PD RVOTIT ERT eCs een ee Fae yy 4 4 yy f ‘ | pia ae i fi r a a nT Hite Ra stYRTSCopyright © Gefen Publishing House Jerusalem 1999/5759 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be translated, reproduced, stored ina retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written, permission from the publishers, Typesetting: Marzel A.S. ~ Jerusalem Cover Design: Stella Tripp Edition 9 8 765 4321 Gefen Publishing House Gefen Books POB 36004 12 New Street Jerusalem 91360, Israel Hewlett, NY 11557, USA 972-2-538-0247 516-295-2805 isragefen@netmedia.net.il gefenbooks@compuserve.com www. israelbooks.com Printed in Israel Send for our free catalogue Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Samuel, Naomi, 1962- The Moon is Bread / Naomi Samuel Pp em. ISBN: 965 229 2125 1. Erdani, Abren. 2. Jews—Ethiopia Biography. 3. Jews, Ethiopian—Israel Biography. 4. Ethiopia Biography. 5. Israel Biography. 6, Shmu'el, No‘omi. L Title. DS135.E75E737 1999 963",004924'0092—dc21 99-2749 cPChapter One KINO VILLAGE The boy stood by the door, poking his toes into the dry earth. He must have been about four years old, but he was tall for his age. “Zafan, come here, my son.” A man’s voice called him from inside the room. The child hesitated, swinging his body against the doorpost, and peered into the darkness at the bed where his father lay ill. “Come here, Zafan; come and eat with me.” It was a privilege to be asked to eat by his father’s side; usually the children ate separately from the adults. At any other time Zafan would have been delighted, but now something made him hang back, one foot stretched across the doorway as if willing him to obey. His sister gave him a little push from behind, and suddenly he found himself beside the bed. “Zafan, son.” His father’s hand reached out to touch him. He felt very small standing there and, looking up, saw a huge bulge on his father’s chest, a bulge that kept moving up and down gently. He could not take his eyes off it, though he wanted to look into his father’s face. “Zafan, eat with me.” His father persisted, and drew the child nearer to the bed. Zafan shuddered. His father’s hand was cold. Suddenly he pulled back from his father’s grip like a wild horse pulling away from the reins and ran out of the room. He just managed to hear his father say sadly, “I shall not be well. The boy will not come near me.” Three days later his father died.