Chapter 21 – Advent’s Way to the House of Bread: The Children Discover the Secrets of Farm Life

The Children Discover the Secrets of Farm Work – Advent’s Way to the House of Bread

After a while, once Marcel had finished looking at the tools, he realized that Gabi had disappeared. He carefully looked around and returned to the courtyard, but she was nowhere in sight. He was too shy to call out for her, so he began running around, peeking into every corner.

“She really hid well!” he sighed, half impatient, half worried. “Where could she have gone? Surely no one kidnapped her!” His heart beat faster. After all, they were in an unusual situation, and until now, he had never lost sight of Gabi. He stood by the well, eyes scanning the surroundings. In one corner, he noticed a young maid carrying a basket of grains disappearing into another room. He decided to follow her. Naturally, his intuition did not fail him…

Meanwhile, Gabi had wanted to hide from Marcel and had entered a room darker than the courtyard, filled with the scent of the hearth smoke and fresh grain. In the middle stood a stone hearth, above which hung clay pots and water jars. In the corners, sacks of grain and jars of olive oil rested. On a simple hand-operated stone mill, a woman was grinding grain, slowly turning it into flour. Herbs and fruits were drying on the shelves, and the air was a mixture of smoke, herbs, and freshly milled grain. Gabi paused for a moment, watching every movement carefully, captivated by what she saw.

She approached the stone mill. It was simple, yet powerful—two round stones, one stationary on a wooden base, the other turned by hand. The woman poured grain between them and patiently rotated the top stone until fine, fragrant flour emerged. Every motion required both strength and precision, as the grain rustled softly, transforming into powder that fell into a clay bowl.

Gabi stood beside her, mesmerized.

“Can I try?” she asked shyly. The woman smiled and nodded. The girl lifted her hands and carefully placed them on the top stone. She turned it slowly, at first barely moving it, but with each moment growing more confident. The rustle of the grain, the smell of fresh flour, and the warmth of the kitchen filled her with joy.

The pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the kitchen, likely drawing Marcel as he searched for Gabi. In a corner, across from the entrance, a young maid sat on a low stool with a small hand mill on her lap, grinding a small amount of grain.

Marcel watched discreetly from the doorway, filled with admiration. Gabi felt like a true hostess, participating in the daily magic of a home that had suddenly become her own little world of discoveries.

In the corner of the kitchen stood a simple clay oven, where loaves of bread made from freshly milled flour were baked. The heat from the oven filled the room, mingling with the aroma of bread, smoke, and dried herbs on the shelves. Marcel quietly moved around, examining everything carefully—like he was in a museum. Eventually, he approached Gabi and gently touched her shoulder. Startled from the task that had absorbed all her attention, she jumped and exclaimed:

“Marceeeeellll!”

He asked politely,

“Can I try too?”

Gabi smiled, stepping aside, and found herself in the corner of the kitchen by the young maid with the hand mill. She watched in awe for a moment, and when she noticed the mill on the maid’s lap had run out of flour, she felt eager to try herself. They swapped places, and gently touching the handle, Gabi began to turn it. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, she watched as the grain transformed into flour beneath her own hands.

Marcel, turning the stone wheel, looked at the woman who had let him try grinding flour:

“What is this? What is it called?” he asked curiously.

The woman smiled lightly and adjusted the stone.

“These are millstones,” she answered.

“Where did you get such flat stones?”

“From a quarry in Galilee,” she replied calmly. “The stone there is hard, perfect for grinding. First, they select a boulder, then men break it and polish it carefully so the stones fit well together. They must be rough but even - otherwise the grain won’t grind properly, and the flour would have too many bits. Such millstones last for years. I still have these from my mother.”

Marcel turned the stone for a moment, then paused.

“How often do you grind this grain?” he asked.

The woman wiped her hands on her apron and looked at the clay bowl of flour.

“Every day - or almost every day. We grind the grain just before baking so the flour is fresh and fragrant. If it sits too long, it loses strength, and the bread won’t rise as it should.”

She poured another handful of grain into the mill, and the stone rustled softly again. The woman smiled at the children, showing them baskets filled with grains.

