Our Conversations

From The Jewish People’s calendar for the year 5697 (1936-37) in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia.

I tell you, “’tis not the right time. We’re drowning in poverty. What proof do I need to provide? You already know. Your business is in the marketplace, too. How often does it happen that you close your shop in the evening without even having made a morning sale? There’s nothing! We’re pressed, by God, from all sides. And now, some delegations. Why are they coming? To whom? Who will give them anything? Why can’t those people understand that times are simply bad?”

Thus spoke tiyu-Yakov to his friends in a Balkan coffeehouse, when the conversation turned to a certain Zionist delegation, which was to come for the purpose of gathering contributions.

“Why are you upset?” asked Salamonetu. “Those from above ever ask us whether they can come, when, and how. No, brother. They simply tell us: we will come, get ready, and that’s it.”

“What do we have to get ready for!” said Sabetai angrily. “They don’t come just to visit us, so that we have to put on Shabbat clothes, meet them, and, as the expression goes, converse like brothers. No. They come for money. From where? We cannot borrow from anyone and give to them.”

“Do you know, people, whose fault all that is?” asked tiyu-Yakov. “You don’t? Well, I will tell you. It’s the fault of this youth of ours. They are the ones setting this all up. Well, they aren’t earning anything. They do not realise that nowadays the dinar is located up there, on the top of that hill. They keep on nagging: give us for this, give us for that. And when we yell: Stop, bre! We cannot give anymore, then they—trak!—send a telegram up there, to the big shots. And then, due to the shame, you must give. . .”

“Quiet now!” warned Shabetai. “Leon is coming, our Zionist champion. He cooked us this fine dish, for sure.”

“What then!” said tiyu-Yakov, angrily. “I don’t fear him. Here, let him hear. Come here, Leon! Sit down! I’ve got something important to ask you.”

“What is it, by G0d?” asked Leon, wonderingly. “You didn’t even give me time to greet you, to say Shalom, good evening, how are you. Is that not the good custom of the marketplace vendors?”

“Leave that now!” answered tiyu-Yakov. “There’s something much more important to argue about here. We’re talking about that delegation, you know. Well, everyone agrees with me that. . .”

“Agreeing about what?”

“Well, that times aren’t good now. Why are they coming? To whom? You already know. It’s simply impossible—”

“Don’t you bring them to me,” interrupted Salamonetu. “I’m telling you right here and now.”

“Why, bre?” asked Leon. “You are known as a boen Djidyo (good Jew). We never returned empty-handed from your store.”

“Enough of that, Leon. I’ve been boen Djidyo long enough. I can’t do it anymore.”

“But why?”

“Why? Why? And what about that one thousand?”

“Which one thousand?” asked Leon, puzzled.

“Come on now!” said Salamonetu angrily. “You pretend that you don’t know. Didn’t you take one thousand dinars from me for that forest? You came to me, you’ve addled my brains completely. Give, it’s a shame, you must, this and that. I couldn’t evade, I gave you a thousand.”

“Uh, bre!” laughed Leon. “You still haven’t forgotten. So much time has passed since then! I am not concerned about you. If all the others were like Salamonetu, I would be singing.”

“By God, Leon, this time you won’t be singing!” threatened Salamonetu.

“Stop messing around,” warned Sabetai. “Let’s be serious here.”

“What!” snapped Salamonetu. “You think I gave him a thousand as a joke?”

“No, not that,” answered Sabetai in a calming tone. “But let’s talk about that delegation. Listen, Leon! It seems to me that you fellows went too far. We don’t know to whom we should give first, whether to the Society, to the Community, or to these poor wretches that have settled here with us. And now, on top of all that, you come with your delegations and commissions. We cannot, do you hear? We cannot!”

“It’s true,” added tiyu-Yakov. “You’d better try to postpone it somehow. Times simply aren’t good now.”

“Times aren’t good, eh? You say that we should postpone it?” asked Leon.

“Yes, yes,” they all confirmed.

Leon thought a little, then asked:

“Say, gentlemen, when do you think a good time would be? In the spring, in a year, two years, or even later?”

“It will come, it will,” answered Sabetai. “God will provide.”

“Never!” shouted Leon. “That good time of yours will never come! We have been waiting for it for two thousand years. We won’t be waiting anymore. We’ve resolved to labour in these bad times. It’s hard for you, I know. You’re used to your old tzedakah. They over there are in need, let’s raise funds for them. Tomorrow, we are in need, they will raise funds for us. And when no one is in need of anything, then nothing. We sit in our cafés, drink our coffee peacefully, and talk about cotton, grain, cloth, and about everything else except about ourselves. What would we have to say about ourselves? Thank God, everything is calm, no one is complaining. Well, no more! Remember, this delegation is coming for that very reason, to disturb your peace, to tell you: People, you don’t have the right to sit peacefully on the sidelines! Look where you are! Listen to what is going on in the world! Know that this and this will come to you! We cannot wait on that good time of yours anymore. We cannot—”

“Enough, enough!” Sabetai interrupted. “We know that you can speak well, but it won’t do you any good this time. We cannot give now, and that’s a fact.”

