section 20 of Yiddish tales. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Yiddish tales translated by Helena Frank and read by Adrian Pretzelis. section 20 Yitzhak Yossal Boykabah by Isaiah Lerner At the time I'm speaking of, the above was about forty years old. He was a little thin Jew, with a long face, a long nose, two large black kindly eyes, and one who would sooner be quiet and think than talk, no matter what was being said to him. Even when he was scolded for something, and by whom and when and for what was he not scolded, he used to listen with a quiet, startled but sweet smile, and his large kindly eyes would look at the other with such wonderment, mingled with a sort of pity, that the other soon stopped short in his abuse and stood nonplussed before him. There you may talk, you may as well argue with a horse or a donkey or the wall or a log of wood, and the other would spit and make off. But if anyone observed that smile attentively and studied the look in his eyes, he would, to a certainty, have read there as follows. Oh, man, man, why are you eating your heart out, seeing that you don't know and that you don't understand? Why do you undertake to tell me what I ought to do? And when he was obliged to answer, he used to do so in a few measured and gentle words, as you would speak to a little ignorant child, smiling the while, and then he would disappear and start thinking again. They called him quite gaver, breadwinner, because no matter how hard the man worked, he was never able to earn a living. He was a little tailor, but not like the tailors nowadays who specialise in one kind of garment. For Yitzchok yosel made everything. Trousers, cloaks, waistcoats, topcoats, fur coats, capes, collars, bags for prayer books, to listen katan, and so on. Besides, he was a ladies' tailor as well. Summer and winter, day and night, he worked like an ox, and yet, when the Kavskanifka community at the time of the great cholera, in order to put an end to the plague, led him, aged thirty, out to the cemetery, and then married him to Malka the Orphan, she cast him off two weeks later. She was still too young, twenty-eight, she said, to stay with him and die of hunger. She went out into the world together with a large band of poor, after the great fire that destroyed nearly the whole town, and nothing more was heard of Malka the Orphan from that day forward. And Yitzchok yosel Breutgeber betook himself with needle and flat iron into the woman's chamber in the new shul, the community having assigned it to him as a workroom. Now it came about, you may ask, that so versatile a tailor, as Yitzchok yosel should be so poor? Well, if you do, it just shows you don't know him. Wait and hear what I shall tell you. The story is on this wise. Yitzchok yosel by Gerber was a tailor who could make anything, and who made nothing at all. That is, since he displayed his imagination in cutting out and sewing on the occasion I am referring to, nobody would trust him. I can remember, as if it were today, what happened in Kabsganivka, and the commotion there was in the little town when Yitzchok yosel made Rebjechesko, the teacher, a pair of trousers, begging your pardon, of such fantastic cut, that the unfortunate teacher had to wear them as a vest, though he was not then in need of one, having a brand new sheepskin, not more than three years old. And now listen. Binyamin Dreupnik, the trader's mother, died, Baruch doirebes, and her whole fortune went according to the law to her only son, Binyamin. She had to be buried at the expense of the community. If she was to be buried at all, it was the only way, but the whole town was furious with the old woman for having cheated them out of their expectations, and taken her whole fortune away with her to the real world. None knew exactly why, but it was confidently believed that old Aunt Leia had heaps of treasure somewhere in hiding. It was accustomed with us, in Kabskanivka, to say whenever any one man or woman lived long, ate sickness by the clock, and still did not die, that it was a sign that he had in the course of his long life gathered a great store of riches, and somewhere in a cellar he kept potfuls of gold and silver. The Khavrakadisha, the younger members, had long been wetting their teeth for Aunt Leia's fortune, and now she had died, may she merit paradise, and had fooled them. What about her money? A cow has flown off the roof and laid an egg. In that same night, Reb Binyamin's cow, a real cow, carved, and the unfortunate consequence was that she died. The Khavrakadisha took the calf, and buried Aunt Leia at its own expense. Well, money or no money, inheritance or no inheritance, Reb Binyamin's old mother left him a quilt. A large, long, wide, wadded quilt. As an article of house furniture, a quilt is a very useful thing, especially in a house where there is a wife, Kenny Horror, and a goodly number of children, little and big. Who doesn't see that? It looks simple enough. Either one keeps it for oneself and the two little boys, with whom Reb Binyamin used to sleep, or else one gives it to the wife and the two little girls, who also sleep altogether. Or, if not, then to the two bigger boys, or to the two bigger girls, who repose on the two bench beds in the parlor and kitchen, respectively. But this particular quilt brought such perplexity into Reb Binyamin's rather small head that he, not of you may be spoken, nearly went mad. Why I, and not she? Why she, and not I, or they, or the others? Why they, and not I? Why them, and not us? Why the others, and not them? Well, well, what is all this fuss? What did we cover them with before? Three days and three nights, Reb Binyamin split his head and puzzled his brains over these questions, till the Almighty had pity on his small skull and feeble intelligence, and sent him a happy thought. After all, it is an inheritance from one's one and only mother. Peace be upon her, it is a thing from thing-land. I must adapt it to some useful purpose, so that heaven and earth may envy me its possession. And he sent to fetch Yitzchok Yosl Breutgeber, the tailor, who could make every kind of garment, and said to him, Reb Yitzchok Yosl, you see this article? I see it. Yes, you see it, but do you understand it, really and truly understand it? I think I do. But do you know what this is, ha? A quilt. Ha-ha! A quilt! I could have told you that myself, but the stuff, the material. It's good material, beautiful stuff. Good material, beautiful stuff? No, I beg your pardon. You are not an expert in this. You don't know the value of merchandise. The real artisan, the true expert, would say, The material is light, soft and elastic, like a lung, sound and healthy lung. The stuff, he would say further, is firm, full and smooth as the best calf's leather, and durable, why it's a piece out of the heart of the strongest ox, or the tongue of the messianic ox itself. Do you know how many winters this quilt has lasted already? But, Kanug, that is not why I have sent for you. We are neither of us, thanks to his blessed name, do nothing's. The long and the short of it is this. I wish to make out of this, you understand me, out of this material, out of this piece of stuff, a thing, an article that shall draw everybody to it. A fruit that is worth saying the blessing over. Something super fine. For instance, what, for example, tell me, would you do if I gave you this piece of goods into your hands, and said to you, Reb yitzchok yosl, as you are, without sin be it spoken, an old workman, a good workman, and besides that, a good comrade and a Jew as well, take this material, this stuff, and deal with it as you think best. Only let it be turned into a sort of costume, a sort of garment, so that not only cabs konivka, but all kamenevka shall be bitten and torn with envy. Eh? What would you turn it into? Yitzchok yosl was silent. Reb yitzchok yosl went nearly out of his mind, nearly fainted for joy at these last words. He grew pale as death, white as chalk, then burning red like a flame of fire, and sparkled and shone. And no wonder, was it a trifle, all his life he had dreamed of the day when he should be given a free hand in his work, so that everyone should see who Yitzchok yosl is. And at the end came the trousers. Reb yechchul melamed's trousers. Well, how cleverly he had made them, just think, trousers and upper garments in one. He had been so overjoyed, he had felt so happy, so sure that now everyone would know who Yitzchok yosl Boyd Gerber is. He had even began to think and wonder about Malka the Orphan. Poor, unfortunate Orphan, had she ever had one single happy day in her life? Work forever and next to no food, toil till she was exhausted and next to no drink, sleep where she could get it. One time in Elkena's The Butcher's Kitchen, another time in Yitzchok Eldins's Attic, and when at last she got married, good luck to her, she became the wife of Yitzchok Yosl Boyd Gerber. And the wedding took place in the burial ground. On one side they were digging graves, on the other side they were bringing fresh corpses. There was weeping and wailing, and in the middle of it all, the musicians playing and fiddling and singing and the relations dancing. Good luck, good luck! The Orphan and her breadwinner are being led to the marriage canopy in the graveyard. He will never forget with what Augusto she, his bride, the first night after their wedding ate, drank and slept. The whole of the wedding supper that had been given to them, the groom and bride.  