Silently I walked after my comrades, meditating to myself. When I was a child I used to beseech the Holy One, blessed be He, to reveal to me the magic name by which one could go up to the Land of Israel. Something like this request I made at that moment, not for myself but for those weary of exile, weary of hoping.
Said one of our comrades, “We should not have refused them like that; when they asked us to come in and recite the Kiddush with them, we should have gone in.” Another replied, “On the contrary, we should have gone back to the village immediately after the service to sit down to our meal. After all, we have not had a good meal since Passover, and now, when the girls have taken the trouble to prepare a big meal, we must eat at our own table.”
And here they revealed the secret of the girls, who had prepared not one meal but two, one of milk dishes and one with meat — one for the first day of the festival and one for the second, besides a big cheesecake with butter and raisins.
The sun shone over the earth and hunger began to torment us. The young men took long strides so as to reach home quickly.
We reached the village and went into the house. The girls were quick to set the table and arrange the dishes, and each of us came and sat at his place.
One of us spoke up first and said, “The sages were right when they fixed a short Kiddush for the festival, especially for those who have a cheesecake ready and waiting.” Another spoke up and said, “Why are the girls taking so long?” He jumped up and went into the kitchen. When he did not return, another jumped up and went in after him. Very soon they had all got up and gone into the kitchen.
I sat alone, before the laid table. My hunger hurt. I took out a cigarette and began to smoke. In the meantime the young men came back with gloomy faces. It was clear that something bad had happened.
What had happened was this: when the girls had gone into the kitchen they had found the food cupboard open and the lock broken; no wine for Kiddush, no cake, no food at all, not even a morsel of bread was left. While we had been in the town, evil neighbors had come and taken away all that the comrades had prepared in honor of the festival.
What could be done? One of the girls went to the farmer’s house to ask for something to eat, but she found his door locked. She went on to another farmer, but none of the household were at home, for that day the chief priest of Szibucz had come to a neighboring village and they had all gone to hear him preach.
The girls thought of going to the cows to get some milk, but all the cows were out to pasture, and there wasn’t a drop of milk to be had. We wanted to make tea, but could not find even a pinch of tea. Those who had taken the food had taken the tea and the sugar. What could be done? They took the tea leaves that were left in the kettle from yesterday, put the kettle on the fire, and made some tea.
Close to nightfall the farmers came home and the cows returned from the meadow. The farmers’ wives had pity on us and gave us what they gave. We sat and ate and drank. The meal was not large, but the joy was not small.
When the first day of the festival was ended and the eve of the second day had arrived, I said to my comrades, “I will go to the town and bring you bread, tea and sugar, and any other food you need.” “Heaven forbid,” they said, shocked, for they did not wish me to travel on the Holy Day. “I belong to the Land of Israel,” I reminded them, “and I intend to go back there, so the observance of the second day of the festival does not apply to me.” “But what will people say?” they said.
After we had eaten, drunk, and said grace, the young men consulted and decided that two should go to the town and bring food. It took an hour to go and an hour to come back, and they spent an hour there; they brought loaves and butter, cheese and sardines, tea and sugar, a little bottle of wine, and two candles. The girls set the table and lit the candles; we recited the Kiddush over the wine and had our supper. At intervals in the meal the boys and girls sang songs sweet as honey, and I told them a little about the Land of Israel, until morning came on the second day of Shavuot.
We intended to go to town to pray with the congregation and hear the reading of the Torah, but one of the group said, “We cannot all go, in case what happened yesterday happens again; some of us will go and some will stay at home to watch the house.” It was hard for some to give up their praying together with the congregation and the reading of the Torah, and it was hard for the others to bear the discomfort of their comrades who would remain in the village on the festival. Said I, “You go, and I will stay here, for I belong to the Land of Israel and I have to put on the tefillin, as on a weekday, which I cannot do in public” “When you have come to visit us, can we leave you alone and go?” they said. “What else do you want to do?” I said. One of them jumped up, took the festival prayer book and began to recite the prayers, and all the others took up theirs and prayed with him. They recited the festival prayers and I the prayers for weekdays. 1 wore my tefillin and used the ordinary prayer book, while they prayed from the festival book.
After the service, the girls set the table and we had our meal, though not with meat and fish and other festival dishes. The comrades bantered, calling the sardines fish, the bread meat, the butter compote, the cheese cake, and the tea wine, for they had brought sugar from town and we had sweetened the tea. Between courses, the boys and girls sang songs sweet as honey, and I told them a little of the Land of Israel. The farmers and their women stood in front of the window, pointing to me and saying, “That man has been in Jerusalem and Palestine.” They think that Jerusalem and Palestine are two different places, and anyone who has been in one of them is a somebody — all the more if he has been in both. Thus we sat until evening approached and it was time for the Afternoon Service. I recited the weekday prayers and they the festival prayers. Then we danced and sang, “Thou hast chosen us from all the peoples,” until the day departed and the trees and bushes were wrapped in shadow.
Night was falling, the shadows of the trees and bushes stretched gradually toward the East. I am not a sentimental man, but at that moment I said to myself: Trees and bushes, which are inanimate objects, turn to the East, and I, who was in the East, have turned here instead. I rose and stood beside the window, looking outside. A little hedgehog was running about in the garden in front of the house, carrying some blades of grass between its prickles, for itself — and perhaps its mate — to lie on. As I stood there, looking, the moon shone into the window. We recited the Evening Service, and after the closing blessing the comrades sat down and arranged their work for the following day.
So I spent the two days of the festival and the day after with my comrades in the village. I saw them at home and outdoors, in the field and the cowshed. May the Almighty give them strength to face all the trials they bear every day and every hour, for while their fellows go idle, they stand in the sun and the wind and the rain, and when their parents scold them for leaving their shops and taking up farming, they redouble their work to win bread from the soil. I heard that all the Gentiles praised them; some of them told me that these young men flinch at no hard work, that there are some tasks which the farmers avoid but they perform out of love.
Shortly before sunset I hired a wagon to go back to town. The boys and girls accompanied me to the outskirts of the village, and one of them, called Zvi, went with me to town to buy food.