On Friday morning, as her son Natan-Berl is discussing the problem of wolves with his herdsmen, worried about the sounds of their howls being heard ever closer to his flock and wondering whether they should increase the height of their fencing, Rivkah wakes up in a panic. Her bones are on fire. The Sabbath is almost here. Her head spins with the number of tasks that await her. She doesn’t know where to start. At her age, she should be the guest of honour at her family’s Sabbath dinner. A moment before Queen Sabbath’s arrival, she should enter a room filled with loving grandchildren surrounding a table laden with delicacies. But instead of this restful existence, she finds herself raising her son’s family. And now, as she looks out of the window, she sees a disturbing sight. A large woman and two scrawny children are approaching the house, pushing a wooden cart loaded with sacks. They must be expecting some sort of alms from the Keismann household. If she had money to spare, would she not help? Of course she would, she is not a cruel woman. But these are hard times. When things get rough, there is no room for the smug generosity by which one seems to say: “I have, and you have not” – a meanness that only the rich can think charitable.
Judging by the beggarwoman’s fancy dress, (despite its atrocious turquoise colour), this Jewess is no ordinary mendicant. It is obviously tailor-made, the collar is very elegant and the fabric is a linen of excellent quality, so this woman must be a lady only recently down on her luck. At this point fear creeps in, but also curiosity. Who can she be?
A knock on the door is followed by two quick, syncopated knocks. Is this how it is these days – strangers knocking on people’s doors with such insouciance?
Three more knocks of the same rhythmic pattern follow, and Rivkah opens the door a crack and grumpily peers out.
“What do you want, madam?”
“Grandma!” exclaims the jovial beggarwoman with outstretched arms.
“Grandma?” Rivkah is taken aback and tries to close the door.
“Grandma!” The beggar pushes past her and strides into the house. “Don’t you recognise me? I am Mende Speismann, Fanny’s sister, and these are my children, Yankele and Mirl. We have heard of your great disaster, and have come to help Natan-Berl and the children.”
Rivkah knows all about Mende Speismann. She has always been the better half of the pair of Schechter sisters. A well-mannered and humble woman, a model housewife and a fine mother. Her husband is useless, of course, a mere good-for-nothing, but Mende copes with the shame with dignity. She does not so much as hint that anything is wrong, never com-plains, keeps the pain to herself, as a daughter of Israel should. She’s always had a certain inspiring grace to her, something pleasant and serene about her face. So who is this standing so boldly before Rivkah? A bloated vagabond. And judging by her outburst, a very rude one at that. She has a broad, flabby belly, and her face is cushioned with baby-like folds of fat; her cheeks almost swallow her eyes, her chin is sunken and her lips overstuffed. She just might be Mende Speismann, but even if she is, Rivkah Keismann does not need her help, and right now she is seriously considering driving her away from the house, even though the Sabbath is almost here and she is family.
“I have brought fine food,” Mende Speismann declares and turns back to her cart to bring in the sacks. The grandmother stays the execution of her sentence as she sees the bags of vegetables and potatoes, and children’s shoes, and fabric for new clothes.
“We need none of these things,” Rivkah mutters, rummaging through the vegetables and plucking out the choicest radishes.
“So be it,” Mende says blithely, as she spreads the fabrics on a chair. “As you wish.”
“Not like that,” says Rivkah, rearranging the cloths and smoothing out their creases. “Don’t do it that way.”
This strange new gang of four sits down to take a slice of bread with a little of the onion and cucumber Mende has brought. Rivkah Keismann tells Mende about the disappearance of her sister, and the guest tut-tuts all through the story.
“It’s simply horrendous,” Mende slaps her own face. “What a tragedy. My poor, miserable sister.”
She nods sympathetically when Rivkah says, “Do you really think she is poor and miserable? What about Natan-Berl? What about the children? What about me?”
Mende tut-tuts again. “God help the lot of you, you are all miserable.”
The grandmother replies, “Not everyone is miserable, Mrs Speismann, not everyone! There are shades and grades in these matters!”
Amid this scene, however, the grandmother notices a strange smile stretching across Mende Speismann’s face. What can possibly be amusing about such a calamity, Rivkah would like to know, and she begins to wonder if, just like her sister, Mende may not be of sound mind.
Mende gets up to slice some of the sausage from her sacks, and Rivkah’s eyes dart towards the door in alarm. She has not seen meat in this household for years, and ever since she became a Keismann she has been eating mostly cheese. The Keismanns have abhorred meat since the dawn of time. She barely remembers the taste of sausage.
But now, as Mende puts a slice of sausage on her plate, Rivkah Keismann does not protest. She covers up the delightful spasm that the meat’s sharp spiciness sends through her body with reprimands for Yankele and Mirl – their backs aren’t straight and they mustn’t eat with their mouths open or kick the table and they should ask for things politely – and they, in turn, eye her calmly and keep at it, completely unheeding her authority. To Rivkah’s surprise, Mende joins her critical chorus, telling her children to obey Rivkah’s instructions (all of which should have been obvious to them in the first place). Now that Rivkah Keismann has support, she continues; not only telling the children to be quiet but also forbidding them to communicate by their secret sign language. “Gestures are just like words,” the grandmother says, and their mother agrees. In the end, Rivkah orders the children to leave the table and clear the dishes.
Mende obeys this command too, which is disconcerting for Rivkah. Evidently, Mende has none of her sister’s spiteful temper. She has even taken up a twig broom and started sweeping the floor, with a smile even more foolish than the one she had before. What if she allowed them to stay? Rivkah could help this poor family after all, she could put them back on their feet and give meaning to their fatherless, husbandless life. They have been wandering hither and thither with a pedlar’s cart, and now they are sitting in a decent household with an abundance of delicacies for the Sabbath. Much remains to be done before the Queen arrives, but Rivkah will fulfil an important mitzvah if she lets them enjoy a festive meal surrounded by family.
So without further ado, Rivkah takes Mende through everything that needs to be done before noon, and the guest takes responsibility for it all. Mende is perfectly aware that the grandmother treats her children cruelly and that she is taking advantage of her own helpfulness – Mende is not a complete fool, after all – but right now, integrating into the household of Natan-Berl’s family is what matters to her most. And so she sets the Sabbath table according to Rivkah’s instructions as if she, and not Fanny, were the old woman’s daughter-in-law. Mende has done the right thing by coming over to help the poor Keismann orphans in their hour of need.