3. For the Sake of a Silver Spoon

3. For the Sake of a Silver Spoon

On Thursday afternoon, when Aaron-Zvi Levy's horse and wagon ambled into Holoscheitz after a week on the road, he prayed the little prayer he had made up:

"Thank God I have come home without meeting murderers and robbers on the way, and I pray that next week shall be the same."

He stopped, as always, at Pyotr's inn because Pyotr, that goy, served the best honey-mead in the district. It had become a little ritual before going on to his house in the Jewish part of the village. A good drink to mark the end of the week, some banter with the peasants, and home. He knew very well that at the lifting of the Prefect of Police's little finger these peasants would slit his throat. But he also hoped that a bit of friendship would mean, at the next pogrom, that they would break a few windows in his house instead of burning it.

"Ah, Pan Levy," crowed Pyotr, already drawing the mug of honey-mead.

"Peace, Pyotr," growled Levy and flipped a coin onto the bar. Mug in hand, he wandered into the dining room.

Only Caspar Krulcsewski, the district road-repairman, a big, bluff, fiercely-mustached man, sat slurping soup. Levy sat down opposite. The slurping didn't stop as Caspar glanced up.

"Hi, Caspar," greeted Levy.

Caspar lifted his spoon a bit higher to acknowledge the greeting but his noisy intake of soup didn't falter. Levy quietly sipped his mead, idly looking here and there. The soup-drinker finally laid his spoon down to lift the bowl to his lips to whoosh in the last drops. Levy's eyes dropped to the spoon and he was startled to his boots.

Gleaming up at him was the flower crest that appeared on every piece of the beautiful, pure silver set he and Adah had received from Tante Feige as a wedding present eleven years ago. He picked up the spoon as Caspar put his bowl down.

"Nice spoon," said Levy.

"A spoon's a spoon," said Caspar, "as long as it doesn't have any holes." His witticism pleased him so much that he wheezed a laugh.

Levy, still holding the spoon, went back into the barroom.

"Hey, Pyotr," he called, "where did you get this spoon?"

Levy noticed that a wary look came into the innkeeper's eyes. "Who knows? I pick them up here and there. I don't need the best for my trade."

"But this is the best, Pyotr. I have a full set just like it."

Their eyes locked. After a pause, Pyotr grumbled, "Must be more than one set like that."

"Not around here," persisted Levy. He let an undertone of menace come into his voice. "Where did you get it?"

A rapid series of thoughts flew through the innkeeper's mind. If this Jew complains to the police that I'm handling stolen goods, I'll have to deal with those fat inspectors who drink for nothing anyway. That means I'll have to bribe them so I'll have no trouble. And they may take the damn spoon anyway "as evidence." But simply to give the spoon to this Jew would create even more suspicion.

"You want it to add to your set, Pan Levy? I'll sell it to you. Ten zlotys."

"Hah!" barked Levy, now on the firmer ground of a business transaction. "Three zlotys or I go to the police."

"Police or no police, it's pure silver. Besides, I paid for it a lot more than three zlotys."

"To whom?"

"Come, Pan Levy, you don't expect me to squeal on somebody do you? You go to the police and tell them who sold it to me and my name is mud. They'll burn my inn down!" he said with a toss of the head to the dining room to signify the type of citizen who would do such a thing and not give it a second thought.

Levy knew this was true. "All right, five zlotys."

"Seven. I paid eight, and that's the God's truth."

Not having too much faith in Pyotr's God, Levy turned to the door. "I paid you for the mead, didn't I?"

"Ok, Pan Levy, five zlotys."

When Aaron Zvi entered his house, he smelled the delicious odors of Shabbos meals being prepared. He glanced into the kitchen and saw Chanale, the tall teenage servant-girl bent over the stove. She glanced around and he saw her pleasant, but dullish face, lightly sweating. She sort of bobbed a curtsy and turned back to the stove.

He found his wife Adah sitting at the dining table, reading.

"Hello," he called heartily.

Mrs. Levy looked up. "Welcome," she said and gave her cheek to be bussed. "Have a good week?"

"Not bad, thank God." And smilingly, he waved the spoon in front of her.

Like mesmerized, she followed it and then asked, "What's that?"

"One of the spoons from your Shabbos set, I think."

She grabbed at it, examined it. She ran to her pantry, and Levy heard her take the special box down from the upper shelf, heard the lid being unlatched and opened. Tinkling indicated that she was counting the spoons. Then she was back. "It's one of ours. Where did you find it?"

"You'll never guess. In Pyotr's inn. I stopped in for a drink of mead…."

Now in no mood for stories, she asked, "And how did that goy get it?"

"He wouldn't tell me. I paid five zlotys to get it back."

His wife's eyes had narrowed and color rose into her cheeks. Aaron Zvi saw the signs of a storm coming. "Listen, Aaron Zvi. This is serious, so wipe the smile off your face. You didn't give it to that goy, and I know I certainly didn't. There's only one person left – Chanale."

Aaron Zvi was truly astounded. "Chanale! That's madness, Adah. That poor unfortunate girl…."

"'That poor unfortunate girl'," mimicked his wife. "What do you know about poor unfortunate girls? Behind a pretty face and pretty eyes can exist a thief or worse! I know! I've met them in my crowd when I was a girl!"

"But Chanale…."

"Answer me one question, Pan Levy! That spoon did not sprout legs and walk to the goy's inn! If you didn't take it there and I didn't, how did it get there?"

To that, Levy, of course, had no answer. He tried lamely, though. "She never took anything before. And she knows that she is not allowed to touch this set."

"Ach!" sputtered his wife. "Men! Maybe she suddenly acquired a boyfriend," she spat. "She's old enough, or hadn't you noticed! Maybe she decided she wanted a new dress or a bauble to put on for Shabbos. Who knows what goes on in the head of a growing girl!"

Again, Levy could not object.

"There's only one thing to do," persisted Mrs. Levy, "I'll get her in here and ask her. Chanale!" she called.

"Be gentle," said Aaron Zvi, but his wife only smirked.

The girl came in, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was placid, her eyes quiet and dull. She waited.

Mrs. Levy held the spoon up in front of her face. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, missus," the girl replied quietly. "It is a spoon from the Shabbos set. I'm not allowed to touch the set."

"But you touched this one! Didn't you," said Mrs. Levy icily.

"No, missus. I'm not allowed to touch the set." Her voice sounded like she could not comprehend why her mistress would think she touched something she was not allowed to touch.

"Who did you give it to," hissed Mrs. Levy, "when you took it?"

Evenly, but with a puzzled expression in the lusterless eyes, Chanale said simply, "No, missus. I didn't take it. I'm not allowed to touch it."

"Adah – " Aaron Zvi tried to interfere.

"Don't 'Adah' me!" she cried. "This girl is a liar and a thief! How can I live in the same house with such a creature! You go off on Monday morning with your horse and wagon and I have to stay at home with her! How can I live wondering all week whether she's going to steal something else? Can I go around all day and night with one eye open on her? I can't live that way!"

Aaron Zvi saw that his wife was out of control. He looked at Chanale who hadn't moved or said another word, but her eyes were brimming over, and she just stood there, the tears falling on her cheeks and off her face. He said to her:

"Come Chanale, nothing more can be done tonight. Get your shawl and I'll walk you home." He turned to his wife and put a note of steel in his voice that he hadn't used to her for years: "Adah, you have no real proof. That she no longer has your confidence though, I can understand. But you are not to mention this to anyone – not anyone! Not to your sisters or your cronies – no one!"

They didn't talk at all on the way, the tears just came out of the eyes. He saw her go into her house, really nothing more than a two-room hut, where she lived alone with her long-widowed mother. On the way home, Mr. Levy was deeply troubled – troubled by the mystery of how the spoon got to Pyotr's inn, by the unreasonableness of his wife, by the Biblical injunction of acting kindly to widows and orphans.

Rabbi Yehoshua and his Rebbitzin, Gita, were having the week's catch-all-meal-on-Thursday-night in the kitchen. In many ways Rabbi Yehoshua enjoyed this supper more than any other of the week, excepting Shabbos of course. They ate slowly, conversed quietly about the week's events, the children and the grandchildren, and anything startling going on in the shtetl world of Holoscheitz..

This night the ritual was interrupted by a loud persistent knocking on the front door. They heard a wail: "Rabbi! Rabbi! Oy, I'm dying! I can't go on any more!"

The Rebbiutzin hurried to the door, the Rabbi stood in the doorway of the kitchen. When the door was opened, the woman, Chanale's mother, almost fell in. Behind her, standing, unemotional was Chanale.

