86 myths · Page 2 of 3
Rabbi Yishmael put the mark on the inside of the doorframe. No neighbor could count the painted houses, and no Egyptian ever saw one.
Israel marked doors with lamb blood and circumcision blood. Heaven saw both, said live twice, and tied that mercy to Yom Kippur forever.
Miriam stood a short while by the river to see what would become of the basket. Years later all Israel waited seven days in the desert for her.
Ezekiel opens with a stutter, hayoh hayah, the word of the Lord was, was. The first marks prophecy in Israel, the second in Babylonia among the exiles.
The plagues followed a king's siege manual, water cut first, then noise, arrows, and fire. Even firstborn beasts fell so no idol could boast.
To one hostile writer, the ritual bath dirtied the river and the ram's horn was a war signal. Letting the fields rest for a year meant dodging the king.
A runner reached the oaks of Mamre with the news that Lot was gone. Abraham armed three hundred and eighteen house servants and went after four kings.
A king takes many wives and writes none of them a contract. For one daughter of good family he writes it all out, down to which years get a second Adar.
After the firstborn died, Pharaoh summoned Moses at midnight and begged Israel to leave, even the flocks he once tried to hold as chains.
A wind from Paradise carried the smell of the paschal lamb until every uncircumcised house chose the blade so it could eat.
On the night Egypt broke, no dog sharpened its tongue. Israel walked out under a silence Heaven later paid back in full.
At the table of matzah and maror, a son said "to you" and stepped outside the people, so the answer gave him Egypt without the exit.
At the hairsbreadth of midnight, no angel takes the blow. God walks Egypt alone while firstborn fall and blood marks the doors.
On the night of the tenth plague, Israel carves blood into the threshold while neighbors keep twelve months of silence and trust.
On the tenth plague night, clay images of dead sons crumbled to powder and house-dogs dragged old bones into the courtyards of Egypt.
On the fourteenth, between the evenings, Israel slaughters the lamb in the Temple courts or is cut off for missing the fixed season.
They had cattle enough to carry anything. They put the wet dough on their own shoulders instead, and walked out with Egypt's gods melted down.
On the fourteenth of Nisan, when the day falls on Shabbat, Israel holds the knife while two laws collide and only one may rule the hour.
With wet flour stranded on a mountain road before Passover, the Baal Shem Tov weeps until Elijah answers, and fire later crowns his dancers.
God cut the covenant with Abraham one spring night. On that same date angels told him Sarah would bear Isaac, and later Israel walked out of Egypt.
Moses made the elders pull their hands off Egypt's idols before anyone touched a lamb. Four hundred years leave residue. Blood went on the lintels that night.
A woman in Goshen dug one hard crumb out of the mortar with her fingernail. Lamb's blood was drying on the door, and her firstborn son watched.
On Nisan night Israel ate whole lamb from open flame with horehound and lettuce before midnight, loins girded, staff ready.
Israel stayed behind blood-marked lintels while Egypt screamed, because once the destroyer received leave he would not sort righteous from wicked in the street.
Toward evening they slaughtered. At sunset they began to eat. At midnight, the hour Israel left Egypt, leftover flesh met fire and not the morning.
At twilight they slaughtered the lamb and painted both posts. One command of blood bought mercy while Egypt's idols melted and favor filled Israelite hands.
On Passover night Isaac sent Esau to hunt while storehouses of dew opened. Jacob went forced and weeping in royal clothes, and ten blessings crowned him.
Before the first Passover, Israel must circumcise to eat the lamb. Eden winds carry the roast scent, two bloods mingle, and God kisses each doorway.
A jar of old dough sat in the corner of the house. The lamb hung ready, but no one could cut its throat until the last crumbs were burned.
The dough never rose. Hands slapped it flat while the night smelled of lamb blood. When the first piece cracked, the children grimaced and the elders did not.
