"Amen! May it be so! From your mouth into God's ears!"
. . . . .
We said our prayers with the teacher, as usual. (He never let us pray by ourselves because he thought we might skip more than half the prayers.) Mazeppa said to us in his lion's roar:
"Now, children, wash your hands and sit down to the party. After grace I will let you go for a walk."
We used to hold our "L'ag Beomer" party outside the town, in the open air, on the bare earth, under God's sky. We used to throw crumbs of bread to the birds. Let them also know that it is "L'ag Beomer" in the world. But one does not argue with Mazeppa. When he told one to sit down, one sat down, lest he might tell one to lie down.
"Eat in peace," he said to us, after we had pronounced the blessing.
"Come and eat with us," we replied out of politeness.
"Eat in health," he said. "I do not wish to eat yet. But, if you like, I will make a blessing over the wine. What have you in that bottle? Brandy?" he asked, and stretched out his long, dried-up hand with its bony fingers to the bottle of brandy. He poured out a glassful, tasted it, and made such a grimace that we must have been stronger than iron to control ourselves from exploding with laughter.
"Whose is this terrible thing?" he asked, taking another drop. "It's not a bad brandy." He filled a third glass and drank our health.
"Long life to you, children. May God grant that we be alive next year, and—and.... Haven't you anything to bite? Well, in honour of 'L'ag Beomer' I will wash my hands and eat with you."