He had taken great pleasure in watching her face. He had known her well from childhood and had no need to look at her to know what she was like, but he wanted to see what kind of things her face would express during this operation. When they led him into the bridal chamber she was already there, the companions of the bridegroom burst into a shout of laughter for the bride was already snoring. He knew quite well why she had gone to sleep so quickly and comfortably, was there not sufficient reason. For the first time in her life she had made a good meal and laid down in a bed with bed-clothes. The sixth-grotion candle burnt, the flies woke and began to buzz. The mills clapped and swung and groaned, and he, Yitzchock, Yossel, Boyd Gerber, the bridegroom, sat beside the bridal bed on a little barrel of pickled gherkins and looked at Malka the orphan, his bride, his wife. Listened to her loud, thick snores and thought. The town dogs howled strangely. Evidently the wedding in the cemetery had not yet driven away the angel of death. From some of the neighbouring houses came a dreadful crying and screaming of women and children. Malka the orphan heard nothing. She slept sweetly and snored as loud, I beg to distinguish, as Casper, the tall stout miller, the owner of both mills. Yitzchock, Yossel, Boyd Gerber, sits on the little barrel, looks at her face and thinks. Her face is dark, roughened, and nearly like that of an old woman.  The candle suddenly began to burn brighter, and Yitzchock, Yossel, saw her face became prettier, younger and fresher and overspread by a smile. That was all the effect of the supper and the soft bed. Then it was that he had promised himself that he had sworn once and for all to show the Capscanifka Jews who he is, and then Malka the orphan would have food and a bed every day. He would have done this long ago had it not been for those trousers. The people are so silly, they don't understand. That is the whole misfortune. It's quite the other way about let someone else try and turn out such ingenious contrivance. But because it was he and not someone else, they laughed and made fun of him. How Reb Yechiskl, his wife and children did abuse him. That was his reward for all his trouble. And just because they themselves are cattle, horses, boars, who don't understand the tailor's art. Ha! If only they understood that tailoring is a noble, refined calling, limitless and bottomless as, with due respect, the Holy Torah. But all is not lost. Who knows? For here comes Binyamin Dropnik, an intelligent man, a man of brains and feeling. And think how many years he has been a trader. A retail trader certainly, a jobber, but eh. Come, Yitzchak Yosel, make an end, what will you turn it into? Everything. That is to say, a dressing-gown for your Jevoshka. And then, a morning gown with tassels. After that, a coat. Well, a dress. And besides that, a pair of trousers and a jacket. Nothing more? Why not? For instance, a police, a warded winter police for you. There, there, just that, and only that, said Reb Binyamin Delighted. Yitzchak Yosel Boyd Gerber tucked away the quilt under his arm and was preparing to be off. Reb Yitzchak Yosel. And what about taking my measure? And how about your charge? Yitzchak Yosel dearly loved to take anyone's measure and was an expert at so doing. He had soon pulled a fair-sized piece of paper out of one of his deep pockets, folded into a long paper stick, and began to measure Reb Binyamin Drepnik's limbs. He did not even omit to note the length and breadth of his feet. What do you want with that? Are you measuring me for trousers? It, don't you ask. No need to teach a skilled worker in his trade. And what about the charge? We shall settle that later. No, that won't do. I am a trader, you understand, and must have it all pat. Five gilden. And how much less? Who should I know? Well, four. Well, and half a ruble? Well, well. Remember Reb Yitzchak Yosel, it must be a masterpiece. Trust me. For five days and five nights, Yitzchak Yosel set his imagination to work on Binyamin Drepnik's inheritance. There was no eating for him, no drinking, and no sleeping. The scissors squeaked, the needle ran hither and thither up and down, the inheritance sighed and almost sobbed under the heart-iron. But how happy was Yitzchak Yosel, those lightsome days and merry nights. Who could compare with him? Greater than the Kapskanivka village elder, richer than Yitzchak El Dinsis, the tax-gatherer, and more exalted than the bailiff himself was Yitzchak Yosel. That is, in his own estimation. All that he wished, thought, and felt was forthwith created by means of his scissors and iron, his thimble, needle, and cotton. No more putting on of patches, sewing on of pockets, cutting out of the phil and sechlech, and to listen catan, no more doing up of old dresses. Freedom, freedom! He wanted one bit of work of the right sort. That was all. Ha! Now he would show them the Kapskanivka cripples and householders. Now he would show them who Yitzchak Yosel Boitgerber is. They would not laugh at him or tease him any more. His fame would travel from one end of the world to the other, and Malka the orphan, his bride, his wife, she also would hear of it, and she will come back to him. He fills it in every limb. It was not him, she cast off, only his bad luck. He will rent a lodging. And he will pour in from all sides, buy a little furniture, a bed, a sofa, a table. In time he will buy a little house of his own. She will come. She has been homeless long enough. It is time she should arrest her weary aching bones. It is high time she should have her own corner. She will come back. He fills it. She will certainly come home. The last night. The work is complete. Yitzchak Yosel, spread it out on the table of the women's shawl, lighted a second, grossing candle, sat down in front of it with wide-open, sparkling eyes, gazed with delight at the product of his imagination, and was wildly happy. So he sat the whole night. It was very hard for him to part with his achievement, but hardly was it day when he appeared with it at Reb Benyamin Dropnik's. A good morning, a good ya, Reb Yitzchak Yosel, I see by your eyes that you have been successful. Is it true? You can see for yourself. There. No, no, there is no need for me to see it first. Davoshka, Cheyka, Sprintza, David Herschel, Yitzchak Yolik, you understand, I want them all to be present and see. In a few minutes the whole family had appeared on the scene, even the four little ones popped up from behind the heaps of ragged covering. Yitzchak Yosel untied his parcel and What is this? A pair of trousers with sleeves. End of Yitzchak Yosel Boykeba by Isaiah Lerner. Section 21 of Yiddish Tales. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Yiddish Tales translated by Helen Frank and read by Adrian Pretzellus. Section 21. Judah Steinberg Born 1863 in Lipkani, Bessarabia. Died 1907 in Odessa. Education Hasidic. Entered business in a small Romanian village for a short time. Teacher from 1889 in Judensi and from 1896 in Lovo, Bessarabia. Removed to Odessa in 1905 to become correspondent of New York Warhite. Writer of fables, stories and children's tales in Hebrew and poems in Yiddish. Historical drama, Hasota. Collected works in Hebrew, three volumes, Crack of 1910-1911 in course of publication. A Lively Hood by Judah Steinberg. The two young fellows, Maxim Kaplazel and Israel Friedman, were natives of the same town in New Bessarabia and there was an old link existing between them. A mutual detestation inherited from their respective parents. Maxim's father was the chief Gentile of the town for he rented the cornfields of its richest inhabitants and as the lawyer of the rich citizen was a Jew, little Maxim imagined when his father came to lose his tannery that it was owing to the Jews. Little Strully was the only Jewish boy he knew. The children were next door neighbors and so a large share of their responsibility was laid on Strully's shoulders. Later on when Kaplazel, the father, had abandoned the plough and taken to trade, he and old Friedman frequently came in contact with each other as rivals. They traded and traded and competed one against the other till