"Mother, is it true that in the very middle of 'Shevuous' night the sky opens?"
"I will open your head for you."
When he got no satisfaction from his mother, Abramtzig waited for his father, who had gone off to the market with a treasure of boxes.
"Children, guess what present father will bring us from the market," said Abramtzig. And the children tried to guess what their father would bring them from the market. They counted on their fingers everything that was in the market—everything that an eye could see, and a heart desire—cakes and buns and sweets. But no one guessed aright. And I am afraid you will not guess aright either. Peisa the box-maker brought from the market this time neither cakes, nor buns nor sweets. He brought the children grass—curious, long, sweet-smelling grass.
And all three children gathered around their father.
"Father, what is it—that?"
"It is grass."
"What is grass?"
"It is a bunch of greens for 'Shevuous.' Jews need grass for 'Shevuous.'"
"Where do they get it, father?"