It was in the town of Blittiv, Bovemia that young Jim Carpenter lived. He was one of the few people in the town with African descent. And in that area of Bovemia, dark-skinned individuals were looked down on. They did not receive as good of service as the rest of Bovemia’s citizens, and they were not well loved.

Now Jim was an interesting character, and he did not let this treatment make him feel sorry for himself. Rather than feel bitter about the whole matter, he often would shake his head and say, "Those poor folks that think they’re white ... they jes don’t have a clue of what a good time we could have together if we’d all get along."

"Oh Jim," his mother would say. "It’s time ye get a realistic perspective on things. Even if those white folks would turn around right now and change their attitude, ye know we wouldn’t have any good times together. That kind o’ wrong isn’t too quickly forgotten by those who suffer from it."

"So is human nature," Jim would say, sadly shaking his head. "E’en if we got the opportunity t’ have peace and good will, we foolish folks wouldn’t accept it. It make me wonder about people. We got such stubborn hearts."

"Oh Jim, I’ve heard enough," said mother, and the conversation was over. But only temporarily, for it reoccurred many many times.

"Mother," Jim said one day. "There really is a lot of light-skinned folks that don’t look down on us. They jes afraid to say anything, ‘cause they know how the majority feel."

Mother remained silent, so Jim took liberty to go ahead and share some more of his unpopular ideas. "You know we ain’t treated too bad," he said. "It really could be worse. Our only problems is that we usually get waited on second..."

"Always, y’ mean," mother corrected quickly.

"Wal, yeah," Jim admitted. "An’ we aint treated with as much respect. Folks don’t like to say much to us. But that’s our only problems. Ye know I love to read, mother, and I’ve read ‘bout people facin’ a lot worse stuff. We complain, for all practical purposes, ‘cause folks don’t respect us. Well, we ain’t promised respect an’ honor in this life, mother."

"Jim, I’ve heard enough now," mother said. "Folks look down their noses on us, an’ act like we some plague. And if things keep on as they is, I got a feelin’ worse things are coming. So ye just keep that in mind.

"An’ I don’t know where ye get this idea that a lot o’ Caucasians accept us," she continued. "Dream on, boy."

"Well, I mean to somehow, someday, show this whole town that I accept ‘em and like ‘em," Jim stated with determination. "And I’m prayin’ for an opportunity to do so. They’s just blind, mother, and I’d really like fer them t’ be able to see. So I wanta help ‘em. Afer all, this life we’re given is fer somethin’. It’s fer doin’ good. We only got temporary lives here. Each life is like a little sukkah, y’ might say, but if we don’t put these temporary little sukkot to good use, we ain’t gonna have no eternal Life in the hereafter."

"Jim, Jim, I think ye’d better be quiet now ‘fore ye have all those of yer own nationality hatin’ ye too."

"Mother, the light-skinned folks don’t hate us," Jim insisted. "They’s just a little bit blinded."

"Let them be blind," mother said irritably. "I’m not gonna try to help ‘em see. That’ll just make things two times worse."

"Human nature at work again," Jim commented. "Well, I’m gonna keep prayin’ for an opportunity. Things aren’t bad at all. We’ve got good, decent, happy lives. An’ I don’t see any purpose in complaining."

"Don’t complain then," snapped mother, "But quit preaching at me to embrace these foolish people around here. I ain’t ever doin’ it, even if they fall on their faces and beg me too."

"O-K," said Jim, and fell silent.

It was the first night of Sukkot. Jim took a quiet walk down to the river. His mother had gone to visit her sister’s family, a day’s journey away, and during her visit she had become very ill. That had been a month ago. She was still very sick. Jim had gone to visit her a number of times, but she was very distraught every time, and did not even seem to know him. He always came back home feeling very sad and weary.

The sun had set, and the shadows were deepening. Jim gazed sadly across the river, then at the solitary tent, and again at the river. I guess this Sukkot will be a lonely one, he mused.

Suddenly, a sound caught Jim’s attention. A very faint cry for help came from somewhere out in the river. Was it really so, or had he imagined it? Again, the faint voice called, from about half way out in the river. "Help." Though he could barely hear the voice, Jim knew of a certainty that it was real. Throwing off his jacket, he hurried into the water. It was deep, and was flowing very swiftly. The current threatened to knock him down. Would he drown, trying to save someone else? And what if he got safely to the person, and then they drowned him in their panic? These thoughts were rushing wildly through Jim’s head as he fought against the water. He could no longer hear the cry, but ahead of him a little ways, he could see what looked like a person struggling. What was the problem?

Jim fought his way closer and closer, finally reaching the struggling young man. "Help," gasped the man. "My shirt... is somehow caught.... on this branch,.... and I can’t.... get it loose." He kept struggling the whole time he spoke, for the water current repeatedly kept pushing his head almost under.

For someone who could see what they were doing, it was not difficult to free the young man. Jim soon had him freed, and in the dim light, they stood together. "I’m... so tired now," the young man said, leaning heavily on Jim. His weight actually helped Jim stand, for the current was coming from the opposite direction, and the added weight helped brace him against the oncoming water.

They both stood there for a while, breathing heavily. Then Jim spoke up. "Y’ think we oughta try an’ make it back?"

"Yeah," agreed the other young man. So they began the strenuous swim back to shore. It seemed like forever until they reached dry ground, exhausted. "Let’s go up to the house an’ rest a little," said Jim. They started toward the house, in the dark.

But then the young man spotted the tent. "I can’t bear to climb that hill," he said. "Let me rest in the tent."

"Go ahead," replied Jim. Though he was exhausted himself, he continued, "I’ll go up to the house an’ get ye some dry clothes an’ a cup of tea."

"Thanks." The youth entered the Sukkot tent, and Jim heard him drop on the ground.

"Are you O-K?" called Jim.

"I’m fine," came the answer, "Just tired."

Jim trudged up the hill to the house. He changed his clothes, and then took down a dry pair of pants and shirt for the young man. "Go ahead an’ change," he said. "I’ll be back with some tea."

When Jim returned, he brought a lamp with him. As he entered the tent with the tea, the young man looked up. He gasped. "You’re a black man!" he exclaimed, horrified. Suddenly energized, he leapt to his feet, and bolted out the tent door, causing the two cups of tea to crash to the ground. He backed away. "A... black man... touched all over me... and I’m wearing his clothes and... I... I don’t want your tea. I’m going home and getting decent clothes on." He bolted off into the night.

Jim entered the tent and sunk down discouraged. He had risked so much for his fellow man, and this was his thanks. And yet, even in his discouraged state of mind, he did not feel angry. His sorrow over racism was only made deeper.

Jim awoke to the sound of singing birds. Stepping out of his tent, he saw that it was early dawn. Feeling peaceful and rested, he started up the hill toward the house. But suddenly he stopped. There on the hill lay the young Caucasian he had helped the night before. Jim slowly walked up to him. Even in his sleep, the youth held his leg, and his face was a picture of pain. This is great, thought Jim. His leg’s broken. And he’s been this way all night. What can I do? He knew that the young man would not want his help.

Jim stood undecided for a while. Finally, he gently shook the young man. "Hey, wake up," he said. "Y’ need help."

The youth opened his eyes. His face was a drawn tight with anguish as he looked up at Jim. Then anger mixed with the anguish. "Go away," he said viciously. "Don’t touch me. I don’t want your help. Get someone else."

"What’s your name?" asked Jim. "Who do I get?"

"I’m the mayor’s son," growled the youth on the ground, as though it irritated him that he was not recognized.

Jim took off into town. As he went, he thought about the attitudes of different people. There were plenty of people who considered people with African heritage as lower class citizens, and did not treat them with respect; yet they were not hateful towards them, and would gladly have welcomed Jim’s help in such a situation. The mayor’s son was clearly very prejudiced.

Jim reached the mayor’s house, panting. He rapped loudly on the door. The mayor himself came to the door. He looked rudely down his nose at Jim. "What do you want, bothering me at such an early hour?" he demanded roughly.

"Your son is hurt badly," Jim replied quickly.

The mayor was caught off guard. But then he snapped back, "How do you know? My son was at his cousin’s house last night? They would have let me know."

"Please," Jim persisted. "I’ll give ye the details ‘nother time, but he needs help now. He’s broke his leg, and he waited all night for someone to find him."

Abandoning all argument, the mayor hollered to his wife to come right away. It was an interesting sight, indeed, to see those two hurriedly following the young man whom they hated so much down the street. Most people were not awake to see that sight however.