they both became bankrupt when each argued to himself that the other was at the bottom of his misfortune and their children grew up in mutual hatred. A little later still, Maxim put down to Strully's account part of the nails which were hammered into his saviour over at the other end of the town by the well where the government and the church had laid out money and set up a crucifix with a ladder, a hammer and all other necessary implements. And Strully on his part had an account to settle with Maxim respecting certain other nails driven in with hammers and torn scrolls of the law and the history of the ten martyrs of the days of Titus not to mention a few later ones. Their hatred grew with them. Its strength increased with theirs. When Crucivan began to deal in anti-Semitism Maxim learned that Christian children were carried off to the shul by Strully's shul for the sake of their blood. Henceforth Maxim's hatred of Strully was mingled with fear. He was terrified when he passed the shul at night and he used to dream that Strully stood over him in a prayer robe prepared to slaughter him with a ram's horn trumpet. This because he had once passed the shul early one Jewish New Year's Day and he peeped through the window and had seen the ram's horn blower standing in his little white shroud armed with the shofar and suddenly a heart-rending voice broke out with and Maxim, taking his feet on his shoulders had arrived home more dead than alive. There was nearly a commotion. The priest wanted to persuade him that the Jews had tried to obtain his blood. So the two children grew into youth as enemies. Their fathers died and the increased difficulties of their position increased their enmity. The same year saw them called to military service from which they had both counted on exemption as the only sons of widowed mothers.  And Maxim's mother had united herself to a second provider and there was an end of the two only sons. Neither of them wished to serve. They were too intellectually capable too far developed mentally, too intelligent to be turned all at once into Russian soldiers and too nicely brought up to march from Port Arthur to Muckton with only one change of shirt. They both cleared out and stowed themselves away till they fell separately into the hands of the military. They came together again under the fortress walls of Muckton. They ate and hungered sullenly round the same cooking-pot, received punches from the same officer and had the same longing for the same home. Israel had a habit of talking in his sleep and, like a born Bessarabian, in his Yiddish mixed with a large portion of Romanian words. One night lying in the barracks among the other soldiers and sunk in sleep after a hard day, Steruli began to talk sixteen to the dozen. He called out names, he quarreled, begged pardon, made a fool of himself, all in his sleep. It woke Maxim, who overheard the home-like names and phrases the name of his native town. He got up, made his way between the rows of sleepers and sat down by Israel's pallet and listened. Next day Maxim managed to have a large helping of porridge, more than he could eat, and he found Israel and set it before him. Maltimesk, said the other, thanking him in Romanian, and a thrill of delight went through Maxim's frame. The day following Maxim was hit by a Japanese bullet and there happened to be no one beside him at the moment.  Help! I'm killed! he cried out and fell to the ground. Steruli was at his side like one sprung from the earth.  The wound turned out to be slight, for the bullet had passed through, only grazing the flesh of the left arm. A few days later Maxim was back in the company. I wanted to see you again, Steruli, he said, greeting his comrade in Romanian. A flash of brotherly affection and gratitude lighted Steruli's Semitic eyes, and he took the other into his arms and pressed him to his heart. They felt themselves to be landsmen of one and the same native town. Neither of them could have told exactly when their union of spirit had been accomplished, but each one knew that he thanked God for having brought him together with so near a compatriot in a strange land. When the battle of Mukden had made Maxim all but totally blind, and deprived Steruli of one foot, they started for home together, according to the passage of the medres, two men with one pair of eyes and one pair of feet between them. Maxim carried on his shoulders a wooden box, which had now become a burden in common for them, and Steruli limped a little in front of him, leaning lightly against his companion, so as to keep him in the smooth part of the road and out of other people's way. Steruli had become Maxim's eyes and Maxim Steruli's feet. They were two men grown into one, and they provided for themselves out of one pocket, now empty of the last ruble. They dragged themselves home. A casser, a casser, whispered Steruli into Maxim's ear, and the other turned on him his two glazed eyes, looking through a red haze, and set in swollen red lids. A childlike smile played on his lips. A casser, a casser, he repeated also in a whisper. Home appeared to their fancy as something holy, something consoling, something that could atone and compensate for all they had suffered and lost. They had seen such a home in their dreams, but the nearer they came to it in reality the more the dream faded. They remembered that they were returning as conquered soldiers and crippled men, that they had no near relations and but a few friends, while the girls who had coquettied with Maxim before he left would never waste so much as a look at him. Now he was half-blind, and Steruli's plans for marrying and immigrating to America were frustrated. A cripple would not be allowed to enter the country. All their dreams and hopes finally dissipated, and there remained only one black care, one all obscuring anxiety. How were they to earn a living? They had been hoping all the while for a pension, but their service book was written on sick leave. The Russo-Japanese War was distinguished by the fact that the greater number of wounded soldiers went home on sick leave, and the money assigned by the government for their pension would not have been sufficient for even a hundredth part of the number of invalids. Maxim showed a face with two wide-open eyes to which all the passers-by looked the same. He distinguished with difficulty between a man and a telegraph post and wore a smile of mingled apprehension and confidence. The sound feet stepped hesitatingly, keeping behind his rail, and it was hard to say which he looked himself most against the other. Slowly limped forward and kept open eyes for two. Sometimes he would look round at the box on Maxim's shoulders, as though he felt its weight as much as Maxim. Meanwhile the railway carriages had emptied and refilled, and the locomotive gave a great blast, received an answer from somewhere a long way off, a whistle for a whistle, and then set off, slowly at first and then gradually, faster and faster, till all that remained of it were puffs of smoke hanging in the air without rhyme or reason. The two felt more depressed than ever. Something to eat, where are we going to get a bite, was in their minds. Suddenly Israel remembered with a start. This was the anniversary of his mother's death. If only he could say one catish for her in a synagogue. Is it far from here to a synagogue? He inquired of a passer-by. There is one a little way down that side street, was the reply. Maxim, he begged of the other, come with me. Where to? To the synagogue. Maxim shuddered from head to foot. His fear of a Jewish shul had not left him and a thousand foolish terrors darted through his head, but his comrade's voice was so gentle, so childishly imploring that he could not resist it and he agreed to go with him into the shul. It was the time for afternoon prayer. The daylight and the dark held equal sway within the shul. The lamps before the platform increasing the former to the east and the latter to the west. Maxim and Israel stood in the western part, enveloped in shadow. The chasen had just finished incense and was entering upon Ashray and the melancholy night chant of Mincha and Myriv gradually entranced Maxim's emotional Romanian heart. The low, sad murmur of the chasen seemed to him like the distant surging of a sea in which men were drowned by the hundreds and suffocating with the water. Then the Ashray and the Kaddish ended. There was silence. The congregation stood up for the Shimona Esrae. Here and there you heard a half stifled sigh and now it seemed to Maxim that he was in the hospital at night at the hour when the groans grow less frequent and the sufferers fall one by one into a sweet sleep. Tears started into his eyes without his knowing why. He was no longer afraid but a sudden shyness had come over him and he felt as he watched Israel repeating the Kaddish that the words which he, Maxim, could not understand were being addressed to someone unseen and yet mysteriously present in the darkening shawl. When the prayers were ended one of the chief members of the congregation approached the Manchurian and gave Israel a coin into his hand. Israel looked round. He did not understand at first what the donor meant by it. Then it occurred to him and the blood rushed to his face. He gave the coin to his companion and explained in half a sentence or two how they had come by it. Once outside the synagogue they both cried after which they felt better. A livelihood the same thought struck them both. We can go into partnership end of A Livelihood by Judah Steinberg. Section 22 of Yiddish Tales This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Yiddish Tales translated by Helena Frank and read by Adrian Pretzelis. Section 22 At the Mutsers by Judah Steinberg It was quite early in the morning when Socia, the scribe's daughter, a girl of 17, awoke laughing. A sunbeam had broken through the rusty window made its way to her underneath the counterpane and there opened her eyes. It woke her out of a deep dream which she was ashamed to recall but the dream came back to her of itself and made her laugh. Had she known whom she was going to meet in her dreams she would have lain down in her clothes. It occurs to her and she laughs loud. Got up laughing, scolds her mother. There's a piece of good luck for you. It's a sign of a black year for her. May it be to my enemies. Socia proceeds to dress herself. She does not want to fall out with her mother today. She wants to be on good terms with every one. In the middle of dressing she loses herself in thought with one naked foot stretched out and an open stocking in her hand wondering how the dream would have ended if she had not woke up so soon. Chayamo, a village's son who boards with her mother passes the open doors leading to Socia's room and for the moment he is riveted to the spot. His eyes dance. The blood rushes to his cheeks. He gets all he can by looking and then hurries away to Cheda without his breakfast to study the song of songs. And Socia, fresh and rosy from sleep her brown eyes glowing under the tumbled gold locks betakes herself to the kitchen where her mother with her usual worried look is blowing her soul out before the oven into a smoky fire of damp wood.  Socia went down to the cellar and found the onions and potatoes sprouting. At sign of a green leaf her heart leapt. Greenery, greenery summer is coming and the whole of her dream came back to her. Look mother, green sprouts. She cried rushing into the kitchen. A thousand bad dreams on your head the onions are spoiled and she laughs. My enemy's eyes will creep out of their lids before there will be fresh greens to eat and all this woe is me is only fit to throw away. Greenery, greenery thought Socia summer is coming. Greenery had got into her head and there it remained and from greenery she went on to remember that today was the first Passover cake baking at Gdalia the Bakers and that Schleimer Schreiber would be at work there. Having begged of her mother the one pair of boots that stood about in the room and fitted everyone she put them on and was off to the Motsas. It was, as we have said, the first days work at Gdalia the Bakers and the sack of Passover flour had just been opened. Gravely the flower boy, a two weeks orphan carried the pots of flour for the Mehara and poured it out together with remembrances of his mother who had died in the hospital of injuries received at their hands and the water boy came up behind him and added recollections of his own. The hooligans threw his father into the water off the bridge. May they pay for it, Susa got! May they live till he is a man and can settle his account with them. Thus the grey-headed old Henoch, the Neda and he kneaded it all into the dough with thoughts of his own grandchildren. This one fled abroad the other in the regiment a third in prison. The dough stiffens the horny old hands work it with difficulty the dough gets stiffer every year and the work harder it's time for him to go to the asylum the dough is kneaded cut up in pieces rolled and riddled is that a token for the whole congregation of Israel? and now appear the round motzes which must wander on a shovel into the heated oven of Shlome Shiber first into one corner and then into another till another shovel throws them out into a new world separated from the old by a screen thoroughly scoured for Passover which now rises and now falls they are arranged in columns a reminder of pithom and ramesses cruck-ruck, cuck-ruck, cuck-ruck whisper the still warm motzes one to another they also are remembering and they tell the tale of the Exodus after their fashion the tale of the flight out of Egypt only they have seen more flights than one thus are the motzes kneaded and baked by the Jews with thoughts the Gentiles call them blood and assert that Jews need blood for their motzes and they take the trouble to supply us with fresh thoughts every year but at Qadalia the bakers all is still cheerfulness girls and boys in their unspent vigor surround the tables there is rolling and riddling and cleaning of clean rolling pins with pieces of broken glass from wherever do Jews get so much broken glass and the whole town is provided with kosher motzes jokes and silver trills escape the lively young workers the company is as merry as though the Exodus were tomorrow but it won't be tomorrow look at them well because another day you will not find them so merry they will not seem like the same one of the likely lads has left his place and suddenly appeared at a table beside a pretty curly-haired girl he is hurried over his motzes and now he wants to help her she thanks him for his attention with a rolling pin over the fingers and there is such laughter among the spectators that Berke the old overseer exclaimed what impertinent but he cannot finish because he has to laugh himself there is a spark in the embers of his being which the girlish merriment around him kindles anew and the other lads are jealous of the beaten one they know very well that no girl would hit a complete stranger and that blow only meant impudent boy why need the world know of anything between us Schleimerscheiber armed with the shovels stands still for one minute trying to distinguish Sascha's voice in the peels of laughter the motzes under his care are browning in the oven Sascha takes it into her head to make her motzes with one pointed corner so that he may perhaps know them for hers and laughs to herself as she does so there is one table to the side of the room which was not there last year it was placed there for the formerly well-to-do housemistress who last year when they came to bathe their motzes gave Yomtov money to the others here all goes on quietly the laughter of the merry people breaks against the silence and is swallowed up the work grows continually pleasanter and more animated the riddler stamps two or three motzes with hieroglyphs at once in order to show off Schleimer at the oven cannot keep pace with him and grows angry may all bad the wish is cut short in his mouth he has caught a glance of Sascha's through the door of the baking room he answers with two gets three back Sascha purrsing her lips to signify a kiss Schleimer folds his hands which also means something meanwhile ten motzes get scorched and one of Sascha's is pulled into two when and by end near minehands starts a worker singing in a plaintive key come hash hash scolds old Berker songs indeed what next you impudent boy my sorrows be on their head sighs a neighbour of Sascha they'd soon be tired of their life if they were me I've left two children at home fits a scream their hearts out the other is at the breast I brought it along it is quiet just now by good luck what is the use of a poor woman's having children exclaims another evidently expecting herself indeed she has a child a year and a seven days morning a year afterwards do you suppose I ask for them do you think I cry my eyes out for them before God if she hasn't any who's to inherit her place at the motzes baking a hundred years hence all very well for you to talk you're a grass widow to no Jewish daughter may it apply may such a blow be to my enemies as he'll surely come back again it's about time after three years will you shut up or do you want another beating Sascha went off into a fresh peel of laughter and the shovel fell out of Shloma's hand again he caught a glance but this time she wrinkled her nose at him as much as to say fire you shameless boy can't you behave yourself even before other people here upon the infant gave account of itself in a small shrill voice and the general commotion went on increasing the overseer scalded the matzer printing wheel