The story "Eat, let's eat" • Part 4 • "To the small estate"

Introduction to the story "I eat, I eat, I eat"

This story describes the longing for food as a result of the famine that prevailed, from the years of World War II to the years of austerity in the young state of Israel. The lack of food was felt in most European countries, when millions of people fought in the army and many millions worked for the war effort in the weapons factories, and at that time there were not enough hands working in agriculture and the little food they had was transferred to the front. This is about almost all European countries that participated in the war.

Britain, which was under siege by Hitler's German submarines, found it difficult to accept food imports from the USA, and it also had food rationing that continued even after the war. In Russia there was a great shortage, and the authorities found a way to feed the civilian population during the war. Every citizen from the age of zero was entitled to receive a quarter of a kilogram of black bread. Of course, this was not enough. The situation in Israel was reasonable until the War of Independence, because there was a supply of agricultural produce from the Arab villages of the Land of Israel and the neighboring countries.

With the establishment of the state there was a great shortage of food and the state began to encourage the development of agriculture in the country. If we add to the fact that from 1949 the large immigrations of Holocaust refugees and Jews from Arab countries began to arrive in Israel and the population grew by hundreds of percent, then there was also food rationing in Israel in the XNUMXs. But we overcame, we got out of the scarcity to the great abundance in which we live today in the country.

Israel is an agricultural, technological and scientific wonder. "The Jewish head does invent patents for us!" But unfortunately, he has not yet invented the way to peace. The story describes the famine as experienced by many children, who began their lives in constant hunger in the diaspora, and upon their arrival in their homeland, their lives improved - no more hunger and no more anti-Semitism, we won!

post Scriptum. This is the fourth chapter from the book "To the Small Mansion" - it can be obtained from "Yodan", Horeb 16, Haifa.

Food, come on, food

"Shiroka strana, Maya Rudnaya..." This is the song that came out every morning from the radio in Russia. Such a beautiful song and its meaning: "Rabha is my native land, and I don't know another land where man breathes so freely."
True, breathing, but not eating...

After listening to the song, I would turn to my mother and ask her: "Maybe you have some food?" And she would answer: "No, I don't have any." And I continued to ask in a hesitant voice: "Maybe there are some crumbs left in the bag?" And she: "No, there isn't!" Another Yom Kippur has begun... However, our fate was a million times better than the fate of our brothers, who remained forever in the fields of Poland.

Every few days we went to the bakery to see if bread had arrived. There was a long line of women who were pushing and arguing among themselves who came before whom. Meanwhile, they showered compliments: "Oh, how nice Salikov is today, he is so diligent!" Salikov was the name of the Uzbek baker, who was a rude man. And they continued: "How are you, dear friend, the willow for you this year?" And he: "Enough talking. Come on woman, go already! Who's next?"

We received a loaf of bread - a kind of large, shapeless black dough. Its taste did not warrant our laughter, but it was what it was. In a framed article - today this type of pastry is considered "healthy bread" for the connoisseurs of northern Tel Aviv and is sold at exorbitant prices in luxurious "bakeries". We ate carefully because we didn't know when we would get more bread, and we ate breadcrumbs.

And here came the day of joy and elation - the first of May! Salikov received a large shipment of white bread. Unbelievable, what a wonderful taste! I tasted it for the first time in my life. In the morning, when the tune "Shiroka Sterna" was played again, I stood in front of the speaker and recited loudly: "Thank you, dear friend Stalin, for the wonderful gift you gave to the Russian people!" But soon the second of May arrived, and with it the continuation of the famine...

The war ended, and we traveled on a train that made its way to the west, carrying Jewish war refugees who had returned to Poland. The train was really impressive. It had dozens of freight cars, which were pulled by two locomotives. The trip took a month. On the way, quite a few tragedies happened as a result of a lack of food on the trip. The train usually traveled for many hours, and suddenly it would stop near a village of some kind and stay there for an unknown amount of time. People would get off the train and run to a nearby town with the goal of purchasing some food. In addition, since there were no toilets on the train, at all the train stops, people would run to the fields to defecate, because we traveled in freight cars without toilets, like cattle. We sat on the luggage, the whole family in one car.

