TRUST
My first halting-place was Tishewitz. I took lodgings with an acquaintance, Reb Bòruch. He sent for the beadle and a few householders.
While I was waiting for them, I stood by the window and looked at the market-place. The market-place is a large square bounded on each side by a row of grimy, tumbledown houses, some roofed with straw, but the majority, with shingle. All are one-storied with a broad veranda supported by rotten beams.
Pushing out from the veranda and not far apart, one from the other, stand the huckstresses over the stalls with rolls, bread, peas, beans, and various kinds of fruit.
The market-women are in a state of great commotion. I must have impressed them very much.
"Bad luck to you!" screams one, "don't point at him with your finger; he can see!"
The women know that I have come to take notes in writing. They confide the secret one to another so softly that I overhear every word, even inside the house.
"They say it is he himself!"
"It is a good thing the poor sheep have shepherds who are mindful of them. All the same, if that Shepherd[59] did not help, much good it would be!"
"One cannot understand why that Shepherd should require such messengers" (in allusion to my shaven beard and short-skirted coat).
Another is more liberal in her views, and helps herself out of the difficulty by means of the Röfeh.
"Take a Röfeh," she says, "he is likewise a heretic, and yet he also is permitted—"
"That is another thing altogether, he is a private individual, but is it so hard to find good Jews for public affairs?"
"They'd better," opines another, "have sent a few hundred rubles. They might let the writing be and welcome, even though my son were not made a general!"[60]
Sitting at the table, I saw without being seen. I was hidden from the street, but I could see half the market-place. Meantime, mine host had finished his prayers, put off Tallis and Tefillin, poured out a little brandy, and drunk my health in it.
"Long life and peace to you!" he said.
I answer, "God send better times and Parnosseh!"
I envy my host—Parnosseh is all he wants.
He adds impressively:
"And there will have to be Parnosseh! Is there not a God in the world? And the 'good Jews' will pray and do what they can."
I interrupt him and ask why, although he has confidence in his own business, although he knows quite well "He who gives life gives food"—why he exerts himself so, and lies awake whole nights thinking: To-morrow, later, this time next year. Hardly has a Jew put on his wedding garments, when he begins to think how to buy others for his children—and then, when it comes to All-Israel, his trust is so great that it does not seem worth while to dip one's hand in cold water for it—why is this?
"That," he says, "is something quite different. All-Israel is another thing. All-Israel is God's affair—God is mindful of it, and then, in case there should be forgetfulness before the throne of His glory, there are those who will remind Him. But as for private affairs, that's a different matter. Besides, how much longer can the misery of Israel last? It must come to an end some time, either because the measure of guilt is full, or the measure of merit is full. But Parnosseh is quite another thing!"
——