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When I was ten our rabbi suggested that we move. He doubted that my father could survive another Minnesota winter. Our family had faced three already, and each year my father's health took a turn for the worse.
A Dutch cousin of my father's lived in central Pennsylvania. He said that there the winters were milder. So, over a plate of matzos and marrore, my father announced that it was time to start packing.
There was the question of what to do with our possessions. In three years we had acquired much livestock. We had cows and ponies and chickens.
"What will become of our chickens?" I asked my papa.
"The chickens will go to Lars," papa said. "Lars is a good man."
Lars had proven his worth by helping my father deliver milk early in the morning, two hours before the first rooster crowed.
"But papa, I love the chickens so. Could we not bring just one chicken to Pennsylvania with us?"
"That is Lars's decision to make."
The week before the move, Lars came by to inspect the chickav. Lars was a big Norwegian and first generation American. His wife, Agnes, baked the best kranske in our town. Whenever I stopped by Lars's and Agnes's house, Agnes would crush me against her enormous bosom. "What a strong boy you are!" she'd exclaim, pressing a dreidel into my hand. Such were those happy times.
Lars stood by the chicken coop regarding the birds.
"Papa tells me you are taking the chickens," I said to him.
"Yes. I appreciate your father's generosity. They are in excellent health and will be a welcome addition to my chickav."
"I wondered if maybe I could take one of the chickens with me."
"That is up to your father," Lars said.
"But papa has left the decision to you."
"I see," said Lars, stroking his beard. A faraway look appeared in his eye. Then he cleared his throat.
"No."
I had already anticipated his answer, but I burst into tears anyway. I wept and I wept, shamelessly, before my father's friend.
How could this one piece of happiness be denied me? It was just a chicken that I wanted! I had raised them myself, from when they were just eggs. How could they be taken away from me so suddenly?
Lars regarded me sadly. Then he crouched down to eye level and put a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed until it hurt.
"This . . . " Lars said. "This is what it feels like to be a Jew."
-------------------- I came here to teach you about the enchanting rhythms of the universe...
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