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5.0 out of 5 stars
Humor glinting at the edges, Oct 5 2003
As Singer noted in his 1984 Foreword, "in the beginning was the Logos, the power of the word." He had never believed he could write for children, but editor Elizabeth Shub convinced him otherwise in the early 1960s. Twelve volumes of children's books followed, from which these 36 tales are gleaned. Young readers should remain eternally grateful. This collection opens in Chelm, the village of idiots young and old. Even the people have funny names--Gronam Ox, Dopey Lekisch, Zeinvel Ninny, Shmendrick Numskull and Feyvel Thickwit. The way they speak and act is still funnier. Gronam, for example, would have been a happy man, but for the elders who regularly visited--to whom he regularly spoke nonsense. His first wife Genendel would reproach him, to which he replied, "In the future, whenever you hear me saying something silly, come into the room and let me know. I will immediately change the subject." She refused. "If they learn you're a fool, you'll lose your job as head of the council." Instead, each time he said anything silly, she offered to hand him the key to their strongbox. "Then you'll know you've been talking like a fool." That year, the town met with a scarcity of sour cream, which was sorely needed for the coming Pentecost, a holiday on which the townsfolk normally ate a lot of it. Gronam had the solution. He proposed making "a law that water is to be called sour cream, and sour cream is to be called water." Given the wells full of water, he noted, all the women would have barrels full of sour cream as a result. Sender Donkey, Treitel Fool and their most foolish compatriots all heartily approved. So the new law was written. But Genendel shortly appeared with the strongbox key. When Gronam explained their arrangement, the elders grew enraged. How dare a woman suggest she knew better when wisdom or silliness had been spoken. They in turn changed another law: When Genendel believed Gronam's pronouncements silly, she should give the elders the strongbox key and let them decide. If they disagreed, she would double their portions of blintzes, cakes and tea. From that day forward, Gronam spoke freely, and Genendel hardly said a word: She was not about to serve blintzes generously. Then there is Shlemiel, also of the fabled Chelm, and as fine a businessman as the town could offer. He married Mrs. Shlemiel, whose father gave him a dowry, with which he bought a goat in Lublin. But en route home, he left the goat tethered to a tree while he went into an inn for some brandy, chopped liver and onions and a plate of chicken soup and noodles. The innkeeper (not surprisingly) switched his old blind billy goat for Shlemiel's milking goat. Lots more fun and some Chelmnick wisdom followed. Readers also encounter "Shrewd Todie and Lyzer the Miser." The former had a wife Shaindel and seven children and never earned enough to feed them. He had such poor luck working at trades that he decided if he should make candles, the sun would never set. During an especially cold winter, Shaindel told Todie that if he could not get something to eat, she would go to the Rabbi and get a divorce. "And what will you do with it," he asked her. "Eat it?" Lyzer meanwhile was so stingy, he'd let his wife bake bread but once every four weeks: Stale bread was eaten more slowly than fresh. He left his poor goats to feast on his neighbors' thatched roofs, rather than feed them. He preferred to eat his dry bread and borscht on a box so that his upholstered chairs would not wear out. And he never made a loan, preferring to keep his money in his strongbox. One day, Todie asked Lyzer to borrow a silver spoon, promising he would return it the next. Not one to doubt holy words, Lyzer loaned the spoon and was pleased the next day when Todie returned it, plus a silver teaspoon, explaining that the spoon had given birth. Todie was honest, and had to return both. He repeated the exercise twice more. At last, Todie came to Lyzer to borrow silver Shabbat candlesticks, which Lyzer gladly loaned. Todie sold the candlesticks, bought his wife and seven children a feast and on Sunday, returned to Lyzer, reporting that his candlesticks had died. "You fool! How can candlesticks die," Lyzer screamed, dragging Todie to the Rabbi. "Did you expect candlesticks to give birth?" the Rabbi asked. "If you accept nonsense that brings you profit, you must also accept nonsense when it brings you loss." Others stories are less silly. We meet Peziza the imp who lived with her friend Tsirtsur the cricket an old stove, where they shared gay, devilish, frightening, and delightful stories on long winter nights. And Rabbi Leib, who escaped the evil works of Cunegunde, a witch whose son Bolvan robbed the merchants on the roads and hid his stolen hoard in an invisible cave--rendered by his mother's evil magic. My favorite is "Zlateh the Goat." Rueven instructed his son Aaron to take his pet to the butcher to pay for the struggling family's Hanukkah feast. Heartbroken, the heartbroken boy heeded his father and set out, but was overtaken by a snowstorm. I cannot tell what happened, but the tale warms hearts to the core. Like all Singer's work--these 36 agile stories offer spirit, life and the supernatural--with humor glinting at their edges. Children love them, be they young or old. --Alyssa A. Lappen
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