Composition on the topic: Change at school. Big change
How I sat under the desk
Only the teacher turned away to the blackboard, and I once - and under the desk. When the teacher notices that I have disappeared, he will be terribly surprised, probably.
I wonder what he'll think? He will ask everyone where I have gone - that will be laughter! Half a lesson has already passed, and I'm still sitting. "When, - I think, - will he see that I'm not in the class?" And it's hard to sit under the desk. My back even hurt. Try to sit like this! I coughed - no attention. I can't sit anymore. Moreover, Seryozhka pokes me in the back with his foot all the time. I couldn't stand it. Didn't make it to the end of the lesson. I get out and say:
Excuse me, Pyotr Petrovich.
The teacher asks:
What's the matter? Do you want to board?
No, excuse me, I was sitting under the desk ...
Well, how is it comfortable to sit there, under the desk? You were very quiet today. That's the way it's always been in class.
In the closet
Before class, I climbed into the closet. I wanted to meow from the closet. They'll think it's a cat, but it's me.
I sat in the closet, waited for the start of the lesson and did not notice myself how I fell asleep. I wake up - the class is quiet. I look through the crack - no one is there. He pushed the door, and it was closed. So I slept through the whole lesson. Everyone went home, and they locked me in the closet.
Stuffy in the closet and dark as night. I was scared, I started screaming:
Eee! I'm in the closet! Help! Listened - silence all around.
ABOUT! Comrades! I'm in the closet! I hear someone's steps.
Someone is coming.
Who is yelling here?
I immediately recognized Aunt Nyusha, the cleaner. I rejoiced, I shout:
Aunt Nyusha, I'm here!
Where are you, dear?
I'm in the closet! In the closet!
How are you. honey, did you get there?
I'm in the closet, grandma!
So I hear that you're in the closet. So what do you want? I was locked in a closet. Oh, grandma! Aunt Nyusha left. Silence again. She must have gone for the key.
Pal Palych tapped on the cabinet with his finger.
There is no one there, - said Pal Palych. How not? Yes, - said Aunt Nyusha.
Well, where is he? - said Pal Palych and knocked again on the cabinet.
I was afraid that everyone would leave, I would stay in the closet, and I shouted with all my might:
I'm here!
Who are you? asked Pal Palych.
I... Tsypkin...
Why did you climb up there, Tsypkin?
They locked me up... I didn't get in...
Um... He's locked up! But he didn't get in! Did you see? What wizards in our school! They do not climb into the closet while they are locked in the closet! Miracles don't happen, do you hear, Tsypkin?
I hear...
How long have you been sitting there? asked Pal Palych.
Do not know…
Find the key, Pal Palych said. - Fast.
Aunt Nyusha went for the key, but Pal Palych remained. He sat down on a chair nearby and waited. I saw his face through the crack. He was very angry. He lit up and said:
Well! That's what prank leads to! Tell me honestly why are you in the closet?
I really wanted to disappear from the closet. They open the closet, but I'm not there. As if I had never been there. They will ask me: "Were you in the closet?" I'll say, "I didn't." They will say to me: "Who was there?" I'll say, "I don't know."
But that only happens in fairy tales! Surely tomorrow they will call my mother ... Your son, they say, climbed into the closet, slept there all the lessons, and all that ... As if it’s comfortable for me to sleep here! My legs hurt, my back hurts. One pain! What was my answer?
I was silent.
Are you alive there? asked Pal Palych.
Alive…
Well, sit down, they will open soon ...
I'm sitting…
So ... - said Pal Palych. - So you will answer me, why did you climb into this closet?
Who? Tsypkin? In the closet? Why?
I wanted to disappear again.
The director asked:
Tsypkin, are you?
I sighed heavily. I just couldn't answer anymore.
Aunt Nyusha said:
The class leader took the key.
Break open the door, - said the director.
I felt the door being broken - the closet shook, I hit my forehead painfully. I was afraid that the cabinet would fall, and I cried. I rested my hands on the walls of the closet, and when the door gave way and opened, I continued to stand in the same way.
Well, come out, - said the director. And tell us what that means.
I didn't move. I was scared.
Why is he worth it? the director asked.
They took me out of the closet.
I was silent all the time.
I didn't know what to say.
I just wanted to meow. But how would I say this?
Secret
We have secrets from girls. We don't trust them with our secrets for anything in the world. They can spread any secret all over the world. Even the most state secrets they can blabbed. It's a good thing they don't trust them!
True, we do not have such important secrets, where do we get them from! So we made them ourselves. We had such a secret: we buried a couple of bullets in the sand and did not tell anyone about it. There was another secret: we collected nails. For example, I collected twenty-five different kinds of nails, but who knew about it? None! I didn't spill the beans to anyone. You understand how difficult it was for us! So many secrets passed through our hands that I don't even remember how many there were. And none of the girls knew anything. They walked and looked askance at us, various grimaces, and thought only of this, in order to extract our secrets from us. Although they never asked us about anything, it doesn't mean anything! How clever, though!
And yesterday I walk around the yard with our secret, with our new wonderful secret, and suddenly I see Irka. I walked by a few times and she looked at me.
I still walked around the yard, and then went up to her and sighed softly. I sighed lightly on purpose so that she wouldn't think I sighed on purpose.
I sighed a couple more times, she just looked sideways again, and that was it. Then I stopped sighing, since there was no sense in it, and I said:
If you knew that I know, you would have failed right here on the spot.
She looked at me again and said:
Do not worry, - he answers, - I will not fail, no matter how you yourself fail.
And why should I, - I say, - fail, I have nothing to fail, since I know the secret.
Secret? - He speaks. - What secret?
She looks at me and waits for me to start telling her about the secret.
And I say:
A secret is a secret, and it does not exist for everyone to blurt out this secret.
For some reason she got angry and said:
Then get out of here with your secrets!
Ha, - I say, - that's still not enough! Is this your yard?
It even made me laugh. Here's what we've come to!
We stood, stood, then I see - she looks askance again.
I pretended to leave. And I say:
OK. The secret will remain with me. And he chuckled so that she understood what it meant.
She didn't even turn her head to me and said:
You don't have any secrets. If you had any secret, you would have told it long ago, and since you don’t tell, it means that there is nothing like that.
What do you think she's saying? Some kind of nonsense? But to be honest, I'm a little confused. And it’s true, because they may not believe me that I have some kind of secret, since no one except me knows about it. Everything is mixed up in my head. But I pretended that nothing was mixed up with me there, and I say:
It's a shame you can't be trusted. And then I would tell you everything. But you can be a traitor...
And then I see, she again squints at me with one eye.
I say:
The matter here is not simple, I hope you understand this very well, and I think it’s not worth being offended at any occasion, especially if it were not a secret, but some trifle, and if I knew you better ...
I spoke long and hard. For some reason, I had such a desire - to talk a lot and for a long time. When I finished, she was not around.
She was crying, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders were trembling. I heard sobs.
I immediately realized that she could not be a traitor for anything in the world. She is just the kind of person you can safely trust with everything. I understood it right away.
You see ... - I said, - if you ... give your word ... and swear ...
And I told her the whole secret.
The next day they beat me.
She pissed everyone off...
But the most important thing was not that Irka turned out to be a traitor, not that the secret was revealed, but that then we could not come up with a single new secret, no matter how hard we tried.
I didn't eat any mustard
I hid my bag under the stairs. And he himself turned around the corner, went out onto the avenue.
Spring. Sun. Birds are singing. Somehow reluctant to go to school. Anyone will get bored. That's what I'm tired of.
I look - the car is standing, the driver is looking at something in the engine. I ask him:
Broke?
The driver is silent.
Broke? - I ask.
He is silent.
I stood, I stood, I said:
What, the car broke down?
This time he heard.
Guessed, - he says, - it broke. Do you want to help? Well, let's do it together.
Yes, I... I can't...
If you don't know how, you don't have to. I'm on my own anyway.
There are two standing. They are talking. I come closer. I listen. One says:
How about a patent?
Another says:
Good with the patent.
"Who is this, - I think, - a patent? I have never heard of him." I thought they would say more about the patent. And they didn't say anything more about the patent. They began to talk about the plant. One noticed me and said to the other:
Look, the guy opened his mouth.
And he turns to me:
What do you want?
Nothing for me, - I answer, - I just like that ...
Don't you have anything to do?
That's good! Do you see the crooked house over there?
Go push him from that side so that he is even.
Like this?
And so. There's nothing for you to do. You push him. And they both laugh.
I wanted to answer something, but I couldn't think of it. On the way, he came up with it, returned to them.
It's not funny, I say, but you're laughing.
They don't seem to hear. Me again:
Not funny at all. What are you laughing at?
Then one says:
We don't laugh at all. Where do you see us laughing?
They weren't really laughing anymore. They used to laugh. So I'm a little late...
ABOUT! The broom stands against the wall. And there is no one around. Great broom, great!
The janitor suddenly comes out of the gate:
Don't touch the broom!
Why do I need a broom? I don't need a broom...
If you don't need it, then don't go near the broom. A broom for work, not to be approached.
Some evil janitor got caught! Brooms are even a pity. Eh, what would you like to do? It's too early to go home. The lessons are not over yet. Walking the streets is boring. The guys are nowhere to be seen.
Climb on scaffolding?! A house is being renovated right next door. I look down on the city. Suddenly I hear a voice:
Where are you going? Hey!
I look - there is no one. Blimey! There is no one, but someone is screaming! He began to rise higher - again:
Well, get down!
I turn my head in all directions. Where are they screaming from? What's happened?
Get off! Hey! Get down, get down!
I nearly fell down the stairs.
Moved to the other side of the street. Upstairs, I look at the forests. I wonder who yelled it. I didn't see anyone up close. And from afar I saw everything - the workers on the scaffolding are plastering, painting ...
I got on the tram and drove to the ring. There's nowhere to go anyway. I'd rather ride. Tired of walking.
I made the second round on the tram. Came to the same place. One more round to go, right? It's not time to go home yet. Too early. I look out the car window. Everyone is in a hurry somewhere, in a hurry. Where is everyone rushing to? Unclear.
Suddenly the conductor says:
Pay boy again.
I don't have any more money. I only had thirty kopecks.
Then go, boy. Go on foot.
Oh, I have a long walk to go!
And you don't ride. Didn't you go to school?
How do you know?
I know everything. You can see.
What is visible?
It's obvious that you didn't go to school. Here's what's visible. The kids are happy from school. And you seem to have eaten mustard.
I didn't eat any mustard...
Go anyway. I don't drive truants for free.
And then he says:
Okay, ride. I won't allow it next time. So know.
But I still got off. Somehow uncomfortable. The place is completely unfamiliar. I have never been in this area. On one side there are houses. On the other side there are no houses; five excavators are digging the ground. How elephants walk on the ground. They scoop up the earth with buckets and pour it to the side. Here is the technique! It's good to sit in a booth. Much better than going to school. You sit to yourself, and he walks and digs the earth.
One excavator stopped. The excavator climbs down to the ground and tells me:
Do you want to get into the bucket?
I was offended:
Why do I need a bucket? I want to go to the cab.
And then I remembered about the mustard that the conductor told me, and began to smile. So that the excavator thinks that I am cheerful. And I'm not bored at all. Lest op guess I wasn't at school.
He looked at me in surprise.
Look at you, brother, some foolish.
I began to smile even more. Mouth almost stretched to the ears.
What happened to you?
What are you making faces for me?
Give me a ride on the excavator.
This is not a trolleybus for you. This is a working machine. People work on it. It's clear?
I say:
I also want to work on it.
He says:
Hey brother! Need to learn!
I thought it was about school. And he began to smile again.
And he waved his hand at me and climbed into the cockpit. He didn't want to talk to me anymore.
Spring. Sun. Sparrows bathe in puddles. I go and think to myself. What's the matter? Why is it so boring to me?
Traveler
I firmly decided to go to Antarctica. To temper your character. Everyone says that I am spineless - my mother, the teacher, even Vovka. It's always winter in Antarctica. And there is no summer at all. Only the bravest go there. So Vovkin's dad said. Vovkin's dad was there twice. He spoke to Vovka on the radio. He asked how Vovka lives, how he studies. I will also be on the radio. So mom doesn't have to worry.
In the morning I took all the books out of my bag, put sandwiches, a lemon, an alarm clock, a glass and a soccer ball in it. I'm sure I'll meet sea lions there - they like to twirl the ball on the nose. The ball didn't fit in the bag. I had to let the air out of him.
Our cat was walking on the table. I put it in my bag too. Barely everything fit.
Here I am on the platform. The locomotive whistles. How many people are traveling! You can take any train you want. In the end, you can always change seats.
I climbed into the car, sat down, where it was more free.
An old woman was sleeping opposite me. Then a soldier sat down with me. He said: "Hi neighbors!" - and woke up the old woman.
The old woman woke up and asked:
We go? - and fell asleep again.
The train started moving. I went to the window. Here is our house, our white curtains, our linen hanging in the yard ... Our house is no longer visible. I got a little scared at first. But this is just the beginning. And when the train went very fast, somehow I even became amused! After all, I'm going to temper my character!
I'm tired of looking out the window. I sat down again.
What is your name? - asked the military man.
Sasha, - I said almost inaudibly.
What about grandma sleeping?
And who knows!
Where are you heading? -
Long away…
Visiting?
For how long?
He talked to me like an adult, and for that I really liked him.
For a couple of weeks, I said seriously.
Well, not bad, - said the military man, - very good.
I asked:
Are you in Antarctica?
Not yet; do you want to go to Antarctica?
How do you know?
Everyone wants to go to Antarctica.
I want too.
You see now!
You see ... I decided to temper myself ...
I understand, - said the military man, - sports, skating ...
Well no…
Now I understand - around five!
No ... - I said, - Antarctica ...
Antarctica? - asked the soldier.
Someone invited a military man to play checkers. And he went to another compartment.
The old lady woke up.
Don't dangle your legs, said the old woman.
I went to see how they play checkers.
Suddenly ... I even opened my eyes - Murka was walking towards me. And I forgot about her! How did she get out of the bag?
She ran back and I followed her. She climbed under someone's shelf - I, too, immediately climbed under the shelf.
Murka! I shouted. - Murka!
What's that noise? shouted the conductor. - Why is the cat here?
This cat is mine.
Who is this boy with?
Me with the cat...
With what cat?
He is traveling with his grandmother, - said the military man, - she is nearby, in the compartment.
The conductor took me straight to the old woman.
Is this boy with you?
He is with the commander, - said the old woman.
Antarctica ... - the military man remembered, - everything is clear ... Do you understand what is the matter here? This boy decided to go to Antarctica. And so he took a cat with him ... And what else did you take with you, boy?
Lemon, - I said, - and more sandwiches ...
And went to educate his character?
What a bad boy! - said the old woman.
Ugliness! - confirmed the conductor.
Then for some reason everyone started laughing. Even Grandma started laughing. She even had tears in her eyes. I did not know that everyone was laughing at me, and slowly laughed too.
Take the cat, the guide said. - You arrived. Here it is, your Antarctica!
The train stopped.
"Really," I think, "Antarctica? So soon?"
We got off the train onto the platform. I was put on an oncoming train and taken home.
Mikhail Zoshchenko, Lev Kassil and others - Enchanted letter
Once Alyosha had a deuce. By singing. And so there were no more deuces. There were triplets. Almost all three were. One four was once a very long time ago.
And there were no fives at all. A person has not had a single five in his life! Well, it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t, well, what can you do! It happens. Alyosha lived without fives. Ros. Moved from class to class. I got my positive triples. He showed everyone the four and said:
Here, it was a long time ago.
And suddenly - five. And most importantly, why? For singing. He got this five quite by accident. He successfully sang something like that, and he was given a five. And even verbally praised. They said: "Well done, Alyosha!" In short, it was a very pleasant event, which was overshadowed by one circumstance: he could not show this five to anyone, since it was entered in the journal, and the journal, of course, is usually not given to students. He forgot his diary at home. If so, then Alyosha does not have the opportunity to show everyone his five. And so all joy was darkened. And he, of course, wanted to show everyone, especially since this phenomenon in his life, as you understand, is rare. He may simply not be believed without factual data. If the five would be in a notebook, for example, for a problem solved at home or for a dictation, then it’s easier than ever. That is, go with this notebook and show it to everyone. Until the sheets start popping out.
In arithmetic class, he came up with a plan: steal a magazine! He steals the magazine and brings it back in the morning. During this time, he can bypass all acquaintances and strangers with this magazine. In short, he seized the moment and stole the magazine at recess. He slipped the magazine into his bag and sits as if nothing had happened. Only his heart is beating frantically, which is quite natural, since he committed theft. When the teacher returned, he was so surprised that the magazine was not in place that he didn’t even say anything, but suddenly became somehow thoughtful. It seemed that he doubted whether there was a magazine on the table or not, whether it came with or without a magazine. He never asked about the magazine: the idea that one of the students had stolen it did not even cross his mind. There was no such case in his pedagogical practice. II he, without waiting for the call, quietly left, and it was evident that he was greatly upset by his forgetfulness.
And Alyosha grabbed his bag and rushed home. On the tram, he took a magazine out of his bag, found his five there and looked at it for a long time. And when he was already walking down the street, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten the magazine in the tram. When he remembered this, he almost collapsed from fear. He even said "oops!" or something like that. The first thought that came to his mind was to run after the tram. But he quickly realized (he was still quick-witted!), that there was no point in running after the tram, since he had already left. Then many other thoughts came to his mind. But these were all such insignificant thoughts that it is not worth talking about them.
He even had such an idea: to take a train and go to the North. And go to work somewhere. Why exactly to the North, he did not know, but he was going there. I mean, he didn't even want to. He thought about it for a moment, and then remembered his mother, grandmother, his father and abandoned this idea. Then he thought if he should go to the Lost Property Bureau, it is quite possible that the magazine is there. But here comes the suspicion. He will certainly be detained and prosecuted. And he did not want to be held accountable, despite the fact that he deserved it.
He came home and even lost weight in one evening. And all night he could not sleep, and by morning, probably, he had lost even more weight.
First, his conscience tormented him. The entire class was left without a magazine. All friends' marks are gone. His excitement is understandable.
And secondly, five. One in a lifetime - and she was gone. No, I understand it. True, I do not quite understand his desperate act, but his feelings are completely understandable to me.
So he came to school in the morning. Worried. Nervous. Lump in throat. Doesn't look into the eyes.
The teacher comes. He speaks:
Guys! The magazine is gone. Some sort of opportu- nity. And where could he go?
Alyosha is silent.
The teacher says:
I kind of remember coming to class with a magazine. Even saw it on the table. But at the same time, I doubt it. I couldn't lose it on the way, although I remember very well how I picked it up in the teacher's room and carried it along the corridor.
Some guys say:
No, we remember that the magazine was on the table. We saw.
The teacher says:
In that case, where does he go?
Here Alyosha could not stand it. He could no longer sit and be silent. He got up and says:
The magazine is probably in the chamber of lost things ...
The teacher was surprised and said:
Where? Where?
And the class laughed.
Then Alyosha, very excited, says:
No, I’m telling you the truth, he’s probably in the chamber of lost things… he couldn’t be lost…
In what chamber? - says the teacher.
Lost things, - says Alyosha.
I don't understand anything, says the teacher.
Then Alyosha suddenly for some reason was afraid that he would get a big blow for this case if he confessed, and he said:
I just wanted to advise...
The teacher looked at him and said sadly:
Don't talk nonsense, do you hear?
At this time, the door opens, and a woman enters the classroom and holds something wrapped in a newspaper in her hand.
I'm a conductor, she says, I'm sorry. I have a free day today, and so I found your school and class, in which case, take your magazine.
There was an uproar in the classroom, and the teacher said:
How so? Here is the number! How did our class magazine end up with the conductor? No, it can't be! Maybe this is not our magazine?
The conductor smiles slyly and says:
No, this is your journal.
Then the teacher grabs a magazine from the conductor and quickly flips through it.
Yes! Yes! Yes! - he shouts, - This is our magazine! I remember carrying him down the hallway...
Conductor says:
And then they forgot on the tram?
The teacher looks at her with wide eyes. And she, smiling broadly, says:
Well, of course. You forgot it on the tram.
Then the teacher grabs his head:
God! Something is happening to me. How could I forget the magazine on the tram? It's simply unthinkable! Although I remember carrying it down the hallway... Maybe I should leave school? I feel it's getting harder and harder for me to teach...
The conductor says goodbye to the class, and the whole class shouts "thank you" to her, and she leaves with a smile.
In parting, she says to the teacher:
Next time be more careful.
The teacher is sitting at the table with his head in his hands, in a very gloomy mood. Then he, resting his hands on his cheeks, sits and looks at one point.
I stole a magazine.
But the teacher is silent.
Then Alyosha says again:
I stole the magazine. Understand.
The teacher lazily says:
Yes... yes... I understand you... your noble act... but there is no need to do this... You want to help me... I know... take the blame... but why do it, my dear...
Alyosha almost crying says:
No, I'm telling you the truth...
The teacher says:
You see, he still insists... what a stubborn boy... no, this is an amazingly noble boy... I appreciate it, dear, but... since... things like this happen to me... I need to think about leaving... to leave teaching for a while...
Alyosha says through tears:
I... to you... tell the truth...
The teacher abruptly rises from his seat, slams his fist on the table and shouts hoarsely:
No need!
After that, he wipes his tears with a handkerchief and quickly leaves.
And what about Alyosha?
He remains in tears. He tries to explain to the class, but no one believes him.
He feels a hundred times worse, as if he had been severely punished. He cannot eat or sleep.
He goes to the teacher's house. And he explains everything. And he convinces the teacher. The teacher strokes his head and says:
This means that you are not yet a completely lost person and you have a conscience.
And the teacher escorts Alyosha to the corner and lectures him.
...................................................
Copyright: Victor Golyavkin
Cool! 2
Every year I look forward to September 1st. Everyone thinks I miss studying. In fact, I miss classmates and change.
Turn! What a cool word. How much does it include? What is the difference between a break and a lesson? For example, in mathematics you only solve, in Russian you write according to the rules, in physical education you run. And at the change you can do homework, learn the rules, run along the corridors, stand in the corner, run to the dining room and much more interesting things.
I have favorite activities during breaks. At the biggest break, which is 20 minutes, I like to visit the school library. Our librarian Tatyana Ivanovna greets us all warmly and seats us at the tables. The library has many books for all ages. Kids read thin books, they are no longer interesting to me. I love children's encyclopedias. You can read about everything in an encyclopedia. I like encyclopedias about dinosaurs, sports and animals. When we are asked Additional tasks I always go to the library. I take books to read home. I think reading helps improve grades.
At the next break, I will definitely go to our canteen. How delicious it smells! The cooks are all in white coats and caps. They serve everyone quickly. The attendants walk between the tables and clean the dirty dishes. I even like to stand in line at the cafeteria. At this time, I choose what I will eat. I like pies with potatoes or apples. The pies are very tasty and turn out like mom's. After I eat, I always say thank you to the chefs.
And at small breaks, I like to run along the corridors. Our school has 3 floors, but I have time everywhere. True, they are punished for it. I was even put on the line. But I still run. When it's warm outside, the boys and I go outside during recess. In autumn, we collect yellow leaves and rustle them. There is a large alley in the park behind the school. There are so many leaves in autumn! The leaves are different: round, oval and even curly leaves. Get beautiful bouquets. We then give them to the girls. They are very pleased.
In the spring, at recess, we pick up the buds of trees. The fingers are then glued together and the notebook sheets stick. But how it smells! Next summer. Sometimes we even manage to pick snowdrops. Then there is a small bouquet on the teacher's table.
I really love change. You can't do without them at school. I wish there were more changes than lessons. But I know that this is not possible. You have to study in school. I also love the lessons, I just look forward to every break. I will never forget my changes.
More essays on the topic: "At recess"
Recess is a short break between lessons. It was created so that students and teachers can relax, have lunch, recuperate and be able to switch to another subject.
All students are very fond of change and sometimes in especially boring lessons they count the minutes before the start of the break in order to relax and have some fun. At recess, you can discuss something with your friends, get some air.
In our school, breaks usually last ten minutes, but there are two long breaks, one lasts fifteen minutes and the other twenty minutes. At breaks, we move from one room to another, to another lesson, and then we go to rest. In early autumn, when it’s still warm, or in spring, when it’s already warm, you can spend time outdoors, enjoying the last warm rays of the sun. We go out into the street, chatting about this and that, fooling around, in general, doing things that are not allowed in the classroom. In winter, we rarely go out to the school yard, only when it snows a lot, we play snowballs and play tag with our classmates in the snow - it's a lot of fun.
At big breaks, we go to the dining room for lunch or to the library for books. Some do homework, which were asked the next day, so as not to waste time in vain, and some write off their homework for the next lesson, because they didn’t do it at home, it happens. The school fills up during recess. big amount sounds: roar, laughter, shouting, singing. The kids are rushing somewhere, crashing into tall high school students, who explain to them that they can’t run around the school. Although they themselves sometimes violate this rule, therefore, the duty of teachers and senior students is organized in our school. They stand in the corridors at breaks and make comments to violators. Thus, students are taught responsibility and discipline. Particularly "distinguished" students are announced on the line at the end of the working week, so that they would be ashamed.
I like long breaks more because I can rest longer and chat with friends from other classes.
Source: sdamna5.ru
Break is only a few minutes, but what sweet and long-awaited for any student. It is an integral part of school life. And in these short moments between lessons, as much happens as never happens in forty minutes of the most intense and interesting lesson. Change is a small life that can teach you a lot.
Everything that happens at recess is joyful, bright, kind, and can be sad, hurtful, painful and even bitter. There are funny, stupid, amusing cases, and there are very instructive and emotional ones. Even if you chose not to leave the class at all during the break, this does not mean that nothing will happen to you in these moments of rest from classes. Each student has a huge collection of stories that happened to him and his comrades at recess. I want to tell one of them.
The bell rang, we had already received our homework, so the historian did not delay us. A crowd of my classmates rushed to the exit, I was also carried out by this pressure into the school hall. Gradually, all this space was filled with students from different classes, scurrying around like ants. And now my comrades and I see this picture: one second-grader hit another, and he began to cry. It was possible to pass by, we know how it happens, we ourselves were like that. But Vanka could not resist, he was offended by little boy He has a brother of that age. And we went up to the guys to talk. It turned out that the fighter was offended no less, since the victim took away his disk with his beloved computer game, which he brought to school to show off.
We talked heart to heart with the kids. I had to explain to them that disputes cannot be resolved with fists, and that it’s not good to brag, and that they don’t take someone else’s without asking. good people, and, in general, a quarrel is the last thing. In general, they reconciled. The disc was returned to its homeland, or rather to its rightful owner, and harmony reigned among friends again. And we were very pleased with ourselves, because we helped our younger comrades, even if only a little. Being helpful and feeling like an adult is doubly nice.
As a conclusion, I want to say that during the break you can not only relax, play and have fun. We need to be attentive to each other and younger students. After all, some of them may need your help, even the smallest.
Source: ensoch.ru
What should be the school break and why? I think school recess should be different for everyone. One wants to sit quietly in an armchair and relax, listen to gentle music, accompanied by the rustle of waves and the cry of seagulls. Others need to eat well. The third is to run with the ball or play table tennis. We are all different and cannot want the same thing. This means that the school must have a room for psychological relief. There is silence in it, sounds from a noisy corridor will not penetrate due to good insulation. Flowers, an aquarium, soft sofas and armchairs, music centers with headphones - all this will help relieve stress and relax in a few minutes. The buffet is a must for students. And it should work in such a way that there are no queues. Otherwise, you will stand for the whole change behind a bun and a glass of tea, and then you will not chew it all, but quickly swallow it. Finally, a special small gym for those who want to actively relax during the break. Here - a table for tennis, balls, jump ropes, dumbbells, the simplest exercise equipment such as a bicycle or a treadmill. I hope that all this will appear in our school in the near future. I so want not to wander dully through the corridors during breaks and not sit in a noisy classroom!
AT A BREAK
Yakov Shekhter
The story is taken from the Noam Alichot cycle about the Rehovot synagogue. The persons acting in it are already familiar to the reader from previous stories. For those who have not yet had time to get acquainted with the heroes, Reb Wolf is the head of the synagogue council, and Nissim and Akiva are members of this council.
Who can tell me what reality is? Reb Wulf exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. “This table here.” He rapped the lacquered brown top once more, as if tossing out the possibility of discrepancy. “Is it really square on four legs, or does it appear to be?” Or maybe it's actually round, green and iron?
“And in general, not a table, but a stump,” Nissim noted. “And you are not Reb Wulf, but simply Wulf, the wolf from the forest. And we did not gather here to pray, but to howl at the moon.
“There is no need to exaggerate,” Reb Wulf grimaced. - The Rambam says: "Keep the middle in everything." And you, Nissim, are always thrown from one side of the road to another.
It was already getting dark outside the windows, another noisy day, pierced by the merciless Mediterranean heat, was departing. Despite the middle of Cheshvan, the heat did not let go of the Land of Israel. The tops of the old poplars in the courtyard of the Noam Alichot synagogue turned purple in the rays of the setting sun, but velvet twilight reigned in the synagogue itself. The daily prayer “Mincha” had just ended, and there was only half an hour left before the beginning of the evening “Maariv”. It made no sense to leave, the parishioners dispersed around the large hall, breaking up into habitual groups, and in an undertone, as if afraid of breaking the charm of the approaching darkness with a careless exclamation, they talked about the affairs of the passing day.
The board of the synagogue, as usual, moved to the small hall. In it, the white light of neon lamps flickered coldly, and it was possible to talk in a loud voice. At the big break between "Minkha" and "Maariv" one was always drawn to stories about amazing events and strange, exciting incidents.
“Reality reminds me of the rustling of sugarcane,” the third member of the council, Akiva, an exotic Jew from Liberty Island, said slowly. - They cut him, but he only rustles. You have to scream, but he rustles. Even at the last second, he is afraid to seem vulgar.
“It's about Wulf,” answered Nissim, amused, pointing his chin in the direction of the chairman.
What is prayer if not a cry for help? Reb Wolf objected. You don't have to open your mouth wide to scream. A silent cry can change reality faster than a growl. There,” he lifted his heavy hand from the table and pointedly raised his index finger, “the gates are always open for tears, but not for scandals.
“I'll tell you a story,” he continued after a short pause, “that won't get out of my head. Actually, because of her, I asked my first question.
A few years ago I found myself in the Cabalist cemetery in Safed. But at that time I wanted to pray at the grave of Yosef Karo, the compiler of the main code of our laws. You see, - here Reb Wolf modestly looked down, - for many years, together with the late Rabbi Stark, I studied the Shulchan Oruch. While the rabbi was sitting next to me, everything was clear, but when, after his death, I tried to understand the intricacies of the law myself, things went much worse. Let's face it, it didn't work at all. And so I decided to pray at the grave of the author of "Shulkhan Orukh" and ask Heaven for help.
Nissim and Akiva looked at each other. Both had the same thought: so that's why Reb Wolf so stubbornly refuses to look for a successor to the late rabbi! We thought that the attachment of love had not yet subsided in him, but it turns out that he is simply preparing a place for himself!
“Looking ahead, I note that I did not receive help,” the chairman said, as if answering a dumb question. - Apparently, there are areas where, in addition to heavenly support, you also need to have a head on your shoulders.
Reb Wolf ruefully shook what he thought was missing.
- The grave of Rabbi Yosef Karo is located almost at the foot of the mountain, and the exit from the cemetery is at the very top. Having finished praying, I moved to the exit and, passing near the grave of Arizal, I noticed an elderly girl standing separately from other women. The style of her clothes testified to deep religiosity, and her uncovered head testified to an old girlhood. She was ugly: not ugly, but simply ugly - some awkward barrel-shaped figure, short arms, a reddish face. She prayed selflessly, and it was not difficult to guess what her requests were. I passed by and suddenly felt sorry for her, poor thing, for something doomed to tears, the fading of hopes, a cold, lonely old age. It is unlikely that she herself is to blame, apparently, the sins of her ancestors, past lives, and, by the way, her own sins were superimposed here. Who knows, who can appreciate?!
I felt sorry for her, for no reason, felt sorry suddenly and sharply, as if her pain and bitterness had become for a few seconds my own. Without stopping, I whispered a few words, a short prayer, a request to the Arbiter of Fates and the Lord of Destinies.
“Lord of the world,” I whispered, “if I have any merit in praying at the holy resting place of the righteous, let her help this girl find her betrothed.”
At the Safed Cemetery, the Kabalisto
uphill, as you know, quite steep, besides, the lace on my right boot came undone, and I stopped to put it in order and take a breath along the way. The girl finished praying and overtook me. She rose quickly, unspent energy easily led her seemingly clumsy body. I tidied up the lace and trudged along quietly, afraid of slipping on the smooth stones polished by thousands of soles. It is indecent to look at a woman rising in front of you, so all my attention was focused on where to put my foot.
Suddenly, excited voices were heard somewhere upstairs. I raised my head. The girl, beaming, exchanged kisses with several women. Their excited voices carried distinctly over the ocher dryness of the old graves. The very first words that came to my mind made me wary. The talkativeness of our women needs no further description, and as I got up, passed by, and slowly moved away from the girl, chatting at ease with acquaintances, I learned even more about her life than I wanted to. However, among the nonsense and candy dust, I made out the main thing, for the sake of which she came to the cemetery today.
It turns out that this evening her “erusin”, a long-awaited engagement, should take place, and she came to thank the Almighty for hearing her requests and sending her betrothed: the smartest, kindest, most pious person in the world.
Reb Wulf looked around at the hushed interlocutors.
– And I can’t understand what happened in those minutes at the ancient cemetery? I made a mistake, arrogantly inventing a non-existent fate for a stranger, or, - Reb Wolf stopped for a second, - or my prayer was heard and the Almighty changed reality in the blink of an eye, altering the fate of many people with hindsight!
“Now I understand why you didn’t succeed at Shulkhan Orukh!” exclaimed Nissim. - Help was allocated to you, and you gave it to a girl! The act, of course, is noble - this is how the gallant gentlemen of the Renaissance behaved, but what he gave, he gave.
“Oho-ho,” Reb Wulf sighed. - After that incident, I returned to Rabbi Yosef more than once or twice. And there's no point.
- Wow, nothing! Nissim was surprised. - He married the girl - and not enough! Maybe this is the best thing you've ever done
“I hope,” Reb Wulf said quietly, “I really hope that it’s not the best.”
“And changing reality,” continued Nissim, “is the most common thing. Every step I take changes reality. I’ll take it now and break this table, and then a different reality will come.
“If you break it, you will fix it,” said Reb Wulf. – And this is not about changing the material structure of the world, here we are all great masters of breaking and spoiling, but about much more subtle transformations. Retroactive intervention in the causal mechanism is not an easy thing.
– Simple, not simple, but what happened to me, – Nissim, obviously imitating Reb Wolf, slapped his palms on the table top several times. “I have a friend, Uri. We with him on the Suez Canal, in the Yom Kippur War, at the "Chinese Farm" held the defense. There, under Egyptian fire, it seemed as if there was not and would not be a better friend, but when the war was over, they fled. Different people, different lives.
N-yes…. And it was not easy to carry him to Miami, to look for beautiful bread. And life in Florida is really wonderful. A rich, well-fed life, and a friend snatched his piece of it, although he worked as a dispatcher in some kind of super, he distributed orders between suppliers. But he worked, apparently, honestly, and honesty in our time is a rare commodity and is paid well.
A year ago I met our platoon commander.
“Remember,” he asks, “Uri?”
- How not to remember, - I say, - friends are all the same.
“Cancer,” he says, he caught it. - Irradiated to the fullest. The beard has already fallen out.
Y-yes ... Uri wore a luxurious beard: red and twisted with ringlets, tight, as if made of wire, and shiny, like polished copper. On the channel, they immediately forced her to shave off, they said that attracts attention to snipers. Well, nothing, then it grew back.
- So, - says the commander, - not a hair left. How long he has left, no one knows. Or maybe not anymore.
- That's what, - I say, - let's go, we will treat Uri. There is an ancient remedy, bequeathed by grandfathers. "Lechaim" must be done for a sick comrade. Do not get drunk mindlessly, but work like a kohen at the altar. With meaning and significance.
“I don’t drink,” let the commander deny. - You know, beer is still here and there, but nothing else.
“Put down the beer,” I order. - Only arak. Imagine that the life of a comrade is in your hand. And you will not raise a glass with this very hand?
N-yes…. He raised it, and how he raised it. Arak should be drunk from the freezer, the cold turns it into a viscous balm sparkling with crystals. And we used a liter bottle of this balm for Uri's speedy recovery. The commander behaved well. Only at the end of the bottle he drank not for Uri, but for his beard. To see her in her former splendor and splendor.
When he collapsed on the couch and passed out, I called his wife. He explained, they say, an unexpected meeting of fighting friends, so her husband would stay with me to spend the night.
Y-yes ... And in a couple of days I meet another friend from the platoon.
“Have you heard,” I ask, “about Uri?”
“I heard,” he says. - He had cancer, the poor fellow was irradiated. But, glory to the Almighty, he got out. And the beard grew. Same, rings.
Nissim looked victoriously at Reb Wulf.
- If this is not a retroactive intervention in the causal mechanism, then what, what is it then?
Why are you always looking for explanations? Akiva suddenly asked, still speechless. - What kind of irrepressible passion for dissection? The whole world must be cut, weighed, measured and interpreted. And immediately, within the framework of one conversation. It does not happen, reality is more complicated than our idea of it.
- How else? Nissim asked incredulously. Why all the stories then? We give examples to understand the rule through them.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Akiva grimaced. - You can understand it in different ways. You are trying to draw from any drop world law. I prefer to lay out the examples on the table like a children's puzzle and examine them closely. Don't rush, don't rush to explain. And then all of a sudden the picture will take shape in the brain. But brighter and more colorful than a hasty sketch.
“There is another way,” agreed Nissim. “But sometimes it doesn't matter. Look, now I will tell a story that does not require much looking at. The law itself jumps out of it, like the Renaissance from the Middle Ages.
Y-yes... It happened on the Ashdod beach, a separate beach for men, during a vacation in yeshivas. Two "Avrekhs" from Bnei Brak decided to unwind a little, to take a break from the continuous teaching. Warmed up on the sand, went into the water. And the conversation is all about the same, discussing an unfinished topic from the Talmud. Passed by the third "Avrekh", listened to the conversation.
- In, - he says, - they settled down well! You should have dragged a stander here. You have to swim, move. That's why he's on vacation, to strain his body and let go of his head.
Well, they started swimming. How it happened, I don’t know, but one of the Avrehim began to sink. A friend pulls him by the hair, does not let him go to the bottom, but calls for help himself. Rescuers arrived in time, pulled out, let's pump out. And even though the poor man spent nothing under water, he managed to choke.
An ambulance rushed, the body was connected to the apparatus, and work began. The doctor fusses, fusses, and the orderly, also with a kippah on his head, comes up to the second "Avrekh" and advises quietly:
- You demand a death certificate immediately, on the spot. Less red tape, and they won't take you to the autopsy.
- What opening? friend turns pale. - What evidence, he didn’t really have time to drown!
“I did it, I didn’t,” says the orderly, “but my heart stopped.”
Here the doctor comes up with a look of contrite and helpless.
“Everything,” he says, “is in His hands. As for mine, I've already tried it. Does not help. Tell the family.
The Avrekh turned away and, as he was in swimming trunks and without a hat, turned to the Almighty.
“I give away a year of my studies,” he asks, “the merit of a whole year of study, just revive a friend.”
A few seconds pass, and suddenly - lo and behold - the drowned man begins to cough.
A doctor with a changed face runs towards the body. Nurse behind. All the equipment is reattached, and after ten minutes, the “dead man” opens his eyes.
Y-yes ... And these are not stories, not idle tales, I myself, I saw it myself. There was one objective reality for you, when suddenly - r-time, and completely different. And objective, mind you, no less than the previous one. So, that's how it is,” concluded Nissim triumphantly. - And the puzzles ... Let the children collect the puzzles.
Reb Wolf glanced at his watch.
There are fifteen minutes left until evening prayer. There is one more story to tell.
“Perhaps,” Akiva said slowly, “I'll try to do it. I'll try to put the puzzle in front of you. He looked at Nissim ironically. - And you already collect as you can.
In ancient times, a famous rabbi lived in Cuba. In his family, wise men and bookworms intertwined in a bizarre way with successful merchants and lovers of distant wanderings. The head of the clan, a few years before the exile, managed to leave Spain, and not only leave, but also take out all the wealth from it. His descendants, who settled in Brabant, supported William of Orange in time, and half a century later, having received special benefits, they moved to Cuba. Formally, the rabbi was considered the head of the trading house of this huge, rich and successful family, but in fact he preferred not to interfere in anything, but to spend the years allotted to him in the synagogue over books. Exactly years,” repeated Akiva, “I didn’t misquote. The eldest children in the family, the heirs of the family, died very early, the luckiest managed to exceed thirty-two years. The name of the rabbi I am talking about was Obadiah, he married, according to the custom of his family, very early, and by the age of thirty he was already preparing his eldest daughter for marriage. Further,” Akiva stopped and took out a small notebook from his purse, bound in thick, cracked brown leather, “let the rabbi himself tell. When I was young, I had a chance to work in the Havana archives, and, sorting through endless folders of documents, I came across a file of Jewish Antiquities. So it was written on the box, which contained all kinds of papers related to the Jewish population of Cuba. Among them I found a letter from Rabbi Ovadia. I rewrote it and provided explanations. It seemed very important to me then to publish this document, but in those days such a step was quite dangerous, and when times changed, my interest faded, and the letter remained in the old notebook. You,” Akiva glanced around the parishioners crowded around the table, “are his first listeners.
He leafed through the notebook with concentration, looking for the right page, adjusted his glasses and began to read in a low, slightly raspy voice.
- “To the servant of the Almighty, the friend of my soul, mentor and gaon, Rabbi Shabtai ibn Atar, Rabbi of the Galapagos Islands.
First of all, I would like to inquire about the health of the venerable rabbi, and only after that ask permission to hand him an awe-inspiring story, which I ask you not to tell anyone in the world. Hide this letter away from public eyes, but best of all, when finished, slash it so that not a single human soul couldn't see him.
My hair has turned white, my face is turned to the east, and the south wind fills my soul. The corridor comes to an end, the hospitably open door to the palace is already visible. Death appeared at my window, and it was time to tell the story that happened in those distant days when life seemed to be over.
All my ancestors for several centuries died, barely reaching the threshold of their thirties. Where this curse of the sons of Eli came to us, no one knows. I was born on the first day of the month of Nisan, when the moon was in full detriment and, apparently, therefore, I constantly felt a vague longing, unquenched thirst. It was this thirst that made me sit, not unbending, over books for more than twenty years and made me what it made me.
On the day of my thirtieth birthday, I arrived, like Moshiach, on a white donkey, having completed, as far as possible, all my earthly affairs. There is only one thing left: to choose from two candidates the most worthy groom for my eldest daughter. She was fifteen, and a year later she had to stand under the chuppah. I wanted to make the engagement personally, having managed before the time when the sound of the windmill calmed down.
Both fiancés studied with me in the yeshiva, both were worthy young people, standing out from all the others with the refinement of the soul and the ability to comprehend the Law. The first belonged to a well-known family of land tenants in Cuba, the second, who excelled him in memory and ability to quickly grasp the material, came from Portuguese Geres who fled to Cuba to take on the yoke of the commandments.
However, about both I could testify that they were like a whitewashed pit: each could make my daughter happy, and both were equally close to her heart.
However, my preference is
went to the first of the candidates. Not because I have a prejudice against spikelet collectors, although our family was very careful about the purity of the pedigree, but only because the descendant of the Portuguese seemed to me a little rougher.
Thinking about this, I went to bed on the night of my thirtieth birthday and suddenly fell into an unusually deep sleep. In a dream, a majestic man with refined features and a long beard appeared to me.
“What will happen to you, Ovadia? he asked, shaking his head reproachfully. – How will it all end?
I woke up worried, but after lying down for a while I fell asleep again. And again a stranger appeared before me. This time he acted more decisively. Grabbing my hand, he almost shouted:
- Why are you sleeping? Why don't you call on Heaven for help?
I jumped out of bed covered in sweat and could not calm down for a long time. Only an hour later, having examined a page of the Talmud and distracted from the dream, I managed to come to my senses. Cautiously getting into bed, I closed my eyes.
The stranger appeared just after the eyelids closed. Two companions stood next to him, and although they looked very stern, they spoke calmly and intelligibly.
“This is not a dream,” one of them said. This is true vision.
“Look at me, Obadiah,” said the stranger. - Look carefully.
I looked and suddenly realized that before me was the founder of our family. How and from where this understanding came to me - I do not know, because his portrait has not been preserved. Apparently, when a person falls into a pit, help is extended to him from Heaven, opening the closed one.
Have you come to announce my death? I asked, shuddering with horror.
“No,” the ancestor shook his head, “even though she is close. But you can avoid it.
How, tell me how!
– I can’t reveal everything to you, the Future world and yours are separated by a barrier, and it’s not in my power to destroy the wall. I can only hint - "Bava Kama".
- "Bava Kama"?
- Yes, Bava Kama. postara
try to understand what is at stake. For many years I have been dreaming about my descendants, but none of them could guess. This is the true reason for their early death. Think, think well!
Then I plucked up courage and asked him to explain everything to me. Apparently, I said this louder than I intended, and, suddenly waking up, found that this meeting also took place in a dream.
I could no longer sleep. I spent the whole next week, as if on Judgment Day, without leaving the synagogue. I had to learn "Bava Kama" more than once, but then I plunged into the treatise up to the tops of my hair. Rambam, Rashbam, Rabbeinu Tam, Reef, Rosh, Raived swirled before my eyes even in short periods of sleep. By the next Saturday, I had memorized the treatise almost by heart, but made no progress in understanding what my ancestor was alluding to.
I wept through the Shabbat prayer, covering my head with thallis, so that those around me would not see my tears. When everyone went home for kiddush, I opened Bava Kama again, but after a few minutes I fell asleep, exhausted by a week-long fast and insomnia.
And then my ancestor was revealed to me again, this time dressed in white robes. I was very excited and gazed intently into his majestic and stern face. He approached and said that the tears that I shed so generously during prayer had softened the Supreme Mercy, and he was sent to explain to me how the sentence could be canceled.
“Look in old books,” he said, looking at me intently. - Look in old books.
Opening my eyes, I thought for a long time what kind of old books we could talk about. Our family has preserved manuscripts taken from Spain, but I read them several times as a child. The treatise "Bava Kama" was not among them.
After the end of Saturday, I carefully went through the entire library, but apart from the books I already knew, I found nothing. What did my ancestor want to say, what riddle do I have to solve?
I couldn't eat, sleep, or study. “Old books, old books,” my head kept spinning. The Pentateuch, the Talmud, the rabbinic responsa fully corresponded to this definition. Confused and annoyed, I went to bed.
The ancestor was waiting for me just beyond the threshold of sleep. His face radiated light, and he was again dressed in all white.
“How long will you burden me with your fate?!” he asked angrily.
I wanted to explain to him that I had no idea what the matter was, but I couldn’t, and I started crying. Tears flowed from my eyes profusely and for a long time, and all this time the ancestor was silent, looking at me sternly. At last I managed to squeeze out a few pitiful words of explanation, which made me sob so hard that I woke up.
I don’t know why, but it seemed to me that the solution to the riddle was very close. I jumped out of bed, washed my hands and hurried to the library. Approaching a huge bookcase, I stopped like Moshe in front of a bush. A hunch dawned on me suddenly, as if invested by someone from outside.
The affairs of our trading house were conducted very carefully. It was a tradition backed up by the Law. All income and expenses were meticulously entered into the ledgers, a report was written at the end of each page, and the pages themselves were numbered and stapled so that they could not be pulled out or changed. Sometimes I leafed through these ledgers, marveling at the different handwriting different people who have kept records for many decades. My duties as head of the trading house included a careful weekly inspection of these records, but I completely relied on the manager and transferred this care to him.
Standing in front of the cabinet, I suddenly realized that ledgers are also called books and are directly related to Bava Kama. Barely waiting for morning, I hurried to the office. The manager was quite surprised at my early arrival. Even more surprised was his request to see the ledgers.
Throwing open the doors of an antique bookcase that held decades of records, I pulled out the very first book with trembling hands. On each page was the signature of the founder of our family, and the book began back in Spain. Apparently, he could not or could not take out the previous books.
I sat down at the table, opened the ledger and began to carefully study, examining each entry with such care as if I had Hoshen Mishpat lying before me. The pages were finely covered with records of various financial transactions. It was impossible to figure out who, to whom, how much and on what terms sold, bought or lent money, I had absolutely no idea what goods and transactions we were talking about. But this did not bother me, somewhere in the depths there was an absolute certainty that I would immediately recognize what I was looking for.
Half an hour later, I found a note on a loan received by my ancestor from a rich Portuguese man. Unlike all other entries, the amount was circled in red ink. I began to leaf through the book, but nowhere did I find anything similar. Red ink no longer appeared. Therefore, I thought, they must mean something.
In which case, I continued to think, is a loan entry highlighted? Only in one - if it was forgotten or could not be returned.
Finding it was a breeze. I looked through all the ledgers for fifty years and found nowhere a record of the return of the debt to the Portuguese. So we owe. But how much will I have to pay today, the direct heir of the debtor, if I manage to find the descendants of the rich man?
After reading the terms, I was horrified. Over the past centuries, a relatively small amount has turned into a fortune. Its return will not ruin our trading house, but will greatly shake its stability. And to whom to return, where to find the heirs of the Portuguese rich? How many years have passed, how many wars have swept over Portugal!
These thoughts did not leave me until the evening. Getting into bed, I knew for sure that the ancestor was already waiting for me beyond the vague border of sleep. And I was not mistaken!
His appearance was stern: his eyebrows were furrowed, the skin over the bridge of his nose gathered into wrinkles.
- And you're still slow! ' he yelled when he saw me. – Are you thinking? Wake up immediately and send messengers to all corners of Portugal.
“Perhaps,” I asked timidly, “we should wait until dawn?” It's not good to wake people up at such an inopportune time.
The ship for Lisbon will leave Havana at six o'clock in the morning. The next one will come in a month. And besides,” he softened his voice slightly and looked at me with undisguised pride, “you were supposed to die that night. Your insight delayed the sentence: you were given six months. If the debt is not returned, the verdict will take effect, and everything will go back to normal. My other great-great-grandson, who can solve the mystery, will not be born until thirty-six years later.
So I did. I postponed all matters, including my daughter's wedding, until the matter was completed. Three months later, the messengers returned. Three empty-handed, two with scraps of information, and one with good news: the descendants of the long-ruined Portuguese rich men moved to Cuba twenty years ago.
Further search was not difficult and, to my great amazement, I learned that one of my daughter's suitors, the son of the Portuguese Gers, is the one to whom the debt must be handed over.
On the very first day after the wedding, I took my son-in-law to my office and, without further ado, handed him an amount exactly corresponding to the amount of the debt. The young husband, surprised and delighted by such a generous dowry, did not know how to thank me, and I kept quiet, not wanting to publicize this amazing story for the time being.
I no longer saw my ancestor, obviously, my actions turned out to be correct, and the guarantee of that is the advanced age to which I lived thanks to the help of the Almighty.
The air of Cuba is filled with superstition, perhaps the reason for this is the very soil, saturated with thousands of years of idolatry of the native tribes. Even in the Jewish environment, ridiculous stories about spirits, evil spirits, demons, demons and other nonsense are constantly spinning. Therefore, I did not dare to publish the event that I am telling you about after so many years.
The millstones of my mill subside, the Almighty blessed me, like Abraham, our father, with a good old age, and the day is near when I will stand before the righteous Court. The future terrifies me, incessant doubts torment my soul: have I been diligent enough in studying the Fa and keeping the commandments? I ask you to pray for my share in the World to Come, because G-d is favorable to your prayers.
Your friend, devoted to you with soul and heart, is writing these lines in tears.
Akiva slammed the notebook shut. Silence hung in the room for a few seconds, then Reb Wulf cleared his throat and announced in a low voice:
- A sense of reality tells me that the time has come for prayer.
Everyone got up noisily, stomped and crowded at the door, politely letting each other through.
The lights in the main hall were already on. A huge chandelier sparkled and shimmered with thousands of sharp, mother-of-pearl rays. And it was so good, so joyful to open the book, habitually looking for the right page, answer loudly “Omen”, bow low, feeling with your whole body your living, strong presence on the blessed and good earth, that the angels immediately picked up the prayer of that evening and immediately wove it into the radiant the crown of the Almighty.
Monthly literary and journalistic magazine and publishing house.
The children of the prophet Eli, who served in the temporary Temple at Shilo, behaved in an unworthy manner, and therefore their descendants died at an early age for many generations.
Donkey - "hamor" - consonant with the word "homer" - "matter". Usually this means the material basis of a person, his body. Sitting on a donkey means dominion over passions, and the donkey’s suit, reminiscent of time-bleached fabric, means that Ovadia managed not only to subdue them to his will, but to deprive them of their strength, just as paints that have faded under the sun lose their brightness.
A hint of a phrase from the book of King Solomon "Coeles": "And the gates in the market will be closed when the sound of the mill calms down, and awakens from the chirping of birds, and all who sing become despised."
One of the sections of the code of laws "Shulkhan Orukh" dealing with property relations.
An allusion to a phrase from the Pentateuch: "And Abraham died, having died in a good old age, a wise man, satisfied with life."