The Magician

Bernard Gorin (1868-1925) was born in Lida, in the part of the Pale of Settlement known as Volhynia, and died in New York City. He was educated in the Mir Yeshiva but then made his way into the Yiddish literary circles. When he arrived in America, he often told of the life of the shtetl as a form of remembering a world that many of the new immigrants missed and were nostalgic about, and a world that the new generation knew very little about.

^{Meer Akselrod, The Market, illustration for the book of poems by I. Harik, Moscow, 1924, from the Bezalel Narkiss Index of Jewish Art. The Center for Jewish Art at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem}

He told of the days leading up to Pesach and Pesach itself. How in the shtetl, Pesach was a time for new clothing and new shoes. You would hear people on the street call to one another “Tis’khadaysh” (to make new – a greeting of congratulations from one person to another on something new) or “Farnits Gezunt” the old women would call out (use them in good health) or “Gezunt zolstu trogn!” (wear it in good health).

The new clothing on the children would invariably be too big as it would have to last all year and the children would grow into them.

The children would win whole walnuts at the seder for answering questions correctly. The next day, they would come out to the street and play a game. One child would throw a walnut into the street; the first walnut would become the ‘rosh’, and the rest of the children would try to knock off the ‘rosh’ using their own walnuts. The child who had won the most walnuts at the seder the night before would have the most chances to win the game.

^{Solomon Iudovin, The Market, Novograd-Volyń province, 1912-14, courtesy of Petersburg Judaica}

Smokers would congregate on the streets of the shtetl as well. Because smoking is permitted on holidays which do not coincide with shabbat, but lighting a new fire is not allowed, one person would step out of his home, lit pipe in hand or cradling a bit of fire at the end of a dowel, and the other smokers would come out and pass the fire between them.

In the new world, it was the grandmothers who would chase their grown, often assimilated children, berating them into joining the older generation at the seder and bringing the children along, ensuring that Our Story was passed on from generation to generation. Amongst Our Story, there were also the smaller stories, the stories and folk tales of the shtetl.

At one point while living in Warsaw, Gorin worked for I.L. (Isaac Leib) Peretz (1852 – 1915), born in Zamosc. He was one of the three most influential Yiddish writers of the late 19th and early 20th century.

Below, find my transcription of Renée Brachfield’s version of the classic tale ‘The Magician’ by I.L Peretz, Illustrated by Mark Chagall. I only came across this story recently, and something about it makes me weepy. I think it’s the ever-present hope. We Jews, we are so many things, but more than anything, we are a nation of dreamers, of people who hope even when all hope is lost. Though this is a story of a world gone by, the themes still ring true as they have for generations and will for many more to come.

Wishing and hoping that this coming year, we will celebrate Pesach in a rebuilt and peaceful Jerusalem.

My source for the story can be found here – as shared by Renée Brachfield.

Elijah the prophet captures our imagination and has become one of our favorite prophets, the harbinger of good. He will lead the way to our redemption. It is, therefore, unsurprising that he plays a role in our Pesach seders, that he has a seat at the table and a glass of wine, that we open the door for him, stand up, and hope he enters our homes, our lives. In I.L.’s telling of the story of the magician, he tells of a shtetl, like one of the many that were dotted throughout Eastern Europe before World War Two, of the days before Pesach when a magician came to a village in Volhynia.

A strange man came to town. He was dressed all in rags but wore a stove-top hat. His face was obviously Jewish, but in contrast to this, he was clean-shaven. He carried no passport, and you never saw him eat kosher food or any food. How was one to tell what sort of man he was? You asked, “Where from?” – “Paris.” “Where to?” – “London.” “Why have you come here?” “I lost my way.”

You never saw him go to the synagogue for prayers, not even on the Shabbat before Pesach. And if people got too close, if a crowd surrounded him in the marketplace, he would soundly disappear as if into the earth and then later reappear on the other side of the marketplace.

