Have I Got a Story for You

by Ezra Glinter

  Now listen to what can happen. Someone told the governor of Lublin that in our town and district improper dealings were taking place. Someone, seemingly, had informed on the chief bureaucrats. So the governor prepared himself to come to town dressed like a normal Russian and under a different name, so no one would know who he was, and investigate the matter. He didn’t come alone, but with another official who was also disguised. Before they arrived, they sent a letter to the hotel saying that so and so, with such and such names, were traveling from Lublin and that rooms should be prepared for them. Pan Pavlovski read the names, saw that they were unknown people with no pedigree, and as though he preferred not to have any guests at all, put the letter aside and forgot about it entirely.

  Late at night the governor arrived with his companion. Coming into the hotel, they told Pan Pavlovski to prepare rooms for them, but Pavlovski said:

  “All the rooms are occupied.”

  “How could that be? We wrote that we were coming a month ago,” argued the governor.

  “First of all, I don’t remember that you wrote,” Pan Pavlovski replied. “And even if you did, I don’t owe you anything. It’s my hotel and I can give a room to whomever I please.”

  “What should I do?” asked the governor, and Pan Pavlovski answered:

  “There’s a Jew over there who has an inn full of bedbugs—go to him.” And he added: “If it doesn’t suit you, you can sleep in the street.”

  The governor wasn’t accustomed to such language. “This isn’t right,” he protested. A scuffle broke out and Pan Pavlovski grabbed the governor by the collar and prepared to throw him out. The assistant took up for the governor, and there was a fight. Pan Pavlovski struck them both. He pulled his revolver on them. Had the governor said who he was, Pan Pavloski would have fallen at his feet and kissed his boots. But his arrival had to remain a secret.

  After much bickering the governor and his companion decided to go to the Jew, Reb Berish Srotzker, and spend the night there, whatever it might be like. Reb Berish Strotzker’s place was also full. Hasidim were traveling to Kozhenitz and were staying with him. But a Jew doesn’t think himself a big deal. Reb Berish took the Russians in with friendship.

  “It’s full of guests here,” he said, “but I will give you mine and my wife’s beds.”

  “Why would you do that, Jew?” asked the governor. “Are you that greedy for money?” And Reb Berish answered:

  “I wouldn’t offer our beds for any amount of money, but we Jews are in exile and we must bow our heads. This world belongs to the gentiles.”

  The governor’s assistant laughed, and the governor said: “The other world also belongs to us, because you Jews don’t believe in Jesus.”

  “What is in the other world and who is considered important there, that we will know later,” Berish answered.

  “In the meantime we are here and we are hungry and thirsty,” the assistant said. “Do you have any liquor?”

  “I have everything,” Reb Berish said. He brought the gentiles a flask of whiskey and broth and meat left over from supper. The maid woke up along with Reb Berish’s wife, Yente Beyle. The governor and the assistant stuffed themselves with food and drink. Jews must not drink wine with gentiles, 90 but they can have a bit of liquor. Reb Berish had a brandy and became expansive. He asked the guests:

  “How does it happen that you aren’t at Pavlovski’s hotel?”

  “We are too insignificant for him,” the governor said. “He only has room for noble people.”

  “How does he know who you are? You could be the most important dignitaries,” Reb Berish asked, and he told them a story about an emperor who dressed himself like a shoemaker and went to mix with the populace. 91

  The two gentiles laughed so hard they could hardly sit still. “You can be sure that we are no emperors,” the governor said. “We wouldn’t even be worthy to heat the oven of an emperor.”

  “And what’s so great about an emperor?” asked Reb Berish. ”He is also flesh and blood.”

  A conversation ensued, and the gentiles forgot about sleep. The assistant asked:

  “How is it that there’s only one hotel in town, when there are so many guests?”

  “Pavolvski doesn’t let anyone build another one,” Reb Berish answered.

  “Why not?” asked the governor. “Does the town belong to him?”

  “We’ve already tried to build one, but he won’t allow it,” Reb Berish said. “He bribes anyone he needs to, and as they say, ‘when you grease, you go.’ He’s mixed up with the entire government.”

