Section 1
Literature and the Invention of the Ghetto
Leopold Kompert, āThe Peddlerā (1849)
Translated from the German by Jonathan M. Hess
Leopold Kompert (1822ā86) hailed from the Jewish district of a small town in Bohemia, a region of the Austrian empire that is part of the Czech Republic today. Kompert was part of a generation of Bohemian Jewish intellectuals who left behind the relatively insular worlds inhabited by their ancestors and took advantage of new possibilities open to Jews in the Austrian empire. Like many of his peers, Kompert attended German-language schools and universities, eventually coming to identify wholeheartedly with both democratic politics and the liberating force of secular culture. After stints as a private tutor, he became a journalist and eventually established himself as a writer in Vienna, where he held offices in the Jewish community and served on the city council.
Kompertās literary career began in earnest with his breakout volume Aus dem Ghetto (From the Ghetto, 1848), a collection of tales that built on the interest in regionalism and local color that dominated much German prose fiction in the aftermath of Berthold Auerbachās best-selling SchwarzwƤlder Dorfgeschichten (Black Forest Villages Tales, 1843). The ghetto tale eventually came to be one of the dominant genres of German-Jewish literature in the nineteenth century. Kompert was not the first bard of the Jewish ghetto, but following the publication of Aus dem Ghetto and its sequel volumesāBƶhmische Juden (Bohemian Jews, 1851), Neue Geschichten aus dem Ghetto (New Stories from the Ghetto, 1860), and Geschichten einer Gasse (Stories from the Jewās Street, 1864)āhe became one of the most popular. His works went through numerous editions in the nineteenth century, enjoyed a wide readership among Jews and non-Jews alike, and were translated into many languages, including Czech, Dutch, English, French, Hebrew, Italian, Romanian, and Yiddish.
āDer Dorfgeherā (The Peddler) first appeared in 1849 in Julius FĆ¼rstās weekly newspaper Der Orient, a periodical that targeted both Jews and non-Jews interested in Jewish scholarship and current events. It was subsequently republished in Kompertās second major anthology of ghetto tales, Bƶhmische Juden, and republished yet again in Kompertās complete works. In its explicit concern with the tensions between tradition and modernity, its treatment of assimilation and intermarriage, and its sympathetic portrayal of traditional Jewish life, it exemplifies Kompertās efforts to create prose narratives for the general public celebrating the noble sufferings of the Jewish past.
. . .
One Friday afternoon, a hurried boy carrying a heavy folio volume under his left arm came leaping out of the rabbiās house, which stood right next to the synagogue. The child seemed to be around eleven, and his face was glowing. Perhaps this was due to the passion of inner excitement, or simply to the weight of the book he was carrying. In this moment, at any rate, he had a wonderfully beautiful expression on his face! Lots of people were either standing around or walking through the street, but no one thought to ask this boy about his rosy cheeks or the drops of dew glistening on his forehead! To do so one would have had to have been God himself, but also without compassion. Disturbing children when they are running with joy is like throwing stones into the path of the blind, and the Bible forbids this!
But when the boy went by the āSchlafstube,ā the place where itinerant beggars sleep on the Sabbath, one of these guests did not want to let him go by without asking him a question.
āYoung boy,ā the beggar exclaimed, ācan you tell me something?ā
Like someone running down a steep mountain, the child could only make himself stop with considerable effort.
āWhat?ā he asked while turning himself around, with quiet frustration visible at the corners of his mouth.
āCan you tell me where Schimme Prager lives? I have a āplettā1 for him, Iām supposed to eat at his home for the Sabbath.ā
āAnd why shouldnāt I know that?ā the boy exclaimed, astonished. āHeās my father.ā
The beggar hurriedly took several steps toward the boy.
āIs that really true, what youāre saying?ā he asked, eagerly grabbing him by the hand. His voice was marked by inexpressible trembling.
āWho else should be my father?ā the child asked.
It was clear that he was put off, the way spirited children often are when people ask uncomfortable questions about their parents.
