Essay on the topic: “At recess. Humorous stories about school. stories for schoolchildren Stories about changes at school

AT A BREAK

Yakov Shekhter

The story is taken from the series about the Rehovot synagogue “Noam Alichot”. The characters in it are already familiar to the reader from previous stories. For those who have not yet met the characters, Reb Wulf is the head of the synagogue council, and Nissim and Akiva are members of this council.

Who will tell me what reality is? - Reb Wulf exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. “This table,” he once again tapped the lacquered brown tabletop, as if discarding the possibility of discrepancies. – Is he really square on four legs or does he appear that way? Or maybe it's actually round, green and iron?

“And in general, it’s not a table, but a stump,” Nissim noted. - And you are not Reb Wulf, but simply Wulf, the wolf from the forest. And we didn’t gather here to pray, but to howl at the moon.

“There’s no need to exaggerate,” Reb Wulf winced. – The Rambam says: “keep in 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, riddled with the merciless Mediterranean heat, was passing. 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 a velvet twilight reigned in the synagogue itself. The daytime prayer, Minchah, had just ended, and there was only half an hour left before the evening Maariv began. There was no point in leaving, the parishioners scattered around the large hall, breaking up into the usual groups, and in low voices, as if afraid to break the charm of the approaching darkness with a careless exclamation, they talked about the affairs of the passing day.

The synagogue board, as usual, moved to the small hall. The white light of neon lamps flickered coldly in it, and one could talk in a full voice. During the big break between “Minha” and “Maariv” I was always drawn to stories about amazing events and strange incidents that excite the imagination.

“Reality reminds me of the rustling of sugar cane,” said the third member of the council, Akiva, an exotic Jew from Liberty Island, slowly. “They cut him, but he only rustles.” You have to scream, but he rustles. Even at the last second he is afraid of seeming vulgar.

“It’s about Wulf,” answered the amused Nissim, pointing his chin in the direction of the chairman.

– What is prayer if not a cry for help? - Reb Wulf 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 palm from the table and meaningfully raised his index finger up, “the gates are always wide open for tears, but not for scandals.”

“I’ll tell you a story,” he continued after a short pause, “that won’t leave my head.” Actually, it was because of her that I asked my first question.

Several years ago I found myself in the Safed cemetery of the cabalists. But that time I wanted to pray at the grave of Yosef Karo, the compiler of the main code of our laws. “I, you see,” here Reb Wulf modestly looked down, “studyed the Shulchan Oruch together with the late Rabbi Stark for many years.” 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 got much worse. Let's be honest, it didn't work out at all. And so I decided to pray at the grave of the author of “Shulchan Orukh” and ask Heaven for help.

Nissim and Akiva looked at each other. Both had the same thought: this is why Reb Wulf so stubbornly refuses to look for a successor to the late rabbi! We thought that the affection of love had not yet subsided in him, but it turns out that he is simply preparing a place for himself!

“Looking ahead, I’ll note that I didn’t receive any help,” said the chairman, as if answering a silent question. – Apparently, there are areas where, in addition to heavenly support, you also need to have a head on your shoulders.

Reb Wolf sadly 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 towards the exit and, passing near Arizal’s grave, I noticed an elderly girl standing separately from other women. The style of her clothing testified to deep religiosity, and her uncovered head indicated an old girlhood. She was ugly: not ugly, but simply ugly - some kind of awkward, barrel-shaped figure, short arms, a reddish face. She prayed selflessly, and it was not difficult to guess what her requests were about. I walked past and suddenly felt sorry for her, the poor thing, for some reason doomed to tears, fading hopes, cold, lonely old age. It is unlikely that she herself is to blame; apparently, the sins of her ancestors, past lives, and, indeed, perhaps her own sins were superimposed here. Who knows, who can evaluate?!

I felt sorry for her, for some unknown reason, I felt sorry for her suddenly and sharply, as if her pain and bitterness had become my own for a few seconds. Without stopping, I whispered a few words, a short prayer, a request to the Master of destinies and the Lord of destiny.

“Lord of the world,” I whispered, “if I have at least some merit of prayer at the holy resting place of the righteous, let it help this girl find her betrothed.”

In the Safed cemetery there is kabalism

The climb, as you know, is quite steep, and besides, the lace on my right shoe came undone, and I stopped to put it in order and at the same time take a breath. The girl finished praying and overtook me. She rose quickly, unspent energy easily guided her seemingly clumsy body. I tidied up the lace and quietly trudged along, 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 place my foot.

Suddenly, excited voices were heard somewhere above. I raised my head. The girl, beaming, exchanged kisses with several women. Their excited voices could be heard clearly over the ocher dryness of the old graves. The very first words that reached me made me wary. The talkativeness of our women does not need additional description, and while I stood up, walked past and slowly moved away from the girl who was casually chatting with friends, I learned even more about her life than I would have liked. However, among the nonsense and candy dust, I made out the main thing, why 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 her betrothed: the smartest, kindest, most pious man in the world.

