Put it in writing

I was discussing a rumor floating around the work place with several of my friends. We were laughing over the fact that each of us had a slightly different version of the rumor.

“Well,” I said, “if you want people to get an accurate account of what happened I guess you have to put it in writing.”

“That may not help,” Deborah said. She then told the following story:

An elderly relative of hers, Ruth, fell and broke her hip. When Rabbi Rabinowitz visited Ruth in the hospital she asked him to write to her brother, Slava, to let him know what happened. “But,” she said, “bear in mind that he does not know much English.”

The Rabbi assured her that that would not be a problem. Since Jewish males are expected to know at least some Hebrew, the Rabbi wrote the letter in Hebrew. Slava had lost track of many of the relatives. His brother had died several years ago, but his brother’s wife, Rebeca, would know where other members of the family were. He had no reason to believe that Rebeca, a woman, would know Hebrew. Ah, but most Jews also spoke Yiddish. Although Slava’s knowledge of Hebrew was less than perfect, he translated what he could understand of the letter into Yiddish and mailed the translation to Rebeca.

Rebeca, however, was from a family that had been in this country for several generations and had a limited understanding of Yiddish. She understood many of the words, but would have been hard pressed to write correct sentences. Furthermore, this was a family matter. She did not want to appear uncaring by simply forwarding the letter to her husband’s cousin, Saul. She had to write a cover letter at the very least. She had only met Saul once. He was from Russia. Was he fluent in Yiddish? She did not know. So she did her best to translate the letter she received into English. She knew that Saul had a son. He could translate the letter if Saul did not understand English.

Saul’s son, however, was at college. What Saul could understand of the letter was that Ruth was gravely ill. He should let Ruth’s niece, Natasha, know this. Natasha, however, was a recent arrival to this country. So he translated what he could understand of the letter he received into Russian.

Natasha was fluent in Russian, but her vision was so bad that she could not read the letter. She gave it to her neighbor’s son Benjamin to read to her. What he saw on the page looked like chicken scratching to him. So he took the letter to the synagogue hoping that Rabbi Rappaport knew someone who could translate it. Fortunately, Ruth had told Rabbi Rabinowitz about her niece and gave him her niece’s address. He then called several of the synagogues near that address. When Rabbi Rappaport told him that he knew Natasha, Rabbi Rabinowitz mailed Rabbi Rappaport a letter in English. Benjamin received that letter when he went to the synagogue to have the other letter translated. He and Rabbi Rappaport then became the only people who received letters they fully understood.

Deborah ended the story by saying: “Oy vey, such a family! Everyone has moved away, and nobody writes anymore. Do they all have broken hands?”

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Mar. 29, 2011