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Updated: May 7, 2025
Let the lover profit by the pastry for which he himself was too old. So the gossips spoke the truth, he thought, his amusement not unblended with a touch of his mother's indignation. Surely, if his grandmother wished to cultivate a grand passion, she might have chosen a more sightly object of devotion. Not that there was much to be said for Yossel's taste either.
And at last the All-High sent him the fare, and he was able to come to me and invite me to go with him. Here the artist became aware that Yossel's eyes and lips were signalling silence to him. As if, forsooth, one published one's good deeds! He had yet to learn on whose behalf the hunchback was signalling. 'So! You came into a fortune? he asked Yossel gravely.
With his grandmother's future thus off his mind, the artist had settled down to making a picture of the ruined castle which he commanded from his bedroom window. But when the through ticket for Jerusalem came from the agent at Vienna, and he had brazenly endured Yossel's blessings for the same, his artistic instinct demanded to see how the Bube was taking her hero's desertion.
But when Yossel's father made a match for him with Leah, the rich corn-factor's daughter, the silly girl, when she was introduced to the bridegroom, could see only the hump, and scandalously refused to carry out the contract. And Yossel is so proud that ever since that day he curled himself up into his hump, and nursed a hatred for all women. 'How can you say that, Yenta? Yossel broke in again.
The postman was not a Child of the Covenant, but Yossel's landlady was, and within an hour all Jewry knew that Yenta had sent Yossel a phylacteries-bag the very symbol of love offered by a maiden to her bridegroom. Could shameless passion further go? The artist, at least, determined it should go no further. He put on his hat, and went to find Yossel Mandelstein.
The grandmother fumbled with her spectacles, and removing them with trembling fingers blinked downwards at the bundle. Yossel snatched up his crutches, and propped himself manfully upon them. 'Your grandmother goes with me, he explained decisively. 'What! the artist gasped. The grandmother's eyes met his unflinchingly; they had drawn fire from Yossel's.
'Where else shall a man live? answered Yossel. 'But have you never had any curiosity to see other parts? Would you not like to go and see Vienna? A little gleam passed over Yossel's dingy face. 'No, not Vienna it is an unholy place but Prague! Prague where there is a great Rabbi and the old, old underground synagogue that God has preserved throughout the generations.
Besides, how had Yossel known that the heroine was ill? His eye must have roved over the women's gallery, and disentangled her absence even from the huddled mass of weeping and swaying womanhood. One day came the crowning item of evidence. The grandmother had actually asked the village postman to oblige her by delivering a brown parcel at Yossel's lodgings.
Besides, if I cannot die in Palestine I might as well die where I was born. 'But why can't you die in Palestine? cried the artist with a new burst of hope. 'You shall die in Palestine, I promise you. The gleam in Yossel's face became a great flame of joy. 'I shall die in Palestine? he asked ecstatically. 'As sure as I live! I will pay your fare the whole way, second-class.
It was not many days before the artist met persons who had actually overheard the bargaining between the Bube and the hunchback. Meantime Yossel's departure was drawing nigh, and all those who had relatives in Palestine besieged him from miles around, plying him with messages, benedictions, and even packages for their kinsfolk.
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