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Humor and Folklore in Căpreşti

If a Capreshter says “it is self–understood” – I look at him as if he is crazy. It is either one or the other: if it is “self”, only you know the secret – and then I couldn't care less. But if I know the secret as well (lit: I know where the dog is buried)

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and some other Jews cock an ear, it becomes a “secret for everyone”; now where is your “self?” you fool!

Or, let's take, for example, a word like “extraordinary”, in Capreshti we knew that it means “something else!”, or, to the contrary, that it is not worth anything. What, then, is “extraordinary?” Do you have to chew over everything that they babble?

More than anything, it upsets me when a Capreshti person announces that he goes to eat a “midday meal.” Who in Capreshti ever ate a “midday meal”? If you did eat sometimes, it was “just a bite.” If you really want to know (but we should keep it between us) – in a lot of homes they stretched the “bite” until supper. Why? No special reason. Can't you understand?

The Capreshti “crowd” used to travel to markets; and if you are at a market, you think only of making a living and you don't dare let a customer out of your sight. If you feel hungry, you make “hamotzi (blessing over bread) without washing. Your main worry is that there should be some turnover, because the High Holidays are nearing and it is going to winter …

Imagine that by us in Capreshti there were individuals who could afford “a lemon on the sardines” even on a weekday, not to speak of having a real supper. Their suppers were famous. On Chanukah, it rained with pancakes. Their Chamisho Osor BiShvat (Arbor Day) stretched all the way to Purim; and the Haman–Tashen (triangular Purim pastry) with the other fruit–filled pasties lasted until the Shabat before Passover.

But they had no time to sit by a table because they were busy all day transporting wagons of goods to the train station. Their stores were full of customers and filled with merchandise; and even at night on their beds they were busy planning how to catch up with Rothschild. On this account they used to joke in Capreshti: “The great rich man” can't sleep because of his business, and ”the great poor man” is bothered by the “red comrades” (bugs) the whole night. As our Sages said: “The whole world is the same” the world is round and it turns.

I see that you are smiling, ah? You like it. Small matter: Capreshti language! Capreshti language!

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A maiden in Capreshti was a maiden; and a lad was a lad. But if the matchmaker Schwartzseid laid an eye on them and entered them into his notebook, they soon became a pair.

Who knows how many pairs were erased from the “Book of Life”? Because we in Capreshti, just like all Bessarabians, in our language we imitate the “Litvaks' (nickname for Lithuanian Jews) and the “Yekes” (nickname for German Jews).

You think probably that I was better than everyone else? No! Just like other Capreshti people I got used to eating the “midday meal” and drinking cold water; and in bad weather, I used to go out in the street with an umbrella as if I were a ‘yeke’ for many generations, until …the day came, (or, better said, night came, exactly at midnight)…

And so it happened at midnight (this sentence is part of the Passover Haggada). In my young years I was a shomer, “a guard.” I guarded a “colony” as large as a yawn, a remote corner on the top of a hill, where the winds blow and tear off the tiles from the roofs, day and night a whole year around. But this is not what we are talking about …

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My partners in the guarding changed every three hours. One of them was from Rezin–a man of the Second Aliya. When he heard that the new gaphir (I, that is) was from Capreshti he was overjoyed. “Come with me – he said – “I will show you how to guard. You probably think guarding is a simple matter!”

My name is Leibl. In my young years I was called Leibele, because I was mischievous. Now they call me Reb Leibel and that is already an upgrading of my beloved name. You understand, before your father even thought of going under the four poles (chuppah, getting married), I was pressing wine in Zamarin. And you should know: I am not just anyone! I am a manufacturer's son and even though our factory consisted of just a barrel with two ladles, we cooked up goodies that melted in the mouth: and with this merchandise we went to the market. That is, I and my father–peace be upon him.

Every Thursday we used to travel to Capreshti to the market. In Capreshti there was a tavern keeper, they called him Zusia the gypsy. In his store he kept a gramophone on the window with the trumpet pointing outside. The nicest song that we liked to hear was: “Aunt Pesl from the back gessl [alley].”

I was so engrossed in Reb Leibel's stories that I didn't even realize that Leibel led me into the synagogue. By the prayer stand he bent down and extracted a bottle of whiskey and a box of cookies. “This” – he said – is the remnants from Simchas Torah” … From the deep pockets of his shirt he took out some onions and a hefty portion of bread. Under the eternal light we turned over a stand and commenced reciting the “Lamentations”.

This is called guarding – said Reb Leibel with a groan: Oy, oy, oy, bad times. In past years, as much whiskey as was brought into the synagogue – it didn't last. The crowd used to drink like ponies by the carriages … Nowadays, when a Jew has yahrzeit (anniversary of parents' death) he brings a small bottle of whiskey – it is enough, If he brings a large one and a small one – it is also enough, if he brings two large ones and two small ones – we also manage.

And as we sit, that is to say I and Reb Leibel, the door opens.

––“And came Haman,” (reference to Haman in the Scroll of Esther, read on Purim)–Reb Leibel called out.

What was the story? In the other end of the colony a “Yeke” was guarding. Looks like he smelled that in the synagogue “you could lick a bone” [eat] and he wasn't slow to get here …

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––“Yes, yes – said the “Yeke” looking straight into our face – probably the best joke (vitz) is the Slivovitz.

Of course Reb Leibel offered him a glass and a few more – to even the count – and the “Yeke” took to the can like a born drinker.

After a few rounds, the tongue loosened in the mouth, Reb Leibel could not praise enough past times: How joyful it was in the moshava (colony) and whoever didn't see Yosele Stas dance on the table – never saw joy in his life …

“And now it is boring” – the “Yeke” interrupted the talk.

“Yes, yes – I seconded the “Yeke”– in your colony it is really boring; dead as in a cemetery …”

“Listen to this” – said Reb Leibel–“Well, the man is, alas, a “Yeke”; G–d punished him, so for him it is boring; but you, a Capreshti goat, how come it is for you also boring?

From then on, when I speak Yiddish, I speak like we used to speak in Capreshti; and always, I dig up from my memory a new diamond, a new little gold and silver …

So, with this little gold and silver, my dear readers, I will attempt to share my feuilletons with you, with G–ds help. Because without G–d, “woe to the laughter.”

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Updated 11 Jul 2018 by MGH