“Let him be,” butted in Salamonetu. “He thinks that his speech will work again. He speaks and speaks, until you admit defeat and say: ‘You’re right, Leon, we must give.’ Well, it won’t work now. It’s not that we don’t want to give, but we cannot. Do you understand, Leon, what the words ‘we cannot’ mean?”

“Listen, Salamonetu,” said Leon, teasingly. “Let’s make a bet here and now, that you will give again.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you, and all these fellows who are sitting here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying this, because I know you. This is not the first time you’ve issued such threats. And then, nothing, you are again the first entry in my notebook.”

“Go ahead and remove us from that notebook,” tiyu-Yakov advised.

“No, never!” objected Leon. “Then you would be shamed before the people, and then who is to blame? Leon! I couldn’t bear that, not for any money.”

“Well, people, this man cannot be reasoned with!” shouted Salamonetu. “Let’s go home.”

“You speak well,” asserted Sabetai. “Let’s go!”

“Where are you off to?” Leon tried to stop them.

“We’re leaving,” said Salamonetu, “for I see that we’re going to quarrel.”

When the two left, tiyu-Yakov addressed Leon. “Did you see? They fled.”

“Let them be,” answered Leon. “They do it just because. . . It will blow over. . . But tiyu-Yakov, I’ve got something important to talk to you about. Just promise me that you won’t be angry.”

“Let me hear it first.”

“Well then, listen,” continued Leon. “This delegation is about to come. They will be collecting store by store, as you know already.”

“Yes, so?”

“Well, we can’t let them wander around the marketplace by themselves. It’s not proper. Someone from here must accompany them, someone dignified, renowned, well-known. It cannot be me, nor Haimiku—”

“All right, all right!” interrupted tiyu-Yakov, impatiently. “What do you want from me then?”

“Well, I thought that you would be the best suited man for that job. You know how to deal with our people, and you are influential.”

“It has to be me?”

“Yes, you. Why are you so surprised?”

“Nothing, Leon, but I see that I, too, will have to flee. I cannot do otherwise.” And having said that, tiyu-Yakov rose to go.

“Wait,” Leon tried to stop him. “I haven’t told you everything yet.”

“By God, Leon!” shouted tiyu-Yakov. “If you haven’t shown your speaking ability today, you never will!”

And he disappeared from the café, as though someone was chasing him away.

*

The delegation arrived. Invitations, sessions, agreements, assemblies, commissions, banquets, toasts, and everything in general went as it should. Tiyu-Yakov accompanied the delegation from store to store. Salamonetu again gave a full one thousand. Sabetai gave a nice toast at the banquet. The parting with the guests was cordial. The report in the newspaper came out full of laudations. So, a success in every way imaginable.

*

A few days later, the same company was sitting in the same café, at the same table. They were making merry, as usual. Suddenly, Sabetai remembered:

“Say, do we know how much the delegates managed to collect? Were they content?”

“I think,” answered tiyu-Yakov, “that they went away very contented.”

“Well, that’s for sure,” said Salamonetu. “Let’s not forget who accompanied them. This tiyu-Yakov of ours is truly a master, he deserves a diploma.”

“Ih,” answered Sabetai. “I’d sooner give a diploma to the one who made him go with the commission. That one’s the master of his craft. Don’t you remember that night, how he spoke? Times aren’t good, we cannot, let’s postpone. And then, all of a sudden, who goes with the commission? Tiyu-Yakov! Believe me, I was shocked when I heard. Even when I saw him that day, going from shop to shop, I didn’t believe my eyes. I walked past him, greeted him, asked him what all that was about, and smiled at him. And he understood, he just pretended to be clueless. ‘We’re collecting,’ said he. ‘We’ll come to you, too.’ ‘All right, all right,’ said I, and all the while I was thinking: How sorry I am for the one who coaxed you to do that job; he must have spent a full wagon of words, poor man. Say, Yakovachi, tell us how that happened to you?”

“Well, it happened,” he answered. “Lots of things happen in this world. People, would you have believed that? Say, a certain man was sitting here and saying with conviction: ‘Don’t bring that delegation to my door, I won’t give them a single dinar.’ ‘Come on,’ the others told him, ‘why are you speaking in such a manner? You’ll give, for sure.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘I won’t, even if the world should turn on its head.’ And then, what happened? That same man opened his drawer, with his own hand, and drew out a full one thousand! What do you have to say about that?” asked tiyu-Yakov, winking at Salamonetu.

Salamonetu got ready to answer, but Sabetai overtook him: “I, too, have heard something of the sort, but, to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it. Say, Salamonetu, what do you suppose? Could something like that have happened?”