“Look, Marcel,” she began, “I have different kinds of grain in these baskets. Feel their shapes and weights - each is different. Wheat makes soft bread; barley is firmer and more nourishing.”

Marcel studied the grains carefully, and Gabi, leaving her mill for a moment, ran over to him.

“I want to feel the grains too! What are they all called, and how can you tell them apart?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

The woman picked up a handful of barley and showed it to the children.

“This is barley - short, rounded, gray-brown, with a slightly sweet smell. Barley gives heavier flour; the dough will be dense and filling, and the bread a bit firm.”

The children sifted the grains through their fingers, trying to remember the names and properties.

“Now come to the next basket. Here is emmer wheat. Can you see the difference?”

“Oh yes,” Marcel said. “It’s elongated, golden, and smells slightly nutty.”

“Exactly,” the woman confirmed. “Its flour is lighter and more elastic; the dough rises more easily, and the bread is softer and tender.”

Next, she took some millet and fava beans in each hand and poured them into Marcel and Gabi’s palms.

“This is fava bean and tiny millet. We only add a little, and not always, but they make the bread more nutritious and light. Millet is light, and fava gives strength, though it must be ground well so the dough is smooth.”

“How do you know all this?” Gabi asked.

The woman laughed. “From my mother, and she from hers—generation after generation, we learn from each other.”

She went to a shelf, lifted a large clay bowl, and handed the children rolled linen cloths.

“Do you want to help me make bread? Then put on your aprons.”

The children hesitated, looking around for a moment. Finally, Gabi asked:

“Where are the aprons?”

The woman laughed warmly.

“You’re holding them. Just unfold them and tie around your waist.”

The children unfolded the linen cloths, surprised to find strings on the sides. They wrapped and tied them securely, waiting for further instructions. The woman thoughtfully picked up a smaller bowl and handed it to Gabi; Marcel received a medium one, and she kept the largest for herself. All approached the bowls of flour.

“For everyday bread, we usually mix two parts emmer and one part barley, sometimes adding a bit of millet or fava. This makes the bread nutritious, filling, and easy to bake.”

As she said, she poured the flours into her bowl and began mixing them evenly by hand. The children, each with a clay bowl of appropriate size, did the same. Gabi was in seventh heaven. She loved mixing flour, groats, sand, and weeds in her “yakky soup,” and now it was all real!

Marcel watched with curiosity, mixing his flours, imagining how the different shapes and colors of the grains would become the everyday fragrant bread.

He felt that this morning was not just a lesson about bread, but also about patience, care, and daily work, through which something simple yet essential is created—a loaf that feeds the family and gives strength for the day. The children felt they were part of a living, daily tradition in the House of Bread.

“Usually, we grind barley and wheat. Barley is simple and filling—we use it for everyday flatbreads, baked over the fire, like you ate with soup before. Wheat is softer, good for Shabbat bread or when guests come,” the woman explained.

“Now we’ll add water, but gradually. Watch carefully what and how you do it.”

The maid first took a small clay jug and poured the water very slowly, a thin stream, just enough to moisten the surface of the flour.

“Gabi, for your bowl, start with less than a handful; Marcel, just a little more.”

The water came from the well, cool in the morning, but since the jug had stood in the kitchen a while, it was not icy.

“Now, mix gently—only with your fingers—wake the flour from its sleep.” The dry powder began to form clumps, sticking to the skin.

After a while, each added a little more water, always in small amounts. As the flour began to form lumps, she added a bit again. “Scrape the flour from the sides of the bowl like this… and press it toward the center with your whole hand now.” The dough became heavier, moist, smooth—no longer falling apart, yet not sticky.

Only then did she take the starter—a small piece of yesterday’s dough, slightly sour-smelling. She tore it, stretched it between her fingers, and placed an appropriate piece in the center of each child’s fresh dough. She instructed them to knead further, folding, pressing, and turning. The starter disappeared into the dough, merging completely.

