Pioneers: A Tale of Russian-Jewish Life in the 1880s

By S. A. An-Sky and Michael R. Katz

“A unique work of art” that captures “the experiences of an important generation of Russian Jews. . . . and an important document of its time.” —Gabriella Safran, author of Wandering Soul: The Dybbuk’s Creator, S. An-Sky
 
S. An-Sky’s novel dramatizes the dilemmas of Jewish young people in late Tsarist Russia as they strive to throw off their traditional religious upbringing to adopt a secular and modern identity. The action unfolds in the town of M. in the Pale of Settlement, where an engaging cast of characters wrestles with cultural and social issues. Their exploits culminate in helping a young Jewish woman evade an arranged marriage and a young Russian woman leave home so she can pursue her studies at a European university. This startling novel reveals the tensions and triumphs of coming of age in a revolutionary time.
 
“An-Sky brilliantly captures a week in the life of young Jewish intellectuals fleeing their tiny villages to find the possibility of personal growth in larger towns where the enlightenment has begun to work its way.” —Jewish Book Council
 
“Michael R. Katz’s translation renders another Russian literary gem into fluid and lively English. . . . The publication of Pioneers in English . . . appears at an auspicious moment, for readers today may be more receptive than ever to narratives that convey the richness, complexity, and diversity of Jewish life in times of dynamic and decisive change.” —Marginalia

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780253012142

Book preview

2

A SHOP WITH A sign in Hebrew letters drew Eizerman’s attention: Bookstore. Through the window, covered with dust and cobwebs, he could make out large piles of books tied tightly with string, stacked up, leaning against the glass.

Eizerman approached the open door and peeked in. Books, both in bundles and separately, lay in disorder on the shelves, the floor, and the counter. Behind the counter stood a Jew with a long black beard and a stern, business-like look. Titles of the usual uninteresting prayer books and other religious texts flashed before Eizerman’s eyes: Siddur, Makhzer, Slikhes, Tkhines, Mishnayes, and so on. The young man’s sharp eyes automatically surveyed these titles, looking for something else—and immediately came to rest on several small books lying on one remote shelf. Even before Eizerman had time to read their titles, he guessed, by their format and print, that these books were not religious, but that kind. His heart began to beat faster. He walked right up to the open door and began to examine those books very closely. Now he could clearly decipher the titles: Maslul, Talmud Loshon ’Ivri, Moshal uMelitza . . .¹ All of a sudden the title of one book, half-hidden by another volume, flashed before his eyes: Hattot Ne’u. . . .

"Is that really Hattot Ne’urim?"²

Eizerman even recoiled a bit at this discovery, struck as he was by the unexpectedness of it, almost its improbability. What? On a crowded street, in an open store, in a visible place, this great book lay there so serenely, this extremely dangerous and forbidden book! A volume that was usually sequestered in the most secret hiding places, which, with careless handling, was capable of destroying its owner, of calling down on his head both earthly and heavenly thunder, this book was lying here in full view, resting peacefully, right next to the Makhzer and the Zohar—and it appeared to be nothing special! There was no angry crowd of pious Jews gathered around the shop; the shopkeeper, in his long coat, stood behind the counter, serenely, confident of his impunity!

What a wide-open world! Eizerman muttered in astonishment and shrugged his shoulders.

But if the world here was so wide-open that the most forbidden books were lying around for all to see, how could it be that the local freethinkers hadn’t discovered this rare book and hadn’t snapped it up? No sooner had Eizerman wondered this than it seemed to him that if he didn’t buy the book now, at this very minute, dozens of hands would descend upon it and snatch it away from him. . . . But how could he buy it? It was impossible simply to walk into the shop and blurt out, "Give me Hattot Ne’urim!" It was inconceivable to deliver himself into the hands of an unknown shopkeeper, who didn’t look at all like a freethinker. And so Eizerman decided to act carefully and diplomatically. He entered the store and asked for a calendar. The calendar was a neutral book that could be used both by a devout Jew and even by a maskil. After all, there are ever so many things a man needs a calendar for!

After taking the calendar and paying two kopecks, Eizerman looked around the store and, as if by chance, paused over the books that interested him. Pointing at them with an ambiguous gesture, he asked in an ordinary tone of voice, "And those sforim—are they also for sale?"

He used the word sforim intentionally to indicate that he didn’t know what kind of books they really were.