The mayor’s son had been taken to the hospital. Jim was alone again. That afternoon, he sat in his tent, pondering. As I told mother one time, we pass through this life only once. These bodies are temporary dwellins, sukkot. We travelin’ to the Promised Land, and this is the desert we gotta go through. But we’ve gotta do all the good we can while we’s travelin’ here. And we must not be discouraged. A Scripture came to mind, and he opened the Word to Matthew 25. He began to read at verse 34 – "Then shall the King say unto them on His right hand, ‘Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungred, and ye gave Me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took Me in; naked; and ye clothed Me; I was sick; and ye visited Me; I was in prison, and ye came unto Me.’ Then shall the righteous answer Him, saying, ‘Master, when saw we Thee an hungred, and fed Thee; or thirsty, and gave Thee drink? When saw we Thee a stranger and took Thee in; or naked, and clothed Thee? Or when saw we Thee sick, or in prison, and came unto Thee?’ And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Verily I say unto you, in as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.’ "

"Well," pondered Jim, "I done the part about takin’ a stranger in; an’ I tried t’ give him drink; I clothed him; but I haven’t gone and visited him yet. Maybe, though, that’s pushin’ myself on him." But over the next few days, he kept feeling a prodding. He’s lonely, the voice would say. He’s discouraged, it would say again. Go visit him. The prodding would not go away.

Finally on the fourth day of Sukkot, Jim left his tent and started out to the hospital. He was very nervous, but he kept reminding himself, This body’s just a sukkah, but I still gotta let Yahshua live an’ work there. If I don’t do anything that counts in this life, He won’t want me in His kingdom.

Jim reached the hospital. He entered, and approached the receptionist’s desk. Just then, however, a fair-skinned man made his entrance. Although Jim reached the desk first, the woman turned to help the other man. When she finished with him, she turned pleasantly to Jim. "How may I help you?" she asked. Obviously, she was one who thought that those with lighter complexions deserved first service, but that one need not treat those with darker skin roughly and rudely. How different people’s attitudes were, and yet it was all wrong. It was all prejudice, and Jim wanted so badly to help people see that ethnic prejudice caused pain, division, and trouble. "How may I help you?" the receptionist repeated.

"Oh." Jim jerked out of his reverie. "I would like to see the mayor’s son. His leg was broken... I’m not sure of his name. Do you know who I’m talking about?"

"Yes," she responded hesitantly. "Are you friends with the mayor’s son?"

"A few mornings ago I found him a-lyin’ with his leg broken," Jim said. "I guess he’d jes been that way all night. So I went an’ got the mayor."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I guess you can see him." She directed him as to where to go.

Jim felt very nervous as he approached the young man’s bedroom. Feeling very sorry he had come, and greatly fearing the outcome of his visit, he pushed the door open. The mayor’s son was asleep yet. Jim sat down beside him, and began to silently pray for a change of heart in the young man.

A few minutes later, the sleeping youth woke up. His eyes opened. He looked up at Jim, startled. Softly he asked, "Why did you come?"

"Because I knew you were lonely in here, and there isn’t much to do when you’re lyin’ down with a broken leg. I come to keep y’ company and cheer y’ up," Jim responded simply.

"But why?" he asked. "Why, after I hated you so?"

" ‘Cause, I love all men. Don’t really matter how they feel towards me," Jim answered. "I want all men to be brothers. The shade of our skin ain’t important. We’ve all got hearts, and souls, and we’re all people. So why can’t we all be brothers?"

"Because we’re hard-hearted," the mayor’s son replied. "I was just lying here, sleeping, and I dreamed. I dreamed that it was judgment day, and the Savior was commending you. He was saying something that I’ve heard before from the New Testament, about how you had taken the stranger in, and fed him, and clothed him. And He said that because you had done all that, you had done it all to Him. But," the young man continued, "Then He turned to me, and He was angry. He said that I did not love Him, for I did not love my brother." The story stopped. The youth lay still, staring at seemingly nothing.

"But it don’t need to be that way," Jim said.

"No, it doesn’t," the young man agreed.

"Could we shake hands, as brothers?" Jim asked. "I’m Jim, and you are....?"

"I’m Charles." And the mayor’s son extended his hand.