Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 9 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
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Binyamin’s Heart – A Composition Written by Naomi at Age 9
The sun rises brightly as Bilhah, the preschool teacher, and I walk to the bakery. Today is my turn to help her bring the loaves of bread to the kindergarten. Suddenly, on the hillside, we see a commotion: noise, screaming, the boys running every which way. “What happened?” Bilhah and I ask each other. We don’t have an answer. We listen and hear calls: “Here he is!” “There he is!”
“One of the animals must have run away,” Bilhah says, and continues on her way. The aroma of the bread has already reached my nostrils, but I stop. I want to see my brother Binyamin. What is he doing at this hour?
Am I seeing right? Is that the blue shirt that Babbe sewed…? Yes, it is my brother. But why is he running in the opposite direction of all the other boys? I stop and watch. I see that he is bending down and hiding next to a bush. Why?
Bilhah calls me to hurry, and I continue on my way with her, wondering about my dear brother’s behavior. It’s not like him to be different from everyone else!
At home, I ask him about it, and he explains: “I didn’t want to chase after the poor lamb that escaped; it was so frightened! But the boy in charge of us screamed to me to help catch the lamb, so I went to hide. And what was there, among the branches of the bush that I ran to? That little lamb. I sat next to it, and we hid together, quietly. No one found us.”
It’s just like Babbe and Mamme always say: Binyamin has the most sensitive heart. He acted just like Moshe Rabbeinu! Maybe Binyamin will be the one to take us out of this galus, when he grows up—the way Moshe Rabbeinu took the Jews out of galus Mitzrayim???
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How many years had passed since Naomi had written that piece? Binyamin did not remember exactly. Since then, Naomi had written lots of stories, songs, and essays; Mamme asked Katarina for paper, and she provided it as a token of appreciation for Mamme’s excellent sewing skills. Sometimes Katarina also asked for copies of the nice stories, though Binyamin had no idea why she needed them. In any case, Mamme did not give her all of Naomi’s work—and certainly not that composition. Mamma kept it deep in her closet; it was testimony to her children’s kind hearts, and it was precious to her.
Why was he remembering this now? Not because of the compliments that Naomi had showered him with at the end of her cute piece, but because of that feeling of being pursued that he felt right now, as he silently got off the chair and cautiously walked backward. Just like that poor lamb.
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