Frankel Valerie Estelle - Chelm for the Holidays

Rosh Hashanah was coming, but for some reason, this year there was no honey in the marketplace in the village of Chelm. What would the people of Chelm do? How could they bake their honey cakes? How could they dip their apples in honey?

How will we celebrate Rosh Hashanah without honey ? thought Schlemiel. He was the most useless man in the village. He liked to lie on his back and nap all day long, but even he knew something needed to be done about the honey.

Schlemiel had a wife, Mrs. Schlemiel, and a baby, Little Schlemiel. Mrs. Schlemiel was always yelling at Schlemiel for being useless. But now her lip quivered. No honey for Rosh Hashanah! The babys first New Year and not a drop of honey.

Schlemiel shuffled his feet. The New Year was much like the old year , he mused. The old year had ended with Mrs. Schlemiel yelling at him, and it seemed the New Year was starting the same way.

I remembered to buy honey in the market last Rosh Hashanah. And I remember what happened. I traipsed all the way to market and back, in the burning sunshine, and I bought a big jar of honey. But the truth is... Schlemiel cleared his throat.... after all that work, I thought a tiny taste wouldnt hurt. So I stuck in my finger and tried just a drop. Then I tried a bit more. And a bit more. It was so good! Then I resolved to stop, and I had a drink of water since the honey was so sticky. But after my drink, all the honey taste was gone. So I had to try just a nibble more. And after that tastewhat could you guess?I needed more water. Well, after a while, all the honey was gone!

But this year there was no honey to be had in the market. Schlemiel paced the house. Even if there was no honey in the marketplace, surely he could find honey somewhere else. He stopped so suddenly that he tripped over his feet and nearly went sprawling. The pasture south of town!

It was a beautiful meadow, filled with succulent blossoms and, of course, bees. And the bees made honey, didnt they? But how to collect it without being stung?

I will disguise myself as a flower, Schlemiel decided. Bees like flowers so much they would never sting one. Schlemiel hurried into the bedroom and pulled the yellow-flowered quilt off the bed. With a flourish, he draped it around himself. The back dragged in the dirt, but from the front, he fancied that he looked quite colorful. A handful of Mrs. Schlemiels daisies, plucked from the garden and stuffed into his scraggly gray beard, completed his disguise. Thus prepared, he picked up his empty honey jar and scoop and went out.

When the villagers saw him, they mumbled and whispered. What was Schlemiel doing? Have you gone crazy? asked Ehud the Baker.

No. Hes bringing flowers to his wife but carrying them in his beard, Grandma Faina cackled.

Im hunting for honey, Schlemiel explained. The bees will think Im a flower, so they will let me take their honey and will not sting me.

Dressed like that? Avram hooted, chewing on an apple. All youll get is dirt. Some hunter!

Children ran behind Schlemiel giggling and shouting. Adults stuck their heads out the windows, attracted by the commotion. By this time, quite a crowd was following Schlemiel as he trooped to the bee pasture. The pasture was beautiful, with autumn flowers blushing pink and orange against the grass. The bees were buzzing in fuzzy yellow spirals.

Ignore him, bees. Hes just a flower, called little Tzipporah. Soon everyone took up the cry. Schlemiel clutched his honey scoop and jar.

Bees zipped around him in confused circles. Who was this giant creature invading their hive? Schlemiels face burned red and hot from the sun, so much so that the bees couldnt fail to spot it. One of the boldest flew at him, aiming straight for his bulbous, sunburned nose.