The Spinoza of Market Street - Isaac Bashevis Singer [58]
In time, his anger disappeared completely. He began to visit Rabbi Chazkele three times a year. He became a kindly man, so good-natured it was unbelievable. But that is what a habit is like--if you break it, it becomes the opposite. One can turn the worst sin into a good deed. The main thing is to act, not to ponder. He even began to visit the ritual bath. And when he grew old, he acquired disciples of his own. This was after the death of Rabbi Chazkele. My father-in-law always used to say, "If you can't be a good Jew, act the good Jew, because if you act something, you are it. Otherwise why does any man try to act at all? Take, for example, the drunk in the tavern. Why doesn't he try to act differently?"
The rabbi once said: "Why is 'Thou Shalt Not Covet' the very last of the Ten Commandments? Because one must first avoid doing the wrong things. Then, later on, one will not desire to do them. If one stopped and waited until all the passions ceased, one could never attain holiness."
And so it is with all things. If you are not happy, act the happy man. Happiness will come later. So also with faith. If you are in despair, act as though you believed. Faith will come afterwards.
--- Translated by Martha Glicklich and Joel Blocker
In the Poorhouse
I
There was a warm, homelike feeling about the poorhouse today. The rich man of the town, Reb Leizer Lemkes, married off his youngest daughter, Altele. And he gave a feast for the poor. In addition to gorging themselves on carp, kreplach with soup, challah, beef and carrot stew, and washing it all down with wine, each of the paupers was given something to take home: a slice of honey cake, a chicken drumstick, an apple, a piece of pastry. Everyone had eaten his fill. Most of them had overeaten. The poorhouse overseer had also had his share and did not stint today: he piled the stove full of firewood. Such heat came from its iron door that Hodele the beggar asked someone to open the chimney, she was in such a sweat.
After the feast everybody fell asleep. Night descended quickly. None of the men had prayed that evening. But after some hours of sleep, the little family began to wake. First to open his eyes was Leibush Scratch. He had hidden a roast chicken in the straw. And he began to put it away now, for fear that someone might steal it during the long night, or else the mice might get at it.
The second to wake up was Jonah the Thief. He had slipped under his pillow a head of a carp wrapped in cabbage leaves--a present from Serele the servant girl. Bashe the Whore, who had hidden three macaroons in her stocking, could not sleep either. The sounds of munching, chewing, gnawing mingled with the snuffling and snoring of the sleepers. Outside, fresh snow had fallen, and the moon was bright. After a while, Leibush Scratch asked:
"Jonah, my friend, are you eating or sleeping on it?"
"Chewing is no sin," Jonah the Thief retorted smartly.
"Leave him alone, Reb Leibush," put in Bashe the Whore, "or he may swallow a bone."
"What are you crunching there?" asked Leibush. "Last Passover's matzos?"
"A bit of a macaroon."
"I thought you had something. Who gave it to you, eh?"
"The little Tsipele."
"Give me a piece. . . ."
Bashe did not answer.
Jonah the Thief laughed: "Her kind doesn't give anything for nothing."
"I can give her my bellyache."
"If you have an ache, you can keep it to yourself," replied Bashe.
"I have plenty to spare for you too."
"Don't curse, Reb Leibush, I am cursed enough," said Bashe. At any other time she would not trouble to talk to