Bread and Honey
Rachel feels hungry. It must be afternoon now; shadows creep from the palm trees. She tries to sit quietly between Mother and Father, among the hundreds who've come to hear the rabbi. But she can't help her belly rumbling.
She likes listening to the rabbi. He tells stories, easy ones she can understand, about how people can be good or bad. He says they can't know when they will die, so they need to be good right now.
That means not thinking about food.
She peeks at their dinner basket, covered by Father's cloak. There are loaves and dates inside.
The rabbi finishes his story. He waits, to let people ask questions. Then he smiles. It's time to eat, he says. They've listened for hours; they should break bread together.
His eyes light on Rachel, and she's sure there's laughter in them. Surely he didn't hear her stomach. Did he?
Share out any food you have, he asks them.
Rachel reaches for the basket. Mother seizes her hand.
'No! We brought food for the three of us. Look how many people are here.'
'There'd be nothing left,' Father says.
'Everyone will leave soon. Then we'll eat.'
Rachel sits back, biting her lip. All around, people whisper in groups. No one stands up to say they have something to share.
Minutes stretch by. People go red with embarrassment, staring at the ground. The rabbi waits patiently.
Then someone steps forward. It's a boy who was leaning against a handcart on the fringes of the crowd. From the cart, he takes loaves and a fish wrapped in rushes. 'I was going to market to sell these, master. They're yours if you want them.'
Thanking him, the rabbi breaks the bread and passes it along the line of people. He tells them to divide it so everyone has a share.
Rachel sees them counting the crowd, wondering how much they can take. There's not going to be more than a crumb each.
'Father,' she whispers, 'this won't work. Please — '
Her parents sigh, as if thinking the same. Mother releases the basket.
'We have food.' Flushing as people look at her, Rachel grabs handfuls and passes them left and right. 'Here — '
Torn bread and dates go down the line. Too soon, the basket is empty.
Rachel's stomach sinks. It's made no difference.
Through the crowd, she notices a woman holding one of the pieces. The woman hesitates, then reaches inside her tunic. She pulls out an orange. She peels the fruit, takes one segment, and passes the rest to her neighbour.
Then it happens. One by one, people open bundles and produce what they'd kept back. Food passes from hand to hand. Bread, roasted chicken, melons, cakes.
Everyone gets a bit of everything. The pieces are small, but so numerous everyone has enough.
Rachel eats. Again, she meets the rabbi's eyes and sees merriment in them, as he shares a smile with her alone.
