"That," he says, "is something quite different. All-Israel is another thing. All-Israel is God's affair--God is mindful of it, and then, in case there should be forgetfulness before the throne of His glory, there are those who will remind Him. But as for private affairs, that's a different matter. Besides, how much longer can the misery of Israel last? It _must_ come to an end some time, either because the measure of guilt is full, or the measure of merit is full. But Parnosseh is quite another thing!" ONLY GO! I forgot to tell you that the rabbi of the little town would neither come to see me nor allow me to visit him. He sent to tell me that it was not his business, that he was a poor, weakly creature, besides which he had been sitting now for several weeks over a knotty question of "meat in milk," and then, the principal thing, he was at loggerheads with Kohol, because they would not increase his salary by two gulden a week. There came, however, three householders and two beadles. I began with mine host. He has no wife, and before I could put in a word, he excused himself for it by asking, "How long do you suppose she has been dead?" lest I should reproach him for not having found another to fill her place. Well, to be brief, I set him down a widower, three sons married, one daughter married, two little boys and one little girl at home. And here he begs me at once to put down that all the sons--except the youngest, who is only four years old "and Messiah will come before _he_ is liable to serve"--that all the others are defective[61] in one way or other. With the exception of the two eldest sons, I already know the whole family. The married daughter lives in her father's house and deals in tobacco, snuff, tea, and sugar; also, in foodstuffs; also, I think, in rock-oil and grease. I had bought some sugar of her early that morning. She is about twenty-eight years old. A thin face, a long hooked nose that seems to be trying to count the black and decaying teeth in her half-opened mouth, cracked, blue-gray lips--her father's image. Her sister, a young girl, is like her; but she has "Kallah-Chen,"[62] her face is fresher and pinker, the teeth whiter, and altogether she is not so worn and neglected-looking. I also see the two little boys--pretty little boys--they must take after their mother: red cheeks, and shy, restless eyes; their twisted black curls are full of feathers; but they have ugly ways: they are always shrugging their little shoulders and writhing peevishly. They wear stuff cloaks, dirty, but whole. The mother cannot have died more than a short time ago, long enough for the cloaks to get dirty, not long enough for them to be torn. Who is there to look after them now? The eldest sister has four children, a husband who is a scholar, and the shop--the little Kallah maiden serves her father's customers at the bar; the father himself has no time. "What is your business?" I ask him. "Percentage." "Do you mean usury?"