The woman actually clutched at the Rebbitzin. "Rebbitzin, help me! It is not enough that I am a widow with an unfortunate child. Now she is accused of being a thief!"

In her quiet, but forceful tone, gained by years of opening the front door to troubled Jews, "Come in, Mrs. Teitel, calm down, take a breath, we are here to help you. But just calm down. Making yourself sick will not help anybody."

It worked partially. As the Rebbitzin led mother and daughter into the rabbi's study, where she lit a lamp for them, the Rabbi hastened into the bedroom to don his jacket. He knew them not very well, Mrs. Teitel and Chanale, but knew about them. Her husband died years ago and she never remarried, fearful of another such loss. But Chanale was the tragedy: until she was ten years old she was an extraordinarily bright and pretty child. Then she fell ill, "brain fever," the doctor from Lemberg said. When weeks later she came out of it, her prettiness had turned into placid beauty, the vivaciousness into quietude, and brightness into dull steadiness. And thus she grew.

The Rebbitzin was still trying to calm down Mrs. Teitel when the Rabbi entered his study. Chanale sat, hands in lap, eyes moist, but no other expression. The Rebbitzin took her accustomed seat, whenever she was present, near the door opposite the Rabbi's desk.

The Rabbi began. "Can you tell me, Mrs. Teitel, why you are so upset?"

The woman bit her lips to stop a wail, and in a trembling voice she told him, "Chanale has been a servant-girl in Mrs. Levy's house for two years now. She stays there day and night except for Shabbos afternoon when she comes home until Sunday morning. Never has there ever been a problem. Never a bad word said about my Chanale, the poor child. Tonight, out of the blue, she's home! Mrs. Levy threw her out, calling her a thief, or worse. Something about a missing spoon. But I don't care what! Chanale, a thief! I swear that I should follow my husband to the grave this night if Chanale is a thief!" And sobs followed.

The Rabbi said gently, "It is not right to swear or curse, Mrs. Teitel. Let's hear what Chanale has to say."

Chanale looked at him for a moment. "I'm not allowed to touch it."

The Rabbi was puzzled.

"Let me," said the Rebbitzin coming forward, and the Rabbi noticed that her eyes, too, were moist. The Rabbi was startled. He couldn't remember when she ever before interrupted an interview. Always she waited until after the person had left to give her opinions to the Rabbi. She drew up a chair next to Chanale, and took the girl's hand in hers. Chanale looked up at her and gave a slight smile.

"We'll soon clear this business up," the Rebbitzin began. "Chanale and I are friends. We meet in the market and talk when she's out shopping for the Levys. What is this about a spoon, Chanale."

"The spoon is part of the Shabbos set," murmured Chanale. "I am not allowed to touch it because Mrs. Levy is afraid I will scratch it or lose something."

"Do you know where they keep the set?" asked the Rebbitzin.

"Yes, ma'm. On an upper shelf in the pantry. I am to use everything I need to in the pantry, but I'm not allowed to touch that set."

"What happened tonight about this spoon?"

"Chanale looked troubled. (Guilty? thought the Rabbi) "I was told to come into the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Levy were there and she asked what this was and I said a spoon that I wasn't allowed to touch. And all of a sudden she called me a thief and Mr. Levy took me home." After a pause: "I'm not a thief. I'm not allowed to touch the spoon."

"Chanale," said the Rebbitzin. "Do you have a boyfriend, like all the other girls?"

The girl's cheeks colored slightly. "No, ma'm. I don't know any boys. Mama says I have time for that."

Silence. The Rabbi rose. "Mrs. Teitel, nothing more can be done tonight. Try to rest. I shall pursue this matter in the morning."

Chanale's mother said to her daughter, "Chanale, wait outside. I want to talk to the Rabbi alone." When Chanale had left the room, "Rabbi, I don't know what to do," she said in a trembling voice. "I do a bit of sewing, a bit of washing for other women, but I cannot afford to even feed Chanale. At least at the Levys she gets meals. Do you know how terrible it is for a mother to say that she cannot even feed her only daughter?" And the tears flowed freely once again.

The Rebbitzin put an arm around her shoulders. "Go home now, Mrs. Teitel, put your mind at ease. It will all straighten out. The Rabbi is Rabbi Yehoshua the Wise, you know." She led the despairing women out.

When she returned after seeing the two of them out of the house, she sat in the chair opposite the Rabbi.

