Folktales of the Jews, Volume 2: Tales from Eastern Europe

39. The Poisoned Cake (IFA 551)

39 The Poisoned Cake T O L D B Y D V O R A F U S The nobleman’s castle was in a village near the shtetl. His widow lived there with her only son. The steward and his assistants handled all her business affairs; her son was at school in a distant city. He never came home except during the summer vacation, when his sole pleasure was to go hunting in the nearby forests. The son was the noblewomen’s only comfort, and she expected that he would bring her great honor and satisfaction. On his account, she was extremely devout, to the point of fanaticism. Every Sunday, she went to church and distributed very large sums in alms. She never turned away a beggar and was accordingly much beloved in the village. Among those to whom she gave alms was a certain Jewish woman, who came to the noblewoman once a week and received what she needed for an entire week. But this Jewish woman never thanked the noblewoman . Instead, she repeated the same Yiddish phrase: “Everything you’re doing—you’re doing it for yourself and not for me.” (In other words, the reward of a good deed is a good deed,* and the true reward is tendered in Heaven.) The noblewoman did not understand what the Jewess was saying, of course, and kept giving her what she needed every week. Many years passed this way. Throughout this time, the son came home each year for his holiday, and he grew into a handsome young man. He continued to go hunting every summer when he was home. The Jewish woman continued to receive her weekly stipend from the noblewoman. The noblewoman was curious to know what the Jewess was saying. When she finally found out, she was furious. She decided to pay back this ungrateful Jewish woman, who had never once said thank you to her benefactor. The next time the Jewish woman came she would give her a poisoned cake. 282 * Mishnah Avot 4:2. So she baked a delicious-looking white cake laced with a deadly poison . When the Jewish woman came, as she did every week, she was given this cake as well. And she said, as always, “Everything you are doing— you are doing for yourself and not for me,” and went her way. As she was walking back home from the village, passing through the forest, she suddenly spied a man lying unconscious on the ground. Although she did not know who it was, she began to take care of him at once. When he recovered consciousness he told her, “I am the noblewoman ’s son. I was hunting in the forest, but I lost my way; and I’m very hungry because I haven’t had anything to eat in hours. That’s why I fainted.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the woman took out the mouthwatering cake and gave it to the young man, to satisfy his hunger, and continued on her way. The young man ate the poisoned cake and died. When they brought the corpse to her castle, his mother finally understood the Jewess’s words: She had poisoned the cake for her only son and for no one else. 39 / The Poisoned Cake  283   284  Folktales of the Jews: Volume 2 COMMENTARY FOR TALE 39 (IFA 551) Written down from memory in 1958 by Dvora Fus. Cultural, Historical, and Literary Background In 1946, S. Thompson1 stated that tales similar to the present one were apparently confined to Estonia. But in subsequent years, new versions from different countries became available.2 The proposition “He who does good to another does good to himself”—or in German, “Was man auch tut, tut man sich selbst”—with some variations, plays a crucial role in these tales.3 The same adage occurs in the originalYiddish text of the present story as well: Was du tust, tustu dokh zikh ober nit mir (Whatever you do, you do it for yourself and not for me). However, when such a traditional saying appears in a folktale, its meaning may become somewhat ambiguous, taking on different nuances and significance as the story develops. Tales about a person who bites his or her own poisonous bait occur in medieval midrashic anthologies from Yemen and from Europe. It is said that Rebecca’s father, Bethuel, offered a poisoned dish to Eliezer, Abraham’s...