The rainy, muddy days were harder - though no less interesting. We didn’t have raincoats or umbrellas, and getting to school dry was no easy task.
We made our way by hopping from one shelter to another. Two places were especially dear to us: the bakery and the bridge.
Stepping into the bakery, soaked on a cold, rainy day, was an experience. The large ovens roared with fire, casting warmth and light. The scent of fresh bread filled the air. Loaves of dough were neatly lined up on long wooden trays on one side, and the baker - Nachman the Fat, dressed in just a tank top and underwear - would scoop them up with a long peel and toss them into the blazing oven, then pull out round, brown loaves. After warming up, drying off, and breathing in the smell of bread - and sometimes even getting a loaf that hadn’t turned out quite right - we’d reluctantly head back out on our way.
The second place we loved in winter was the bridge at the entrance to the moshav. The concrete bridge over the Herut stream channeled rainwater from a wide area, and when it rained well, the current below surged wildly. For us, unaccustomed to rivers, it was a breathtaking sight. We’d mark the water levels on the bridge and compare them to previous rainy days, toss objects into the flow to test the current’s speed. On the “good” days, the floodwaters would nearly reach the road - and we were overjoyed.
In summer, the bridge became our hideout and resting place. It was always cool and pleasant underneath.
Assa Bartov, Moshav Herut, 2004.