"She may have stolen it," the Rabbi said without preamble.

"She stole it," retorted the Rebbitzin, "like I can throw your desk on one bounce to Warsaw!"

"I was watching her face. The changes of expression…."

"I was watching her too. She's a girl of marriageable age. She may be slow, even maybe a bit dull, but she is not stupid. She just doesn't talk. Everything she did here was natural in her circumstances."

Silence. Then the Rebbitzin said, "You know, Yehoshua, I'm getting older. I'm slowing down. The house is becoming overwhelming. Haven't you noticed?"

The Rabbi knew exactly to where she was leading, but played along a bit. "No, Gita, actually I haven't noticed. Why should the house suddenly become overwhelming? The children are gone. There are only the two of us…."

"True, but as one gets older even reduced responsibilities can become bigger and bigger. Shopping, cleaning, cooking, laundry, assisting you here in your study…."

"So?"

"I would like a girl to help me."

"How about Chanale? That way we can test her and help her mother."

"And save her reputation. How did you know I was thinking the same thing," she twinkled.

"Didn't you just call me 'Yehoshua the Wise'?" he smiled.

"I'll tell her first thing tomorrow. She can bake her first cake for us for this Shabbos already."

After morning prayers on Friday morning, Rabbi Yehoshua signaled to Aaron Zvi Levy to join him while he folded his tallis.

"Last night I received a visit from a terribly overwrought mother and her daughter," opened the Rabbi.

Levy's face fell.

"Can you tell me what the whole story is?" invited the Rabbi.

So Aaron Zvi told him everything from the moment his eyes beheld the wretched spoon in Pyotr's Inn to the closing of the door behind Chanale when he accompanied her home.

"In my heart, Rabbi," concluded Levy, "I do not believe that Chanale is capable of stealing the spoon, certainly not capable of the deception of selling it or giving it to someone else to sell. But, on the other hand, as my wife said, it didn't sprout legs and walk to the inn."

They stood there, the two of them shaking their heads slowly in common incredulity.

"I hired Chanale as a servant-girl to the Rebbitzin," the Rabbi said finally.

For the first time that morning, Levy beamed. "I am really happy to hear it."

"Will your wife be?" inquired the Rabbi, and then was sorry he had asked. Levy shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

"Shmulik Fenster was in shul today," said Rebbitzin Gita to Yehoshua as he carried in some of the dishes after the Shabbos lunch. They had sent Chanale home for the remainder of the Shabbos.

"You know," he said inconsequentially, "this cake Chanale baked was excellent."

"Yes," replied the Rebbitzin. "I worked with her all day yesterday and I can tell you she'll make a man a very good wife." Then she paused, hand on hip, gazing at her husband.

"What connections is your mind making this time?" he asked her.

"Shmulik and Chanale?"

The Rabbi smiled. "A passing thought. Shmulik is thirty years old at least, and still a bachelor. He's Rothschild's representative in Lemburg on railroad shares, you know. Probably this shtetl's most successful business man. But as I say, only a passing thought. A man like that will want a more lively girl for a wife than poor Chanale."

"You may be wrong, Yehoshua," said the Rebbitzin thoughtfully. "Shmulik's mother was telling me proudly how her son has to deal with goyish financiers, getting telegrams from Paris, London, Vienna and sending telegrams to all parts of Europe. He often works on Sundays so he can get back to Holoscheitz maybe one Shabbos a month. A man like that might just be interested in a girl who will provide him with a quiet home. He wouldn't want intellectual competition or a social queen after the kinds of days he must spend."

"Maybe," the Rabbi said unconvinced.

"You know what, Yehoshua? Let's have him for tea tomorrow afternoon before he goes back to Lemburg. I'll have Chanale serve him the tea so he can get a look at her at least. There's a quiet beauty about her that is striking."

"If I didn't know you were an angel," laughed the Rabbi, "I would think you were a devious devil. Maybe Shmulik is happy being a bachelor."

"No man is!" she declared. "Read your Torah! Right from the days of Adam HaRishon no man can be happy being a bachelor!" After further thought she said to the Rabbi, "But Yehoshua, you can't invite him stam. You must think up a good reason for inviting him, not to see Chana. Now it's your turn to be devious."