creaked and squeaked the bits of glass were ground against the rolling pins there was a humming of songs and a proclaiming of secrets followed by bursts of laughter Sascha's voice ringing high above the rest and the sun shone into the room through the small window a white spot jumped around and kissed everyone there it is the spirit of Israel delighting in her young men and maidens and whispering in their ears what if it is matzer-needing and what if it is exile only let us all be together only let us all be merry or is it the spring transformed into a white patch of sunshine in which all have equal share and which has not forgotten to bring good news into the house of Godalia the matzer baker a beautiful sun was preparing to set and promised another fine day for the morrow ding dong gull gull gull gull gull it was the convent bells calling the Christians to confession all tongues were silenced around the table at Godalia the baker's a streak of vapor dimmed the sky and gloomy thoughts settled down upon the hearts of the workers Easter there Easter is coming on and mother's eyes sought their children the white patch of sunshine suddenly gave a terrified leap across the ceiling and vanished in a corner kick kick kick grick kick kick whispered the hot matzers who is to know what they say who can tell now that the Jews have baked this year's matzers how soon they were set about providing them with material for the next thoughts and broken glass for the rolling pins end of at the matzers by Judah Steinberg section 23 of Yiddish Tales this LibriVox recording is in the public domain Yiddish Tales translated by Helen Frank and read by Adrian Pretzelis section 23 David Frishman born 1863 in Lodz Russian Poland of a family of merchants education, Jewish and secular the latter with special attention to foreign languages and literatures has spent most of his life in Warsaw Hebrew critic, editor, poet, satirist and writer of fairy tales translator of George Eliot's Daniel de Ronda into Hebrew contributor to Shala Malechem's Yiddish Vox Bibliotech spectre's House Freud and various periodicals editor of monthly publication Reshaphim works in Hebrew Keterbeam Niparim two volumes Warsaw 1899 to 1901 and Reshemot four parts Warsaw 1911 Three Who Eight by David Frishman once upon a time three people ate I recall the event as one recalls a dream that clouds obscure the men because it happened long ago only sometimes it seems to me that there are no clouds but a pillar of fire lighting up the men and their doings and the fire grows bigger and brighter and gives light and warmth to this day I've only a few words to tell you two or three words once upon a time three people ate not on a work day or an ordinary Sabbath but on a day of atonement that fell on a Sabbath not in a corner where no one sees or hears but before all the people in the great shul in the principal shul of the town neither were they ordinary men these three but the chief Jews of the community the rabbi and his two dionym townsfolk looked up to them as if they had been angels and certainly held them to be saints and now as I write these words I remember how difficult it was for me to understand and how I sometimes used to think the rabbi and his dionym had done wrong and even then I felt that they were doing a tremendous thing that these were holy men with holy instincts easy for them to act thus who knows how hard they fought with themselves who knows how they suffered and what they endured even if I live many years and grow old I shall never forget the day in the men and what was done on it for they were no ordinary men but great heroes those were bitter times such as had not been for long and such as will not soon return a great calamity had descended on us from heaven and had spread abroad among the towns and over the country the cholera had broken out the calamity had reached us from a distant land and entered our little town and clutched at young and old by day and by night men died like flies who were left hung between life and death who can number the dead who were buried in those days who knows the names of the corpses which lay about in heaps in the streets in the Jewish street the plague made great ravages there was not a house where there lay not one dead not a family in which calamity had not broken out in the house where we lived on the second floor nine people died in one day in the basement there died mother and four children and in the house opposite we heard wild cries one whole night through and in the morning we became aware that there was not one left in it alive the gravediggers worked early and late and the corpses lay about in the streets like dung they stuck one to the other like clay and one walked over dead bodies the summer broke up and there came the solemn days and then the most dreadful day of all the day of atonement I shall remember that day as long as I live the eve of the day of atonement the reciting of Col Nidre at the desk before the ark there stands not as usual the presentor and two householders but the rabbi and his two daionim the candles are burning all round and there is a whispering of the flames as they grow taller and taller the people stand at their reading desks with grave faces and draw on the robes and talism the Spanish hoods and silver girdles and their shadows sway this way and that along the walls and might be the ghosts of the dead who died today and yesterday and the day before yesterday evidently they could not rest in their graves and have also come into the shawl hush the rabbi has begun to say something and the daionim too and a groan rises from the congregation with the consent of the all present and with the consent of this congregation we give leave to pray with them that have transgressed and a great fear fell upon me and upon all the people young and old in that same moment I saw the rabbi mount the platform is he going to preach is he going to lecture the people at a time when they are falling dead like flies but the rabbi neither preached nor lectured he only called to remembrance the souls of those who had died in the course of the last days but how long it lasted how many names he mentioned the minutes fly one after the other and the rabbi has not finished will the list of souls never come to an end never and it seems to me the rabbi had better call out the names of those who are still alive because they are few instead of the names of the dead who are without number and without end I shall never forget that night and the praying because it was not really praying but one long loud groan rising from the depth of the human heart cleaving the sky and reaching to heaven never since the world began have Jews prayed in greater anguish of soul never have hotter tears fallen from human eyes that night no one left the shawl after the prayers they recited the hymn of unity and after that the psalms and then chapters from the mishna and then ethical books and I also stand among the congregation and pray and my eyelids are heavy as lead and my heart beats like a hammer and the angels fly around and I fancy I see them flying in the shawl up and down and among them I see the bad angel with a thousand eyes full of eyes from head to feet that night no one left the shawl but only in the morning missing two of the congregation had fallen during the night and died before our eyes and lay wrapped in their talism and white robes nothing was lacking for their journey from the living to the dead they kept on bringing messages into the shawl from the gas but no one wanted to listen or to ask questions lest he should hear what had happened in his own house how long I live I shall never forget that night all I saw and heard but the day of atonement the day that followed was more awful still and even now when I shut my eyes I see the whole picture and I think I am standing once more among the people in the shawl it is atonement day in the afternoon the rabbi stands on the platform in the centre of the shawl tall and venerable and there is a fascination in his noble features and there in the corner of the shawl stands a boy who never takes his eyes off the rabbi's face in truth I never saw a noble figure the rabbi is old seventy or perhaps eighty years but tall and straight as a fir tree his long beard is white like silver but the thick long hair of his head is whiter still and his face is blanched and his lips are pale and only his large black eyes shine and sparkle like the eyes of a young lion I stood in awe of him when I was a little child I knew that he was a man of God one of the greatest authorities in the law whose advice was sought by the whole world I also knew that he inclined to leniency in all his decisions that none dared oppose him the sight I saw that day in shawl is before my eyes now the rabbi stands on the platform and his black