Reb Wulf looked around at his silent interlocutors.

– And I can’t understand what happened in those minutes in the ancient cemetery? I made a mistake, arrogantly inventing a non-existent fate for a stranger, or,” Reb Wulf stopped for a second, “or my prayer was heard and the Almighty in the blink of an eye changed reality, retroactively redoing the fates of many people!

– Now it’s clear why you didn’t succeed in “Shulchan Orukh”! - exclaimed Nissim. - They allocated help to you, and you gave it to the girl! The act, of course, was noble - this is how the gallant gentlemen of the Renaissance behaved, but what he gave, he gave.

“Oh-ho,” sighed Reb Wulf. “After that incident, I returned to Rabbi Yosef more than once or twice. But there's no point.

- Wow, nothing! – Nissim was surprised. – He gave the girl away in marriage – and that’s not enough! Maybe this is the best thing you've ever done in your entire life.

“I hope,” Reb Wulf said quietly, “I really hope it’s not the best.”

“But changing reality,” Nissim continued, “is the most common thing.” Every step I take changes reality. Now I’ll take this table and break it, and a different reality will immediately appear.

“If you break it, you’ll fix it,” said Reb Wulf. – And we are not talking about changing the material structure of the world, here we are all great experts at breaking and spoiling, but about much more subtle transformations. Retroactive interference with a causal mechanism is not a simple matter.

“It’s not simple, but this is the story that happened to me,” Nissim, clearly imitating Reb Wulf, slapped his palms on the tabletop several times. – I have a friend, Uri. He and I held the defense at the “Chinese Farm” on the Suez Canal during the Yom Kippur War. There, under Egyptian fire, it seemed as if there was no better friend and there never would be, but when the war ended, they fled. Different people, different lives.

Nah.... And the hard work carried him to Miami, looking for beautiful bread. And life in Florida is truly wonderful. A rich, well-fed life, and my friend snatched a piece of it, even though he only worked as a dispatcher in some super store, distributing orders between suppliers. But, apparently, he worked honestly, and honesty is a rare commodity these days and is paid well.

About a year ago I met our platoon commander.

“Do you remember,” asks, “Uri?”

“How can I not remember,” I say, “they are friends after all.”

“Cancer,” he says, and caught it. - They irradiate to the fullest extent. The beard has already fallen out.

Well... Uri wore a luxurious beard: red and curled in rings, tight, as if made of wire, and shiny, like polished copper. On the channel they immediately forced her to shave it off; they said it attracted snipers. Well, nothing, then it grew back.

“So,” says the commander, “not a hair remains.” And no one knows how long he has left. Or maybe there aren’t any left anymore.

“That’s it,” I say, “let’s go, we’ll treat Uri.” There is an ancient remedy, bequeathed by our grandfathers. “Lechaim” must be done for a sick comrade. Don’t get drunk mindlessly, but work like a priest at the altar. With meaning and meaning.

“I don’t drink,” let the commander make an excuse. “You know, there’s still beer here and there, but nothing else.”

“Put down the beer,” I order. - Only arak. Imagine that your friend's life is in your hand. And you won’t lift your glass with this very hand?

Nah.... He picked it up, and he picked it up again. Arak must 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 I drank not for Uri, but for his beard. To see it in its former splendor and splendor.

When he collapsed on the couch and passed out, I called his wife. She explained that it was an unexpected meeting of military friends, so her husband would stay with me for the night.

Nah... And a couple of days later 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, I pulled out. And the beard grew. The same one, in rings.

Nissim looked triumphantly 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, who had not yet uttered a single word. – What is this irrepressible passion for dissection? The whole world must be cut, weighed, measured and interpreted. And immediately, within one conversation. This does not happen, reality is more complex than our idea of ​​it.

- How else? – Nissim asked in bewilderment. – Why then all the stories? We give examples to help you understand the rule through them.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Akiva winced. – It can also be understood in different ways. You are trying to extract a universal law from every drop. I prefer to lay out the examples on the table, like a child’s puzzle, and look at them closely. Take your time, take your time with explanations. And then suddenly the picture will form in the brain by itself. But brighter and more colorful than a hasty sketch.

“There is such a way,” Nissim agreed. “But sometimes it’s of no use.” Look, now I'm going to tell a story that doesn't require much looking at. The law itself jumps out of it, like the Renaissance from the Middle Ages.

N-yes... This happened on the Ashdod beach, a separate beach for men, during the holidays in the yeshivas. Two “avrekhs” from Bnei Brak decided to unwind a little, take a break from continuous teaching. We warmed ourselves on the sand and went into the water. And everyone is talking about the same thing, discussing an unfinished topic from the Talmud. The third “avrekh” passed by and listened to the conversation.

“Wow,” he says, “we’ve settled in well!” You should also bring a stander here. You need to swim, move. That's why he's on vacation, to tense his body and let go of his head.