āIām sorry, Iām sorry,ā the beggar continued with the same level of hurried excitement. āIsnāt your name Benjamin, my child, and donāt you have a sister named Rƶsele? Doesnāt she have beautiful black hair? And is she still so full of such infectious, heartfelt happiness? Does she still sing such magnificent songs, particularly on Friday evenings, when father comes home from the synagogue? You know, āSalem Alechem, Alechem Salem.ā2 And your mother, of course! Her name is Channe. Praised be God, is she still doing well and healthy? Does she still wear the black velvet hair covering and the gold ducat around her neck?ā
Suddenly the beggar stopped, putting his hand over his mouth as if he had betrayed too much. He then said quietly, with a smile, āIf you know, my child, where Reb Schimme Prager lives, take me thereāso long as youāre willing.ā
Benjamināand this was in fact his nameāwas so astonished and agitated that he did not know what to make of the strange appearance of the beggar. Never had anyone inquired into his family circumstances in such an intimate and penetrating way. The boy could not respond.
Strangely, the beggar did not seem to be waiting for a response. Looking downward, but with a marvelous smile on his lips that became more beautiful and victorious the further they went, he walked alongside the boy through all the meanderings of the street, even through the dark passageways that were difficult to navigate without a guide. All of a sudden they stood before Reb Pragerās home, and the boy seemed to recall the enthusiasm with which he had left the rabbiās house. He tore himself away from his companion with a powerful leap and went into the house. The beggar remained outside at the door. He did not dare enter.
āDidnāt I tell you,ā he heard the boy call out, āthat I would be able to read my first page of Talmud on Friday? I kept my word, mother, now itās your turn.ā
āYes, yes, my child,ā a female voice agreed, and hearing this voice turned the beggar pale. āYes, yes, but not before father has had the chance to examine you on the page of Talmud. Nowadays, Benjamin, one has to be careful. But heāll have pleasure enough when he gets home. Do you want an advance?ā
To the beggar, who was eavesdropping, it seemed as if the mother had planted two tender kisses on the cheeks of her child before Benjamin could even answer. For several minutes this sweet exchange of giving and taking seemed to continue. The beggar felt powerful tremors raging through his veins and had to hold onto the door. He heard Benjamin telling his mother about meeting a āpeculiarā beggar whom he had left outside.
At that point both mother and child stepped outside, and the beggar barely had time to jump to the side.
āGod welcome you, guest,ā the mother said. āDo you have a plett for me?ā
Unable to speak, the beggar handed her his written assignment for the Sabbath meal. He was dumbfounded when, with a hand gesture, the mother refused the piece of paper and said, āHow am I supposed to get by? Iām sorry. I have to send you back. I canāt keep you here. My Shabbes is already made, and I wasnāt counting on you.ā3
āSo I have to leave?ā the beggar asked, trembling, his eyes fixed on the ground. āYou donāt want to keep me here for the Sabbath?ā
The mother, taken aback and overcome by the peculiar, painful tone of this exclamation, looked carefully at the beggar. She did not know what to make of his concern. But then she said, speaking from her magnificent heart, āNu, nu, if youāre so interested in poor peopleās food, then stay, my guest.4 On Shabbes you shouldnāt go hungry. God knows that Channe Prager doesnāt run a household where she feeds five mouths but canāt manage to feed a sixth.ā
āDo you know what?ā Benjamin said suddenly, āIāll give our guest my portion of the fish!ā
āNu, do you see, guest?ā the mother continued, smiling at the boy triumphantly. āNu, do you see that youāll have plenty to eat? Benjamin will give you his fish, and there will be a piece of barches for you as well.5 Come, you must stay. My son Elijah is far away from home. Do I know whether heāll have a Shabbes dinner tonight? How could I have forgotten that? So please come, you wonāt go hungry, Iāll make sure of it.ā
Fortunately, at this very moment Reb Schimme Prager, the master of the house, came home, making it unnecessary for the beggar to respond or express his gratitude. The heavy pack on his back clearly identified him as a peddler. Benjamin flew over to him and exclaimed, āWelcome, father, welcome, father! Do you know that I can read my first page of Talmud?ā
Before responding, Reb Schimme placed his hand on the holy place on the doorpost where āShaddai,ā the secret name of God, peered out through a little shining glass window. He then brought his hand reverently up to his lips. This made the entire figure of the peddler appear higher and mightier than it had seemed at first sight. It was as if proximity to God were elevating him above the load of his pack and above himself. His face was easier to make out, it was one of those countenances that only the ghetto knows: a furrowed brow marked by grief, trouble, and the difficulties of life. The beggar was startled deeply at this sight.