eyes gleam and shine in the pale face and in the white hair and beard the additional service is over and the people are waiting to hear what the rabbi will say and one is afraid to draw one's breath and the rabbi begins to speak his weak voice grows stronger and higher every minute and at last it is quite loud he speaks of the sanctity of the day of atonement and of the holy Torah of repentance and of prayer of the living and of the dead and of the pestilence that has broken out destroys without pity without rest without pause for how long for how much longer and by degrees his pale cheeks redden and his lips also and I hear him say and when trouble comes to a man he must look to his deeds and not only to these which concern him and the almighty but to those which concern himself to his body to his flesh to his own health I was a child then but I remember how I began to tremble when I heard these words because I had understood the rabbi goes on speaking he speaks of cleanliness and wholesome air of dirt which is dangerous to man and of hunger and thirst which are men's bad angels about devouring without pity and the rabbi goes on to say and men shall live by my commandments and not die by them there are times when one must turn aside from the law if by so doing a whole community may be saved I stand shaking with fear what does the rabbi want what does he mean by his words what does he think to accomplish and suddenly I see that he is weeping and my heart beats louder and louder what has happened why does he weep and there I stand in the corner in the silence and I also begin to cry and to this day if I shut my eyes I see him standing on the platform and he makes a sign and to the two die on him to the left and right of him he and they whisper together and he says something in their ear what has happened why does his cheek flame and why are theirs as white as chalk and suddenly I hear them talking but I cannot understand them because the words do not enter my brain and yet all three are speaking so sharply and clearly and all the people utter a groan and after the groan I hear the words with the consent of the all present and with the consent of this congregation we give leave to eat and drink on the day of atonement silence not a sound is heard in the shawl not an eyelid quivers not a breath is drawn and I stand in my corner and hear my heart beating one two one two a terror comes over me and it is black before my eyes the shadows move too and fro on the wall and amongst the shadows I see the dead who died yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before the day before yesterday a whole people a great assembly and suddenly I grasp what it is the rabbi asks of us the rabbi calls on us to eat today the rabbi calls on Jews to eat on the day of atonement not to fast because of the cholera because of the cholera because of the cholera and I begin to cry loudly and it is not only I the whole congregation stands weeping and the day on him on the platform weep and the greatest of all stands there sobbing like a child and he implores like a child and his words are soft and gentle and every now and then he weeps so that his voice cannot be heard Jews eat today we must eat this is a time to turn aside from the law we ought to live through the commandments and not die through them but no one in the shul has stirred from his place and there he stands and begs of them weeping and declares that he takes the whole responsibility upon himself that the people shall be innocent no one stirs and presently he begins again in a changed voice he does not beg he commands I give you leave to eat I I and his words are like arrows shot from the bow but the people are deaf and no one stirs then he begins again with his former voice child what would you have of me why will you torment me till my strength fails think you I have not struggled with myself from earlier this morning till now and the day on him also plead with the people and of a sudden the rabbi grows as white as chalk and lets his head fall on his breast there is a groan from one end of the shul to the other and after the groan the people are heard to murmur among themselves then the rabbi like one speaking to himself says it is God's will I am 80 years old and have never yet transgressed the law but this is also a law it is a precept doubtless the almighty wills it so shamus the beetle comes and the rabbi whispers a few words into his ear he also confers with the day on him and they nod their heads and agree and the beetle brings cups of wine for sanctification out of the rabbi's chamber and little rolls of bread and though I should live many years and grow very old I shall never forget what I saw then and even now when I shut my eyes I see the whole thing three rabbi's standing on the platform in shul and eating before the whole people on the day of atonement the three belong to the heroes who shall tell how they fought with themselves who shall say how they suffered and what they endured I have done what you wished says the rabbi does not shake and his lips do not tremble God's name be praised and all the Jews ate that day they ate and wept rays of light beam forth from the remembrance and spread all around and reach the table at which I sit and write these words once again three people at the moment when the awesome scene in the shul is before me there are three Jews sitting in a room opposite the shul and they also are eating they are the three enlightened ones of the place the tax collector the inspector and the teacher the window is wide open so that all may see on the table stands a samovar glasses of red wine and eatables and the three sit with playing cards in their hands playing preference and they laugh and eat and drink do they also belong to the heroes end of Three Who Ate by David Frishman section 24 of Yiddish Tales this LibriVox recording is in the public domain of Yiddish Tales translated by Helena Frank and read by Adrian Pretzelis section 24 Mika Yosef Bachevsky born 1865 in Bechard Padalia south-western Russia educated in Yeshiva of Volozin studied also modern literatures in his youth has been living alternately in Berlin and Breslau Hebrew, Yiddish and German writer on philosophy, aesthetics and Jewish literary and spiritual and timely questions contributor to Hebrew Publications editor of Beit Midrash supplement to Beit Ozar Hasifrut uber den Zuzemenhang zwischen Ethik und Aesthetik to Bern Studein zur Philosophie und ihre Geschichte author of two novels Mibaid Umihuts and Mahanayim a book on the Hasidim Warsaw 1900 Yudishe Ketobim Wunewaiten Korov Warsaw Hebrew essays on miscellaneous studies 11 parts Warsaw and Breslau in course of publication Military Service by Mika Yosef Yosef Bachevsky They look as if they've had enough of me so I think to myself as I give a glance at my two great top boots my wide trousers and my shabby green uniform in which there is no whole part left I take a bit of looking-glass out of my box and look at my reflection Yes the military cap on my head is a beauty and no mistake as big as Og King of Bishan and as bent and crushed as though it had been sat on for years together under the cap appears a small washed out face yellow and wizened with two large black eyes that look at me somewhat wildly I don't recognise myself I remember me in a grey jacket narrow close fitting trousers a round hat and a healthy complexion I can't make out where I have got those big eyes why they shine so why my face should be yellow and my nose pointed yet I know that it is I myself, Chaim Blumen and no other that I have been handed over for a soldier and have to serve only two years and eight months and not three years and eight months because I have a certificate to the effect that I have been through four classes in a secondary school although I know quite well that I am to serve only two years and eight months I feel the same as though it were to be forever I can't somehow believe that my time will someday expire and that I shall once more be free I've tried from the very beginning not to play any tricks to do my duty and obey orders so that they should not say don't work, a Jew is too lazy and though I am let off manual labour because I am on privileged rights still, if they tell me to go and clean the windows or polish the flooring with sand or clear away the snow from the door I make no fuss and go I wash and clean and polish and try to do the work well so that they should find no fault with me they haven't yet ordered me to carry pails of water why should I not confess it the idea of having to do that rather frightens me when I look at the vessel in which the water is carried my heart begins to flutter the vessel is almost as big as I am and I couldn't lift it even if it were empty I often think what shall I do if tomorrow or the day after they wake me at