Well, they started swimming. I don’t know how it happened, but one of the “avrekhim” began to drown. His friend pulls him by the hair, doesn’t let him go to the bottom, and calls for help. Rescuers arrived, pulled him out, let's pump him out. And even though the poor fellow was only underwater for a short time, he managed to choke.

An ambulance rushed in, the body was connected to the machine, and they began to work. The doctor is busy and busy, and the orderly, also with a kippah on his head, comes up to the second “breaker” and quietly advises:

– You will immediately request a death certificate on the spot. Less red tape, and you won't be taken to the autopsy.

– What autopsy? - the friend turns pale. - What evidence, he didn’t really have time to drown!

“I had time, I didn’t have time,” says the orderly, “but my heart stopped.”

Here the doctor comes up looking contrite and helpless.

“Everything,” he says, “is in His hands.” As for what’s in 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’m giving away a year of my studies,” he asks, “the merit of a whole year of study, just revive your friend.”

A few seconds pass, and suddenly - lo and behold - the drowned man begins to cough.

The doctor with a changed face runs to the body. The orderly is following. All the equipment is reattached, and ten minutes later, the “dead man” opens his eyes.

N-yes... And these are not tales, not idle tales, I saw this myself, I saw it myself. There was one objective reality for you, when suddenly - once again, and completely different. And the objective one, mind you, is no less than the previous one. That’s how it is,” Nissim concluded triumphantly. – And the puzzles... Let the children assemble the puzzles.

Reb Wolf looked at his watch.

- Fifteen minutes left until evening prayer. One more story can be told.

“Perhaps,” Akiva said slowly, “I’ll try to do this.” I'll try to put the puzzle in front of you. – He looked ironically at Nissim. - And you collect as best you can.

In ancient times, there lived a famous rabbi in Cuba. In his family, sages and bookworms were intricately intertwined with successful merchants and lovers of distant travels. The head of the family, several years before the expulsion, managed to leave Spain, and not just leave, but also take all the wealth out of 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 his allotted years in the synagogue reading books. It was years,” Akiva repeated, “that I didn’t misspoke.” The eldest children in the family, the heirs of the family, died very early; the luckiest one managed to pass the age of thirty-two. The rabbi I am talking about was named Ovadia, 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. The rest,” Akiva stopped and took out a small notebook from his bag, thickly bound in cracked brown leather, “let the rabbi himself tell you.” In my younger years, I had the opportunity to work in the Havana archives and, while going through endless folders of documents, I came across a binder of “Jewish Antiquities.” This was written on the box in which all kinds of papers relating to the Jewish population of Cuba were kept. Among them I found a letter from Rabbi Ovadia. I rewrote it and provided explanations. Then it seemed to me very important 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 looked around at 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 quiet, slightly creaky voice.

- “To the servant of the Most High, friend of my soul, mentor and gaon Rabbi Shabtai ibn Atar, Rabbi of the Galapagos Islands.

First of all, I would like to find out about the health of the venerable rabbi, and only then ask permission to present him with an awe-inspiring story, which I ask you not to tell anyone in the world. Hide this letter away from human eyes, but best of all, when finished, shred it so that not a single human soul can see it.

My hair has turned white, my face is turned to the east, and the south wind fills my soul. The corridor is coming 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 completed.

All my ancestors died over the course of several centuries, barely reaching the age of thirty. No one knows where this curse of the sons of Eli came to us from. I was born on the first day of the month Nisan, when the moon was in full decline and, apparently, that’s why I constantly felt a vague languor, an unquenched thirst. It was this thirst that forced me to sit without bending 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 the most worthy groom for my eldest daughter from the two candidates. She turned fifteen, and a year later she had to stand under the chuppah. I wanted to do the engagement in person, before the sound of the mill died down.

Both suitors studied with me in the yeshiva, both were worthy young men, standing out from all the others for their refinement of soul and ability to comprehend the Law. The first belonged to a family of land tenants known in Cuba, the second, superior to him in memory and ability to quickly grasp material, came from Portuguese heroes who fled to Cuba to take on the yoke of the commandments.

However, I could testify about both that they were like a pit whitewashed with lime: each could make my daughter happy, and both were equally close to her heart.

However my preference is

came to the first of the candidates. Not because I have a prejudice against ear gatherers, although in our family they were very careful about the purity of their pedigree, but only because the descendant of the Portuguese seemed to me a little ruder.

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 all this end?

I woke up worried, but after lying down for a while I fell asleep again. And again a stranger appeared in front of 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 couldn’t calm down for a long time. Only an hour later, having sorted out a page of the Talmud and distracted myself from the dream, I managed to come to my senses. Carefully laying down in bed, I closed my eyes.

The stranger appeared immediately after the eyelids dropped. Next to him stood two companions, and although they looked very stern, they spoke calmly and intelligibly.

“This is not a dream,” said one of them. - This is a true vision.

