"They are our guests, and we ought to entertain them!"
"Schlome," we address a well-built young man, "Help us out. Tell us of 'those days,' you know."
Schlome does not hesitate, and he begins his story:
“It was ten years ago. I was seven then. All the houses you see now were not built then. The only house was the kohol’s kitchen for the workmen, now the synagogue, and all the colonists lived in little stone or mortar houses left by their former owners, the Arabians. The remains of those houses you can see vet on the hill opposite the synagozue.
"We lived then as simple a life as did the Fallashas. For weeks we did not taste meat. Our food was bread and vegetables. But we were happy in those little huts, happier, may be, than we are in the comfortable houses we now live in. The colonists were not quarrelose, and they lived at peace with one another. When they came together after a hard day's work, the kitchen resounded with their songs and their laughter. The workmen sat up late nights speaking words of encouragement, and dreaming of the future.
"One of the things we were always talking about was the Bedouins, who had attacked us many times.
"The young people—and who did not consider himself young then—organized an army which was to repulse the attacks of the Arabians.
"Pesach was near and we were busy planting vines. Every thing you see here, the olive trees that shade us; the almond trees with their sweet, sleepy smell; the vines that extend all over the hills—everything was planted that winter.
"The planting went on well. The colonists were in a joyful mood, and decided to celebrate Pesach as they had never done before.
"It is about the first Seder I want to tell you.
"The colonists were assembled in the kitchen around the long table. The Hagada had been read, the meal was begun, and wine flowed freely. The wine was not our own. It had been sent by our neighbors of the other colonies; but the thought that in three or four years
we too would have our own wine, made from the grapes of our own vineyard, planted by our own hands, made us very happy.
"Though a child, I felt that I ought to be very happy, and to be happy, I drank a lot of wine, though I did not care for it very much. When my mother asked me to go to bed, I said: 'No, mother I'm going to stay here.' We drank wine and sang until late in the night.
"Suddenly we heard the sound of hoofs, which came close to the kitchen, and then halted. The singing ceased, and one of the young men went out to receive the courier. He returned with the watchman and cried out, 'The Bedouins are destroying our vineyards.'
“At once consternation seized us. We who were full of joy, and exhilarated by the wine, were seized with fear. But it lasted but a moment. At once, we prepared for the de- fencee.e. The commander directed: “The women and the children will remain here with Menachem and Jehuda to guard and protect them, and the rest of us will go out to meet the Arabians.’
"But this is a holiday,' was the complaint heard.
"I command! And do not forget to take weapons with you.'
"Minutes passed and then the women began to cry. Abigail and I cried with them. In the vineyard —trach! bum! bum! a continuous roaring.
At once the firing ceased and again there was deep silence. Silence within, and silence without. We could hear our hearts beat.
"Then the tramping of hoofs was heard, nearer, nearer . . . now they halt, and the men enter, singing and laughing; not one is missing.
"The faces of the women brighten.
"'What has happened?'
"Nothing! An attack by a few Bedouins, but we frightened them away, and have captured their cows!"
"'LeChayim! LeChayim! Let's hope to celebrate the Seder next year in the same way!'
"And again we celebrated.
"Then arose the old man F. and said: