He planned to stay overnight with relatives in Or Yehuda and get up at four thirty the next morning to catch the first bus back to the kibbutz so he could be there before school began. David Dagan patted the boy’s shoulder and said warmly, “These visits to your relatives pull you away from us. And you’re almost one of us now.” Moshe said, “He’s my father.” David Dagan pondered this for a moment, nodded twice as if agreeing with himself, and asked, “So tell me, have you learned to swim yet?” The boy, gazing down at his sandals, said that he could swim a little. His teacher said, “And stop cutting your hair so short. With that stubble on your head, you look like a refugee. It’s time you had a decent head of hair like all the other boys.” After a brief hesitation, he added affectionately, “All right, go. But only if you come back tomorrow before the first lesson. And while you’re there, don’t forget that you’re one of us now.” Moshe Yashar was a boarder at our kibbutz.
