"Yisca, go to Tante Leah and ask her whether she can spare a
pot of drinking water. It's Friday and I haven't finished my
cooking." Mother entered the room holding a large empty pot
in her hand.
I took the pot and walked in the direction of Tante Leah's
home. She lived in the Chatzer Horodna, a large courtyard-
complex housing about thirty families.
In Yerusholayim, water shortage was a daily occurence.
Wells, or cisterns, which accumulated rain water, were of
use in the summer, especially as the taps often ran dry.
Well water was not fit for cooking and drinking, and at
times, water was purchased from a donkey drawn cart. Since
this cart often did not show up, water had to be borrowed
from relatives or neighbors. This Friday was one such day
when we were forced to borrow. I readily agreed to go to
Tante Leah.
Chatzer Horodna had three entrances: from the east, the west
and the north. The one closest to us was the west entrance.
I approached this one holding the large empty pot in my
hand. Tante Leah's apartment was on the far end, at the
northeast corner.
Friday was a busy day for all Jerusalemites, with Chatzer
Horodna being no exception. Preparation for Shabbos actually
started on Thursday when the laundry and ironing took place.
The water used in laundering was carefully accumulated for
Friday use. Friday cleaning tasks were done with this
accumulated soapy water.
As I entered Chatzer Horodna, I was faced with an ordeal.
Passing all the wet, slippery fronts of each apartment was
not easy. Water in abundance was splashed on the crudely
tiled floor, brushes scrubbed the invisible dirt. Brooms
swept away the excess of water and in the midst of all this
commotion, I had to pass. I tried to walk close to the wall,
but I soon realized that not only was the floor there wet,
but the walls were freshly whitewashed...
"Hey! Watch where you're going!" Mrs. Lupate called, as I
approached her territory. I hastily moved to the center of
the courtyard and faced a calamity. The right side of the
row of houses had a second floor, and the stairs leading to
the upper floor towered above the courtyard in the form of a
bridge.
As I passed under this crosswalk, a shower of soapy water
drenched me completely. I stood there dripping wet, with an
empty pot in my hand. It was Mrs. Lupate, again, who came to
the rescue. "Come this way," she said. "Don't ever try to
pass here on Friday morning!"
I reached Tante Leah's place still wet and dripping. A whiff
of delicious cooking and frying reached me through the open
door. I stood there, undecided. Should I run home and change
my wet clothes or should I stay there in this disgraceful
state and face pedantic Tante Leah?
My cousin Geula was the first to spot me standing hesitant
and bashful by the door. "What is it, Yisca? Come in!" she
called.
Tante Leah came over but stopped short when she saw me. She
was a frugal person who never wasted anything, especially
not precious water. She looked at the spotless floor and
quickly calculated that if she let me in, another pail of
water would have to be wasted washing the floor again. To
say nothing of the time and effort done down the drain on
this Friday.
She took in the situation and said, "Take this pitcher. It's
full of drinking water. I'll send Geula over with some more
once I draw some water from the well."
I thanked her and rushed home. This time, I did not risk
going through the still busy courtyard but chose the east
entrance which meant crossing through alleys and stony
roads, rather than face another shower of soapy water --
without having a handy umbrella.
