Yitzy Levinson was nine years old. He was in third grade at Yeshiva Bnei Torah and was proud to walk to school by himself every day. Today, however, something unusual was happening. On his way to school he had been so busy thinking that he didn’t look where he was going. Somehow, he had wandered off in the wrong direction, and now he was standing in the middle of a forest. As far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but tall trees.

Yitzy didn’t get frightened easily, but suddenly finding himself in the middle of a thick forest made him nervous. He desperately wanted to get out of the forest, but he wasn’t sure which way to go. Then he spied a small, narrow path in front of him. He decided to follow the path, hoping it would lead him out of the forest. Slowly and carefully, he walked forward.

Suddenly, he froze. He had heard a sound. It sounded like a voice calling to him. As he followed the path, he noticed that the voice was growing louder. To his horror, he realized that the voice was shouting the same words over and over. Yitzy strained his ears to make out the mysterious words.

“The water is coming! The water is coming!” cried the voice.

Yitzy shivered with fright as he tried to understand what those words meant. He didn’t see any lake or river there in the forest.

“The water is coming!” the voice warned again.

The voice sounded familiar, but who, or what, could it be?

“Here it comes!”

Yitzy’s head jerked upward. He shrieked in horror. He was standing under a huge waterfall. Thousands of gallons of water were hurtling downward, right toward his head.

“Aaargh!” he cried, as the water crashed over his head.

Then he heard the voice again, louder and clearer than before.

“Yitzy, if you don’t get up right now, you’ll be late for school!”

“Wh… what?” Yitzy wiped the water off of his face.

He had not been in a forest. There was no waterfall. It was all just a dream. He was at home in his own bed. His mother was standing over him. In her hand was an empty negel vasser cup. She had poured the water on him to wake him up.

She didn’t look happy.

“Yitzy,” she said, “do you know how long I’ve been sitting here trying to wake you up?”

Yitzy turned and look at his bedroom clock.

“Oh,” he stammered, “I guess it’s time for me to get ready for school.”

“Oh, Yitzy.” His mother shook her head. “Why is it so hard to wake you up every day?”

Yitzy shrugged. “I guess I’m just tired in the morning,” he answered.

His mother lifted a book off the floor. “Did you stay up late reading again?”

Yitzy looked at the book in his mother’s hand. He had stayed up very late reading. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” he stammered, “I just had to finish the book before I went to sleep. I was up to the best part of the story. The part where the bad guys took the treasure, and…” He stopped. The look on his mother’s face told him that she didn’t want to hear about the story he was reading.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 736)