three in the morning and say coolly get up, bloom in and go with us a chuck to fetch a pail of water you ought to see my neighbour, Ossetchock he looks as if he could squash me with one finger it is as easy for him to carry a pail of water as to drink a glass of brandy how can I compare myself with him I don't really care if it makes my shoulder swell if I could only carry the thing I shouldn't mind about that but God in heaven knows the truth that I won't be able to lift that pail off the ground only they won't believe me they will say look at the lazy Jew pretending he is a poor creature that can't lift a pail there, I mind that more than anything I don't suppose they will send me to fetch water for after all I am on privileged rites that I can't sleep in peace I dream all night that they are waking me at three o'clock and I start up bathed in a cold sweat Trill does not begin before eight in the morning but they wake us at six so that we will have time to clean our rifles polish our boots and leather girdle brush our coat and furbish the brass buttons with chalk so that they should shine like mirrors I don't mind getting up early I'm used to rising long before daylight but I'm always worrying lest something shouldn't be properly cleaned and they should say that a Jew is so lazy he doesn't care if his things are clean or not that he's afraid of touching his rifle and pay me the other compliments of the kind I clean and polish and rub everything all I know but my rifle always seems in worse condition than the other men's I can't make it look the same as theirs do what I will and the head of my division, a corporal, shouts at me calls me a greasy fellow and says he'll have me up before the authorities I don't take care of my arms but there is worse than the rifle and that is the uniform mine is years old I'm sure it's older than I am every day little pieces fall out of it and the buttons tear themselves out of the cloth dragging bits of it after them I've never had a needle in my hand in all my life before and now I sit whole nights and patch and sew on buttons and next morning when the corporal takes hold of a button and gives a pull to see if it's firmly sewn a pang goes through my heart the button is dragged out and a piece of uniform follows another whole night's work for me after the inspection they drive us out into the yard and teach us to stand it must be done so that our stomachs fall in my chest stick out I am half as one ought to be because my stomach is flat enough anyhow only my chest is weak and narrow and also flat, flat as a board the corporal squeezes in my stomach with his knee pulls me forward by the flaps of my coat but it's no use he loses his temper and calls me a greasy fellow screams again that I'm pretending that I won't serve and this makes my chest fall in even more than ever I like the gymnastics in summer we go out early into the yard which is very wide and covered with thick grass it smells delightfully the sun warms us through it feels so pleasant the breeze blows in from the fields I open my mouth and swallow the freshness and however much I swallow it's not enough I should like to take in all the air there is then perhaps I should cough less and grow a little stronger we throw off the old uniforms and remain in our shirts we run and leap and go through all sorts of performances with our hands and feet and it's splendid at home I never had so much as an idea of such fun at first I was very much afraid of jumping across the ditch but I resolved once and for all I've got to jump it if the worst comes to the worst I shall fall and bruise myself suppose I do what then why do all the others jump it and don't care one needn't be so very strong to jump and one day before the gymnastics had begun I left my comrades took heart and a long run and when I came to the ditch I made a great bound lo and behold I was over on the other side I couldn't believe my own eyes that I had done it so easily ever since then I have jumped across ditches and over mounds and down from mounds as well as any of them only when it comes to climbing a ladder or swinging myself over a high bar I know it spells misfortune for me I spring forward and seize the first rung with my right hand I cannot reach the second with my left I stretch myself and kick out with my feet but I cannot reach any higher not by so much as of a shock and so there I hang and kick with my feet till my right arm begins to tremble and hurt me my head goes round and I fall on the grass the corporal abuses me as usual and the soldiers laugh I live ten years of my life to be able to get higher if only three or four rungs but what can I do if my arms won't serve me sometimes I go out to the ladder by myself while the soldiers are still asleep and stand and look at it perhaps I can think of a way to manage but in vain thinking you see doesn't help you in these cases sometimes they tell one of the soldiers in the middle of the yard with his back to us and we have to hop over him he bends down a little lowers his head rests his hands on his knees and we hop over him one at a time one takes a good run and when one comes to him one places both hands on his shoulders raises oneself into the air and over I know exactly how it ought to be done I take the run all right and plant my hands on his shoulders only I can't raise myself into the air and if I do lift myself up a little way I remain sitting on the soldier's neck and were it not for his seizing me by the feet I should fall and perhaps kill myself then the corporal and another soldier take hold of me by the arms and legs and throw me over the man's head so that I may see there's nothing dreadful about it as though I did not jump right over him because I was afraid what it is that my arms are so weak I cannot lean upon them and raise myself into the air and when I say so they only laugh and don't believe me they say it won't help you you will have to serve anyhow when on the other hand it comes to theory the corporal is very pleased with me he says that except himself no one knows theory as I do he never questions me now only when one of the others doesn't know something he turns to me well Blumen you tell me I stand up without hurrying and am about to answer but he is apparently not pleased with my way of rising from my seat and orders me to sit down again when your superior speaks to you says he you ought to jump up as though the seat were hot and he looks at me angrily as much as to say you may know theory but you're pleased to know your manners as well and treat me with the proper respect stand up again and answer I start up as though I felt a prick from a needle and answer the question as he likes it done smartly all in one breath and word for word according to the book he meanwhile looks at the primer to make sure I am not leaving anything out but as he reads very slowly he cannot catch me up and when I have got to the end he is still following with his finger and reading and when he is finished he gives me a pleased look and says enthusiastically right and tells me to sit down again theory he says that you do know well begging his pardon it isn't much to know and yet there are soldiers who are four years over it and don't know it then for instance take my comrade Ossichok he says that when it comes to theory he would rather go and hang or drown himself he says he would rather have to carry three piles of water than to sit down to theory I tell him that if he would learn to read he could study the whole thing by himself in a week but he won't listen nobody says he will ever ask my advice one thing always alarmed me very much however was I to take part in the maneuvers I cannot lift a single pud I myself only weigh two pud and thirty pounds and if I walk three bursts my feet hurt and my heart beats so violently that I think it's going to burst my side at the maneuvers I should have to carry as much as fifty pounds weight and perhaps more a rifle a cloak a knapsack with linen boots a uniform a tent bread and onions and a few other little things and should have to walk perhaps thirty to forty bursts a day but when the day and the hour arrived and the command was given forward march when the band struck up and two thousand men set their feet in motion something seemed to draw me forward and I went at the beginning I found it hard I felt weighted to the earth my left shoulder hurt me so I nearly fainted but afterwards I got very hot I began to breathe rapidly and deeply my eyes were starting out of my head like two cupping glasses and I not only walked I ran so as not to fall behind and so I ended by marching along with the rest forty bursts a day only I did not sing on the march like the others first because I did not feel so very cheerful and second because I could not breathe properly let alone sing at times I felt