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Eduard Dolgunov

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The Secret of the Jews 2

He was quite satisfied with the secure and peaceful life of a farm bull, unburdened by any obligations, except for inseminating cows, and even then, not often. He looked indifferently at the guests with his ox-eyed gaze and, without stopping chewing hay, shamelessly passed gas.

"Sema!"

Roma said, looking disgustedly at the bull, "Look there... well... at his... bandage," he stumbled, "well, where you did that... well, what do you call it?... the prepuce..."

"And why me?"

Sema hissed indignantly, "Are you afraid or squeamish yourself?"

"Who operated?"

Roma grimaced, "You or Borka and me, go look."

"Don't touch me," Barukh stepped back, "I'd better pray for you."

"What a religious fanatic we have here," Sema sighed, "you can only hiccup, not pray, alcoholic." The examination of the bull went completely calmly, and while the "surgeon" was examining his "equipment", Vaska indifferently continued chewing hay.

"The bandage is in place," Semik said with satisfaction, "it's holding well and doesn't bother the 'patient'." As confirmation of what was said, the bull suddenly released a powerful stream of urine, a few drops of which fell on the "doctor".

"That's why I didn't become a surgeon," Sema whispered, disgustedly wiping his face with a towel, "dirty and thankless work." Vaska turned his muzzle to him and indifferently let out: "MOO". A middle-aged woman stood near the barn, with a voluminous bag lying at her feet.

"Hello, foreign comrades," she greeted politely, "my name is Maria, I am the wife of Stepan Kuzmich, the deputy chairman. Don't be squeamish," and unfastening the bag, she pointed to the packages lying in it and a large bottle with a sticking out cork, "everything is homemade, I cooked it myself. I have a question, I need your advice."

"Thank you, of course," taking the bag under the approving glances of his friends, Roma said, "we'll help however we can, please come into the house."

"There's a bottle of moonshine in the bag," Sema whispered on the way to the house, "don't pour any more for Borka, it makes me sick to hear his hiccups and howling, it's impossible to drink in peace. Let him pray."

"Yes, Maria, it's true," Roma answered politely, "according to Jewish tradition, all men are circumcised, this is called Brit Milah, or the 'covenant of circumcision' in Russian. And why does this interest you?"

"I am very embarrassed to ask you," the woman felt shy, "but our women sent me to ask if it's true that your men don't drink?..." she glanced sideways at the bottle in the bag, "and we also heard that in your homeland many children are born and this is because the men... get this done," she hesitated, "well, what you did to Vaska, I forgot what you called it?"

"Well, it's not that they don't drink at all," Roma smiled and pointed his finger at the bag, "I would say this: they don't abuse it! You know, our religion doesn't allow us to abuse," he looked pointedly at Barukh, "and 'Brit Milah', that is, circumcision," he raised a finger, "this is a symbol of the 'covenant between God and the Jewish people'."