Did you think perhaps I was giving them away for nothing? the shopkeeper replied dryly.

No . . . I asked simply . . . because . . . , Eizerman said in confusion. "How much does the Maslul cost?"

Having learned its price and that of some other harmless books, he picked up Hattot Ne’urim and, as if in passing, asked casually, What sort of book is this? How much does it cost?

That’s an expensive book; you can’t afford it, replied the shopkeeper with displeasure; he took it away from him and put it back on the shelf.

How do you know? Perhaps I’ll buy it, Eizerman retorted, slightly offended, with a note of entreaty in his voice.

It costs two rubles! Well, do you want it? the shopkeeper challenged him disdainfully.

As a matter of fact the price struck Eizerman as huge. Two rubles—that was an enormous sum, almost a quarter of his entire savings. But could any price, no matter how high, be too much to pay for this book? Could the worth of Hattot Ne’urim really be assessed in rubles? True, he really didn’t need the book itself. He’d read it several times already. Nevertheless, how could one possibly leave such a valuable book in the shop? He decided to sacrifice two rubles. But, persisting in his tactics, he exclaimed with naïve astonishment, Two rubles! Why so much?

Pricy? Just try to find it in some other store: go ask for this book! You probably don’t even know what sort of book it is.

What do you mean, what sort . . . it’s . . . a book, Eizerman muttered in confusion. I think seventy-five kopecks would be enough to pay for it . . . well, maybe a ruble, he added hastily, noticing the shopkeeper’s annoyance.

Good riddance to you! cried the shopkeeper in anger. What a fine customer! A ruble! Do you know how much the rabbi would pay for this book?

The rabbi?

What did you think? A few years ago the rabbi ordered that all copies of this book be bought up from all the booksellers. He paid cash, one ruble and fifty kopecks, even up to two rubles. He bought around twenty of them and then, of course, burned them all. . . . The book is now terribly rare; you won’t find it in any warehouse—and yet you’re trying to bargain for it! I’m selling it for two rubles only because I don’t want to keep it here in the store. . . .

Well, have it your way, two rubles! Eizerman agreed at once; the shopkeeper’s story reminded him of similar scenes.

Turning aside, he unfastened his caftan, ripped open the canvas pocket he’d sewn into it, and retrieved from it his eight rubles.

Seeing several bills in the young man’s hand, the shopkeeper immediately altered his attitude and said in an obliging manner, "I have several other books like that. Lebensohn’s and Gordon’s poems, Mapu’s works,³ and others . . . I keep them all at home. I’ll bring them in. Drop in again this evening. . . ."

I will, absolutely, Eizerman agreed.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, the question escaped him: Have you read these books yourself?

Hey! Read all that? replied the shopkeeper with self-control and, at the same time, disdain. If I read all that, I’d become too smart. . . .

After a short pause he added, I know what these books are all about—I know, but it’s none of my business. I don’t make anyone buy them—and they won’t thrash me for someone else’s sins.

Eizerman paid the money, hid the book in his sack where he kept his tefillin and his shirt, and got ready to leave. All of a sudden the idea occurred to him that he could find out the whereabouts of the nest of maskilim from the shopkeeper.

I wanted to ask you, might you know some teacher, that is, a person who teaches Russian? You see, I’m not from around here; I come from afar. . . . And I thought . . . I’d like . . . I intend, how shall I put it, to study . . . , Eizerman said, getting more and more flustered.

A teacher? No, I don’t know any, replied the shopkeeper after some thought. A young man who looks like a teacher sometimes comes in here to buy books. But I don’t know what his name is or where he lives.

How could I find out where a teacher lives?

You can ask someone. . . . Ask a gymnasium student. Sometimes they give lessons themselves.

Eizerman vaguely understood the meaning of the word gymnasium but thought it necessary to inquire: In other words, a schoolboy?

Fine, call it a ‘schoolboy’ if you like that word more, replied the shopkeeper indifferently. "If you call them simply goyim, I still won’t object."

Well, and where can I find such a schoolboy?

A schoolboy? There goes one!

He pointed at a tall, thin gymnasium student with a knapsack on his back, slowly making his way along the opposite sidewalk.

Which? The one over there with the white buttons? Eizerman said in surprise. Is he really a Jew?