^{Illustration of I.L. Peretz’s ‘The Magician’, Marc Chagall, 1915}

Meanwhile, having rented a hall, he began to perform. It was amazing! In front of the whole community, he swallowed live coals as if they were noodles! From his mouth, he pulled ribbons of every color, red, green, blue, each one as long as the exile. From the tops of his boots, he pulled out sixteen pairs of turkeys the size of bears, and lively sent them prancing around on stage. He lifted one foot, and then he scratched off an entire basin of gold coins. And then he whistled, and white loaves of Shabbat bread flocked into the air like birds and began to do a wedding dance beneath the ceiling. A second whistle, and they disappeared as if they never were. No Shabbat loaves, no ribbons, no turkeys, nothing.

They say the adversary also has powers; call it what you will, Satan, the dark forces; probably the sorcerers of ancient Egypt could do feats as remarkable. Still, it is a puzzle why this magician is such a pauper? He can scratch gold coins from the bottom of his shoe, but he never has enough money to pay for his room at the inn. With a note, he brings more loaves than the biggest baker in town, but his face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes burn with hunger; many who look stronger have already been buried. In the town, jokers say that the magician’s poverty is the fifth question of the Pesach seder.

But before we arrive at the seder, let us leave the magician and turn to a couple in the town, a man named Chaim Yona and his wife Rivka Bayla. Chaim Yona worked in timber; he bought a stand of forest for a good price, and then the area was closed to further cutting. He lost everything but his shirt in the deal. So he took a job working in the office of another man in the same business, and then he lost the job too.

For months now, they have had no income at all. They managed to survive the winter, but in what a fashion? Now with spring, come the new worries of the Pesach season. Everything they once had has already been pawned, from the hanging candlesticks to the last pillow case. Rivka Bayla begs her husband; she says “go to the community fund for the poor, at least they will give you enough money to buy flour to bake matzahs.” But Chaim Yona, he has faith. He says, “If God wishes for us to have a seder, God will provide for it, there is no reason to lose face.” So Rivka Bayla searches the house one last time, and in one dark corner, she finds a worn silver spoon, it’s a miracle! It really is, it’s been ages since the spoon was mislaid. She takes the spoon and gives it to her husband asking him to sell it in the marketplace.

He does so.

And then he takes the few pennies he gets for the spoon and donates them to the community fund for the poor, saying that the poor have more need for the money than he does.

Meanwhile, Pesach is approaching, only a few weeks to go. Chaim Yona remains confident; God does not desert you. Rivka Bayla remains silent. At night she hides her face in her pillow so he will not hear her cry, but by day, she must face her neighbors.

^{Matzah baking in Eastern Europe early 1920’s}

Their pitying looks stab like needles. The neighbors ask, “Rivka Bayla, when are you baking your matzahs?” “How are you coming along with your beets?” Rivka Bayla makes excuses; those who know her better say, “Rivka Bayla, what’s wrong? Tell us what’s the matter? If there is anything you need, we will lend it to you.” But Chaim Yona will not accept charity from any mortal being, and Rivka Bayla will not go against her husband’s wishes.

The neighbors see that something is not as it should be. They go to the rabbi and ask him what they should do. The rabbi listens to their story, and then he shakes his head sadly and says, “Chaim Yona is a pious and learned man; if he has faith, then that is how we must leave it.”

^{Shabbat in pre-Holocaust Poland (Art: Haim Goldberg)}

And then it is Pesach. Rivka Bayla doesn’t even have candles over which to bring in the holiday. Chaim Yona goes to the synagogue for prayers. Walking home, he sees the festive joy shining from the windows of all the other houses; only the windows of his own house are dark. Like the eyes of a mourner at a wedding feast.

Arriving home, he opens the door and calls out, “Happy Holidays!” In the darkness, Rivka Bayla answers, “Happy Holidays…” “Oh! Rivka Bayla, what’s wrong? This is Pesach, a time of joy; mourning is forbidden. If God didn’t intend for us to have a seder here in our own home, someone will gladly welcome us into their house; even now they are opening their door and reciting ‘let all who are hungry come and eat’. If God did not wish for us to have our own seder, we will join someone else’s, get your coat.”

But before she can put on her coat, there is a knock at the door. She opens, and a voice calls out, “Happy Holidays!” In the darkness, they cannot see who it is, but they answer, “Happy Holidays!” and the visitor says, “I would like to be a guest at your seder.” “We would love to have you,” explains Chaim Yona, “but we don’t even have a seder for ourselves.” “It’s alright,” says the visitor, “I brought everything you need.”

