A/N: This is a short one. As with the last chapter, see below for translations and citations.

Platten

Tevye arrived in town just as some stragglers like himself were filing into the synagogue between services amidst the loud, repeated cries of "Yidn, in shul arayn!" coming from the newly ordained Mendel, who acted as his father's personal assistant and considered himself personally responsible for calling all able-bodied Jewish men to attend services. As he passed the young rabbi, Tevye couldn't help but think of Solomon's words: mevoreykh re'eyhu b'koyl godoyl bo'erev hashkeym k'loloh teykhoshev — if I had to hear this shrieking every week, I'd consider it a curse, to be sure. He chucked to himself.

The synagogue of Anatevka was Tevye's favorite place in the world, except, of course, for Eretz Yisroel, which he doubted he would ever see with his poor Jewish eyes or trod with his poor Jewish feet. The building, constructed entirely of dark wood, did not appear terribly large outside, but inside it seemed so high that Tevye thought of it as an enormous wooden tent with four pillars like tent poles stretching into a pitch-black void. The walls had been decorated countless generations ago with depictions of animals and flowers and quotes from scripture, and in recent years, Yoshke Belensky, a local glazier who had amassed a fortune, designed and installed new windows with colored glass, enough to rival the church on the Gentile side of town. Beautiful red velvet curtains with silver embroidery, sewn by such devoted women as Golde's own grandmother Tsaytl, covered the Holy Ark where the Torah scrolls were kept.

The cantor was already standing at the amud, having just finished the afternoon service and now preparing to begin Kabbalas Shabbos. Tevye seated himself in his ordinary spot – not too close to the door, where only the truly destitute worshippers gathered, but not too close to the front or the eastern wall, either, which were privileged areas. By now the synagogue was as full as it was going to get, which on Friday nights was usually slightly less than half capacity. He looked around for friends, acquaintances, and those pesky busybodies he made pains to avoid.

"Yedid nefesh, ov horakhamon," the cantor began, grabbing Tevye's attention.

The rest of the service went by like a familiar dream, only this time Tevye found himself glancing back at the poorer worshippers by the door every now and again, wondering which of them was to be his Sabbath guest. There were a few faces he recognized – the wrinkled, heavily bearded face of Nokhem the beggar, for instance, who had worn the same floppy hat for years and who more often than not was Layzer-Wolf's Sabbath guest. Others, however, were drifters, people who only stayed in the hospitality house for a few days at most before moving on to the next town. Tevye didn't know them, and they usually didn't stay long enough for him to get to know them. Perhaps today would be different – perhaps his guest was among this sad, shuffling, shabby-looking group.

Once the service ended, Mendel situated himself by the synagogue's front doors carrying a stack of the platten he had written out earlier in the day. From where he was, if he squinted, Tevye could see a few of the names: Layzer-Wolf Katsev, Mordkha Kretshmer, Chatzkel Rozenfeld. One by one, Mendel handed out the platten to the patiently waiting needy, calling out the name of each host as he did so in his trumpet-like voice. "Reb Chatzkel!" he cried, handing that platte to a disheveled girl who had come down from the women's gallery and was carrying a small child in her arms. Reb Chatzkel and his wife, all smiles, came up to collect their guests of the week. "Reb Mordkha!" said Mendel, handing a platte to a middle-aged man who, judging by the frayed ribbons and tarnished medals still attached to his dirty coat, was a veteran of one of the czar's wars. When he heard his name called, the innkeeper approached, ready with a hearty handshake and backslap to escort his guest away.

One by one, the rest of the names were called, and hosts and guests alike either filed out of the synagogue or lingered a bit to make small talk. Tevye waited patiently, but when he looked, Mendel – satisfied that each host had been matched up with a guest – had gathered up the platten again to reuse them next week and disappeared into the synagogue annex.

"Reb Mendel, wait!" Tevye called after him, but Mendel must not have heard, for he was already gone.

Tevye wasn't sure if he felt more sadness or anger in that moment. Who did this Mendel think he was, anyway, fleecing people of modest means – and all just because he was the son of a rabbi and now a rabbi himself? Hadn't Tevye given him money for the synagogue, or did that not count for anything? It was a good sum of kopecks, too, a sizable chunk of his profits for the week! "Dear Lord," he muttered, "ma pishti uma khatosi, that you took this chance away from my family and me?"

He was just about to get up and find the rabbi to give a piece of his mind when he felt a tap at his shoulder and heard a voice say timidly, "Pardon me, but are you Reb Tevye – der milkhiker?"

"Who's asking?" Tevye replied with a hint of irritation. He turned around and found himself looking at a young man in a peaked cap and the kind of decent but travel-stained clothes that could only belong to a student. He was somewhat pale, but not sickly, his youthful face framed by two carefully curled, light brown peyos. Now it made more sense – his long black coat and white shirt instantly marked him as Hasidic.

"My name is Levi-Yitzhok," he said, scrutinizing Tevye with his lively grey eyes as intensely as Tevye was scrutinizing him. "I'm your Sabbath guest."

Tevye stared at him in mute surprise, then caught sight of something the young man was holding in his hands: a brand new platte with Tevye's name etched on its surface in Mendel's unmistakable handwriting.

Glossary:

Amud: In the synagogue, lectern situated near the Holy Ark from which services are conducted.
Eretz Yisroel: "The Land of Israel," referring specifically to the Biblically defined geographical area.
Kabbalas Shabbos: Mystical prelude to Sabbath services at which a number of psalms and the hymn "Lekho Doydi" are recited.
Katsev: Butcher (distinct from a shoykhet, "ritual slaughterer").
Kretshmer: Innkeeper.
Milkhiker: Dairyman.
Peyos: Side-curls, most notably worn by Hasidic boys and men.
Platten: Wooden planks inscribed with the names of townsfolk who volunteered to host guests – whether travelers or the poor – at their homes for the Sabbath.

Quotations:

Yidn, in shul arayn: "Jews, go to synagogue" (Yiddish cry publicly uttered by assistants to the rabbi before some prayer services).
Mevoreykh re'eyhu b'koyl godoyl bo'erev hashkeym k'loloh teykhoshev: "Whoever blesses a neighbor with a loud voice, rising in the evening, will be counted as cursing" (slightly altered Proverbs 27:14). While the original verse reads "baboker" - which means "in the morning" - here Tevye alters it to "bo'erev," which means "in the evening," since the prayer service to which he is going takes place then.
Yedid nefesh, ov horakhamon: "Beloved of the soul, Father of compassion" (liturgical poem often sung before the Kabbalas Shabbos service begins).
Ma pishti uma khatosi: "What is my offense? What is my sin" (Genesis 31:36)?