Author's Note: This story is mostly drawn from the original stories with elements of the musical/movie mixed in. I've tried to retain a faint echo of the original flavor of the Yiddish stories, which really do have Hebrew peppered throughout. A mini-glossary of Yiddish, Hebrew, and occasionally Russian words will be included at the bottom of every chapter. Hebrew transliteration is based on Ashkenazi (Eastern European) pronunciation, and the transliteration of Yiddish words generally follows YIVO standard orthography, although for familiar names I try to keep familiar spellings (e.g., Tzeitel for Tsaytl and Chava for Khave). It's an arbitrary choice on my part. Biblical citations and other translations will also be included. But if you don't understand the quotes, I wouldn't break my head over them – they replicate the bewildering, exasperating effect that Tevye left on people (especially his wife!).

Tevye Does a Mitsve

The scent in the air was unmistakable – the cold was receding, and with it one of the harshest winters the people of the local shtetls could remember. Fuel and food shortages, on top of the usual list of pogroms and evictions enumerated in the Russian newspapers read aloud by Avrum the bookseller — did that man ever have any good news to share for a change? — all of it had been bleak, but it seemed the worst of it was over. Soon spring would arrive; so too would the rich Jews of Yehupetz, who would start moving into their magnificent dachas in anticipation of another fragrant summer. After the slow winter period, Tevye's business was sure to thrive again, a cycle that repeated itself year after year. He would set out with his cart loaded with cheeses and creams and milk jugs and would make his rounds to Anatevka and Boiberik, taking the rich Jews' jabs at him in stride and maybe even tossing back a few Torah-drenched barbs himself before coming home again in the evening to a proper meal and his three remaining happy, healthy girls.

No, not three. Two.

The weight of the past eight months hit him with full force, as it usually did during his time alone on the road. Had it really been so long since…? No. He had told himself thousands of times since then that he wouldn't think of it, wouldn't even dare pass along the road by the cemetery where she lay, even though his wife reminded him that her yortsayt would come upon them sooner rather than later. "You have to face up to it sometime, Tevye," she said, the usual scolding tone gone from her voice. Tears stood in her eyes. "She must be so lonely in there."

Against his better judgment, he imagined everything again, how she had looked when they pulled her out of the river, her pale face turned up to the sky, bluish lips slightly parted. But what haunted him most were her beautiful blue eyes: wide open, glassy, staring at nothing. Seeing her there, feeling his blood run cold in his veins, he thought for a moment that he was the one who had drowned. Hoyshi'eyni, Eloyhim, ki vo'u mayim ad nofesh.

A sharp pain tore through his chest, forcing him to slow his horse to a stop as he waited for it to pass.

Now was not the time to remember such things, nor would it do any good to waste his breath on curses. He had other business to attend to, or rather, one particular piece of business that lifted his spirits every time he thought about it. Taking up the reins and whip once more, he guided his horse and cart for the remaining stretch of road that separated him from his home, where Golde was no doubt making her last, feverish preparations for the Sabbath.

After stabling the horse and unloading the cart, he crossed the threshold with a smile, which didn't dim even as his heard his wife cry, "Ah, at last! The king enters his palace, late as ever, with the afternoon of Sabbath Eve almost gone! What happened this time? Did a gold brick fall from heaven right on your thick skull to give you such a stupid grin?"

Tevye didn't answer, but glanced at the spread Golde was preparing for the Sabbath evening meal. There was his plate at his usual spot at one end of the table, his wife's at the other, the candlesticks in the middle and the challah board and Kiddush cup set near them – yes, that was the same. But in the girls' spots, there was one plate for Teibl, one for Beylke, and one…. Surely she couldn't have read his mind!

Golde, who had been stirring the pot on the oven, saw him looking at the third plate and immediately rushed to it, embarrassed. "Oh, this… I just forgot for a moment…."

She made a move to remove it, but Tevye held out his hand to stop her. "Golde, I have good news."

Golde looked at him long and hard, then frowned. "Good news! Our enemies should hear good news from you. The last time you looked so pleased was when you invited him, a black year on his head." She didn't need to say who he was; Tevye knew exactly whom she meant.

"Now, Golde!" Tevye said admonishingly, unwilling to let her acerbic remarks ruin his newly uplifted mood. "Listen! What we have this Sabbath is the opportunity to do some good, a real mitsve."

"A mitsve? What are you on about? My husband spouts nothing but Torah all day, and now he wishes to be a tsadik!"

"I could argue with you about that, but as King Solomon said, udvar-sh'fosim akh-lemakhsur, and we stand to gain much in the eyes of Heaven, so let's not fight over earthly crumbs!" He waited to see if Golde would object, but she only gazed at him with one eyebrow raised, so he continued. "I was just about to head out from Anatevka after finishing my deliveries when an idea hit me. You know how over at the synagogue they have those little wooden planks with people's names etched in them – the ones they distribute to all the travelers passing through town so they know where they've been invited as guests for the Sabbath? Well, Tevye, I thought, it's high time you had your name etched on one of those planks just like those rich sheyne yidn who sit by the eastern wall! It's high time you played host for once to some poor shlimazl who's had it worse than you! So you know what I did? I went right up to the rabbi's son and I said, 'Reb Mendel, you go ahead and scratch my name in – the Sabbath Bride won't be the only guest at my table tonight!' I even donated some money to fix the synagogue's leaky roof so he wouldn't argue."

"You what?" cried Golde in horror and disbelief. The sound of her voice attracted the attention of Beylke and Taybl, who poked their heads out from the other room where they were changing into their Sabbath best.

"A guest, Tateh?" said Teibl, more out of bewilderment than excitement. "You mean we're really going to have a guest for the Sabbath?"

"Yes, ketsele, it's true," Tevye replied. "And don't you worry – I'm sure he'll be a better sort than the last one," he added, half to reassure his wife and half to reassure himself.

"Have you lost it for good?" continued Golde, her voice becoming shriller. "What sort of 'guest' do you think this will be, Elijah the Prophet? I'll tell you what he'll be – a beggar! A vagrant! A wanderer! He could even bring the evil eye into this house! Tfu-tfu-tfu!" She spat three times in quick succession to avoid tempting such a terrible fate.

"Bah!" said Tevye. "Can we ignore the opportunity to provide hospitality to others, even though we have so little ourselves? What did Abraham say to his three guests? Vekekho fas-lekhem vesa'adu lib'khem – he fed them, and they turned out to be no less than three angels! And what happened after that? Barren Sarah had a son!"

"So it's sons you're after?"

Tevye shrugged. "If God wills such a thing, who am I to argue? After all, odom yesoydoy mi'ofor – but no, it's not sons I'm after. It's the chance to do someone, somewhere, some good." He lowered his voice. "If not for our sake, then for hers."

Golde looked at the five plates arranged on the table and sighed wearily. "But will we have enough food…?"

A few hours later, right after the Sabbath candles had been lit, Tevye set out on foot toward Anatevka in order to attend the Friday evening service. The sun sank behind view, deepening the shadows of the pine trees of the forest that lined either side of the road, and Tevye knew that if he walked at just the right pace, he wouldn't arrive at the synagogue too late. He left his wife and daughters at home this week to keep an eye on supper until the fire died and the last lingering warmth of the coals faded. "We won't eat a bite," he had told them, "until our guest arrives – and I'm not coming back unless I bring him with me!"

The guest – the guest… what if he did end up being Elijah the Prophet, heralding the arrival of the Messiah? What greater miracle could Tevye ask for than that, a prophet in his own humble house? Or, almost as good, what if this unknown guest turned out to be a scholar? Tevye was aching to hear words of Torah from someone who studied them full-time. "You yourself haven't done badly," Tevye, he reminded himself. "You're a learned man – for a milk carrier. But imagine what you could learn from a real talmid khokhem!"

The possibilities made him almost giddy and he picked up his pace. The rhythmic sound of his feet hitting the gravel suddenly made him think of a song he hadn't heard since his youth, and without realizing he began to sing aloud:

Oy mazl, oy mazl, vu bistu fun mir antrinen?
Ikh tu dikh zukhn in ale vinkelekh, un kon dikh nit gefinen…

"Tevye, what's the matter with you, singing such a song!" he thought. "It's hardly cheerful enough for the Sabbath and for the blessings you've set yourself up for!" Hardly had he stopped singing when he realized he was not alone on the road, judging by the sound of creaking wheels and the jingling of a horse's harness in the distance. He turned and saw two horses pulling a cart at a brisk enough trot that it wouldn't be long before they overtook him. As the cart drew nearer, he could distinguish the driver – a small, silent peasant by the name of Alexei, if memory served – and his four passengers, all of them big Gentile boys from Boiberik, their faces flushed red from the cold and possibly from drink as well.

"Evening, Tevel!" one of them cried as the cart pulled up alongside. He was the only one of the four Tevye knew by name.

"Your health, Nikolai," Tevye replied, not without some nervousness.

"Why don't you keep singing for us?" asked another, his words slurring slightly.

"Because the song's already over! And why not? 'No man endures any longer than a breath,' so why should his songs?"

"Always have something to say about everything, don't you, Tevel?" said the third peasant, his face glowing with laughter. "Would you like a ride? We're heading to Anatevka."

The fourth peasant punched his friend's arm. "Idiot! Jews don't ride on their Sabbath!"

"It's a nice enough evening to walk," said Tevye, hoping to end the conversation there. "Good evening, gentlemen, good evening…."

The cart picked up speed and finally passed Tevye, its occupants laughing among themselves. But before they were completely out of earshot, Nikolai turned and called out, "By the way, Tevel, Fyedka Galagan sends his regards!"

Tevye heard those final words echoing in the trees as if mocking him. The entire rest of the way to Anatevka, he could feel his ears burning.

Glossary:

Ketsele: "Kitten"; a term of endearment.
Mitsve: "Good deed"; in other contexts, "commandment."
Sheyne yidn: Literally, "nice Jews"; refers to members of the Jewish community who are wealthy or otherwise prestigious.
Shlimazl: A chronically unlucky person into whose lap misfortune always seems to fall.
Talmid khokhem: "Wise student"; a Torah scholar.
Tateh: Papa.
Tsadik: A righteous man; a righteous woman would be a tsadekes.
Yortsayt: Literally, "time of year"; refers to the anniversary of the day of someone's death.

Quotations:

Hoyshi'eyni, Eloyhim, ki vo'u mayim ad nofesh: "Deliver me, O God, for the waters have reached my neck" (Psalms 69:1).
Udvar-sh'fosim akh-lemakhsur: "But mere talk leads only to poverty" (Proverbs 14:23).
Vekekho fas-lekhem vesa'adu lib'khem: "Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves" (Genesis 18:5).
Odom yesoydoy mi'ofor: "Man is but dust." (From a prayer during the High Holy Days.)
Oy mazl, oy mazl...: "Oh luck, oh luck, where have you disappeared? / I seek you in every corner and cannot find you." (A Yiddish folk song.)
"No man endures longer than a breath": Psalms 39:5 (JPS translation).