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‘Sk A Wispy White Shabbos Guest
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By YAFFA GANZ
Savta Simcha loved all of Israel
and she loved Yerushalayim the
most. But next to Yerushalayim,
there was no place she loved as
much as Tzefat.
Going to Tzefat meant going
north — up into the mountains of
the Galil — and then looking down
and out over miles of high
mountains and low valleys. On a
clear day, you could even see the
shiny blue waters of faraway Lake
Kinneret and the city of Teverya
glistening in the sun.
Tzefat meant fig trees in every
courtyard and around every corner.
Wherever you went, the smell or
ripe figs went with you — big, soft,
chewy figs, just the kind Savta
Simcha needed for her kiddush
compote and her fig bars. The wide,
spreading trees with their great,
hand-shaped leaves were always in
sight, waving a friendly hello and
offering you their shade.
And Tzefat meant narrow
cobblestone streets and little stone
houses, like Figtree Court, where
Doda Shifra and Dod Gershon lived.
Doda Shifra and Dod Gershon were
Savta Smicha and Uncle
Nechemya's favorite cousins. Each
time they visited each other, they
would boil a samovar of tea and sit
down to catch up on family news.
"Cheep!" chirped Sumsum. He
flew off of his floppy pink nest and
landed on the brass knocker on
Doda Shifra's door. Before he could
even peck a hello, the door swung
open and Doda Shifra smiled a
warm, wide welcome. Round and
chubby as ever, she wore her usual
flowery kerchief and her matching
flowery apron.
`Come in, come in," she cried.
"We're waiting for you! My, my,
Simcha, you are as skinny as a
toothpick! Don't you ever eat? Skin
and bones, that's all you are. And
still shlepping that humongous black
bag with you! I don't know how
Nechemya lets you carry on like
that! Well, put it down, put it down
We have a lovely surprise for you.
Guess who's here?"
"Nechemya?" guessed Savta
Simcha.
"No, not Nechemya. Guess
again. Someone smaller than
Nechemya."
"Ezra? But he's supposed to be
in Tel Aviv with his sister Tehilla.
They're spending the week with
their grandmother."
"He is, but he came for
L-8
FRIDAY, JANUARY 18, 1991
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Shabbos. And guess again."
"Again? Urn ... let's see ... I
know! Tehilla came too! How
lovely!"
"Right again. Now just one
more guess — a double guess this
time! And then we can all sit down
for tea."
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"More! A double guess?" Savta
Simcha thought and thought but
she could not guess who the last
two guests might be. And when she
finally heard, she could not believe
her ears. And when she saw, she
could not believe her eyes either. It
was Michael and Malka, her good
friends from Wintergreen City,
U.S.A.!
"Dear me, dear me," Savta
Simcha kept repeating. "Isn't this
just wonderful? What are you doing
here? When did you arrive? How
long are you staying? How is
everyone in Wintergreen City? What
a perfectly lovely surprise!"
"Michael will be learning in my
yeshiva in Teverya this year," said
Ezra. (Ezra, you will remember, had
a dreadful time learning how to
read. But once he got the idea, he
zoomed full speed ahead.)
"And," Tehilla added
breathlessly, "Malka is visiting her
grandmother in Tel Aviv. Our
grandmothers are friends and they
introduced us. And we've become
friends too, the very bestest kind.
We spend almost every day
together and we have so many
things to discuss that we never get
through!"
Well, I needn't tell you what a
lovely tea they all had. There was
so much news to catch up on: news
about Yerushalayim and Tel Aviv
and Tzefat and, of course,
Wintergreen City. The tea lasted
long enough to empty two samovars
and to finish eating several plates of
fig cake and cinnamon cookies.
The next day, which was Erev
Shabbos, Savta Simcha and Doda
Shifra were busy cooking and
baking, Ezra and Michael were out
helping Dod Gershon in the garden,
and the girls took Sumsum and
went to do errands. When they
returned, it was obvious that
something was wrong.
For the first time ever, Tehilla
and Malka were quiet — very, very
quiet. Even Sumsum seemed
quieter than usual. Savta Simcha
and Doda Shifra looked at each
other but didn't say a word.
"I think that Tehilla and Malka
had an argument," whispered Ezra
before Shabbos. "They aren't
talking."
"So we've noticed," said Savta
Simcha. "But there's no reason /
can't say a few things." And so she
did.
"Did you know that Lecha Dodi,
the song we sing to greet Shabat
Hamalka — the Shabbos Queen —
was written in Tzefat? I think the
Shabbos Queen must start out from
these very mountains every Friday
night. Who knows? We might even
meet her!"
Everyone smiled. "Where do
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