Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 17, 2025
The Maggid felt so grateful he was almost ashamed to ask whether he could eat kosher there, but the Shalotten Shammos, who had the air of a tall encyclopaedia, set his soul at rest on all points. The day of Ebenezer Sugarman's Bar-mitzvah duly arrived. All his sins would henceforth be on his own head and everybody rejoiced.
Rothschild was a magic name in the Ghetto; it stood next to the Almighty's as a redresser of grievances and a friend of the poor, and the Shalotten Shammos made a large part of his income by writing letters to it. He charged twopence halfpenny per letter, for his English vocabulary was larger than any other scribe's in the Ghetto, and his words were as much longer than theirs as his body.
And the Shalotten Shammos laughed joyously, "Apples," and dived under the table, and his long form reached to the other side and beyond, and graybearded men echoed the joyous cry and scrambled on the ground like schoolboys. "Leolom tikkach always take," quoted the Badchan gleefully. When Sugarman returned, radiant, he found his absence had been fatal. "Piece of fool!
Nor could the Shalotten Shammos be other than beaming, ordering the complex ceremonial with none to contradict; nor Karlkammer be otherwise than in the seven hundred and seventy-seventh heaven, which, calculated by Gematriyah, can easily be reduced to the seventh.
"A true story!" said the Shalotten Shammos, ironically. "That tale has been over Warsaw this twelvemonth." "It occurred when I was a boy," affirmed Belcovitch indignantly. "I remember it quite well. Some people explained it favorably. Others were of opinion that the soul of the fishmonger had transmigrated into the fish, an opinion borne out by the death of the fishmonger a few days before.
As the proverb says, if I were a Rabbi the town would burn. But if you were a scribe the letter would burn. I don't pretend to be a Maggid, don't you set up to be a letter writer." "Well, but do you think it's honorable?" "Hear, O Israel!" cried the Shalotten Shammos, spreading out his palms impatiently. "Haven't I written letters for twenty years?" The Maggid was silenced. He walked on brooding.
He spent a great deal of his time in avoiding being drawn into the contending factions of the congregation and in steering equally between Belcovitch and the Shalotten Shammos. The Sons only gave him fifty a year for all his trouble, but they eked it out by allowing him to be on the Committee, where on the question of a rise in the Reader's salary he was always an ineffective minority of one.
"I don't see why he shouldn't be," said the Shalotten Shammos. "A pound a week is luxury for a single man."
These strokes of true satire occasioned more merriment and were worth a biscuit to Solomon Ansell vice the son of the Shalotten Shammos. Among the inoffensive guests were old Gabriel Hamburg, the scholar, and young Joseph Strelitski, the student, who sat together. On the left of the somewhat seedy Strelitski pretty Bessie in blue silk presided over the coffee-pot.
"No," Bessie interposed. "What do you mean?" "At home in my town," said Mr. Belcovitch impressively, "a fish made a noise in the pan one Friday." "Well? and suppose?" said the Shalotten Shammos, passing a fig to the rear, "the oil frizzles." "Nothing of the kind," said Belcovitch angrily, "A real living noise. The woman snatched it out of the pan and ran with it to the Rabbi.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking