Cows, as is well known, produce milk - but in order to do so, they must become pregnant and give birth. And for that to happen, they must pay a formal visit to a bull.
In the early years of Moshav Herut, there were cows, but no bull yet in sight. When the time came for a cow to fulfill her “duty,” the farmer had no choice but to trek with her to distant settlements. After a long and tiring journey, both man and cow would return home - only to find a full workday lost.
Therefore, the elders and leadership of the village decided to establish a respectable institution - where high-quality bulls would reside and provide their services to the cows. This facility was named HaPriyah (from the Hebrew word for “fertility”) - to the benefit of the farmers, the delight of the cows, and the great curiosity of the village youth.
It was at HaPriyah that we, the children, received our first “biology lessons” on how calves come into the world. Whenever a cow was led toward the facility, word would spread like wildfire, and a crowd of inquisitive and peeking children would gather, waiting for the “show” to begin…
The ritual was overseen by Comrade Yakir, who took responsibility for the bulls’ care, feeding, health, and physical fitness. He was no stranger to their hooves or horns and bore many a bruise in the line of duty - yet never broke a single bone, despite the many battles fought in that arena.
The bulls also offered their services to cows from neighboring Tel Mond (which at the time also had livestock), for a fair fee, of course. One day, a resident of Tel Mond - Naphtali D. - brought his cow to fulfill the mitzvah. Months later, he refused to pay, claiming that his cow had died and he had derived no benefit from the bull’s labor. Despite requests and demands, he held his ground.
It was not considered proper in those days to take such matters to the foreign British court - and certainly not on a matter of this nature. Instead, the dispute was brought before the Histadrut Labor Federation’s tribunal in the distant city of Tel Aviv. This was no minor endeavor - getting to Tel Aviv meant losing another day’s work. The bull was not brought to testify - he had to stay home and continue his work - but the cooperative’s board members and secretary did not miss the opportunity for a day in the “Hebrew City.”
The proceedings were thorough, with each side presenting arguments to the distinguished panel of judges, who had traveled from across the country to rule on the matter: Was there value in the service, or not?
In a reasoned verdict, the tribunal ruled that Naphtali D. was obligated to pay the fee, even if the expected benefit was never realized.
Years later, with the dairy industry advancing and artificial insemination becoming standard practice, the farmers gathered for a meeting. A senior dairyman explained that from now on, when a cow is “in heat,” a note must be dropped into a special box hanging on the door of the supply shed. The inseminator would then arrive, equipped with tools and glass vials, to perform the task once managed by the bull.
During the heated discussion, a veteran dairywoman stood and muttered in rich Yiddish: “Dos shoyn hobn ineh tam…” - loosely translated: “Where’s the joy in that…?”
And so, the bulls were sent away. The curtain fell on the daily “shows,” and the mechanical replaced the natural. The fragrance of manure gave way to the stench of diesel. Eventually, even the central garage was shut down and repurposed into a tomato-sorting center - a buzzing hub of social exchange - until that too ceased operation. Today, only a roofless structure remains, waiting for its next assignment.
And sometimes, as I pass by, I hear once again the deep roars of the yearning bulls and see the children of the village rushing to catch the day’s show - though I know well: it’s just the tricks of memory and imagination.
- Asa Bartov, Moshav Herut