“Look at me, Ovadiah,” said the stranger. - Look carefully.

I looked and suddenly realized that in front of me was the founder of our family. I don’t know how and where this understanding came to me, because his portrait has not been preserved. Apparently, when a person falls into a hole, Heaven extends help to him, opening what was closed.

-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 cannot reveal everything to you. The Future World and yours are separated by a barrier, and I am not able to destroy the wall.” I can only hint - “Bava Kama”.

- “Bava Kama”?

- Yes, “Bava Kama”. Postara

Try to understand what we are talking about. For many years now I have been coming to my descendants in a dream, but not one of them could guess. This is the true reason for their early death. Think, think carefully!

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, I discovered that this meeting also took place in a dream.

I could no longer sleep. I spent the entire next week, as if on Judgment Day, without leaving the synagogue. I had to learn “Bava Kama” more than once, but here I plunged into the treatise to the top of my hair. Rambam, Rashbam, Rabbeinu Tam, Rif, Rosh, Raived were spinning before my eyes even in short periods of sleep. By the following Saturday I had the treatise almost memorized, but I had not advanced one iota in understanding what my ancestor was hinting at.

I cried through Shabbat prayer, covering my head with a tallis, so that those around me would not see my tears. When everyone went home for kiddush, I opened the Bava Kama again, but after a few minutes I fell asleep, worn out by a week of fasting and insomnia.

And then my ancestor appeared to me again, this time dressed in white robes. I was very excited and gazed intently at his majestic and stern face. He approached and said that the tears that I had so generously shed during prayer had softened Supreme Charity, and he had been sent to explain to me how the sentence could be reversed.

“Look in old books,” he said, looking intently at me. - Look in old books.

Opening my eyes, I thought for a long time about what old books we could be talking 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 Saturday ended, I carefully went through the entire library, but apart from the books I already knew, I didn’t find anything. What did my ancestor want to say, what mystery do I have to solve?

I could neither eat, nor sleep, nor study. “Old books, old books,” I kept repeating in my head. The Pentateuch, the Talmud, and rabbinic responsa fully corresponded to this definition. Confused and frustrated, I went to bed.

The ancestor was waiting for me just beyond the threshold of sleep. His face radiated light and he was dressed all in white again.

– How long will you burden me with your fate?! – he asked angrily.

I wanted to explain to him that I had no idea what was going on, but I couldn’t, and I started crying. Tears flowed from my eyes abundantly and for a long time, and all this time the ancestor was silent, looking at me sternly. Finally I managed to squeeze out a few pitiful words of explanation, and from them I cried 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 put in by someone from outside.

The affairs of our trading house were conducted very carefully. It was a tradition supported by the Law. All income and expenses were scrupulously entered into ledgers, a report was written at the end of each page, and the pages themselves were numbered and sewn so that they could neither be pulled out nor changed. Sometimes I leafed through these ledgers, marveling at the different handwritings of different people who kept records over many decades. My duties as head of the trading house included a thorough weekly inspection of these records, but I relied entirely on the manager and transferred this concern to him.

Standing in front of the cabinet, I suddenly realized that ledgers are also called books and are directly related to Bava Kama. As soon as it was morning, I hurried to the office. The manager was quite surprised by my early arrival. He was even more surprised by his request to show the ledgers.

Throwing open the doors of the ancient cabinet in which reports for many decades were stored, with trembling hands I pulled out the very first book. Each page bore the signature of the founder of our family, and the book began in Spain. Apparently, he could not or did not manage to take out the previous books.

I sat down at the table, opened the ledger and began to carefully study, examining each entry as carefully as if the Choshen Mishpat lay before me. The pages were finely covered with records of various kinds of financial transactions. It was impossible to figure out who sold, bought or lent to whom, how much and on what terms; I had absolutely no idea what goods and transactions were being discussed. But this did not bother me; somewhere deep down there reigned absolute confidence that I would immediately recognize what I was looking for.

Half an hour later I discovered a note about a loan my ancestor had received from a Portuguese rich man. Unlike all other entries, the amount was circled in red ink. I began to leaf through the book, but did not find anything similar anywhere. The red ink no longer appeared. Therefore, I thought, they must mean something.

In what case, I continued to think, is a loan entry singled out? Only in one way - if it was forgotten or could not be returned.

It was easy to discover this. I looked through all the ledgers fifty years in advance and nowhere did I find a record of the repayment of a debt to the Portuguese. So, we have to remain. But how much will I, the direct heir of the debtor, have to pay today if I manage to find the rich man’s descendants?

After reading the terms and conditions, 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 it will greatly undermine its stability. And who should I return it to, where can I find the heirs of the Portuguese rich man? How many years have passed, how many wars have swept over Portugal!

These thoughts did not leave me until the evening. Going to 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 knitted, the skin above the bridge of his nose was wrinkled.