Walking on into the room, the peddler tossed off his pack like a giant caterpillar and finally said, āThatās what you say, Benjamin, my dear, but what does the world say about this? Nowadays itās hard to put one over on people, and a page of Talmud isnāt easy.ā
āSo why donāt you test me?ā Benjamin said with a pride that was easy to comprehend.
āNow thatās the way to talk,ā the peddler said while nodding his head. āSince youāre so eager and ready, why donāt we go see our cousin Reb Jaikew tomorrow? What do you say? Letās go to our pious cousin Reb Jaikew, and youāll tell him, āCousin, you must examine me. My father doesnāt believe that I can already read my first page of Talmud.ā And Benjamin dear, let me tell you, if you pass his test like a good boy should, then Iāll have a new jacket made for you, one befitting a nobleman. Weāll go to Reb Maier the cloth merchant, and you can pick out the fabric yourself.ā
At this point, Channe came forward. The good mother that she was, she wanted her child to have the pleasure of greeting his father first. āSchimme,ā she said with a trace of anger, āso whatās this? You donāt even greet your wife?ā
The peddler smiled at her and reached out his hand. She was appeased. āWhat kind of a week did you have, Schimme?ā she asked.
āI had a week like never before, Channe dear. I made some money, but the best thing was the pretty peasant woman, yes, the pretty peasant woman.ā While saying this, the peddler smiled enigmatically.
āWhatās with this peasant woman?ā Channe spoke up, and the motherās otherwise pale and dear face turned a beautiful red. But laughing, she continued, āMaybe youāre in love, Reb Schimme? Thatās just what I need!ā
āMaybe, maybe,ā the peddler smiled, even more enigmatically.
āYour days are past, my dear Reb Schimme,ā Channe said, shaking her shoulders. āYouāre an old little apple, and a sour one too.ā
āBut I should live and be happy,ā the father called back, laughing. āSheās giving me grief, but the peasant woman, my pretty peasant woman, I canāt stop thinking about her.ā
The beggar kept his eyes fixed on husband and wife while this peculiar scene was going on. Now that it was over, he didnāt know where to look. But when Reb Schimme turned away from the mother and went on about his enigmatic āpeasant woman,ā he noticed the beggar standing at the door. āSalem Alechem,ā he said, shaking his hand.
āAlechem Salem,ā the beggar responded.
āWhere do you come from?ā the examination began.
āIāI come from Hungary.ā
āWhat are you really? To me you donāt really look like a beggar. Thereās something else about you.ā
āMe?āIām a teacher.ā
āAnd youāre going begging like this? Donāt you have a father and a mother?
āYes, they should both live to a hundred.ā
āLet me ask you something foolish. Whatās your fatherās name?ā
āMy fatherās name is . . . Reb Schimme. My motherās name is . . . Channe!ā
Husband and wife looked at each other with surprise. It seemed that the mother now had a whole series of questions for the beggar, yet at that moment, much to their horror, they heard the happy voice of the caretaker of the synagogue calling out that the Sabbath was about to begin. Channe remembered that she still had work to do in the kitchen and in the house; the lamp had not yet been filled, and Benjamin had not even twisted the wicks yet; the white tablecloths had not been set out either. And what about Reb Schimme? He was still wearing the peddlerās attire he wore during the rest of the week and he had not even shaved yet. The beggar excused himself. He had to tear himself away forcefully from the ground on which he, like Moses, was supposed to have stood with bare feet.6 As he passed by the mother working outside in the kitchen, she called after him that he should not have hard feelings, and that he should not forget to come later that day. She had grown to like him, this foreign and strange guest! Walking quickly, he left the house and went back to the āSchlafstube.ā
An excerpt from a letter from Emanuel to Clara
Your teacherās lessons have yielded far too little fruit, my dear Clara! Two hours in the ghetto have convinced me that you do not know Jews and Judaism at all! Why is this? I have never told you what it is all really about, the unfathomable, intangible perfume of the wineāI mean the spirit. Thereās one thing you should think about, Clara. The world spirit that died on the cross with the blond Rabbi of Nazareth started off in a ghetto like this one. Indeed, I tell you, glimmers and buds are still alive today among its inhabitants! Two hours have convinced me of this . . .
I have already seen my parents, and neither of them recognized me. My little brother Benjamin is one of those late flowers of marital love that God sends those people whom he wants to ensu...