Early Yiddish Epic

By Jerold C. Frakes

Unlike most other ancient European, Near Eastern, and Mediterranean civilizations, Jewish culture surprisingly developed no early epic tradition: while the Bible comprises a broad range of literary genres, epic is not among them. Not until the late medieval period, Beginning in the fourteenth century, did an extensive and thriving epic tradition emerge in Yiddish.

Among the few dozen extant early epics, there are several masterpieces, of which ten are translated into English in this volume. Divided between the religious and the secular, the book includes eight epics presented in their entirety, an illustrative excerpt from another epic, and a brief heroic prose tale.These texts have been chosen as the best and the most interesting representatives of the genre in terms of cultural history and literary quality: the pious "epicizing" of biblical narrative, the swashbuckling medieval courtly epic, Arthurian romance, heroic vignettes, intellectual high art, and popular camp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syracuse University Press
• Release date: Jul 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9780815652687

Book preview

Midrashic Epic

1

Abraham Our Father

/ Avrom ovinu

Anonymous, ca. 1382

As is standard in early Yiddish midrashic poems, this heroic lay is based on biblical characters but not directly on biblical narrative itself. It makes particular use of the postbiblical midrashic traditions of Abraham’s recognition of the God of the Hebrew tradition and his serial destruction of the idols commercially produced by his father (cf. Bereshit rabbah 38, 13, and the Old Yiddish Tsenerene on Gen. 11:28). The lasting theological import of the narrative is obvious in Abraham’s direct recognition of the creator God and that deity’s overt intervention in human affairs to save Abraham from harm and thus—in a complete break with the narrative trajectory of biblical narrative—convert all Mesopotamians to belief in the Hebrew God. The Abraham of this heroic lay thus virtually invents monotheism while still an innocent child not yet fully initiated into the polytheistic belief system of the Mesopotamian culture in which he lives. Despite its overt theological content, there is more than a hint of humor evoked in the poem, especially in the tests to which Abraham puts the sculpted idols. The poem comprises 105 four-line stanzas, rhymed AABB, beginning with a paean of praise to God, a widespread component of early Yiddish poems. On the codex in which the text is transmitted, see the general introduction to this volume.

Source: Cambridge University Library, T.-S. 10K22, folios 6v–17r.

Edition: Fuks, Documents, I and II, 25–67 (manuscript facsimile + German translation); Katz, Poems, 91–112; EYT, 5.

Translation: Fuks, Documents, II, 25–67 (German).

Research: Ginzberg, Legends, I, 183–308, esp. 213–17, and V, 207–69; Shmeruk, Prokim 33–36, 133–39, 182–99; Baumgarten, Introduction, 132–36; Walter Röll, Zu den ersten drei Texten der Cambridger Handschrift von 1382/1383, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum 104 (1975): 54–68; Walter Röll, Awroham owinu (‘Unser Vater Abraham’), Verfasserlexikon, I, coll. 573–74; Wulf-Otto Dreeßen, Midraschepik und Bibelepik: Biblische Stoffe in der volkssprachlichen Literatur der Juden und Christen des Mittelalters im deutschen Sprachgebiet, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 100 (Sonderheft Jiddisch, 1981): 78–97.

(1) He who travels the old and well-built streets and avoids and abandons the newer paths will very seldom go wrong. If his faith is in control, it is said that all will go well. (2) If you should [ . . . ] with new [ . . . ] too soon, and sing that [ . . . ], it [ . . . ] one might find [ . . . ]. Dear God, I want to turn my mind to another thing. (3) I would like to begin with God, the most exalted, Whose praise no tongue can fully express, Who lets the good sun shine on both good and evil people and purposefully grants His grace in truth. (4) When I can see Heaven’s expanse beautifully compassed, then must I avow His mastery and all glory and all the other deeds of His hand that I cannot name: then must I acknowledge His mastery of everything. (5) Whoever then asks, Where is God? seems a fool, so that I in turn can ask him: Where is He not? He has bespread the whole world with His divinity. Whoever rouses His ire is a fool. (6) Whoever angers Him is dead even as his body still lives: his body must suffer affliction; his soul comes to great distress. Whoever rejoices in His will and earns His grace—his soul will live when his body has died. (7) He is both far and near, as anyone can perceive: He is distant from the evil and is present with the good. He is quite hidden from evil hearts and shines on the good both evening and morning. (8) Whoever has need of His help, let him seek His greeting and entreat Him devoutly: he will find relief from his troubles. He will find complete succor—that I have myself experienced; he will be quite freed of his cares. (9) For bright eyes, He is Himself a radiant light. For the languishing heart, He is a sweet and pure wine, for a bitter disposition even sweeter than figs. I will ever bow to His divinity. (10) His merciful heart is quite rich in virtues. His mercy is unlike human mercy, for His merciful hand is always quite open. He is quite untiring in His generosity. (11) He was the same from the beginning and will ever remain so: mighty King and Lord Host of us all. He well confirms our inheritance, for we are indeed His guests. He was the beginning and is also the end. (12) He created all the wide world with His command: both leaf and grass, mountain and valley, the surge of the savage sea, the heavens and the earth. Thereafter He created a man. (13) He constructed him according to His own shadow-image; He called him Adam. He put him in charge of things both wild and tame. He removed a rib from his body while he was sleeping and crafted it into a woman for him. (14) From those two bodies, we, too, are descended, as we have heard the truth from our forebears. They lie in the earth; their bodies have died. But their seed is very much alive. (15) If I were to tell everything from the beginning up to now—every birth—it would begin to become too long. I will keep silent about all of them who descend from him and will sing of holy Abraham.

(16) Abraham’s father was a maker of images who was never able to write or read a single letter of the alphabet. He could make images of silver and gold and also of wood, according to his desire. (17) The heathens who were there, they had a foolish custom that had long accompanied them up to this point, so that they ever worshipped idols and strayed far from faith in God. (18) They said: the God in Heaven, who made the heavens and created the seas, is much too exalted for us. He built too high and dwells too far from us. We want someone to whom we can lament for what we suffer. (19) We have to make gods who stay near us. To them we can lament for what we suffer, whom we otherwise wish to praise and serve. And if they do not do so, we will give them a thorough thrashing. (20) They were quite duped by illusory deception; they had strayed very far from God. Each one had an idol to which he lamented his afflictions and told all of his cares.

(21) Abraham’s father was at this time praised and honored, his acclaim spread far and wide, for he could make idols expertly, well adorned, so that they could prosper. (22) While they were serving heresy so well, more than I can say or ever wish to sing, there shone a bright star through the dark cloud to comfort the ignorant folk.

(23) A child had been born to that same image-maker, who was to bear little fruit that was true to his father’s type. Quite early he began in truth to turn his mind toward the love of merciful God. (24) Good Abraham was three years old, as the Holy Scriptures have truly told us, when he first began to believe in God. He was born at a propitious hour. (25) Now hear a wondrous tale, how that child began to surpass many an older man in his wisdom. He refined and separated the silver from the lead and indeed eradicated heresy.

(26) One day his father said: Abraham, dear child, take these gods that are ready here. Make your way to market and sell them, every one. If you succeed, we will all be rich. (27) Good Abraham loaded himself up with the gods. He greatly desired that God would know his mind. He went on his way to the market; his burden seemed to him too heavy. O how gladly he would have been done with this. (28) He thought to himself, If only I knew to whom I could lament, that I, such a little person, have to carry the heavy gods. It would be much more proper if they were to carry me—that I say quite openly. I am going to treat them quite differently. (29) He dumped them on the ground and picked up a large stone. He broke the head of one, broke the leg of another, smashed the arm of another, and pounded the back of another to bits. He picked them up and carried the pieces home.

(30) Then his father said: O dear child, how has it happened that these gods have remained unsold? He said: Dear father, I was ever unable to sell them: I have never seen gods cause such trouble. (31) As I struggled to carry them to market, they began a great quarrel. Each beat the other; they brawled and punched each other. If you do not believe me, have a look yourself. (32) Be silent, dear child; your false opinion has indeed deceived you, for how could one small piece of wood thus beat the other? He dumped them on the ground and let him have a look for himself. He began to tear at himself because of his great sorrow.

(33) He said: My very dear father, now do not tear at yourself that way. You should be happy that they started such a brawl. For had their great rage been vented on you, you might have suffered great injury. (34) Be silent, foolish child! Shut your mouth! For how could a piece of wood do me such great injury? He said: That same thing has confounded me: that you had not come to that realization. I do not understand what you have in mind with the pieces of wood. (35) Then his father said: Now put aside your resistance. Sell these gods that are ready here.

With a heavy heart he carefully took them up. He wished that they were lying among the glowing coals. (36) When holy Abraham arrived there at the market, he set all his father’s gods before him. He offered them at a very high price to anyone who began to bargain for them. He wished that they were lying in the fire.

(37) Now see where an elderly woman stepped up before him and earnestly requested that he give her a little god so that she could pay for it. As they spoke, a great quarrel arose. (38) So what is the problem, you foolish woman? You have a childish heart and an old body. That you have acted foolishly for so many years! After all, you are no longer a seven-year-old! (39) Tell me, my dear child, what have I done to you? If I have bargained for a little god with you, you should not let that cause you to drive me away, for unfortunately I cannot, after all, pay for a large one. (40) There is no longer any reason for you to desire either the large ones or the small ones. Indeed if you were to avoid both of them, you could abandon your foolishness for years to come, if from now on you would like to avoid your fraudulent jabbering. (41) So, what are you talking about, my dear child? It is indeed no fraud, but a little god. If I had it, my sorrows would disappear completely. If I pray to it, I would overcome my sorrows. (42) So, who has aided you in adversity up to now—provided water and bread for some eighty years? These gods were after all not yet made before your time. You have been stricken with foolishness. (43) Tell me, my dear child, who did it? If you identify Him to me, I will gladly give Him his due. He said: God, Who created you, did it, the one who created the heavens and the earth. (44) That is true, dear child; you have spoken the truth to me. What I earlier thought causes me sorrow. I will believe in this same God forevermore. He is truly God, a true aid in adversity.

(45) With such words he converted both women and men. He took all of his father’s gods away unsold. He carried them carefully on his back. His father’s loss was his great fortune. (46) When he entered his father’s house thus burdened, how poorly did his father welcome him. He said: When you go to the market, you do nothing but chatter. You cannot gain any profit for us. (47) He said: My dearest father, why do you speak thus? If I could have sold them, I would be very happy about it. But they beat me all over my back. That afflicted me—about that you can believe me! (48) If I could have sold them, so that we made a profit, I would never have come home thus burdened. Before I suffer great harm from them, I would burn them on the hearth. (49) Now be silent, my dear son! How you talk like a child! Of course you know that all these gods are holy and might not be burned in a fire. Now, say no more. Otherwise you will begin to anger me. (50) With those same words the conversation ended, so that the little child rejoiced and was very happy that he had so thoroughly accomplished his will and had not been given a whack.

(51) When this incident had been quite forgotten, his father said: Up with you and make a journey. If we could sell the gods, we would have done well. I am now quite pinched in my resources. (52) He carefully took them up and departed. He turned his heels toward his father’s door, slung the sack over his shoulder, and set out across the fields. He began vehemently to berate the idols. (53) He said: Cursed idols, cursed may you be! You have ridden my poor back until it is worn out. If the true God sends me His aid, I will quite eradicate your religion. (54) He went on his way to market; the trip seemed too long to him. The burden was too heavy for him; his body was too weak. He came to a broad and powerful river. In truth, he thought, here flows forth a great spring. (55) He threw the sack to the ground. He began to grow very weak. He said: Listen, you gods, I carried you this far. Now, you carry me across. You will ever be honored for that. If you do not do it, I will spread word of your disgrace more and more. (56) If I were to carry you across, I would be acting the fool. Indeed the river has washed away bridges large and small. Now, carry me across; you will surely survive that. If you do not do it, I will let you float away yourselves. (57) No matter what he said to them, they were quiet as a badger. He turned yellow with rage, like a twisted beeswax candle. He threw the sack to the ground with hatred and ferocity. He dumped them out and let them float away. (58) He said: Wade across; no need to hurry. You go first and find the ford for me. I will wade right after you. When you get across, wait for me there. If you do not do so, I will spread word of your disgrace. (59) Their heads came to the surface and they floated away downstream. He called after them very loudly, so that it resounded a long way: Come back, come back! You are not paying attention. You did not quite manage to find the proper ford.

(60) That which he called after them had no effect on them. They floated away and did not turn back toward his words. He turned his back on them, too: he had had enough of them. He arrived at his father’s house quite unburdened. (61) When the image-maker saw the empty sack, he was very happy. Now hear what he said: Well, my dear son, how did the business go? Did we again suffer loss or make a profit? (62) He said: Dear father, I cannot hide it: you have to entrust your gods to someone else. They do not obey me: I seem too small to them. When I speak to them, they do not know what I mean. (63) When I had carefully loaded them on my back, I carried them quite directly to the stream of a river. I earnestly requested that they consider carrying me across the river without getting my feet wet. (64) Behold, they gave me no reply and had their fun. Then I also foolishly got involved in a vehement quarrel. I said: ‘I would still like to come to another agreement with you: if you wade ahead, I will wade after you.’ (65) I dumped them in the river, and they floated downstream. I called after them very loudly, so that it resounded a long way. I imagined that they had floated beyond the right place. But now they have floated off in a different direction.

(66) Come here, you—now and eternally—foolish child. Well you know that these gods are all wooden, that none of them can either see or hear. Child, your foolishness has beguiled you. (67) The loss has taken place; never has a loss been deflected. A child can be born only with a childish nature. If I had sent a wise man to the market, I would have sold my wares better. (68) He said: Father, when I carried your gods away, you said that they were respectable, prudent, and noble. Had I known that they were so very depraved, I would certainly never have relied on them.

(69) The image-maker looked at his son in amazement that he spoke so scornfully of his gods. It greatly surprised and astonished him. In his rage he became redder than an ember. (70) He said: My very dear child, who gave you the advice [ . . . ] first of all [ . . . ] my [ . . . ] steal [ . . . ] quite from them [ . . . ] belief. (71) He said: "Dearest father, I will give you this advice: your gods have to be lifted and carried. How could blows harm me more?¹ My very young heart gives me this advice."

(72) That image-maker fell into a fierce rage. He said: Most foolish child, which god have you chosen for yourself? Have you seen no other god on earth? Child, you wish to become quite irreligious. (73) No, dear father. May that never happen to me that you could hear or see my God. He is concealed and hidden from seeing eyes. I believe in Him both evening and morning. (74) Be silent, most foolish child! Do not say that anymore! You are indeed greatly offending the heathen faith. You need to change your attitude—that is my advice to you now. And spare me your sermons!

(75) The child kept very quiet so that it was every [ . . . ]. His father preached to him [ . . . ] child stood steadfast against him. He said: "You [ . . . ] that now [ . . . ] more [ . . . ] faith well weaken.

(76) [ . . . ] were; they had a foolish custom. [ . . . ] up to this point had followed for very many years. [ . . . ] in every city had a house of prayer, in which they all prayed daily. (77) They all went into the house daily to pray: quite early in the morning and quite late in the evening. Everyone had to stand guard before the gods for a night and protect them from harmful things. (78) Behold, how guard duty had come to the image-maker. He said to his child: Most beloved Abraham, you are to stand guard in my place; I cannot forgo that. The child said: Gladly, dear father. (79) When holy Abraham went to the idols, he quietly stepped into the doorway; no one welcomed him. He said: Who has ever seen such very inconsiderate hosts who could not welcome their guests.

(80) The night was so dark, and cool was the wind. Snow began to fall, and the child began to freeze. He said: I am freezing! O, how I would like to sit in a warm place! I have never in my life seen such poor hosts. (81) He [ . . . ] the door. He said: Now lie there and sleep until I wake you. You will never again be in my father’s sack. (82) You have quite completely pounded my [ . . . ], ridden my back to death from market to market. You have thus far shown little care for me. I have repaid you for that treatment.

(83) Finally he arrived there at his father’s house. His father said: Why do you return so early? He said: I have guarded your gods so well. I made a nice fire of them. (84) Come here, now and forevermore, said his father at once. I clearly hear by your tone that you have burned them up. He said: Dear father, now do not shout too much. You will never see your gods again.

(85) When the heathen people were to go to prayer, they found their house of prayer in very bad condition. They saw the smoke surging through the walls—indeed a Christian priest could have sung there with honor! (86) They all forced their way inside through the door. They saw their gods with great anguish: burnt and quite charred in the hot fire. Scanty were the joy and delight to be found there. (87) Then the heathen people wept and shrieked. Meanwhile they sang a very sad song. They wept and shrieked and wrung their hands. They began to send for the image-maker.

(88) The poor image-maker came very sorrowfully. He had left holy Abraham at home. When he saw his gods smoldering on the hearth, he tore his hair and collapsed onto the ground. (89) They said: Where is your son? Now, command that he himself come. He will never have any profit from the injury that he has done to us in his burning our gods unjustly. He must suffer the same punishment.

(90) Then holy Abraham came; quite cheerful was his mood. He was not at all afraid; his character was steadfast. His cheeks seemed to burn—they were as red as a bright rose; I say that without any frivolity.

(91) Nimrod, who ruled there, said: Tell me, most foolish child, who told you to do this—to burn these gods unjustly? For that, child, you must suffer the same punishment. (92) Indeed they were not gods, said the child at once. "After all, my father made them with his own hands. The gods that my father can make—I pay them little heed. He is God Who made my father, (93) the God Who here created the whole, wide world, both leaf and grass, mountain and valley. Faithful to Him will I live and die. I trust completely in Him that He will not let me come to harm. (94) Then Nimrod said: If the God Whom you have recognized can deliver you from the hand of us all, so that you might survive this hot fire, then I will pay a high price for your faith."

(95) The tiny child was quickly bound. They heated an oven and threw him inside. He lay rolled up like a ball. In the blink of an eye he was discovered. (96) Holy Michael went to stand before our dear Lord. He said: My most beloved Lord God, now let me go there. I can indeed rescue him and burn those who enrage You every day. (97) Then Holy Gabriel said: My most beloved Lord, now let me go there. I want to be Your envoy. I can indeed cool down the fiery oven a great deal, so that the one who is being purified in the fire for You will not feel the fire.

(98) Then our dear Lord said: Indeed he has recognized Me. I will deliver him with My own hand. I will not send a envoy there in My place. I will Myself put an end to his affliction. (99) God’s glory appeared to the dear, beloved child.

The inside of the oven glowed the color of red garnet. The fire and the heat began to surge forth from it. The heathenry all had to leap away. (100) Then our dear Lord said to the precious child: I have rescued you; you ought to do My bidding. Attend to and rejoice in My will; then I will strengthen you and multiply your seed.

(101) The door of that oven was opened for the child. He got up very quietly and went out. His eyes shone like the morning star. The poor image-maker was very happy to see that. (102) He said: Fortunate am I, dear child, that I have seen this: that you have experienced this splendor here. I will believe in your God forever more. He is truly God, a true aid in adversity. (103) The heathen people all crowded in there, a great horde of men and women. They made their vows to God and raised up their hands. Behold, heathenry had its end there.

(104) Children, believe altogether in Almighty God. Attend to His will and fulfill His commandments. You ought to do that, you men, along with your wives. If you do that, then you may prosper. (105) Now attend to His will as long as you live. Isaac the scribe gives you this advice. And if you do that, then you cannot be brought low. Thus will you enter the eternal heavenly kingdom.

2

Joseph the Righteous

/ Yousef ha-tsadik

Anonymous, ca. 1382

Based ultimately on the characters of Joseph and Potiphar’s unnamed wife, introduced in the cryptically narrated episode of Joseph’s rejection of his slave master’s wife’s attempt to lure him into sexual transgression in Genesis 39:7–20, this heroic lay’s content derives from the widely known postbiblical Jewish traditions, particularly the midrashic sources on the biblical story.¹ The poem’s central motif—of the Egyptian women guests of Potiphar’s wife being mesmerized by Joseph’s beauty and cutting their fingers while peeling apples—originates in the midrash, where it was quite widespread. It was also incorporated into the Qur’ān (12:31) as well as a broad range of other realizations in early Islamic literatures.

The poem is composed of thirty-eight rhymed couplets, with the initial letters of each forming a Hebrew-language acrostic: first a (slightly modified) list of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet, which conventionally would have been followed by the scribe’s name, which is not the case here, followed by the word nakdan (punctator). On the codex in which the text is transmitted, see the general introduction to this volume.

Source: Cambridge University Library, T.-S. 10K22, folios 17v–18v.

Edition: Fuks, Documents, I and II, 68–72 (manuscript facsimile); Katz, Poems, 113–15; Chone Shmeruk, "The Hebrew Acrostic in the Yosef Hatsadik Poem of the Cambridge Yiddish Codex," Michigan Germanic Studies 3 (1977): 67–81; EYT, 6.

Translation: Fuks, Documents, II, 68–72 (German); Joachim Neugröschel, No Star Too Beautiful: Yiddish Stories from 1382 to the Present (New York: W. W. Norton, 2002), 6–8 (poetic paraphrase).

Research: Ginzberg, Legends, II, 3–184, esp. 39–58, and V, 324–77; Shmeruk, Prokim, 36–37, 182–99; Baumgarten, Introduction, 132–39; Frederic Everett Faverty, The Story of Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife in Mediaeval Literature, Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature 13 (1931): 81–127; Hans Priebatsch, Die Josefsgeschichte in der Weltliteratur: Eine legendengeschichtliche Studie (Breslau: M. & H. Marcus, 1937); Pavel Trost, Zwei Stücke des Cambridger Kodex T-S 10, K. 22, Philologica Pragensis 4 (1961): 17–24; Pavel Trost, Noch einmal zur Josefslegende des Cambridger Kodex, Philologica Pragensis 5 (1962): 3–5; James W. Marchand and Frederic Tubach, Der Keusche Joseph. Ein mitteldeutsches Gedicht aus dem 13.–14. Jh.: Ein Beitrag zur Erforschung der hebräisch-deutschen Literatur, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 81 (1962): 30–52; Peter Ganz, Frederick Norman, and Werner Schwarz, Zu dem Cambridger Josef, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 82 (1963): 86–90; Dov Sadan, The Midrashic Background of ‘The Paradise’: Its Implications for the Evaluation of the Cambridge Yiddish Codex (1382), in The Field of Yiddish: Studies in Yiddish Language, Folklore, and Literature, edited by Uriel Weinreich, 2nd collection (The Hague: Mouton, 1965), 153–62; Wulf-Otto Dreeßen, Midraschepik und Bibelepik: Biblische Stoffe in der volkssprachlichen Literatur der Juden und Christen des Mittelalters im deutschen Sprachgebiet, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 100 (Sonderheft Jiddisch, 1981): 78–97; James L. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life in Biblical Texts (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1994), 28–65; Shalom Goldman, The Wiles of Women/The Wiles of Men: Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife in Ancient Near Eastern, Jewish, and Islamic Folklore (Albany: SUNY Press, 1995), 102–6; Chava Turniansky, "Einav ke-khokhavim, se’aro ke-zahav: Yosef ha-tsadik be-shir kadum be-yidish," Tarbiz 76 (2007): 471–500.

I would like to sing marvels for you—if it were not too tedious for you—how good Joseph tamed his heart in all the situations when his master’s wife requested that he lie with her and commit transgressions. (5) Graciously Joseph answered his fair mistress: How might I bear this transgression for evermore? I would do everything that I could to do your will, except for allowing this transgression to burden my soul.

Then she went away and boldly² assembled (10) all the worthy ladies who attended her. How graciously the noble and lovely lady said: I have the most genial servant whom any lady ever obtained: his eyes are like the stars, his hair like gold, so that my heart loves him beyond all measure. (15) He is like a king in his face, and with his dignities like one who should be the ruler of a land. Virtue and dignity follow him at all times: virtue at the right hand, and dignity at the left. Indeed I entreated him to sleep with me in my herb garden; (20) I wanted to wait for him there. I was quite incapable of bringing it about that I might gaze at his lovely face. Bright and clear are his eyes: brilliant as the morning star and beautiful as the rays of the sun. (25) My heart had been set aflame and [ . . . ] Thus had the good hero overcome my [ . . . ]. Now gather around, ladies, and come, all of you, and follow me. I want to let you look at this magnificent warrior. Keep silent about this matter! shouted the ladies. (30) How might a little Jew delight us so?! He simply must be put on display, said the ladies then.

All together they arose and went away with her. She ordered silk pillows and folding chairs well inlaid with gold to be brought in. (35) Demurely the ladies sat, all together. Then the mistress, the noble and lordly one, spoke: Joseph, my servant, said the lady then, Come here and stand with courtliness before these beautiful ladies. Quickly he sped to do her bidding. (40) O how courtly did the hero stride forth.

She had beautiful red apples brought out that would give the worthy ladies much delight. Bring forth the knives—you should choose the finest ones—so that these worthy ladies can peel their apples with them. (45) The servant came quickly with the knives. Each of the ladies took one of the knives. Peel your apples, said the lady then. They peeled their apples and gazed at Joseph: their hands became carved up and lacerated. (50) Then the worthy, noble and most bold lady said: Now look, worthy ladies, how you are all so enflamed that you have cut your fingers most exceedingly.

They were quite embarrassed and began to glance around. They themselves did not quite understand how or what had happened to them. (55) Joseph, my servant, said the lady quickly then, now serve these ladies drinks with your snow-white hand. He poured them mead and pure wine, which he offered to them there. He was very embarrassed and blushed from shame. He served the ladies drinks with his white hands. (60) The ladies gazed at his eyes; his heart he had sent up to God. He was serving drinks to the ladies at this same moment. They all gazed at Joseph while holding their goblets to their lips. Their bright complexions had gone quite pale, and the golden goblets in their hands sank slowly downward. (65) Because of their great love, they could no longer look at him. They had to tell the whole truth to his mistress. They stood up, all together, and kissed him on the head. They said: It would be proper for you to rule a noble kingdom.

Now attend to this great marvel, (70) how this hero—only through his heart, which he had mastered—soon thereafter took control over all the lands of Egypt. His virtues were manifold. For God’s sake, dear people, take this as your model, that you keep your bodies chaste. (75) Now, if all your bodies be chaste, then you will be granted the holy kingdom of Heaven.

The End.

3

Book of Samuel

/ Seyfer Shmuel

Moses Esrim Vearba, composed fifteenth century; earliest ms. 1525; published 1544

The narrative that has long been considered the masterpiece of Old Yiddish midrashic epic, the Seyfer Shmuel (Book of Samuel), was also known already in the sixteenth century by the alternate title Shmuel-bukh (Samuel-book). While the first edition was published in 1544 (Augsburg), there are manuscripts that predate that publication, the earliest now extant dating to the first quarter of the sixteenth century. The date of the epic’s composition is unknown and disputed, with some scholars arguing for a date as early as 1300. Most likely it was written in the late fifteenth century, and, based on a variety of evidence, it seems likely that it was written in northern Italy.¹ The epic comprises 1,792 four-line stanzas rhymed AABB, followed by a colophon of twelve rhymed couplets; each line is divided rhythmically into two half-lines of three primary accents each.² The poem’s melody was also used for the performance of numerous other Yiddish and bilingual Hebrew-Yiddish poems, which were then identified as performed be-nign shmuel-bukh (to the tune of the Shmuel-bukh). Wulf-Otto Dreeßen argues compellingly that more than merely indicating that a poem is sung to the melody of the Seyfer Shmuel, the phrase signifies that the Seyfer Shmuel had become a formal model in verse form, stanzaic form, melody, and even