– And you’re still hesitating! – he cried out when he saw me. -Are you thinking about it? Wake up immediately and send envoys to all parts 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 to Lisbon will sail from Havana at six o’clock in the morning. The next one will come only in a month. And besides,” he softened his voice slightly and looked at me with undisguised pride, “you were supposed to die this night.” Your insight delayed the sentence: you were given six months. If the debt is not repaid, the verdict will come into force, 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.

That's what I did. I postponed all matters, including my daughter’s wedding, until the matter was completed. Three months later the messengers returned. Three are empty-handed, two are with fragments of information, and one is with good news: the descendants of the long-ruined Portuguese rich moved to Cuba twenty years ago.

Further searches were not difficult and, to my greatest amazement, I learned that one of my daughter’s suitors, the son of the Portuguese heroes, was the one to whom the debt needed to 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 that exactly corresponded to the amount of the debt. The young husband, surprised and delighted by such a generous dowry, did not know how to thank him, and I kept quiet, not wanting to make this amazing story public for the time being.

I no longer saw my ancestor; obviously, my actions turned out to be correct, and the guarantee of this is the old age to which I lived thanks to the help of the Almighty.

The air of Cuba is filled with superstitions, perhaps the reason for this is the soil itself, saturated with thousands of years of idolatry of the native tribes. Even in the Jewish environment, ridiculous tales about spirits, evil spirits, devils, demons and other nonsense are constantly circulating. That’s why I never decided to make public the event I’m telling you about after so many years.

The millstones of my mill are quiet, the Almighty has blessed me, like Abraham, our father, with a good old age, and the day is near when I will appear before the righteous Judgment. The future frightens me, incessant doubts torment my soul: have I been diligent enough in studying the Law and fulfilling the commandments? I ask you to pray for my share in the Hereafter, because G‑d is favorable to your prayers.

Your friend, devoted to you with soul and heart, writing these lines in tears.”

Akiva slammed the notebook shut. There was silence in the room for several seconds, then Reb Wulf cleared his throat and announced quietly:

– A sense of reality tells me that the time for prayer has come.

Everyone got up noisily, stamped their feet and crowded at the door, politely letting each other through.

The overhead lights in the main hall had already been turned on. The 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 “Omein”, bow low, feeling with your whole body your living, strong presence on the blessed and good earth, that the prayer of that evening was immediately picked up by the angels and immediately woven into the shining 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 Shiloh, behaved in an unworthy manner, and therefore their descendants for many generations died at an early age.

Donkey - "hamor" - is 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 color of the donkey, reminiscent of time-bleached fabric, means that Obadia managed not only to subjugate them to his will, but to deprive them of their strength, just as paints faded under the sun are deprived of their brightness.

An allusion to a phrase from King Solomon’s book “Coeles”: “And the gates of the market will be closed when the sound of the mill ceases, and the chirping of the birds awakens, and all who sing become despised.”

One of the sections of the code of laws “Shulchan Orukh”, which deals with property relations.

An allusion to the phrase from the Pentateuch: “And Abraham died, dying in a good old age, a wise man, satisfied with life.”

Interesting stories by Viktor Golyavkin for younger schoolchildren. Stories for reading in elementary school. Extracurricular reading in grades 1-4.

Victor Golyavkin. NOTEBOOKS IN THE RAIN

During recess, Marik says to me:

- Let's run away from class. Look how nice it is outside!

- What if Aunt Dasha is late with the briefcases?

- You need to throw your briefcases out the window.

We looked out the window: it was dry near the wall, but a little further away there was a huge puddle. Don't throw your briefcases into a puddle! We took the belts off the trousers, tied them together and carefully lowered the briefcases onto them. At this time the bell rang. The teacher entered. I had to sit down. The lesson has begun. The rain poured outside the window. Marik writes me a note:

Our notebooks are missing

I answer him:

Our notebooks are missing

He writes to me:

What we are going to do?

I answer him:

What we are going to do?

Suddenly they call me to the board.

“I can’t,” I say, “I have to go to the board.”

“How,” I think, “can I walk without a belt?”

“Go, go, I’ll help you,” says the teacher.

- You don’t need to help me.

-Are you ill by any chance?

“I’m sick,” I say.

— How’s your homework?

— Good with your homework.

The teacher comes up to me.

- Well, show me your notebook.

- What's going on with you?

- You'll have to give it a two.

He opens the magazine and gives me a bad mark, and I think about my notebook, which is now getting wet in the rain.

The teacher gave me a bad grade and calmly said:

- You're kind of strange today...

Victor Golyavkin. THINGS ARE NOT GOING MY WAY

One day I come home from school. That day I just got a bad grade. I walk around the room and sing. I sing and sing so that no one thinks that I got a bad mark. Otherwise they will ask: “Why are you gloomy, why are you thoughtful? »

Father says:

- Why is he singing like that?

And mom says:

“He’s probably in a cheerful mood, so he’s singing.”

