THE MATZOH BALL MAN: or, What Goes Around Comes Around
by David Yang
Once upon a time there was an old woman who lived all alone. In a fit of inspiration she fashioned a matzoh ball into the shape of a little boy and instilled it with all her dreams and desires. She then dropped it into a boiling cauldron of chicken soup and stirred for three days and three nights. Well, we all know the restorative power of chicken soup and in time she could see a strange object turning over and over on the waves like an otter until at one point it swam to the edge of the pot, climbed out, and said: “Jeez, mother, that there’s hot!” Looking down, she said: “Mein boychick, come here, give your mum a hug.” But then he backed away with a mad look on his face, saying: “boundaries, mother, and I think it’s time to go.” He then proceeded to completely tear around that little house, jumping over tables, under chairs, knocking over this and that, left and right, and generally wreaking havoc.
This wasn’t working out the way the woman had planned so she grabbed a large cleaver off the counter and started chasing him around the house. He dodged and jumped while she hacked away leaving behind a sorry trail of wood chips and broken pottery. Just when she thought she finally had him cornered he ducked under her dress and dashed out the door. As he skipped away he hollered over his shoulder:
Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me, I’m the Matzoh Ball Man!
He scudded through the dusty streets and, rounding a corner, came upon Mayor Meier’s house, made of real brick and located right smack in the center of town. It was market day in Chelm and his eyes were greeted with a bustling panoply of horse-drawn carts and peddlers peddling their wares. There were farmers from the countryside and fishmongers who sat on empty herring pails; women with scarves on their heads trailing barefoot children with cheese, chickens, and baskets of eggs; scholars with long beards on their way to yeshiva holding enormous leather-bound books. Feeling small and vulnerable, he steered clear of the crowds. He had just turned down a side street when he came upon a well-dressed young couple coming his way. As the sounds of the market faded away he looked the couple over. The man looked uncomfortable in his fine clothes and appeared weary but the woman walked lightly. He caught the man’s eye and called out to him:
I’ve run from a woman,
My life she did grant,
And now I am going to run
away from you!
Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me, I’m the Matzoh Ball Man!
A shadow passed over the man’s face and he started tugging at his wife but she took one look at the ball of dough and started giggling uncontrollably. “Oy, look what you’ve done!” the man said crossly. “Time was she would not laugh at all; now she can’t stop. We’re looking for the doctor, not some schmendrick with a mouth larger than his brain!” The man tenderly put his arm around his wife as her shoulders shook with silent mirth and they turned and walked up the street away from the irksome dumpling.
The experience left him flustered but, being a resilient sort, he recovered his step soon enough, and, ambling out of town, came upon a ramshackle cottage, the last on the road. He could hear the melancholy strains of a cello coming from inside while outside on the porch was a man of indeterminate age sitting alone with a book and a sour expression on his face. He was dressed in a wrinkled old black suit that was probably out of fashion when it was bought. There was a violin case at his feet. The Matzoh Ball Man called out:
I’ve run from a woman,
My life she did grant,
A wife who laughs
and a husband who can’t,
And now I am going to run away from you!
Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me, I’m the Matzoh Ball Man!
Startled. the man looked up and began to call into the house: “Mendel, you won’t believe what ….” But he stopped himself and said “Oh, never mind” and visibly deflated before the Matzoh Ball Man’s eyes. “Just go away and leave us alone.”
The Matzoh Ball Man was at a loss for words: “Come on, have a run!” The man replied: “Here’s a news flash, sonny: I don’t run - do I look like I run? Secondly, why would I want to eat you? With my luck I’d choke on the first bite. What’s more, look at you, standing in the street, no shirt, no shoes - disgusting! Would YOU eat you? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” And with that, he turned his back to the Matzoh Ball Man, buried his face in a dog-eared book and started making marks in the margins with an inch-long stub of pencil.
Dumbfounded, the Matzoh Ball Man continued out of town. Not being one to dwell on past disappointments, no sooner had his buoyant spirits revived than he spied a farmer riding up on a skinny old nag headed into town to spend some newly-acquired cash. “Co to jest?” called out the farmer. “What is dis, a little man of dough? Looks tasty and I am hungry after all my hard work. Zis day just get better and better. Now iz time for lunch!”
But the Matzoh Ball Man grinned as his eyes flashed with malice and he said:
I’ve run from a woman,
My life she did grant,
A wife who laughs
and a husband who can’t,
A fellow with a fiddle
And a pessimistic bent,
And now I am going to run away from you!
Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me, I’m the Matzoh Ball Man!
The farmer kicked and cursed his horse into action but the poor beast was no match for the spry legs of the little man who evaded them with ease.
His good mood now completely restored, he began to head out of town leaving behind the narrow streets of the shtetl for the increasingly rural road into the countryside. He passed fields of beets and barley, long rows of potatoes and turnips. A large black crow cawing overheard gave him a fright and for half an hour he hid behind a hand-painted signpost with an arrow that pointed back to Chelm. Gradually the fields turned into woods of birch and alder which slowly yielded to a dark and ancient forest of massive oaks. As the road narrowed he could see large patches of mushrooms and seas of fern in the twilight under the boughs and looking between the trees he would sometimes catch fleeting glimpses of enormous shaggy creatures deep in the woods, half-hidden but never fully seen. A sense of gloom began to settle over him and it was at this time, with real relief, that he happened upon an old man sitting down and resting his bare feet in a cold stream while silently looking down into the water. There at his side was a black doctor’s bag.
His spirits revived at the prospect of tormenting another soul and the Matzoh Ball Man determined to break the old fool’s reverie. He cried out in the most obnoxious voice he could muster:
Run, run, as fast as you can,
You can’t catch me, I’m the Matzoh Ball Man!
The old doctor looked up from his musings and said: “Vell, vat do ve haf here? A leettle snack, I tink?” “Come on, alter cocker, have a go! Don’t you want to eat me?” said the Matzoh Ball Man. “Vat’s dat you say? Are you lost, little man? Do you need help?” And the Matzoh Ball man said: “Run, run…” The old doctor interrupted “Come closer, little doughboy, I can’t hear you. Zeese old earss are not vat zey yoost to be.” And the Matzoh Ball Man came closer and yelled at the old man’s face: “I SAID…” “Vat? You really must speak up, my boy. Ziss vater iss fery loud!” The Matzoh Ball Man went right up to the old man in his big, black coat, shimmied up his sleeve to his shoulder, and yelled right in his ear:
I’ve run from a woman,
My life she did grant,
a wife who laughs
and a husband who can’t,
a fellow with a fiddle
and a pessimistic bent,
an avaricious farmer
with a gluttonous intent.
And now I am going to run
away from you!
RUN, RUN, AS FAST AS YOU CAN,
YOU CAN’T CATCH ME, I’M THE MATZOH BALL MAN!
But at that the old man snatched him up in his surprisingly nimble and strong fist, plopped him in his mouth, his jaws snapped shut, and he swallowed him in one gulp. “Vell, vat do you know? A little matzoh ball man. Deelishous!”
So here’s a recipe for success:
Be nice to others and treat them best;
Don’t taunt, don’t mock, don’t bite or hurt,
Or you’ll be bitten and made dessert.