  “Whom does he pay off?” The governor asked.

  “Whom not?” Reb Berish answered. “They all take.”

  “All?” asked the governor, and Reb Berish said:

  “Yes. All.”

  “Do you believe that the governor in Lublin also lets himself be bribed?” The governor asked.

  “He is presumably so rich that he doesn’t need it,” Reb Berish said, “but the temptation of money is great. The small-fry can be bought for a pittance, but the big ones get a lot.”

  “That is to say, Jew, you don’t believe that there are honest people?” The governor asked. And Reb Berish answered:

  “There are, but how many? The takers and grabbers are the majority, and the majority run the show.”

  The governor had in fact come because he heard that bribes were being taken and laws were being broken. He himself was a count and an important person to the czar. He said: “When the dirty dogs who take and give bribes hang, we will have cleaned the dirt out of this land.”

  “It wouldn’t help,” Reb Berish said. “To hang someone you need testimony, and the corrupt ones don’t do it with witnesses. These bureaucrats don’t take anything themselves, but use their wives. Sometimes people send them presents on the festivals. Others play cards and for the sake of appearances each one plays the bribe money. How can all this be investigated?”

  “Does this mean there is no solution?” asked the governor. And Reb Berish said:

  “No.”

  “Have you also given bribes?” asked the governor.

  “At Christmas and Easter I send them a few rubles,” Reb Berish said. “If not, they would find me guilty of a thousand sins.”

  “What kind of sins?” asked the governor.

  “Maybe the place is not as clean as it should be. Maybe so many people shouldn’t be sleeping in one room. They have a thousand prerogatives and the judge can, if it pleases him, interpret them as he likes. They could, God forbid, ambush me in a dark alley and beat me, or burn down my house. I might know who the arsonist was, but because there were no witnesses, I dare not even complain. Even if there were witnesses, they would be afraid to testify.”

  “If you speak the truth, Jew, Russia is lost,” the governor said. And Reb Berish replied:

  “So it has been and so it will remain. The greatest protectors of the robbers and thieves are the judges and the laws. But what is the world? Just a corridor. The one who follows God’s commandments and does good deeds in the corridor will enter the palace.”

  There followed a discussion about Judaism, rabbis, and because Reb Berish was a little drunk, he began telling the gentiles about the Kozhnitzer Rebbe: 92 what a saint he was, the wonders he performed, and how he spoke words of Torah full of the deepest secrets.

  “Could one bribe him?” asked the governor. And Reb Berish said:

  “He receives petitions and donations, 93 but if you offered him all the treasures in the world to do the most meager sin, he would laugh at you.” The governor spoke up:

  “Jew, your speech has disrupted all of my plans. But since you are correct, I cannot punish you. I ask one thing: take me to your Rebbe. Since the world is full of thieves, I would like to know an honest man.” And he added: “You should know, Jew, that I am the governor.”

  Reb Berish thought at first that the nobleman was making a fool of him. But the governor showed him a piece of paper. He said: Keep quite, Jew, or els
e I will have you hanged. Swear on your tzitzis 94 that you will stay silent as long as I live. Reb Berish swore. He only told the story later, after the others man’s death.

  WHEN REB BERISH heard that the governor was his guest at the inn, and that he wanted to be taken to the Rebbe in Kozhnitz, Reb Berish was overcome by fear. What would the governor see in Kozhnitz? Neither the Rebbe nor any of his intimates spoke a word of Russian. Reb Berish himself had learned only a bit from the guests who stayed with him when there was no room at Pavlovski’s. That night he didn’t sleep a wink.

  The governor and his adjutant had come without a coach, so no one would know that they were important people. Reb Berish had to travel with them on a wagon full of Hasidim. When the Hasidim saw that Reb Berish was bringing two Ivans 95 to Kozhnitz, they were amazed. But Hasidim are Hasidim. On the wagon they made toasts, sang Kozhnitzer melodies and refreshed themselves with little cakes. The Ivans were also honored with a drink. The adjutant asked the governor, “What kind of wild animals are these?” But the governor answered:

  “They’re doing no one any harm.”