Father says:

“I guess I got an A, and that’s a lot of fun for the man.” It's always fun when you do something good.

When I heard this, I sang even louder.

Then the father says:

“Okay, Vovka, please your father and show him the diary.”

Then I immediately stopped singing.

- For what? - I ask.

“I see,” says the father, “you really want to show me the diary.”

He takes the diary from me, sees a deuce there and says:

— Surprisingly, I got a bad mark and is singing! What, is he crazy? Come on, Vova, come here! Do you happen to have a fever?

“I don’t have,” I say, “no fever...

The father spread his hands and said:

- Then you need to be punished for this singing...

That's how unlucky I am!

Victor Golyavkin. THAT'S WHAT'S INTERESTING

When Goga started going to first grade, he knew only two letters: O - circle and T - hammer. That's all. I didn't know any other letters. And I couldn’t read.

Grandmother tried to teach him, but he immediately came up with a trick:

- Now, now, grandma, I’ll wash the dishes for you.

And he immediately ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes. And the old grandmother forgot about studying and even bought him gifts for helping him with the housework. And Gogin’s parents were on a long business trip and relied on their grandmother. And of course, they didn’t know that their son still hadn’t learned to read. But Goga often washed the floor and dishes, went to buy bread, and his grandmother praised him in every possible way in letters to his parents. And I read it aloud to him. And Goga, sitting comfortably on the sofa, listened with his eyes closed. “Why should I learn to read,” he reasoned, “if my grandmother reads aloud to me.” He didn't even try.

And in class he dodged as best he could.

The teacher tells him:

- Read it here.

He pretended to read, and he himself told from memory what his grandmother read to him. The teacher stopped him. To the laughter of the class, he said:

“If you want, I’d better close the window so it doesn’t blow.”

“I’m so dizzy that I’m probably going to fall...

He pretended so skillfully that one day his teacher sent him to the doctor. The doctor asked:

- How is your health?

“It’s bad,” said Goga.

- What hurts?

- Well, then go to class.

- Why?

- Because nothing hurts you.

- How do you know?

- How do you know that? - the doctor laughed. And he slightly pushed Goga towards the exit. Goga never pretended to be sick again, but continued to prevaricate.

And the efforts of my classmates came to nothing. First, Masha, an excellent student, was assigned to him.

“Let’s study seriously,” Masha told him.

- When? - asked Goga.

- Yeah right now.

“I’ll come now,” Goga said.

And he left and did not return.

Then Grisha, an excellent student, was assigned to him. They stayed in the classroom. But as soon as Grisha opened the primer, Goga reached under the desk.

- Where are you going? - asked Grisha.

“Come here,” Goga called.

- And here no one will interfere with us.

- Yah you! - Grisha, of course, was offended and left immediately.

No one else was assigned to him.

As time went. He was dodging.

Gogin's parents arrived and found that their son could not read a single line. The father grabbed his head, and the mother grabbed the book she had brought for her child.

“Now every evening,” she said, “I will read this wonderful book aloud to my son.”

Grandma said:

- Yes, yes, I also read interesting books aloud to Gogochka every evening.

But the father said:

- It was really in vain that you did this. Our Gogochka has become so lazy that he cannot read a single line. I ask everyone to leave for the meeting.

And dad, along with grandmother and mom, left for a meeting. And Goga was at first worried about the meeting, and then calmed down when his mother began to read to him from a new book. And he even shook his legs with pleasure and almost spat on the carpet.

But he didn't know what kind of meeting it was! What was decided there!

So, mom read him a page and a half after the meeting. And he, swinging his legs, naively imagined that this would continue to happen. But when mom stopped at the most interesting place, he became worried again.

And when she handed him the book, he became even more worried.

He immediately suggested:

- Let me wash the dishes for you, mommy.

And he ran to wash the dishes.

He ran to his father.

His father sternly told him never to make such requests to him again.

He thrust the book to his grandmother, but she yawned and dropped it from her hands. He picked up the book from the floor and gave it to his grandmother again. But she dropped it from her hands again. No, she had never fallen asleep so quickly in her chair before! “Is she really asleep,” thought Goga, “or was she instructed to pretend at the meeting? “Goga tugged and shook her, but grandmother didn’t even think about waking up.

In despair, he sat down on the floor and began to look at the pictures. But from the pictures it was difficult to understand what was happening there next.

He brought the book to class. But his classmates refused to read to him. Not only that: Masha immediately left, and Grisha defiantly reached under the desk.

Goga pestered the high school student, but he flicked him on the nose and laughed.

That's what a home meeting is all about!

This is what the public means!

He soon read the entire book and many other books, but out of habit he never forgot to go buy bread, wash the floor or wash the dishes.

That's what's interesting!

Victor Golyavkin. 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 was sitting in the closet, waiting for the lesson to start, and didn’t notice how I fell asleep.

I wake up and the class is quiet. I look through the crack - there is no one. I pushed the door, but it was closed. So, I slept through the entire lesson. Everyone went home, and they locked me in the closet.

It's stuffy in the closet and dark as night. I got scared, I started screaming:

- Uh-uh! I'm in the closet! Help!

I listened - silence all around.

- ABOUT! Comrades! I'm sitting in the closet!

I hear someone's steps. Someone is coming.

- Who's bawling here?

I immediately recognized Aunt Nyusha, the cleaning lady.

I was delighted and shouted:

- Aunt Nyusha, I’m here!

- Where are you, dear?

- I'm in the closet! In the closet!

- How did you get there, my dear?

- I'm in the closet, grandma!

- So I hear that you are in the closet. So what do you want?

- They locked me in a closet. Oh, grandma!

Aunt Nyusha left. Silence again. She probably went to get the key.

Pal Palych knocked on the cabinet with his finger.

“There’s no one there,” said Pal Palych.

- Why not? “Yes,” said Aunt Nyusha.

- Well, where is he? - said Pal Palych and knocked on the closet again.

I was afraid that everyone would leave and I would remain 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 there, Tsypkin?

- They locked me... I didn’t get in...

- Hm... They locked him up! But he didn’t get in! Have you seen it? What wizards there are in our school! They don't get into the closet when 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.

- Don't know...

“Find the key,” said Pal Palych. - Fast.

Aunt Nyusha went to get the key, but Pal Palych stayed behind. He sat down on a chair nearby and began to wait. I saw through

the crack of his face. He was very angry. He lit a cigarette and said:

- Well! This is 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, and I’m not there. It was as if I had never been there. They will ask me: “Were you in the closet?” I will say: “I wasn’t.” They will say to me: “Who was there?” I will say: “I don’t know.”

But this only happens in fairy tales! Surely tomorrow they will call your mother... Your son, they will say, climbed into the closet, slept through all the lessons there, and all that... as if it’s comfortable for me to sleep here! My legs ache, my back hurts. One torment! What was my answer?

I was silent.

-Are you alive there? - asked Pal Palych.

- Alive...

- Well, sit down, they will open soon...

- I am sitting...

“So...” said Pal Palych. - So will you answer me why you climbed into this closet?

- Who? Tsypkin? In the closet? Why?

I wanted to disappear again.

The director asked:

- Tsypkin, is that you?

I sighed heavily. I simply couldn't answer anymore.

Aunt Nyusha said:

— The class leader took the key away.

“Break the door,” said the director.

I felt the door being broken down, the closet shook, and I hit my forehead painfully. I was afraid that the cabinet would fall, and I cried. I pressed my hands against 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 explain to us what that means.”

I didn't move. I was scared.

- Why is he standing? - asked the director.

I was pulled out of the closet.

I was silent the whole time.

I didn't know what to say.

I just wanted to meow. But how would I put it...

Recess is a short break between lessons. It is created so that students and teachers can relax, have lunch, recuperate, and can switch to another subject.

All students love recess very much and sometimes during particularly boring lessons they count the minutes until the start of recess in order to relax and have a little fun. During recess, you can discuss something with your friends and get some fresh air.

At our school breaks usually last ten minutes, but there are two long breaks, one lasting fifteen minutes and the other twenty minutes. During breaks, we move from one office to another, to another lesson, and then go to rest. In early autumn, when it is still warm, or in spring, when it is already warm, you can spend your breaks outside, enjoying the last warm rays of the sun. We go out into the street, chat about this and that, fool around, in general, do things that are not allowed in class. In winter we rarely go out into the school yard, only when there is a lot of snow, we play snowballs and play tag with our classmates in the snow - it’s a lot of fun. During big breaks we go to the canteen for lunch or to the library to get books. Some do homework that was assigned the next day so as not to waste time, and some write off homework for the next lesson because they didn’t complete it at home, this also happens. During recess, the school is filled with a lot of sounds: roar, laughter, screaming, 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 break this rule, that’s why our school has organized duty for teachers and high school students. They stand in the corridors during breaks and make comments to violators. In this way, students are taught responsibility and discipline. Particularly “distinguished” students are announced at the line at the end of the working week, so that they feel ashamed.

Cool! 2

Every year I look forward to September 1st. Everyone thinks that I miss studying. In fact, I miss my classmates and recess.

Turn! What a cool word. How much does it include? What is the difference between recess and a lesson? For example, in mathematics you only solve problems, in Russian you write according to the rules, in physical education you run. And during recess you can do your homework, learn the rules, run along the corridors, stand in the corner, run to the cafeteria and much more interesting things.

I have my favorite activities during breaks. During the longest break, which is 20 minutes, I like to go to the school library. Our librarian Tatyana Ivanovna greets us all warmly and seats us at our 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 the encyclopedia. I like encyclopedias about dinosaurs, sports and animals. When we are given extra assignments, I always go to the library. I take books home to read. I think reading helps improve your grades.

