The Celebrate Israel Festival on May 31 at Pier 94, slated to be the largest gathering to date of Israeli-Americans in New York.
“We were slaves down in Egypt,”
The young, cheerful mother said,
As she knelt on the floor
And swept under the bed.
“We toiled so hard
And lived in constant fear,”
Avowed the perky young mother,
As she dusted the chandelier.
“Everyday the children of Jacob
Would cry out and tearfully daven,”
Pointed out the bubbly young mother,
As she scoured her kitchen oven.
“Hashem heard our prayers,
And sent Moshe to get us out!”
Affirmed the chirpy young mother,
As she bleached the bathtub grout.
“Moshe went to Pharaoh, saying,
‘Let my people go, or you will fall!’ “
Announced the smiling young mother,
As she scraped the garage wall.
“Moshe had asked politely,
But stubborn Pharaoh was a grouch,”
Panted the young, buoyant mother,
As she moved the living room couch.
“He refused Moshe’s request, yelling,
‘Don’t bother me anymore!’ “
Declared the young, upbeat mother,
As she washed the basement floor.
“Said a determined Moshe,
‘You’ll change your mind, that’s for certain’ “
Exclaimed the happy young mother,
As she hand-vacuumed the study’s curtain.
“Hashem sent down 10 plagues,
And Pharaoh stopped being so smug,”
Gasped the delighted young mother,
As she beat the dining room rug.
“Pharaoh ran to Moshe, pleading,
‘Leave the country tonight!’ “
Narrated the young, jubilant mother,
As she dusted the porch light.
“The Children of Israel hurried,
Not for a minute did they hesitate,”
Stated the young, elated mother,
As she hosed the fence and gate.
“And that is why we eat matzah,
There was no time for proper bread,”
Confirmed the young, exultant mother,
As she stripped the guest room bed.
“And so we rid our homes of chametz,
But we shouldn’t get too frantic,”
Insisted the young, exhilarated mother,
As she lugged the vacuum to the attic.
“Each year we celebrate our freedom,
And invite all to the Seder meal,”
Crowed the young, euphoric mother,
Eyeing the potatoes she had yet to peel.
“How lucky we are to have Pesach,
We are free,” the mother gleefully did shout,
“No more toil, drudgery and hard labor,”
She warbled – just as she passed out.
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Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/the-passover-story-as-told-by-a-young-mother-to-her-daughter/2008/04/16/
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