Then there was Isaac, the Schlemihl, a well-meaning, earnest struggler, but a perfect type of the Schlemihl or Jewish ne’er-do-well, upon whose undertakings no blessing ever seemed to descend. He worked harder, probably, than any three other members of the Kehillah; but in his hands the fairest projects seemed to receive a blight, and the most promising business ventures turned to wormwood and ashes, to apples of Sodom and grapes of bitterness. But the Schlemihl, perfectly useless though he was to himself and his family, had one very evident purpose in the scheme of life, namely, to open the hearts of his brethren to impulses of kindness and benevolence. They certainly acted toward him in the most sympathetic and brotherly manner, and permitted neither him nor his family to suffer. At the time of my arrival in Nordheim, Isaac had just managed, through one of his usual transactions, to lose all he had, and to have his house, which he had received as part of the dowry of his wife, seized in satisfaction of his debts. But the Nordheim Kehillah, assisted by some benevolent friends from other places, paid off his debts, redeemed the house, and furnished him with a certain amount of capital with which to begin life anew. For safety’s sake the Kehillah retained the title in the house; for, as Uncle Koppel said to me in confidence, “We might otherwise have to buy the house every year.”
A peculiarly interesting character was David the horse-dealer, a jovial, hale fellow, handsome too, and tall and strong as a lion, a very “mighty man in Israel.” He was a stanch friend and reliable, and could be depended upon to go through thick and thin for one who had once gained his friendship. But David had one weakness, not unnatural, perhaps, in those of his vocation. He knew no scruples of conscience in regard to transactions in horseflesh; and some of his achievements in that line had been, if report spoke truly, to say the least, extremely venturesome. Thus he was credited with having once sold a Prussian major who prided himself on his expert knowledge of the equine species, a horse with only three hoofs. The manner in which David was said to have done the trick was as follows: The deal took place in midwinter, when the ground was covered with snow to the depth of a foot or more. The horse was a fine animal, coal black and of handsome form, except that the left front hoof was lacking. David led the horse out of the stable; and as it stood in the deep snow before the Prussian major, who was critically examining it through his eyeglasses, the absence of the hoof was not noticeable. He then put it through its paces, cracking his whip furiously, so that the horse leaped and dashed in a most fiery manner, and the absence of the hoof was again not noticeable. The major was charmed with the fire and grace of the animal, bought and paid for it at once, and ordered it to be sent to his quarters. It is said that the major was furious later, not so much on account of the money loss, but because he, the expert, had been so neatly duped, and because he had no legal remedy against David. Had David put a false hoof in place of the lacking member, he would have been liable to a heavy penalty for fraud; but he had not done so, and had made no false representation. And therefore the major not only had no case against him, but could not even demand the cancellation of the sale. Thus the story for whose veracity I will not guarantee. But, however weak David’s conscience may have been in matters of horsetrading, his conduct otherwise merited no reproach and he was well liked.
Many were the estimable and lovable characters in Nordheim’s Kehillah, and I cannot attempt to describe or even mention them all. Of Uncle Koppel and Aunt Caroline I have already spoken. Uncle Koppel was a typical Jewish Baal-Ha-Bayith, or householder, a business man of probity, whose word was as good as his bond, a faithful worshipper at the altar of Israel’s God, and a worthy upholder, by character, if not by learning, of the reputation of Reb Shemayah, his father. Aunt Caroline was a true mother in Israel, loyal, conscientious, and devout. Their able sons and charming dark-eyed daughters were imbued with their spirit, and together they formed an ideal household. Nor must I forget Aunt Gella, the only other child of Reb Shemayah who had remained in the native village, a woman of noble parts, who, had her lot been cast somewhere else in the great world, might have played an important part in history. Her noble brow, which emerged so modestly from the recesses of her Scheitel and her mild and clear blue eyes, showed her the possessor of a strong and well-developed intellect; and her wise and well-considered conversation showed that the reality corresponded to the indications. Her heart was as warm and good and her spirit as firm and courageous as her mind was keen and clear; and she was, so to speak, the combined oracle and Lady Bountiful of the village. Was any female or, for that matter, any male villager in trouble, in want of counsel or help, she or he would direct her or his steps to the neat cottage in the Long Street where dwelt Aunt Gella, and there would find counsel or comfort, or whatever help was required. A plague of dysentery came once upon the village, and then it was that Aunt Gella showed herself the veritable angel of help. While it continued she hardly ate or drank or slept or changed her clothes. She worked with tireless energy at her mission of mercy, going from house to house among the afflicted ones, bringing the right medicine to one, the right food to the other, and money to the third. Dear Aunt Gella: methinks I see her sweet, mild face now, and hear the words of blessing with which peasant and Jew mentioned her name. And besides those whom I have mentioned, there were dozens of householders in which piety, probity, and loving kindness were the constantly practised rule of life.
Yes, Nordheim, I loved thee well, and I love thy memory. I loved thee for thy simplicity, for thy natural goodness, for the true and unpretentious way in which thou didst lay stress upon that which is pure and noble, and didst reject that which is base and vile in human life; for the picture which thou didst show me of the beautifying and sanctifying effect of a simple, sincere, and honest Judaism, simply and sincerely lived. Thou wast one of the forces which did lead me to love and uphold the Torah, and to cleave to the faith which my and thy ancestors received at Sinai from Sinai’s God.
Oh, that this tale of thee might work likewise upon the hearts of others like me, children of an unbelieving and irreverent age, and stir them to love for Israel’s God and devotion to Israel’s sacred heritage!
THE LITTLE HORSERADISH WOMAN.
How many of my readers know the little horseradish woman? Many, I have no doubt, are more or less acquainted with her; and those who are not can make her acquaintance without any difficulty. Almost any afternoon and late into the evening, except on Sabbaths or Jewish holidays, she may be found at her post in one of the blocks of upper Third Avenue, New York, standing behind her improvised little table, industriously rubbing away at her acrid merchandise, with only occasional pauses to wipe away with the corner of her snow-white apron the tears which her lachrymose occupation forces from her eyes, or to give customers extraordinarily liberal portions of her finished product. The size of the portions she sells is quite astonishing to the customer; but the little horseradish woman is scrupulously honest in matters of weight and measure, of mine and thine, and would not think of giving less.
THE LITTLE HORSERADISH WOMAN
Page [84]
Her tears, too, are quite remarkable. Indeed, I believe that horseradish tears have not been appreciated as they should be, for they are a species entirely sui generis, and not to be confused with any other tears that are shed on earth. Ordinary, every-day tears indicate sorrow and produce weakness; crocodile tears indicate hypocrisy and produce disgust; but horseradish tears are born of industry, and their offspring are energy and good-humor. Such, at least, is the case with our little horseradish woman; for, no sooner has she wiped away one of her periodical outbursts of tears, than she begins to rub away again with the utmost energy and the best humor in the world. My observation of the tears the horseradish woman sheds has made me their confirmed admirer. I have no liking for the lachrymose ebullitions of love-lorn maidens, of snivelling swains, or of wheezing or wheedling Pecksniffs. Give me horseradish tears; they are the honestest, cheerfullest—I had almost said—manliest tears in the world.