I never thought about her like this. On the nights before the Exodus from Egypt, how she protected her children inside the house, while the 10 plagues raged outside.

“Mama, why did the river turn to blood? Mama, what’s that noise of the frogs? Mama are the wild animals going to eat us too?”

And she answers with a confidence she prayed to feel inside herself: “These are plagues upon Egypt, open miracles, Hashem is fighting for us…. We’re leaving soon.”

But they don’t understand, because they’re little. “Mama, I’m scared of the noise. Mama, what if they come here too?”

And she’s tense, and she’s whispering her prayers, and only her lips keep moving.

I never thought about her like this. Honestly, I never thought about her at all.

And him. How did I never think about him?

The man who was a slave his entire life, and suddenly Moses comes to him with demands:

Slaughter the god of Egypt, and smear it on your doorpost. You’re no longer just a family man, a slave to reality. You’re being asked to be a soldier now, in the name of Hashem.

Because we’re leaving soon. There’s no time, do you hear? Redemption is almost here —  you’ll return to your family once the job is done.

They say that when the cannons roar, the muses fall silent. But me? My imagination goes wild. Suddenly everything connects; everything blurs together. The house shakes from another missile falling, and I think about that woman sitting through the plague of hail, knowing that Hashem is protecting them — just like our prayers in the safe room.

But that noise and the shaking windows still tighten her chest. And mine. These open miracles are terrifying.

But you got through it. And so will I.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)