  In Kozhnitz it was just then a memorial day, perhaps the anniversary of the Maggid’s 96 death, or that of another holy man. Hasidim were drinking liquor and dancing. Reb Berish let the attendants know that the two Russians wanted to be taken to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe called them to come in. In Kozhnitz there was a corner lawyer who used to be a Misnaged, 97 but later became a devoted follower of the Rebbe. He served as the translator. The governor gave the Rebbe a petition and a donation, and the Rebbe spoke to the translator: “Tell him that a righteous man wants to be good himself, while a wicked man wants only that others should be good.”

  When the translator repeated these words to the governor, he went red in the face. The governor of Lublin had worried only that the people in his province were not behaving as they should. The Rebbe had put his finger on the spot.

  “What should I do?” the governor instructed the interpreter to ask the Rebbe, and the Rebbe instructed the interpreter to answer:

  “First, yourself do no wrong.”

  I don’t remember the entire conversation, but the governor later told Reb Berish that the Rebbe pierced him with every word. He even performed a miracle. The governor had a daughter who was six months pregnant. The Rebbe repeated her name and said: “She will have a male child.”

  The Rebbe couldn’t have known from the note that she was pregnant—the copyist had written only her name. In fact, she gave birth to a boy.

  Why should I ramble on here? The governor and his companion stayed in Kozhnitz over the Sabbath. They danced with the Hasidim, and treated them to whiskey. In the town of Kotzk 98 this would never happen. The Kotzker Hasidim are grumps and scoffers. Their Rebbe, 99 moreover, never let anyone see him. But in Kozhnitz there was so much brotherly love that there was even some left over for gentiles.

  The governor told Reb Berish: “I go to our balls, and there’s a black cloud. The music plays, but no one is happy. I dance with some noblewoman and right away she asks me for a favor: I should make her husband a marshal or a notary public. These Jews with their torn frock coats and crushed fur hats are really happy. They are not drunk. One glass and they become self-assured.” The gentile spoke the truth. Kozhnitz had a joy not of this world. When you went to see the Rebbe in the study house, all of your worries and cares fell away.

  The governor and his attendant went to the Rebbe’s table. It wasn’t possible to seat them, because of the wine. But the Rebbe gave orders to pass them his leftovers. 100 The governor of Lublin took a little piece of fish that had passed through ten pairs of hands and ate it. Reb Berish’s hat trembled on his head. What would he do if the governor lost his temper? He could throw the entire group in jail.

  After the Sabbath, before the two gentiles took off, they went to the Rebbe with the translator and stayed there for over an hour. Just like his father, the Maggid, Reb Moshele was as small as a six-year-old child. He had a white beard that grew from his ears to his shoulders. He was so weak that he had to put a fur under his feet because the floorboards were too hard. But when the Rebbe cried out, “Amen, may his great name be blessed!” 101 the study house trembled.

  The governor offered to give the Rebbe money to renovate the study house, the ritual bath, and the house where the Rebbe lived. But the Rebbe answered: “The walls are infused with holiness. We dare not tear them down.”

  And the study house remained as it was. Misnagdim require a beautiful synagogue, a cantor with a melodious voice, a choir and who knows what else. Hasidim laugh at all that. Why is a new table better than an old one? Foolishness. When you learn Torah on the table it becomes a vessel of holiness.

  On the way back to Marshinov the governor said to Reb Berish: “Jew, I will send you a permit to build a new hotel.”

  “Sir, I don’t have that much money, and I don’t want to start up with Pavlovski,” argued Reb Berish. But the governor said:

  “I would stop here on the road each time I want to travel to Kozhnitz to your holy man, and I don’t want to stay with that blockhead. I could have put him in chains, but your Rebbe stopped me.”

  The governor took revenge in a different way. When the wagon arrived in town, he went with Reb Berish to the inn. The attendant went out to announce that the governor was in Marshinov. The gentiles were in an uproar.

  “Where is he staying?” they asked. The attendant said:

  “With the Jew, Berish.”

  “Why not with Pavlovski in the hotel?” they asked, and the attendant said:

  “You’ll know why later.”

