Join The Conversation With Mishpacha's Weekly Newsletter



Fiction Corner: The Scar

Kobi Levy

“They talk to Somebody Up There? How? Who’s up there, anyway?” I was almost fainting from curiosity. “How can you talk to clouds or stars? Can they hear you?”

Wednesday, June 06, 2018

 Mishpacha image

 

T o this day, the old people on Moshav Beit Halevi talk about the time that little Daviko, the beloved only son of Sofi the Nudnik, tried to hammer a horseshoe onto Pochino.


Chapter 1

Pochino was the huge horse that transported Varsano the bread seller’s wares throughout our moshav; he was a daily fixture on the moshav, bringing hot fresh loaves to our homes, no matter what the weather, with a tinny bell and plaintive call of, “White bread, dark bread, don’t forget to pay.”

 Pochino may have needed iron horseshoes, but he wasn’t pleased with the idea of a little boy hammering his hooves. The grumpy horse gave a mighty kick that landed right in Daviko’s face.

Daviko was eight years old at the time, and six or seven of his front teeth went flying, and his lips and cheeks were torn and all knocked out of shape. He almost died.

The way I remember it, I was eight or nine years old when Daviko’s father Aharoniko, who oversaw the citrus orchard, met Varsano across from the dairy. As Daviko’s best friend, I was anxious to hear an update on his condition, so I listened carefully to their exchange.

“How is the boy doing?” Varsano asked, pulling on his mustache.

“What can I say? He could have died, but he’s alive.”

“For sure he could have died. Anyone who tries to shoe a crazy horse like my Pochino has to consider the risks,” Varsano said, pushing away his guilty feelings.

“The adukim are praying for him, Sofi tells me,” said Aharoniko.

“The adukim? Where did Sofi find adukim?”

“She found them in the hospitals in Tel Aviv. They live in Bnei Brak, you know. They come to the hospitals, light candles, put on a whole show. We had a few like that back in Bulgaria, remember?”

“Yes,” Varsano agreed. “But since when is Sofi using their services for Daviko? What happened, are you turning religious?”

“No, not us. We can’t even find one aduk in our family to pray for Daviko… but if they come on their own, let them come. I have no objection.”

That was the first time I heard the word adukim, and it sounded very mysterious to my eight-or-nine-year-old ears. The verb “praying” also confused me. When Aharoniko faded out of sight, I tapped Varsano on his waist — that was about as high as I could reach.

“Mr. Varsano,” I said, “what’s this about adukim? What are adukim, and what are they doing to Daviko?”

“Ha,” he laughed, and let go of his mustache. “Adukim are those people who wear black coats, you know, and white shirts, and they have strings hanging from their waists, and they talk to Somebody Up There” — he nodded toward the sky — “about Daviko, that he should get well, because you know, he almost got his head knocked off when Pochino kicked him.”

“They talk to Somebody Up There? How? Who’s up there, anyway?” I was almost fainting from curiosity. “How can you talk to clouds or stars? Can they hear you?”

Varsano pulled out his money box and started counting the coins. “Adukim are religious people; they talk to the Borei Olam, get it?”

I didn’t. Those terms weren’t part of the lexicon on the moshav. (Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 713)


 

 

Related Stories

Oneg Shabbos: Sweet Recovery

Yeruchem Yitzchak Landesman

“Every time your wife feels a headache coming on, tell her to take a candy, make a brachah with kava...

Lifelines: Underwhelming Simchah

C. Saphir

I remember sitting at the Seder table with my husband, Yehoshua, that year and exclaiming, “I can’t ...

Shared Space: Chapter 8

Dov Haller

All his friends were from before, old friends from yeshivah who’d known him before he’d been swallow...

Share this page with a friend. Fill in the information below, and we'll email your friend a link to this page on your behalf.

Your name
Your email address
You friend's name
Your friend's email address
Please type the characters you see in the image into the box provided.
CAPTCHA
Message


MM217
 
The Fortunes of War
Rabbi Moshe Grylak We’re still feeling the fallout of the First World War
Some Lessons, But Few Portents
Yonoson Rosenblum What the midterms tell us about 2020
Vote of Confidence
Eyan Kobre Why I tuned in to the liberal radio station
5 out of 10
Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin Top 5 Moments of the Kinus
Day in the Life
Rachel Bachrach Chaim White of KC Kosher Co-op
When Less is More
Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman How a good edit enhances a manuscript
It’s My Job
Jacob L. Freedman “Will you force me to take meds?”
They’re Still Playing My Song?
Riki Goldstein Yitzy Bald’s Yerav Na
Yisroel Werdyger Can’t Stop Singing
Riki Goldstein Ahrele Samet’s Loi Luni
Double Chords of Hope
Riki Goldstein You never know how far your music can go
Will Dedi Have the Last Laugh?
Dovid N. Golding Dedi and Ding go way back
Battle of the Budge
Faigy Peritzman Using stubbornness to grow in ruchniyus
The Challenging Child
Sarah Chana Radcliffe Strategies for raising the difficult child
Bucking the Trend
Sara Eisemann If I skip sem, will I get a good shidduch?
The Musician: Part 1
D. Himy, M.S. CCC-SLP and Zivia Reischer "If she can't read she'll be handicapped for life!"