Shmuel Fenster, Samuel to his gentile business associates, was a middle-sized, fairly handsome man, sporting a short beard to give weight to his words. He was conscious of his brilliance in business – the Rothschilds did not choose him because he came from Holoscheitz! – but simply didn't think much about it. He dressed quietly but impressively, and his demeanor was such that when he visited Holoscheitz on a Shabbos, all his boyhood buddies bantered with him as of old.

He was a bit surprised at the Rabbi's invitation to tea but guessed it was on business not on a halachic matter. He admired Rabbi Yehoshua over the years, and suspected a much more modern outlook under the face that the Rabbi wisely presented to his shtetl Jews. Samuel Fenster understood very well the necessity of two facets to a man's personality. Though he personally had no experience with the Rabbi's role in his life, he could well appreciate why they called him Yehoshua the Wise.

He was greeted at the door by the Rebbitzin, who took his hat, as he placed a black yarmulke on his head, and was ushered into the Rabbi's study.

"Ah, Shmulik," the Rabbi greeted him. "I am always pleased to see when you can return to us for a Shabbos."

"It is always a pleasure to return, Rabbi."

He was led to the couch where they sat together, chatting. The Rabbi recalled his one trip as a yeshiva student to spend a Shabbos with the Rabbi of Lemburg. Shmulik discoursed on the changes in the city over the years. The Rabbi said that Jewish tradition placed Talmudic learning over all, but the head needed for business success had to be quite as sharp, he supposed. Shmulik agreed, and said some nice things about a yeshiva-trained fellow being well-prepared for the sharpness of business.

By this time Chanale entered with the tea tray. Shmulik watched her as she gracefully placed the tray on the desk, concentrating on what Rabbi Yehoshua knew were his wife's detailed instructions. She poured the tea from the china pot into the two cups. Rabbi Yehoshua noticed that her cheeks were flushed. Chana approached the couch and handed the first cup to the Rabbi of course, the other to Shmulik.

Then she returned to the desk. She placed napkins on two dishes, and carefully scooped up a piece of cake and set it on one napkin and repeated the maneuver with another. Again she approached the couch, the first to Rabbi Yehoshua, the second to the guest. This time, the Rabbi noticed, Chana lingered a bit in handing over the dish, and the eyes of Shmulik happened to gaze for a moment into Chana's as she glanced up. Then she dropped her gaze and with a slight smile walked calmly to the door and left.

During all this, not a word was spoken (which also conformed to the Rebbitzin's emphatic instructions). Rabbi Yehoshua was to give Shmulik every opportunity to etch Chana Teitel in his memory without distraction.

"What I wanted to talk to you about, Shmulik, is a financial matter," the Rabbi said then. "You know we have a Charity Fund. It is not terribly large, but only part of it is in use for any period of time. The rest simply is in the secret place in the shul waiting to be used. I had the idea of somehow putting out the rest for interest, to make the fund larger, but still having it available for use at a moment's notice whenever necessary."

Shmulik explained between sips of tea and bites of cake (over which he grunted his pleasure) about money put out for interest being tied up for various periods of time, the smaller amount at the shortest time not gaining enough to be worthwhile, etc. etc.

The Rabbi listened carefully, it seemed, and they ended the visit very cordially, the Rabbi expressing the hope that Shmulik will find the time to visit his family and hometown more often.

"It went very well from Chana's point of view – I could see that –," the Rebbitzin said after the Rabbi reported. "And it didn't go badly on Shmulik's part, but we'll have be patient, of course." The Rabbi agreed. "But, Yehoshua, the matter of the spoon must be cleared up. Adah Levy will not stay silent forever, and one word about it will upset the shidduch in a split second. Something must be done!"

On the early train to Lemburg the following day, Samuel Fenster tried to read some telegrams he had brought with him, but his mind drifted to the strange visit yesterday with Rabbi Yehoshua. And it was strange. He could not believe the Rabbi to be so unworldly as to set before him an impossible financial problem – to set money out for interest and still have it available at all times for use! Elementary common sense would have told him that it could not be done. He didn't need Rothschild's representative in Lemburg to tell him that.

So Shmulik's not inconsiderable intelligence worried at the paradox as the train clicked by the countryside. Then the vision of the servant girl Chana drifted into his mind. He recalled the impression of quiet grace and competence and pleasant beauty he had as he watched her move. What was it? Serenity. That's what it was. An aura of serenity exuded from her as perfume would from a cheaper girl.