  In Marshinov there was a fuss and a furor. The police superintendent immediately ordered that the streets be swept. Jews shut their stores. The bureaucrats put on their uniforms with their medals and everyone ran to Reb Berish at the inn.

  When Pan Pavlovski heard that the governor was in town and that he was staying at Reb Berish’s place, he was struck dumb. He put on the fancy suit that he saved for important noblemen and for authorities from Lublin and Warsaw. Other guests were occupying the rooms, but Pavlovski instructed them to pack up their things right away and make room for the governor. Just the fact that he, Pan Pavlovski, had to go to the Jew Reb Berish at the inn was already a slap in the face.

  He arrived at the inn and found it full of bureaucrats and soldiers. The guard didn’t want to let him in. “Who are you, exactly?” the Cossack asked, spreading out his hands to show that it was forbidden to enter. Pavlovski managed to sneak in nonetheless.

  Pavlovski went in to see Reb Berish. At the table sat the two Russians that he, Pavlovski, had thrown out. Around them stood officials, officers, and the chief of police. Pavlovski just about died on the spot. He threw himself on the ground and begged for forgiveness. “I didn’t know who you were!” he howled. And the governor repeated to him a teaching from the Rebbe, as the interpreter had translated it for him. In heaven, the Rebbe said, it’s no great trick to serve the Most High. There, everyone sees the glory of God. The trick is to serve Him on Earth, where his countenance is hidden and one must have faith.

  Pavlovski’s entreaties didn’t help—the governor didn’t want to go with him. They had made a ball and a feast at Reb Berish’s, and they sent Pavlovksi straight home. Noblemen mixed with Hasidim. Noblewomen sat with Yente-Beyle in the kitchen and ate grits from tin dishes.

  Before the governor traveled back to Lublin, he took out of his pocket a suede wallet full of gold coins, and gave them to Reb Berish. Reb Berish didn’t want to take them, but the attendant shouted: “Take, Jew! Or we’ll send you to Siberia!”

  A few weeks later, Reb Berish had acquired a location, partners, and had begun digging the foundation of a hotel. He had the permit in his pocket, and didn’t have to bribe anyone.

  Now, listen to this: When Pavlovski returned home, he started thinking about what had happened to him—how he had not let the governor into the hotel, and had even struck him. And from all of his brooding he fell i
nto a depression. If the governor had him beaten or had put him in prison, he could have endured his punishment and gone on as before. But because the governor had met him with kindness and he, Pavlovski, had not received any punishment, he took the matter to heart. He became quiet and wouldn’t speak to his wife. He stopped coming to the hotel and left it entirely to his managers. He no longer lent anyone money for interest and didn’t even try to collect his debts. The governor’s stay at Reb Berish’s had shamed him and he lost the will to live.

  Pavlovski called for Reb Berish. When Reb Berish arrived, Pavlovski said to him: “Why do you have to build a hotel? I want to sell you my hotel.”

  “What will Pan Pavlovski do?” asked Reb Berish, and Pavlovski answered:

  “I will go away from here, to wherever my eyes take me.”

  Pavlovski sent for a notary and sold Reb Berish the hotel for next to nothing. He wanted to sell him his house also, and even began looking for buyers for the brewery and for his half of the mill. He wanted to die of sorrow. But when the governor heard that Pavlovski was dangerously ill, he forgot all of his calculations and wrote Pavlovski a letter, saying that he should travel to the Rebbe in Kozhnitz and the Rebbe would help him.

  Pavlovski did as the governor said. What wouldn’t a person do to save his own life? The Rebbe called him in and the same interpreter translated what the Rebbe said. It seems that the Rebbe even gave him an amulet.

  Pavlovski stayed alive and became a friend to the Jews. They tell me that every Passover he used to send charity to the Rebbe. He sent him a gift on Purim also. Repentance helps everyone. It’s even taught that Nebuzadran 102 did repentance and his repentance was accepted. Each year both the governor and Pavlovski sent petitions to Kozhnitz with donations. Because the truth is with the Jews, the gentiles must come to us. The truth is stronger than anything. But when the truth is no longer on our side, it won’t be long until no remainder or remnant is left.