Sol sits apart from the others on an empty ammunition box and writes how much he misses them. He is waiting for his Passover parcel to arrive. It should be in this afternoon’s mail, a special parcel containing matzos, apples, raisins, cinnamon, salt, parsley, bitter herbs, sweet almond cake, and ‘Kosher for Passover’ wine. He will celebrate this night of nights in the trenches with the contents of his parcel.
Around him, in the platoon’s quarters, the boys are getting ready for their return journey to the front line where they will spend the next two days. As he writes to his family, he thinks of the frantic preparations for the first night of Passover that will be keeping them busy at home.
At 6.30 in the evening, the platoon sets off on its three-mile march back to the trenches, but Sol’s parcel has not arrived. He will get no mail now for three days.
He trudges with the others along scarred roads. Above them the sky is clear with a full moon and stars. There’s a chill in the air but, walking along in his uniform, he soon warms up. His thoughts are far away from Flanders, and with the smartly dressed crowd making for synagogue. Mama and his sisters will have new outfits for Passover: for Rosa a pretty frock, for Mama a dress and tasseled shawl, for Sadie a fancy skirt and blouse.
He smells the heavy air of the synagogue, warm and close from all those people. He sees the lights and hears the chanting. He thinks also — though he won’t mention this in his letter — of dark...
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