Then he smiled. Well, if Rabbi Yehoshua and the Rebbitzin had gone to the trouble to set him up for this first acquaintance, then he would look further into it when he next visited Holoscheitz.

Serenity. He put away the telegrams and closed his eyes.

That same afternoon, the Rabbi was surprised to see the Rebbitzin adjust her wig and put on a hat and light coat. On her face was the stiff resolution that must have frozen the heart of her father years ago when he at first refused to allow her to marry young Rabbi Yehoshua Garfinkel.

"I'm going to the market," she announced.

"On Monday?" the Rabbi indiscreetly asked.

"Have you found a halacha that forbids me to go to the market on Monday?" she snapped.

The Rabbi retreated precipitously. "None whatever."

So she went. Actually, she had no need to shop, but she felt she had to be doing something about Chanale and the spoon. She had no plan in mind, but knowing the women of Holoscheitz, she had a vague hope that just talking around might produce a clue to the mystery. She had also resolved to visit Adah Levy, but on second thought she decided that there would be no profit in that. Adah Levy would never budge from the position she had taken about Chanale. Why feed the fire?

There were few women in the market, but one of them, as if in answer to Rebbitzin Gita's prayer, was Adah Levy's sister. She was a mousy woman of middle-height and pinched face, quiet as a rain pond in the road after the storm, until she was able to announce the engagement of her daughter. Then it was as if a stream of water had broken through a dam.

The Rebbitzin allowed herself to be "accidentally" accosted.

"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Spiegel. How are you? Mazal tov again on your daughter's engagement."

Mrs. Spiegel gushed. "Oh, thank you, Rebbitzin. I'm so excited, that I should have lived to see Breinde engaged and to run around starting to get her ready for the wedding. Blessed be God! I'm going into the needle-and-material store. Time to start on the wedding dress," Mrs. Spiegel crowed.

"Exactly where I'm headed," said the Rebbitzin.

"And the in-laws are really marvelous people," gushed Mrs. Spiegel.

"I'm sure," murmured the Rebbitzin to keep her going.

"They came over last Saturday night – not this past one but the one before, to start making arrangements, you know, and I was so excited because that was the Shabbos of blessing the new month, and we have a practice, you know, from the days our mother did the same with her sisters. On the Shabbos of blessing the new moon we three sisters and our families get together for lunch and stay for shallosh-seudis. It was Adah's turn, and I asked her if I could have it out of turn because the in-laws were coming right after havdalah and I wanted to be home to prepare a little something, you know. But you know Adah, God bless her. She said the order must stay as it always was. So my sister Bluma and her family and we went over to Adah's and you should have seen how our hands flew to help her put Shabbos away after havdalah. And did I run home! If the in-laws came five minutes earlier, they would have found a half-dead mother of the bride!" Having reached the climax of her long-winded story, her laugh tinkled in the Monday morning quiet.

The Rebbitzin laughed with her.

Mrs. Spiegel's mind turned to the problem of material, pattern, and such things once they reached the store. The Rebbitzin realized that her conversation with the woman had ended, so she bought something small, left the store and turned homeward. There was no one else around to talk to meaningfully. With a disgruntled sigh, she slowly walked down the street.

Then it hit her. She actually had to stop and consider and imagine and conjecture. Yes, it was a possibility. Not only a possibility, but an action of fate, that she had to stand and listen to what was really an irrelevant story. Now she hurried on, burst into her house. She called out to Chanale:

"Is there anyone in with the Rabbi?"

"No, missus," said Chanale from the kitchen.

She burst into the study, startling the Rabbi enough to make a blot on the letter he was writing.

"Yehoshua, I have a theory!"

She carefully closed the door and told him the whole conversation with Mrs. Spiegel and added on her theory.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Possible," acknowledged Rabbi Yehoshua. He thought it over. "Gita," he said, "I think I know a way to follow up. You go to the kitchen and let me see what comes of my idea."

"Yehoshua the Wise acting mysterious again?" his wife said, with a touch of annoyance.

"Not acting mysterious. Acting alone. More effective that way, I think." But in fact he didn't want to raise her hopes if it didn't turn out. After she left the room, he opened the side window of his study and observed the boys playing across the road. One of them, 'Sruli Piansky, was, as usual, standing alone, face unsmiling. The Rabbi called to him.