Salamonetu, all red from anger, jumped up at Sabetai. “Just shut up! You have the least right to say anything!”

“Why, Salamonetu? I’m asking you kindly.”

“You’ve got no right to ask.”

“But why?” asked Sabetai, puzzled.

“You have the cheek to ask why?” shuddered Salamonetu. “Tell me first, what sort of a speech was that which you gave at the banquet? What did it mean? Here you advocated so fervently: we cannot, times aren’t good, and there, you came up with a whole declamation. Oh, how you nattered and rambled! Brothers, you have forgotten us, years have passed without your visit, you must visit us more often to awaken these slumbering spirits of ours. Was it not so?”

“Yes,” answered Sabetai, “but, what can you do? Banquet, good mood, no wonder. But you, Mr. I-won’t-give-them-a-single-dinar and then—trak!—one thousand.”

“Yes,” spoke up tiyu-Yakov. “He speaks well. Why are you even mentioning what he did? It was a toast that he gave. The fellow spoke, and it cost him nothing.”

“Not you, too,” said Salamonetu. “For God’s sake, don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” explained tiyu-Yakov. “But your comportment seems strange to me too, so I think it would be nice if you explained.”

“To explain it to you, eh? And did you explain to us how you came to be in the commission?”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you, who else?”

“I, well, I kind of dropped into it,” answered tiyu-Yakov.

“Did they not perhaps push you in?” asked Salamonetu.

“Aye.” Leon spoke for the first time. Till then, he’d been pretending to read a newspaper, while in truth, he had followed the entire conversation.

“You, keep on reading that paper!” interrupted tiyu-Yakov.

“Why, let him speak! Come on, Leon, do continue,” begged Salamonetu.

“Shall I?” asked Leon.

“Don’t you dare!” threatened tiyu-Yakov. “Or you, too, will be hearing something you don’t like.”

“Well, then I won’t,” said Leon in a calming tone.

“Why are you listening to him?” complained Sabetai. “Here, he’s teasing all of us, and you’re sheltering him.”

“But our tiyu-Yakov is a good man, I’d be remiss to tease him,” defended Leon.

“We’re good, too,” said Salamonetu, “yet, he was not at all sorry for us. Just keep talking!”

“So,” said Leon, thoughtfully, “it’s not clear to me either whether tiyu-Yakov dropped into the commission by himself, or was pushed into it. I can just say that, after you left the café that evening, I begged him to accept the task. But you should have seen him! He got angry, didn’t reply one word to me, just put on his hat and—out the door. Fled. I wasn’t at all surprised. I know him. At the session, it was asked who should go with the commission, and I said: It would be best if tiyu-Yakov went. True, accepted the others. And he didn’t object, you see. ‘All right,’ said he, ‘if you find that I must, then I accept.’”

“You showed yourself to be a true hero,” said Salamonetu mockingly.

“You’re right,” admitted tiyu-Yakov. “True, I’m a weakling, but I couldn’t do otherwise. And now I shall tell you how it really happened. If you recall, the assembly was held first. I went, too. Let’s see what those gentlemen want, I said. I sat in a corner and listened, listened, listened, and suddenly I felt angry. Angry with myself. Eh, Yakov, Yakov, thought I, you truly are being difficult. These people came to speak to you, to tell you what awaits you, and what you have to do, and you, you’re protesting and complaining as though they were your enemies. By God, I said to myself, ’tis not nice what you’re doing. And, believe me, some sort of faintness came over me, and I scolded myself. Then when they said at the session that I must go with the commission, I didn’t object, but was rather pleased.”

“That was a true capitulation then,” threw in Salamonetu.

“And your one thousand,” snapped tiyu-Yakov. “What the devil was that?”

Everyone laughed, but tiyu-Yakov was most angry with Leon, so he snapped at him:

“What is it? Why are you laughing so much?”

“I have the most reason to laugh,” answered Leon. “Did I not tell you that evening, that all of you will be in my notebook again? Wasn’t I right? You are angry now. You are puzzled. You ask yourself how it came to be? Who is to blame? Well, I shall tell you. Your heart is to blame, the heart that you carry in your bosom. We know the heart, and thus we address it often, and it responds to us. True, you complain and shout about how the times aren’t good, you say that it cannot be done, but in the end, you consent. You must listen to your inner voice. That is why our poet says: ‘Am Yisrael chai’. Do you know what that means?”

“Don’t interpret poems for us now,” interrupted tiyu-Yakov. “Leave that for some assembly. You will need it.”

“Yes,” added Salamonetu. “You will interpret that for us when you are in need of a thousand dinars again.”

“Bravo!” answered Leon. “That was a good one. You deserve a drink.”

“No,” Salamonetu refused. “Some other time. It’s too late now.”

“True,” confirmed the others. “We’ve had quite enough of everything this evening. Let’s go home!”

And our comrades dispersed in the best mood, happy that they had had an enjoyable and friendly conversation.