burning hot but immediately afterward I would grow light and the marching was easy I seemed to be carried along rather than to tread the earth and it appeared to me as though another were marching in my place only that my left shoulder ached and I was hot I remember that once it rained a whole night long it came down like a deluge our tents were soaked through and grew heavy the mud was thick at three o'clock in the morning an alarm was sounded we were ordered to fold up our tents and take to the road again so off we went it was dark and slippery it poured with rain I was continually stepping into a puddle and getting my boot full of water I shivered and shook and my teeth shattered with cold that is I was cold one minute and hot the next but the marching was no difficulty to me I scarcely felt that I was on the march and thought very little about it indeed I don't know what I was thinking about my mind was a blank we marched and turned back and marched again then we halted for half an hour and turned back again and this went on a whole night and a whole day it turned out that there had been a mistake it was not we who ought to have marched but another regiment and we ought not to have moved from the spot but there was no help for it then it was night we had eaten nothing all day the rain poured down the mud was ankle deep there was no straw in which to pitch our tents but we managed somehow and so the days passed each liked the other but I got through the maneuvers and was none the worse now I'm already an old soldier I've hardly another year and a half to serve about sixteen months I only hope I shall not be ill it seems I got a bit of a chill at the maneuvers I cough every morning and sometimes I suffer with my feet I shiver a little at night till I get warm and then I'm very hot and I feel very comfortable lying a bed but I shall probably soon be all right again they say one may take a rest in the hospital but I haven't been there yet and don't want to go at all especially now I'm feeling better the soldiers are sorry for me and sometimes they do my work but not just for love I get three pounds of bread a day and don't eat more than one pound the rest I give to my comrade Ossichok he eats it all and his own as well and then he could do with some more in return for this he often cleans my rifle and sometimes does other work for me when he sees I have no strength left I'm also teaching him and a few other soldiers to read and write and they're very pleased my corporal also comes to me to be taught but he never gives me a word of thanks the superior of the platoon when he isn't drunk and he is in good humour says you to me instead of thou and sometimes invites me to share his bed I can breathe easier there because there is more air and I don't cough so much either only it sometimes happens that he comes back from the town tipsy and makes a great to-do how do I, a common soldier come to be sitting on his bed he orders me to get up and stand before him at attention and declares he will have me up for it when however he is sobered down he turns kind again and calls me to him he likes me to tell him stories out of books sometimes the orderly calls me into the orderly room and gives me a report to draw up or else a list or a calculation to make he himself writes badly and is very poor at figures I do everything he wants and he's very glad of my help only it wouldn't do for him to confess it and when I finished he always says to me if the commanding officer is not satisfied he sends you to fetch water I know it isn't true first, because the commanding officer mustn't know that I write in the orderly room a Jew can't be an army secretary secondly, because he is certain to be satisfied he once gave me a note to write himself and was very pleased with it if you were not a Jew he said to me then I should make a corporal of you still, my corporal always repeats his threat about the water so that I may preserve a proper respect for him although I not only respect him I tremble before his size when he comes back tipsy from town and finds me in the orderly room he commands me to drag his muddy boots off his feet and I obey him and drag off his boots sometimes I don't care and other times it hurts my feelings Section 24 Military Service by Micha Josef Baczewski


I recently made McCall's 8154, a super cute jumpsuit pattern, and I wanted to show you how it turned out in case you wanted to make one too. If you're not already, make sure to subscribe so you never miss out when I post about a new garment that I've made. I have made so many jumpsuit patterns lately, and I'm excited to share the good, bad, and ugly of this one. Like I said, the pattern is McCall's 8154. The website describes this pattern as a seamed romper and jumpsuit with pocket options, drawstring detail, belt, and hem variations. In addition to those details, it also has dolman sleeves, a front button placket, and front and back yokes. There is no waist seam, and the front and back have four pieces each, so it was really interesting to put together. The fabric is a cotton lye cell blended denim from Joanne. I really, really enjoyed working with this fabric. Because it's mostly cotton, 62% to be exact, it was really easy to cut, sew, and press. The addition of the rayon just makes it softer and give it a little bit of drape, which was perfect for this pattern since I needed the fabric to gather nicely along the front yoke, as well as come together well with the belt. As of the filming of this video, this fabric is still available online, and my local store even has a few yards left, so be sure to check the description box for a link to grab what's left. If you've watched my videos before, you will be surprised to hear that I did not make any alterations to this pattern. I think that I've been overthinking fitting lately, especially when it comes to pants patterns, so I just wanted to make something as it was drafted and see how it went. But something that you overthink when it comes to sewing, it's so easy in my opinion to get wrapped up in all the little things, which can also rob you from some of the joy of sewing too. Leave a comment to let me know what you've been overthinking when it comes to your sewing lately. Anyway, there are a lot of things I love about this pattern. One of them is the shaping throughout the waist. I was surprised to see how much I liked this jumpsuit even without the belt. It's actually still really flattering even though there is no defined waist. That is a hundred percent due to the design and I love that. I also love the pant leg line and length. Again, I did not make any alterations to this whatsoever and was impressed that these design details were so good right out of the envelope. Of course, there are some things that I don't love as much because I wouldn't be me if I didn't nitpick a little, right? Starting at the top, the Dolman sleeve looks super cute from the front and it certainly is comfortable, but the underarm opening is so wide you can see straight inside the garment when I lift my arm. This is an easy fix, but I wanted to point it out in case you were getting ready to cut your fabric. Another thing that's a little off is the drawstring detail. Again, it's really cute and I feel like a little necessary to kind of balance out the rest of the volume of the pattern, but I don't really love the actual drawstring.  I don't know if it will be better if I used self fabric or if I should just gather that seam and not add a drawstring at all. Finally, and probably the biggest problem with this pattern is the instructions for the bottom of the button placket. I could not for the life of me figure out how to get it sewn like the instructions suggested. It doesn't seem that other people who have made this pattern had the same problem as me, so it could just be user error, like maybe I was having an off day, but I could not figure it out. So I ended up just having a make it work moment, which I mean it definitely works, but it's also definitely not how it's supposed to be. All in all, I do really like this pattern and I want to make another version maybe at a quarter roy for the fall. I will just have to figure out that dang button placket. If you want to learn some of my favorite tips for sewing garments like this one, download my ultimate garment sewing guide of guides. It includes seven different sewing guides all in one and it's totally free. There's a link in the description box where you can download it. And if you like seeing the things that I've sewn, be sure to check out this playlist that I linked on the right hand side of the screen. It has dozens of videos just like this one, so you can be inspired for whatever your next project might be. But that's going to do it for me today, y'all. Thank you so much for watching. I will see you all very soon.