'Sruli approached, half expecting to be scolded for disturbing the Rabbi, but Yehoshua held out his hand with some gruschen in it.

"'Sruli, get your friends together. Give each a grusch in my name and tell them I want them to find Pinchas the Beggar and bring him to me. Go!"

'Sruli cupped his hands to receive the windfall and raced over to his friends, who crowded around him. In a moment gleeful shouting trailed off in a dozen directions. Rabbi Yehoshua closed the window and sat down to wait.

Fifteen minutes later he heard the shouting come closer and he went toward the front door, expecting a knock. It came. There on the doorstep stood Pinchas the Beggar, closed in by a gang of happy peyos-laden boys.

"Thank you, gentlemen," the Rabbi said to them. To Pinchas, he said, "Come in, please," closing the door on the curious crowd, and led the Beggar past the wondering Rebbitzin and Chanale. The Beggar acknowledged their presence with a cool nod, but displayed no other emotion.

In the study, the Rabbi waved him to the visitor's chair and sat down in his own.

"I believe, Pinchas, that you can help me."

"It is an honor to be summoned to the Rabbi's house, especially by such elegant messengers." Though the rather long, bearded, scraggly-mustached face under the peasant's cap was grave, the eyes twinkled. "I cannot but wonder how I, a mere beggar, can help the august Rabbi."

Yehoshua made an impatient noise. "Listen, Pinchas. You cannot hide the fact that you are an educated man. Your speech, your bearing all demonstrate that one day you had learning and dignity. What it is that caused you to enter upon the existence of a beggar in, I might say, threadbare clothes but by no means rags, is personal with you, and there is no reason why I should pry. Let us sit here as equals."

The Beggar nodded in understanding.

The Rabbi continued. "I want to tell you a story," and he related everything he knew about the silver spoon that he learned from Aaron Zvi Levy. He noticed that a spasm crossed the Beggar's face when he told him what had happened to Chanale Teitel. "Do you have any reaction to this tale?" the Rabbi concluded.

The Beggar held Rabbi Yehoshua's eyes for a moment, his lips chewing a few long hairs that had drifted over the upper lip from his mustache. Then he spoke:

"Rabbi, what is the Law of Finding a Lost Object?"

A twitching eyebrow only, betrayed the Rabbi's surprise at the question. "I have an idea, Pinchas, that you know as well as I, but I will tell you. If it has no identifying sign or position where found, you can keep it. If it does, then you must announce it over the ensuing year. If there is no claim, it becomes the finder's possession."

"And if it had an identifying mark and the finder still did not advertise it?"

"Then the finder is guilty of a transgression." The Rabbi paused and gazed at the Beggar, whose lips held a smile. "However, if the lost object somehow found its way back to the owner, then, I think that no earthly authority will concern itself with the matter. What will happen at the Heavenly Court when the time comes for the finder to present himself, I cannot say."

The Beggar waved his hand. "Oh, the Heavenly Court. I have a few things to say to the Judge when I get there, and when I'm finished with Him, I think we'll be even." He considered for a moment. "Now, Rabbi, I'll tell you a story:

"It is my practice to scrounge around the slop-pails on Saturday nights. You have no idea what is thrown out at the end of Shabbos; often there's enough for me to have decent mouthfuls of food for several days into the week! But I have competition. There are two dogs who come over from the goyische end of town and who have learned the value of Saturday night investigations of garbage. They are not dangerous beasts – I can chase them away, but usually I don't. After all, we are all creatures together, aren't we, grasping for a bit of food. There's normally enough for everybody.

"Well, a couple of Saturday nights ago, I was skulking in the backyards where the slop-pails are, when I see one of these dogs with a bag in his mouth, tossing his head wildly in an attempt to rip it open. When he saw me, he ran away a few yards and again tossed the bag around, put it on the ground, place a paw on it and ripped it open. Out fell chicken bones with pieces of chicken still attached, pieces of challahs … and a gleaming silver spoon. The dog wasn't interested in that, but I was.

"I shooed the dog away and picked up the spoon. It looked genuine and elegant – and useless to me as a spoon. But as an object to sell, it had great value. So I considered: Shall I go from door to door asking whose spoon it was? Knowing our Jews, someone might get the idea of claiming that it was his when it wasn't. Even if I did find the rightful owner, what would I get as a reward? A few gruschen? And how certain was I that I would not be accused of stealing the spoon in the first place?