Suddenly, without any warning, the train would start moving slowly to continue on its way, just driving. Often a few unfortunate people who were cut off from their families were left behind. And it is possible that these remain there to this day... My uncle, Moshe, found a solution to the problem. He drilled a hole in the floor of the car in the corner, hung a curtain around it and it became the only toilet compartment in the whole train. Thanks to him, none of us got lost because of a stomach ache.

We stopped in Tashkent, the capital city of Uzbekistan. We finally arrived at a large European style train station. We saw large docks with Uzbek peddlers walking around selling hot pita bread with butter. There was a lot of action there... for the first time in my life I ate such a pita. Oh, God (or rather Muhammad) – you are even greater than Stalin, what a taste of heaven! I thought in my heart that for the rest of my life I would only want to eat pita bread with butter.

As mentioned, further on our way we came to a Polish mining town called Walbzych, formerly German, which had about one hundred thousand inhabitants. It was a modern city for everything. It had public institutions, industrial plants, streetcars, buses and a large train station. In the main square of the city there were shops full of good things. Only cash was needed. The Polish food products were really "classy". There was hot chocolate, ice creams, wonderful rolls and a selection of breads.

And here a refreshing innovation appeared - "four meals". Every afternoon, my mother gave me a slice of excellent black bread, spread with a layer of butter two millimeters thick! The large slice was cut into cubes the size of 1 cm each, and together with the bread - a cup of cocoa on milk, really wonderful. Hot, and sweet sweet. What fun! Is there a more delicious food? It was even more fun than the Uzbek pita.

Life suddenly seemed interesting to me. I learned a new language - Polish, and I did well. In principle, my step-grandmother spoke only pure Russian. She complained that she was sick, and might die from everything that happened to her. I was surprised that it was precisely in Poland that she found it necessary to complain, when we have everything good. Her complaints were apparently justified and her prophecy came true. She died a few months before we immigrated to Israel.

At that time I found new friends, among them Andrzej who lived in our building. We all played in the backyard. One day, when I was playing with Andrzej in the yard, some Polish children joined us. From one of the nearby houses, a boy whom I had not seen before also joined. The new kid, who was probably a smartass, instantly liked everyone in the group. In the middle of the game, he gave me a piercing look as he said to the group of Polish children: "Guys, did you notice that Tolk has brown eyes, and we have blue eyes?" "Yes," they murmured. "Do you know why? Because Tolk is a Zid (Jew). We don't want you, Zid! Go to Palestine, before you get beaten!" Andrzej, my good friend, stood on the sidelines stunned, but did not dare to do anything. I left the place sadly and did not understand what happened to me, and why he told me that.

I came home and told my mother. She left all her occupations and went with me to the yard, where she recognized the anti-Semitic boy, grabbed him by the ear until he screamed in pain and said to him: "Go home with me! Where do you live?" We walked a distance of two blocks and entered his house, while he was crying.

My mother turned to his parents, without releasing the boy's ear, when she asked: "Are you the parents of this brat? Did you teach him to hate Jews? Do you know what the expected punishment is for you due to the spread of anti-Semitism in a communist regime, after a war in which six million Jews perished? I'm going to complain In the police!" "Dear lady, sorry, sorry, we have never been anti-Semitic, our best friends are Jews! The boy learned this on the street, and we will punish him severely for it. Just forgive us please!" At that moment I noticed that his father had taken a small whip with him for whipping children. My mother let go of the child, and we left. We immediately heard his cries as he was beaten fairly.

The economic situation began to improve. The Jews did business. There were Jews who immigrated to France or the United States through Germany. The borders to the west were still open. They haven't built the Iron Curtain yet, nor the Berlin Wall.

I was about eight years old, and my parents started making a lot of money and filled my pockets with a lot of bills. I used to walk around near our house near the main square in the city. Underneath the apartment where we lived there were very interesting shops, among them a bakery that gave off a pleasant smell of baked goods. I only had to go down the stairs, and I already had hot rolls in the morning. There was also a radio repair shop there, where a German technician worked. For many hours I was able to observe his work, without understanding how this wonderful device, inside which some kind of bulbs glow with a reddish light, is able to play such wonderful music.

