Sitting under the shady pines, next to the wheat field, near Modiin, I meditated about the contrasting colors of white, green, yellow and blackish dark brown. I sat on the white chairs, which were as out of place in all this natural scene as sitting was out of place. I really wanted to run and saw myself, in my imagination running into the yellow wheat waving gently in the hot sun calling me to gather handfull on handfull, to winnow and thresh and make bread, into which I would dig my old teeth, ripping soft, warm chunks of delicious, whole wheat bread to nourish my starving body.
The cars fled wildly past the wheat field and we tranquilly barbecued our meat and played volleyball shouting happily that this or that one missed a strike and lost a point. Our stomachs were full and so were our minds but we sat tranquilly under the pines by gentle wheat barbecuing and barbecuing until the chocolate cake came, then the coffee and finally the watermelon.
It was a day of independence, the 63rd.
The cars fled wildly past the wheat field and we tranquilly barbecued our meat and played volleyball shouting happily that this or that one missed a strike and lost a point. Our stomachs were full and so were our minds but we sat tranquilly under the pines by gentle wheat barbecuing and barbecuing until the chocolate cake came, then the coffee and finally the watermelon.
It was a day of independence, the 63rd.
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