teacher. And the “gang” stared at my father, at my teacher, then at me. No one was able to utter a single word. So Memucan stepped up and spoke in rhymes, as was his style:
“Why are you standing in dismay?
After all, it’s Purim today!
Please take a glass and raise it up,
With lots of brandy in the cup!
With floden cakes all around,
What you lost now is found!”
And Memucan offers my father a glass of brandy and a snack. My father dismisses him without saying a word. Memucan doesn’t lose heart and continues speaking:
“Rabbi Asher, son of Meyer, I see it in your eyes at any rate!
Truly, how you look at me with such hate.
If so, I’ll drink alone then,
And let us all say: Amen!”
Memucan drinks his glass in one go and then proceeds to sing a song:
“The greater beggar you are,
The greater you are at fooling around!
The wealthier you are,
The more you are like a hound!
The poorer you are,
The sweeter your voice does sound!
The richer you are,
The more like a hog on the ground!”
“Mondrish, why don’t you speak? Offer the wealthy men of our town a blessing and raise a glass in their honor!”
So Mondrish pours himself a glass of brandy and pronounces a blessing for the wealthy men of our town:
“He who blessed, may Korah take them!
May Korah take them, may worms eat them!
May worms eat them, may God forget them!
May God forget them, may they become as drunk as Lot!
May they become as drunk as Lot, may they have a bitter taste in their mouths!
May they have a bitter taste in their mouths, may a cannonball hit them!
May a cannonball hit them!”
“Why don’t you answer them back, Mr. Asherl?!” my teacher Reb Itse calls out, taking a good sniff of tobacco and snapping two fingers in the air.
“Don’t you see they are drunk?” my father says, absolutely furious. He grabs my hand with such force that it hurts, and all three of us leave King Ahasuerus’ house without saying goodbye. Outside, my father stops, looks at me, and gives me two hard slaps.
“This,” he says, “is just an advance. You will get your full punishment from your teacher when we get home. Listen carefully, Reb Itse, I hand him over to your authority! You should flog him as much as he can take! Let him bleed! A boy of almost nine years old! He should remember that he must not follow Purim players, comedians, vagabonds! He ruined the holiday for everyone!”
I do not shed a tear, but I do feel my cheek burning and my heart heavy as a stone in my chest. I don’t think of the punishment that my teacher will give me at home. My mind is somewhere else entirely. My thoughts are all there, with King Ahasuerus, Joseph the Righteous and the little half-naked sheep-children with their curly heads, that sweet Russian song does not stop echoing in my ears:
“Nado znat’
Kak gulyat’!
Pered Bogom
Otvechat’!
My p’yom, my gulyaem,
Ve’ato melekh khay ve-kayem!
Lomir yidn trinken lekhayim!
Le-shono ha-bo’o bi’Yrusholayim!”
About the translators:
Oren Cohen Roman is an associate professor of Yiddish at Lund University in Sweden. He is a cultural historian of Ashkenazi Jews and a scholar of Yiddish literature from its medieval beginnings to the present day.
Rebecca Wolpe received her PhD in Yiddish literature from The Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 2012. She is an independent scholar, editor and translator.
My Jewish Learning asked Yiddish professor Oren Cohen Roman about the joys and challenges of translating In King Ahasuerus’ House, and why this Sholem Aleichem Purim story continues to resonate.
What drew you to this story and inspired this new translation of it?
I grew up in Jerusalem, Israel, and as a child, I really loved the holiday of Purim: You’d get dressed up, exchange candy gifts with other children at school and there were all kinds of celebrations. Sholem Aleichem’s story is told from the perspective of a child who loves everything about this holiday and has a great sense of humor — and it immediately won me over. Some troubles that this boy faced are also represented: being kind of a caged bird, not allowed to play with the other children because of his high social background, and suffering violence from his father and his teacher. This, too, left a strong impression on me. Translating this story with my colleague Rebecca Wolpe was my way of connecting with this text.
What does the story tell us about the time and place in which it is set?
This story was written in 1901, but takes place in the narrator’s childhood, perhaps in the 1870s. It is set in an unnamed shtetl, an Eastern European town that is probably part of Ukraine today. In such shtetls, the Jewish community made up a significant part of the population (usually a little less than half, but sometimes the majority). Jews in the shtetl spoke Yiddish — the language in which this story was originally written. The author’s choice to set the story in the past helps him present a nostalgic memory of how things used to be in the “old home,” when Jewish life was guided by tradition, and before modernity changed it so much.
What are some of your favorite phrases and details in this story — and how did you preserve them in translation?
I like the attention the author gives to food, documenting traditional Purim dishes, and two different kinds of festive meals: one of a rich family and one of a poor family. In our translation, Rebecca and I tried to reflect the original wording of the story as much as possible. Some of the objects and customs that the author describes are known to modern readers, so we could use their name without any difficulty — for instance, hamantashen. But other things are less commonly known, and many people will not know what they are. In such cases, we kept the Yiddish names and also added a hint at what they mean — for instance, “koyletsh bread” and “floden cakes.”
Another favorite aspect of this story is the wealth of information it offers about the Purim-shpil tradition of its time: a short skit performed on Purim day by a group of amateur male actors, all of them members of the community, who go from one wealthy family’s house to another, performing and collecting money, food and drink as payment for their art. The description also includes details about the performance itself, such as costumes, choreography, and passages from the play.
Were there any unique challenges to translating this particular work? If so, what were they?
Yes. Our story contains rhymed lines from the Purim-shpil play, as well as the actors’ conversation with each other in the evening, when they continue to speak in improvised rhymes. These rhymes are quaint and make the story feel a little bit like a Purim-shpil itself, especially if it is read aloud to an audience. Rebecca and I felt that this was an important aspect of the story, so we kept the rhymes also in the English translation, which wasn’t always easy.
Another challenge was that the actors sing not only in Yiddish but also in Hebrew and in Russian. Sholem Aleichem recorded here an important aspect of Jewish culture in Eastern Europe, and we wanted to reflect this kind of multilingual song in our translation. We therefore translated everything Yiddish into English, but kept the few lines in Hebrew and Russian in their original form, followed by an English translation in brackets.
How does this story explore its key themes?
At first glance, this story is fun to read: Sholem Aleichem makes his audience laugh, and indulges them with idyllic scenes from Jewish tradition and family life. Some of the comic passages seem to beg to be read aloud — for instance, the naming of all the children and their seating arrangements.
However, our writer also criticizes the darker sides of Jewish society. The violence that the child narrator suffers as part of his education is exposed as cruel, a matter that Sholem Aleichem repeats in many of his other works. Another one of his criticisms [concerns] is class differences. Sholem Aleichem portrays the poor Jews with sympathy and exposes the injustice they face. This is evident in the scene when Grandfather Meyer shoves a coin into the actor’s hand and coldly dismisses him, and in the hostile confrontation between Kopl the tailor and the narrator’s father. By contrast, the narrator’s friendly relationship with Feivel the orphan symbolizes the possibility of a just future.
Researchers have noticed that in the past, merry holidays such as Purim, Mardi Gras or the famous Carnival in Brazil allowed people to “let off steam” through drinking alcohol, lavish meals, laughter and dressing up. During such holidays, under the guise of humor, serious criticism of society could be expressed. The same happens in our story. However, as a gifted writer, Sholem Aleichem maintains a good balance in his work, ensuring that the critical elements do not outweigh its entertaining and enjoyable aspects.