How does this happen? Isn't this the eighth wonder of the world? Indeed it was, and later radio became my main hobby and profession. There was also a candy store in the square. Every day at five o'clock, they would put out for sale a large tray with a wonderful cheesecake on it - literally lip-smacking. They would cut it into squares, and I would eat it together with my new friends. We all had a blast. We did not forget to arrange to meet again the next day at the same place.

Time passed by and summer has arrived. An ice cream parlor called "Elsa" opened in front of us, whose owners were Jewish. Crowds flocked to the sales stand, hoping to get a "cassette" made of vanilla ice cream covered in waffles. I, the little one, tried to push too, I was literally pushed between their legs. But no one noticed me, they almost stepped on me. On the floor I noticed a bill of one hundred zlotys - a lot of money! My decision was quick - I put the money in my pocket, and walked away from the place.

Across the street, a commotion broke out - a large crowd poured into the center of the city. A new circus of gypsies has arrived. They stood in a group and did tricks and tricks. They rolled balls, when one of them turned a plate on the edge of a sword. At the end of their show, they did a trick with a huge bowl full of water, which they spun at tremendous speed. The peak of the trick was when the water erupted in a huge "splash" on the audience like a sprinkler.

The "Oylem Goylem" - the mob, was frightened by the water drops and ran away. A huge wave of people rushed backwards and trampled with its rough feet everything that stood in its way. I fell and was run over. I suffered minor wounds and was covered in scratches. What do you do in such a case? Any other child would cry and go home to put on iodine, but not me. A neighbor noticed me and asked: "What happened to you?" I answered: "It's cold, but not terrible."

Meanwhile, the line for ice cream is over. I approached the booth as I am, dirty and blood marks on my hands and feet. I bought a large ice cream, licked it with great pleasure and slowly made my way down the square towards the house. My mother ran towards me - "Oh, what happened to you?" A neighbor told me that you are basing your blood on the land!" "True, but now I have ice cream, and it's really delicious."

In those days, Frau Dora (Mrs. Dora), in Hebrew - "Dorit the cook" was accepted to work in our home as a caregiver and cook. She looked "very" old to me, but her age was no more than forty. She was an unemployed German and was one of the original residents of the city, who were waiting to be deported to Germany. She was happy that she got the job with us and cooked real delicacies for us. All the cooks of Uzbekistan and even my aunt, who declared herself to be the best cook in the world and at the same time the "unhappy" woman in the world - did not reach the ankles of that generation.

She cooked a jarkoye (roast meat). These were cubes of meat that were first fried and then boiled. They were served with sauce on a bed of mashed potatoes. After finishing such a royal meal, we needed some serious dessert. I went down to the town square with my little brother, who was a very bad eater. He really didn't want to eat in principle, and no persuasion or threats helped. My parents told me: "Take him, buy him something delicious. Maybe he will like to eat something."

We crossed the square and arrived at the Hall of Food Delights - a real patisserie with wonderful tortes and cherry cakes. What a worldly fun! On the way we met my friend "Motek" (that's what his parents called "the Zionists"). "Honey" he asked me: "Where are you going with all this money in your pocket?" I replied: "Come and see!" The whole way he "snagged" me.

Honey asked: "What's up?" And without waiting for my answer he continued his words: "Is it true that we are the best of friends?" I haven't gotten to the bottom of his intentions yet. I knew that "Honey" was a "tailor", and he didn't have a single kopeck (Russian currency) in his pocket.

My brother and I sat down in the patisserie at a small table. We were served two wonderful tortes, each with a red cherry. And, of course - hot cocoa. My brother of course refused to eat, as is his custom in the sanctuary. On the other hand, I ate with great appetite. "Honey" was standing by the table, his eyes popping out of their sockets with jealousy. He asked: "Tell me, does it taste awful?" "Yes," I answered shortly. "And you finish the cake all the way?" "Yes," I replied. For a moment I felt sorry for him, but I didn't dare to buy him a cake, because I thought I wasn't allowed to!

Of course, no one at home cared that I would also buy ten cakes, the main thing was that I would keep myself busy, and not interfere with my parents making "finyondza" (money) from their work. "Eat, it's delicious!" I told my brother. He was silent. "Enough, start eating, I have no patience!" "Okay," he answered shortly and bit into the corner of the cake, making a face as if he had swallowed a frog.

"It's delicious?" "Yes, but I don't want to eat!" I finished eating. "Honey" became nervous, and walked from side to side. His situation was desperate. I paid, took my tzitzik brother's hand and we were about to leave. "Honey" he asked: "Do you mind if I finish the cake?" "What do I care, finish." He greedily attacked the cake, and swallowed it on the spot.

Over time technology has advanced. In our house there was not only a radio, but also a bicycle with an electric flashlight, a turntable and more. These were things that expand the mind of an interested child. On the back street, I discovered a store for camping supplies with everything needed for survival trips in the field, such as: sleeping bags, belts, ropes, thermoses and containers for transporting food. In the shop window, an amazing product caught my eye, which was a kind of combination of a spoon and a fork - a multi-purpose tool, with which you can eat soup or meat according to your choice. The spoon and fork were connected by a common hinge and this resulted in the perfect cutlery for the inquisitive child.

I asked what the price was and it turned out to me that it is not expensive - cheaper than a cake! I ran home quickly, brought money and bought the desired product. I held it with trembling hands and was really thrilled. Such a beautiful tool, plated with nickel, what a genius invention! I ended up saying in my heart to use it right away. I tried to think where there was food. I was "thirsty" for food!

Behind the house where we lived was a restaurant, or more correctly - a specialty house, belonging to the Jewish community. They distributed free meals there to the needy who came from all over the city. The smell of a hot meat meal was in the air. I went to the front door of the restaurant, peeked in and didn't move. A fat cook noticed me, approached me and asked: "Vos wilst du? (Yiddish: What do you want?) I answered: "Gurnisht (nothing). From this she realized that I was Jewish and asked me: "Boy, do you want to eat?" "Yes," I said quietly.

"Then come with me." Seated me at a large table, served me warm yellowish soup with bread and a spoon. I took out of my pocket the "invention" that I had acquired a long time ago, and ate the soup with my spoon-fork with great pleasure. The cook is not a moshe from me. She looked at me and waited until I finished eating every last drop. Or then she grabbed my hand and said: "What's your name? Where do you live? I want to see your parents and find out why they let you walk around the streets hungry." While talking, she grabbed my hand and pulled me up the street, towards the square. I realized I was in trouble, but I didn't know how to get out of it. I tried to break free, but the cooks, their grip is firm!

I tried to mislead her. I led her round and round in other streets with the intention of exhausting her, that this beast would leave me already, but she did not give up. She began to scream and in the process, her small and delicate hand was crushed between her telepathy. I broke down and brought her to our house. She met my mother and said to her: "Ma'am, don't you have anything to eat? Come and eat at my house! Just bring receipts from the Jewish Committee." My mother answered her: "We, don't we have anything to eat?! Frau Dora, bring the soup to the living room immediately!" Frau Dora brought in a huge pot of golden chicken soup, which had just been cooked.

"Look what I have here! Is something missing in this house?!" "Then this boy is a liar, and he must be punished with all the severity of the law," said the cook and suggested that I be punished with twenty lashes. My mother compromised with her for ten. The cook eagerly waited for the sentence to be carried out - "Well, the best of it already!" saying. "Ms. Cook, you must be in a hurry for your specialty, so trust me, he'll already get a decent beating from me." "Okay, but do you promise?" "Yes, I swear, that's how you live!"

They laid me down with my stomach on the table, and I waited for my behind to be whipped. I don't remember what exactly went through my mind, but I was sure that I had committed a crime and I deserved the punishment. The cook came out. My mother raised her hand and said: "I'm starting!" At that moment she burst into hysterical laughter and said: "Did you really think you would get beaten because you ate some soup? Enjoy your meal."