^{^{Illustration of I.L. Peretz’s ‘The Magician’, Marc Chagall, 1915}}

And then with a wave of his hand through the air, silver candlesticks appear with burning candles. In their light, Chaim Yona and Rivka Bayla can see that the visitor is none other than the magician; they gasp and clutch one another in terror and surprise. With another wave of his hand, he calls, “Table! Come here and cover up!” and the table slides from its place in the corner, a white cloth drops from the ceiling, it slides across the floor landing beneath the candlesticks, which lower themselves onto the center of the table. With a wave of his hand, he calls, “Benches over here!” and the benches slide from their places along the wall and surround the table; he frowns at them a moment and says, “get wider!” they become armchairs! “Softer!” and white pillows appear from the ceiling into the armchairs. With a wave of his hand, he brings a round seder plate with all the necessary items. He brings decanters full of red wine, wine glasses, even Haggadahs with gilt-edged pages.

It is only when he turns to them and says, “Do you need water for washing? I can bring that too?” that they rouse from their astonishment. And Rivka Bayla leans over and whispers in her husband’s ear, “dear, is this permitted?” “I don’t know,” says Chaim Yona.

Rivka Bayla advises him, “go to the Rabbi’s house, ask him what we should do?” But Chaim Yona says, “I don’t really want to leave here alone with the magician.” And so together they go, hand in hand they run to the rabbi’s house and tell him what has happened.

The rabbi listens, and then he explains to them, “there are two kinds of magic in the world. Good magic and evil magic. Evil magic has no substance, you cannot touch the things that it creates.” The Rabbi advises them, “go home, if you can touch the pillows, if you can pour the wine, if you can break the matzah, it should be considered a gift from God. And something to be enjoyed.”

Hearts pounding, Chaim Yona and Rivka Bayla return home together hand in hand. When they arrive at their house, the magician is gone, but the seder is still there. Slowly they walk into the house, they reach out, timid hands, they touch the pillows, they pour the wine, they break the matzah, and only then did they realize that their guest must have been none other than the prophet Elijah himself, and they had a very happy holiday.

Pesach Baking Tips:

Pesach baking is unlike year-round baking in that we eliminate plain wheat flour altogether, and there isn’t a real replacement. It’s not about the substitution of ingredients; it’s actually about a different way of thinking. Here are a few tips that we hope will help you with your Pesach baking:

Look to your own recipe repertoire: Both for baking and everything else: How many things do you make year-round that are already Pesach-friendly? You will be surprised by how many items you already make that will fit in with the restrictions of Pesach, but somehow we forget about them. Think about your fruit-based compotes and jellies, as well as pavlovas and mousses — many of them are already Pesach-friendly.
Rule of thumb: If you wouldn’t eat or drink it in its natural state, don’t add it to your dish and hope it will improve with the addition of heat. There are usually so few ingredients in Pesach foods that it is important to not leave one out or to use something that is less than delicious. If you wouldn’t drink a specific wine in its natural state or eat a specific chocolate bar because they don’t taste nice, adding heat and some extra ingredients won’t improve the situation.
Keep your eggs at room temperature: Wondering why your cake didn’t rise? Or why your mousse didn’t set? Wonder no more; one of the biggest culprits is fridge-cold eggs. Make sure to bring your eggs to room temperature before you start to bake; otherwise, the end results may be disappointing.
Toast nuts: With so few ingredients in most Pesach bakes, it’s important to give each ingredient the attention and care it deserves — and with nuts, that means toasting. Don’t skip this step; it’s one of those things where you won’t notice if it’s not done; but when you have toasted your nuts, it elevates any dish.
You need a spotless clean bowl for whisking up egg whites: It feels like we whisk more egg whites on Pesach than the rest of the year combined, and the step of ensuring that your bowl and whisk are spotlessly clean seems to interrupt the flow of everything that is going on in the kitchen. But this step alone will save you much heartache as you wonder why yet again your stiff peaks look more like a foamy mess!

Happy baking and here are just a few of my favorite pesach sweets: