Blood Hidden Inside Where Only God Could See
Rabbi Yishmael put the mark on the inside of the doorframe. No neighbor could count the painted houses, and no Egyptian ever saw one.
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Moses Walked Out Past the Last of the Idols
Moses went out through the gates to get the message. He always went out. When he promised to pray about the hail he was careful about it in front of Pharaoh: the moment I have left the city I will spread my hands to the LORD. Not in the throne room. Not in the street.
The streets were the problem. Every corner of that place had something standing on it with a face, and the corners between the corners had shrines.
If a man's prayer, which only has to go up, could not go up from inside those avenues, then a word coming down does not come down into them either. So the laws of the lamb and the blood and the night were spoken to Moses somewhere past the last shrine, with the noise of the city behind him and clean air in front.
This month is for you the beginning of the months.
Riverbanks and the Merit of the Fathers
The same carefulness held long after Egypt was a story people told at a table.
When God spoke to prophets outside the land at all, He did it for the merit of the fathers, and even then only in a clean place, and the clean place always had water in it. Daniel standing by the stream Ulai. Daniel again by the great river, the Tigris. Ezekiel sitting among the exiles at the river Kevar when the heavens opened over him.
Never in the middle of a foreign capital. On a bank, with the water going past.
Hyssop, a Basin, and the Inside of the Door
On the fourteenth day every household took its lamb and killed it toward evening. Blood went into a basin set on the ground in the doorway. Somebody tore off a bunch of hyssop and dipped it.
Two doorposts and the lintel. Three strokes.
On which face of the wood, though. That is the whole question, and the households had to answer it before dark.
Seen by Me and Not by Others
Rabbi Yishmael said inside, and he said it on the strength of four words.
And I will see the blood.
The One who knows what is under a man's ribs does not need to look at anything. If He says He will see it, then it is blood seen by Me and not by others. Inside the frame. On the family's side of the door.
So nothing about it was a signal. No Egyptian walking home from the brickfields could count the painted houses. No overseer could keep a list of who had made the mark and who had not. There was no way for a neighbor to be impressed and no way for a neighbor to inform.
Hands shook over the basin. Hyssop dragged a wet line down the wood facing the room, and the children in that room asked why it was pointing at them and not at the road, and their parents answered with whatever they had left after a lifetime of straw and brick and drowned infants.
The Night Nobody Went Out
Roast it whole. Head, legs, the inside parts. Nothing raw and nothing boiled in water, and nothing left over until morning.
Eat it with flatbread and bitter herbs, with your belt tied, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand, and eat it fast.
And none of you go out the door of his house until morning.
So they stood in their shoes in a shut room, chewing, holding sticks, while the hidden mark dried behind them on the wood. Around midnight the noise started at the palace and worked its way down through the city to the man asleep beside the millstone and the animals in the pens, and there was no house in Egypt without a dead son in it.
Nobody in the house went to the door to look.
By the time the light came up and Pharaoh sent for Moses in the dark, the line on the inside of the frame had gone brown and stiff, and not one person outside that family had ever laid eyes on it.
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