“Carefully, patiently…” Marcel thought, while Gabi’s hands already ached. She would have liked to move on to a new activity, but felt shy. So many eyes were on them—the girl in the corner had stopped turning the mill and was quietly watching.

Next came the salt. Gabi approached with a small vessel.

“What do you have there?” she asked.

“Salt. Coarse, gathered from the Dead Sea area or salt pans.”

With a dry hand, she took just a pinch for each bowl—enough to enhance flavor and strengthen the dough, but not overwhelm it. She rubbed the salt between her fingers and sprinkled it over the surface. Then they kneaded the dough briefly so it spread evenly.

“Salt preserves bread, gives it flavor and durability, but if added too much or too early, the starter weakens. That’s why it’s the last addition before the dough rests overnight,” she said proudly.

When the dough was elastic and warm from their hands, the maid smoothed its surface with a wet hand, as did the children. They covered their bowls with linen cloths—not to hide them, but to prevent drying.

“Now we’ll place the bowls where they can get heat from the oven, away from drafts, where the warmth of the day remains at night. The dough must rest. No one touches it. In silence, as the house sleeps, the starter works slowly through the night, gaining aroma and strength. Usually we make it in the evening, but today, for you, it will rise longer,” she said, laughing, and the children laughed with her.

“I want to taste that bread,” Marcel said sadly, looking around the kitchen.

The maid paused thoughtfully, took him by the shoulder, and led him to another corner of the large kitchen. On a shelf, bowls were covered with cloths.

“In this bowl is exactly the dough we made together.”

“And what’s in the oven? It smells even more delicious,” Gabi asked.

“In the oven? Haha… the same breads. There are many of us on this farm, and everyone eats their fill…and works…with gratitude and diligence. Before one batch is baked, we prepare the next.”

The children jumped with delight.

They were given portions of risen dough. The maid showed them how to divide it into smaller pieces and form round, slightly flattened loaves. Each was placed on a clean shelf near the oven, covered with linen to rise quietly. Remaining dough was left in the bowls—one bowl usually yielded four or five loaves, sometimes more, depending on its size.

When the loaves had risen and were ready, the maid slid them onto the hot stones of the oven with a wooden peel, arranging them so each received heat on all sides. The oven’s air caused the dough to swell gently, the surface turning golden. Marcel and Gabi watched in awe as ordinary grains, water, and salt, transformed into smooth dough and then small, fragrant loaves, ready to feed the family and give strength for the whole day.

Strengthened and warmed, they set out again, accompanied by the household servants. For the next two hours, the children rode in a special wagon.

They parted ways in a town where houses were built closely together along a wide main road. Joseph mentioned that some of his relatives lived there, in one of the stately houses, but he did not wish to stay with them.

They passed through the entire town and, after another hour, reached a large inn. Funeral rites were taking place there at the time, attended also by the innkeepers. The great hall was filled with people. The servants, however, lowered special mats hanging from the ceiling, creating a screen and a separate space.

The travellers were received with courtesy and generous care. After the ceremonies, the hosts, now changed into fresh garments, came to greet them and talk. They offered them lodging at the inn. Joseph gladly accepted their hospitality. The rather chilly day was drawing toward sunset. How different this day and the welcome at both places had been. What could one call it – a day of hospitable hosts?

In that culture, welcoming guests was part of daily responsibility and moral duty. Anyone travelling could find themselves in a difficult situation - the Advent’s Way to the House of Bread was long, the nights cold, and food and water not always available.

Receiving a traveller was not just an act of kindness but an obligation to God and the community. The guest was given water to wash their feet, food, a place to sleep - all done quietly, respectfully, and without asking about their story. This is exactly what you can see, in various forms, while travelling with us on the Advent’s Way to the House of Bread.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who nourishes us with bread and the bounty of the earth.”

[Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam,she-zan et ha-olam be-lechem.]

This is a biblical parallel to the blessing for bread and the fruits of the earth from Psalm 104:14‑15:

“He causes the grass to grow for the cattle and plants for people to cultivate, bringing forth bread from the earth, wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and food to strengthen the human heart.”

Chapter 22 – Advent’s Way to the House of Bread: In Bethlehem