Autumn has come and my friend Andrzej has fallen ill. It was not yet possible to obtain antibiotics in pharmacies. His parents were worried. His classmates organized themselves and each contributed five zlotys. A considerable amount was collected, and they bought an orange for him. In Poland, they believed that oranges had wonderful healing properties - but their price was high. The children entered the hallway of Andrzej's house, placed the orange at the entrance, knocked on the door and immediately ran away. Andrzej's surprised mother. Asher opened the door, she did not know her soul from happiness. A whole orange for Andzey, he will surely get well soon! At that time we knew how to manage, and through the Jewish community our family received a box full of oranges. It was worth a fortune. We didn't know then that in the land of an orange, there is a dime. The Land of Israel for its cuteness, gave us its signals and signaled to us - "Eat oranges, grapes, full of all good things, our land is yielding our homeland - our Land of Israel!"

At the same time, a message arrived about a registered mail item containing our immigration documents to Israel. We went to the post office, but it turned out that there was a malfunction in the main sorting office, in which our documents could not be found. We were filled with despair, because we feared that our immigration would be delayed for a long time, and we had to submit a new application for immigration and repeat the whole process. What to do? "The oranges, the oranges are a thousand percent better..." So are the words of the song, and so is the act. My mother took the box of oranges and went into the main post office.

She moved from table to table, clerk to clerk, and placed an orange on the desk of each of them. All the officials received oranges, and suddenly, smiles were seen from all sides. It turned out that the petrified faces of the postal clerks are able to smile, unbelievable! Half of the amount of oranges remained inside the box. My mother entered the headmaster, placed the box with him and said: "Mr. Headmaster, please, this is a gift for you!"

"Wait, wait, how can I have that, my dear lady?" In the process he kissed her outstretched hand. "Sir, you deserve it, you're such a good and noble person, and I don't need the oranges - I'm going to Palestine, and there are a lot of oranges there, as you know. But, we have a small problem. Our aliyah documents were lost here in the mail, and no one can find them .Would you be so kind as to help?" "Ma'am, I'll take care of it right away!"

I immediately noticed that some clerks got up in a panic from their seats and started rummaging through huge mail sacks. And soon the call was heard from one of the officials - "I found it, I found it!" With a broad smile on his face, the postmaster handed us the desired envelope saying: "Go to your Palestine in peace!"

As mentioned, we sailed to Palestine on the ship "Gilila", on board of which there are masses of immigrants. There was not enough room for everyone in the dining room, so the diners were divided into two shifts. Every day a delicious meat lunch was served, and as I remember, for dessert each of us got a whole orange. how fun! We kids, we would also sneak into the second shift and force ourselves to eat an extra lunch in order to win an extra orange.

However, on the morning of arrival at the port of Haifa, the kitchen was closed, and we were hungry until the afternoon. The ship "Gilila" approached the coast of Haifa. People shouted with joy: "Oh, the land of Israel, how beautiful!" True, everything is very beautiful, but where is the food?"

The big ship was towed to the dock. Many people were gathered downstairs waiting for their relatives. Suddenly I noticed my uncle and with him my cousin the Palm Hanik, who had come to greet us. Someone very dominant was missing there - Aunt Liza, the best cook among the "misery" of the world. "Where is Liza?" we shouted at them. "Liza stayed at home, to prepare food for all of us ". That's a very good idea, I thought to myself. We went down to the beach with all the girls. We got into a limousine and in ten minutes we were already at Aunt Lisa's place. She had long since come out of the shower and looked like those who come out of the beach changing rooms, pale and tired, with a casual look on their faces After the kissing ceremony she said: "It's great that you came, come to the table!" There was a bowl on the table with some grapes and oranges in it. Is this food? Even a Polish postal clerk was not happy with it.

The period of austerity began in Israel. In the shops it was not possible to get anything except bread and jam, bread, white bread and white cheese. Meat was eaten only sometimes. Is this the Land of Israel, the land of milk and honey? This is the second Uzbekistan! I was very disappointed.

Over time we began to acclimatize in the country. We decided it was time to visit the family members in Jaffa, who had arrived in Israel about a year before us. We traveled on a tired bus, for hours and hours, and arrived at their home. After another kissing ceremony, talks were played and debates took place. Then, my cousin Mishka said to me: "Tolk, come, I'll take you to a place you've never seen before." We drove to Dizengoff Square. He bought me falafel. I was sure these were meatballs. I tasted the taste of life, wonderful! there is! The Land of Israel is indeed a land flowing with milk and honey!