"But there was one person I knew who might be interested in the spoon and certainly he would not ask any questions how I – acquired it. My good friend, Pyotr the Innkeeper, my sometime employer for sweeping his dining room in exchange for a swallow of slivovitz. He gave me three zlotys for it."

"Thank you, Pinchas. That clears everything up. Would you repeat the story to Mr. and Mrs. Levy?"

"Why not? They have the spoon back, and as you say, no earthly authority would be interested in the matter." He grinned. "They couldn't prove anything anyway!" The grin disappeared. "But I ask that you allow me a few minutes with Chana Teitel. I saw her in the doorway of the kitchen when we came in. I must apologize to her. I had no intention of hurting her or anyone when I picked up that spoon."

The Rabbi arranged the interview. He left them in the study while he went to the kitchen to tell all to the Rebbitzin.

She looked at him admiringly. "So you thought of him immediately, Pinchas the Beggar, when I told you what Mrs. Spiegel said. I had the idea that the spoon was thrown out with the leftovers when they hurriedly cleaned up after Shabbos. And you immediately figured out how the spoon got from the slop-pail to the inn." She shook her head in wonderment. "Yehoshua the Wise."

"This time," the Rabbi agreed.

They heard the front door close. Chana had led the beggar out and came to them in the kitchen. And she was smiling. They couldn't remember when the girl's face had lit up with a smile.

"Missus, may I run to tell my mother what Pinchas the Beggar said?"

"Of course you may, " said the Rebbitzin and watched her dash to the door. "Now we can get to work on Mr. Shmulik Fenster!"

But Mr. Shmulik Fenster worked on his own. First, he had to convince his mother and father that Chana Teitel was worthy of their son, even though she was not one of the vivacious young things that buzzed through Shabbos services in the Women's Gallery. It wasn't easy. He had to take a week's vacation from his office in Lemburg, and he spent every spare moment that Chana had from her duties at the Rabbi's house walking with her, talking with her, and when she spoke, listening to her.

"She's slow," he said to his parents, "but she's so sweet and pure and in her own way wise. I believe that, when she was sick as a child, she had been given a glimpse of the Other World. Since then, she has been able to tell the difference between what was foolish and what was essential. And she evidently thinks that most things in this world are foolish, which is why she is so quiet."

Chana's mother, in her own way, came to agree. Chana had no interest in her wedding gown, she wailed to the Rebbitzin, and she had to buy all the "personal things, you understand what I mean" for her. Chana forbade her to accept money from Shmulik so she had to go to the Charity Fund. But the bride did consult with Shmulik on preparing the apartment in Lemburg. She explained to her mother:

"Mama, clothes are just worn and then thrown away. An apartment can't be thrown away."

It was her mother and the Rebbitzin who took her to the ritual bath, and for some reason, Chana wept ("With happiness, mama"). It was the Rebbitzin who patiently explained what the bride was supposed to do at the wedding and tried to answer all the "Why" questions that Chana asked.

Shmulik quietly arranged with Mrs. Teitel to pay for the wedding, saying jokingly, "My first and last deception and it's before our marriage!"

All in all, the excitement twirled around Chanale without apparently touching her. She still worked at the Rabbi's house – "What shall I do if I don't work?" she asked, and no one could answer. And she still went to the market for the Rebbitzin and for her mother, on one occasion being observed to approach Pinchas the Beggar and talking to him. Pinchas at first shook his head, then after a few more minutes of Chanale's talk, shrugged his shoulders, and then he nodded.

Yet, on more than one occasion, the Rabbi saw her pause in her housework, stare out of the window for a while, smile to herself, and then resume.

The most talked about event at the wedding itself was when the bride rose from her throne and went over to Adah Levy and kissed her on both cheeks, the only woman so honored, except for her own mother, and Shmulik's, and the Rebbitzin. Mrs. Levy almost burst into tears, but caught herself in time. Pinchas the Beggar sat at the head of the table for the Poor and his usually solemn face was flushed for reasons attested to by the bottle of slivovitz in front of him.

Toward the end of the evening, Aaron Zvi Levy sidled over to the Rabbi. "You know what I gave them as a present? Two spoons for tea, Rabbi. I bought them from a farm-wife. Don't worry, Rabbi, Adah kashered them according to the instructions you gave her some time ago. Two spoons, Rabbi. Pure silver."

Copyright © Dan Vogel