At my next break I will definitely go to our canteen. It smells so delicious there! The cooks are all in white coats and caps. They serve everyone quickly. The attendants walk between tables and remove dirty dishes. I even like to stand in line at the cafeteria. At this time I choose what I will eat. I love pies with potatoes or apples. The pies are very tasty and turn out just like mom’s. After I eat, I always say thank you to the chefs.

And during small breaks I like to run along the corridors. Our school has 3 floors, but I can keep up everywhere. True, they are punished for this. They even put me on the lineup. 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. You get beautiful bouquets. We then give them to the girls. They are very pleased.

In the spring, during recess, we pick up tree buds. The fingers are then glued together and the notebook sheets stick. But what it smells like! Next summer. Sometimes we even manage to pick snowdrops. Then there is a small bouquet on the teacher’s table.
I really like change. There is no way to do without them at school. I would like the changes to be more than lessons. But I know that this is not possible. You need to study at school. I love the lessons too, I just look forward to every change. I will never forget my changes.

Even more essays on the topic: “At recess”

Recess is a short break between lessons. It is created so that students and teachers can relax, have lunch, recuperate, and can switch to another subject.

All students love recess very much and sometimes during particularly boring lessons they count the minutes until the start of recess in order to relax and have a little fun. During recess, you can discuss something with your friends and get some fresh air.

At our school breaks usually last ten minutes, but there are two long breaks, one lasting fifteen minutes and the other twenty minutes. During breaks, we move from one office to another, to another lesson, and then go to rest. In early autumn, when it is still warm, or in spring, when it is already warm, you can spend your breaks outside, enjoying the last warm rays of the sun. We go out into the street, chat about this and that, fool around, in general, do things that are not allowed in class. In winter we rarely go out into the school yard, only when there is a lot of snow, we play snowballs and play tag with our classmates in the snow - it’s a lot of fun.

During big breaks we go to the canteen for lunch or to the library to get books. Some do homework that was assigned the next day so as not to waste time, and some write off homework for the next lesson because they didn’t complete it at home, this also happens. During recess, the school is filled with a lot of sounds: roar, laughter, screaming, 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 break this rule, that’s why our school has organized duty for teachers and high school students. They stand in the corridors during breaks and make comments to violators. In this way, students are taught responsibility and discipline. Particularly “distinguished” students are announced at the line at the end of the working week, so that they feel ashamed.

I like long breaks better because I can relax longer and chat with friends from other classes.

Source: sdamna5.ru

Recess is only a few minutes, but so sweet and long-awaited for any student. This is an integral part of school life. And in these short moments between lessons, so much manages to happen that would never happen in forty minutes of the most intense and interesting lesson. Change is a small life that can teach you a lot.

Everything that happens during recess can be joyful, bright, kind, or it can be sad, offensive, 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 classroom at all during recess, this does not mean that nothing will happen to you during these moments of rest from classes. Every schoolchild has a huge collection of stories that happened to him and his comrades during recess. I want to tell one of them.

The bell rang, we had already received our homework, so the historian did not detain us. A crowd of my classmates rushed to the exit, and this pressure also carried me into the school hall. Gradually, this entire space was filled with students from different classes, scurrying around like ants. And so my friends and I see this picture: one second-grader hit another, and he began to cry. You could have passed by, we know how it happens, we were like that ourselves. But Vanka couldn’t resist, he was offended for the little boy, because he has a brother of that age. And we went up to the guys to talk. It turned out that the fighter was no less offended, since the victim took away his disk with his favorite computer game, which he brought to school to show off.

We had a heart-to-heart talk with the kids. I had to explain to them that disputes cannot be resolved with fists, and that it is not good to brag, and that good people do not take other people’s property without asking, and, in general, that a quarrel is the last thing. In general, they made peace. 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 just a little. Being useful and feeling like an adult is doubly pleasant.

As a conclusion, I want to say that during recess 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 one.

Source: ensoch.ru

What should school recess be like and why? I think school recess should be different for everyone. One wants to sit quietly in a chair and relax, listen to gentle music, accompanied by the rustling of waves and the cry of seagulls. The other one needs to eat a big meal. The third one is to run with a ball or play table tennis. We are all different and cannot want the same thing. This means that the school must have a psychological relief room. There is silence in it; sounds from a noisy corridor will not penetrate due to good insulation. Flowers, an aquarium, soft sofas and armchairs, stereos with headphones - all this will help you relieve stress and relax in a few minutes. A buffet is a must for students. Moreover, it must work in such a way that there are no queues. Otherwise, you’ll spend the entire break eating a roll and a glass of tea, and then you won’t be chewing it all, but quickly swallowing it all. Finally, there is a special small gym for those who want to actively relax during recess. There is a tennis table, balls, jump ropes, dumbbells, and simple exercise equipment such as a bicycle or treadmill. I hope all this will appear in our school in the near future. I really want to avoid wandering sadly through the corridors during breaks and sitting in a noisy classroom!