I can’t vouch for whether he’s a Jew or not, the shopkeeper replied with a chuckle. I can’t even say if he’s the ‘son of a Jew.’ His father’s also not a full-blooded Jew. But you can be absolutely sure he’s the ‘grandson of a Jew.’ Of course, you’ve heard of Rabbi Velvel Kapluner, blessed be his name. Well, this student is his grandson. . . . If the old man ever rose from his grave . . .

So, I could go ask him? He’ll tell me? Eizerman asked hastily, seeing that the gymnasium student had already moved quite far off. Without waiting for an answer, he ran out of the shop.

1. The first two are grammars of Hebrew; the third is a dramatic verse philippic against hypocrisy by Meïr Leibush ben Yechiel Michel Weiser, known by the acronym Malbim (1809–79), a Russian rabbi, preacher, and biblical commentator.

2. Hattot Ne’urim (Sins of Youth) by Moshe Leib Lilienblum (1843–1910), Jewish scholar and author whose description of his own material and spiritual struggles, published in Vienna in 1876, was the most controversial and influential book at the time for its open depiction of the conflict between rigid Orthodoxy and spreading rationalism.

3. Abraham Dob Bär Lebensohn (1789?–1878), Russian Hebrew poet and grammarian, and the leading exponent of the Haskalah in Lithuania; Judah Leib Gordon (1831–92), a Russian Hebrew writer and leading poet of his time; Abraham Mapu (1808–67), a Russian Hebrew writer who introduced the novel into Hebrew literature.

3

AFTER CATCHING UP with the gymnasium student, Eizerman walked behind him for several minutes, unable to decide whether to call out to him and not knowing how to do it. At last, summoning his courage, he gently pulled on his coattail from behind and said in a trembling voice, Look here! Gymnasium student!

The fellow quickly turned around and, seeing before him a young man in a long coat, asked sternly, What do you want?

Excuse me. . . . I want to ask you something. . . .

What?

"Could you possibly direct me to some teacher . . . ? Or—I’ll be completely frank with you—could you identify some ‘modern man,’ a maskil? I’ve come here to study," he concluded decisively.

Kapluner keenly and carefully looked Eizerman over from head to toe and asked in a haughty manner, You’re from a yeshiva, of course.

No, straight from home. . . .

Where’s your home?

Miloslavka. You’ve probably heard of it.

Did you run away?

How do you know? Eizerman asked in surprise.

By your nose!

Noticing another gymnasium student in the distance, Kapluner called out to him, Kalmanshtein, come over here!

When he’d drawn near, Kapluner, pointing at Eizerman, said indignantly and, at the same time, mockingly, Feast your eyes! God has sent us a new recruit! As if we didn’t have enough already! So, what do you think of him? Quite something, isn’t he?

Where’s he from? asked Kalmanshtein, fixing his nearsighted gaze on Eizerman.

"From where? Some little village, of course! He’s run away from his parents! Now he’s wandering the streets searching for some ‘modern people,’ some maskilim. . . ."

Terrible, replied Kalmanshtein, though rather calmly. For what reason?

Well, why have you come? What for? Kapluner turned sternly to Eizerman.

What do you mean, for what? Eizerman said in astonishment. I’ve come in search of the Haskalah, to study, to become a person.

To study, Kapluner repeated with irritation, turning to Kalmanshtein and shrugging his shoulders. They all sing the same song!

Awful! Kalmanshtein seconded him, again without irritation.

To study? You want to become a doctor? Right? Kapluner continued with deep irony, definitely assuming the role of accuser.

Eizerman failed to understand the reason for Kapluner’s irritation and, hearing his indignant exclamations, transferred his clear, innocently interrogative gaze from his accuser’s thin nervous face to Kalmanshtein’s generous freckled face. From Kapluner’s last words he realized that the gymnasium students hadn’t understood him at all. He said hastily, "No, no! You haven’t understood me! I haven’t come here to study to be a doctor. . . . I’m looking for the Haskalah. Don’t you see: I’m also a maskil! Don’t you understand . . . ?"

I understand, I understand! Kapluner interrupted him. But how will you live here? Do you understand: live how? Of course, you don’t have even half a kopeck!

You’re wrong! Eizerman replied joyously and triumphantly. I do have money! I have all of six rubles and fifty-eight kopecks!

Ha, ha, ha! Rothschild!¹ Kalmanshtein guffawed affably. "Well, what will you do with all that money? We have to take him off