Arthur Hollander


Far away, in the eastern part of the land, by the banks of the Jordan, the Lebanon mountains raise themselves up. On the slopes of the mountains a valley streeches out. There are fields and vineyards, orange groves and forests. In this valley a small village is built. In this small village live simple farmers. Among the farmers lives an old man, ninety years old, and his old wife, eighty-two years old. The old farmer and his wife live in their small, simple tent. The stable in which their white ass stands is built by the tent. By the stable lies the iron plow, gleaming in the sunlight. Every morning, after the rising of the sun, the farmer arises and goes out to his work. He saddles his ass and takes his shining plow. A small field stands near by, waiting to be plowed. The field stands empty, awaiting the old man.



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