Pass Over Me
Tonight......
Rivqah Yahsepha, age 16, 10-26-5766 (12-28-2005)
Rivqah Yahsepha, age 16, 10-26-5766 (12-28-2005)
I am Tzereth, Splendor. My father named
me. When I was born, he took me in his arms and laughed. He said,
“This is Tzereth. The splendor shall never depart from Israel. We may be slaves now, but we will not remain so very long, for
hwhy, Yahweh will soon deliver us.” He laughed again. “Pharoah
thinks he’s got it all under his thumb, but the real Elohim will soon reveal His
splendor, and Israel will rise up in the stead of her father Abraham.” But
it took too long. Elohim did not come soon enough, and my father lost
hope. So did my mother. And now Yahweh is just about ready to
deliver us, and neither they nor my nineteen-year-old brother Tzadaq,
Justice believe. Tzadaq says that there never really will be justice
unless we can come up with some plan of revenge against
Pharoah.
At first my heart was filled with excitement and delight. Yahweh smote the Egyptians with one plague after another. I knew it was just a matter of time until they would tire of the continual troubles and loose their hold on the chosen people, Israel. But my family’s opinion was different. “This Moses pretends he’s really sent of Yahweh,” my father spat angrily. “But if Yahweh wanted to deliver us He would get it taken care of. He wouldn’t keep teasing us with Pharoah’s empty promises. Yahweh cares nothing for us, and will leave us in bondage until we die.”
“Father, please don’t talk like that,” I pleaded. “Remember what Yahweh instructed Moses to tell Pharoah the other day? He told him, ‘And in very deed, for this have I raised thee up, for to shew in thee My power, and that My Name might be declared throughout all the earth.’ ”
“Tzereth, you be quiet about it,” my father commanded harshly. “You
are only 15 years old. Do you think that just because Moses says that
Yahweh tells him to say these things, that that is a fact? What Moses is
doing is making a laughingstock of Israel, and causing us to be hated with a
fiercer hatred.”
I fell silent. It is no use to try to change my father’s mind. But in my heart I know that Yahweh will deliver us very soon.
~~~~~~~
I have been tearfully pleading with my family on
and off all day, but nothing I say will persuade them. Now I watch Tzadaq
with the dread that is born of love for one’s brother. He will not
hear. Nor will Father and Mother. Moses commanded, “Draw out and
take you a lamb, according to your families, and kill the Passover. And ye
shall take a bunch of hyssop and dip it in the blood that is in the basin, and
strike the lintel and the two side posts with the blood that is in the basin:
and none of you shall go out at the door of his house until the morning.
For Yahweh will pass through to smite the Egyptians, and when He seeth the blood
upon the lintel and on the two side posts, Yahweh will pass over the door, and
will not suffer the destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you.”
When Moses gave this command, Father openly roared these words in Moses’ face:
“I will do no such thing! Quit acting like it’s up to you to tell us what
to do!” And when he carried home the message to the family, Tzadak put his
chin out defiantly and declared that such instructions were nonsense.
“That Moses must just want to see how stupid we are,” he growled.
But in spite of all of this, I have always loved Tzadak. He has been my strong and adored big brother. I have always respected him. It has saddened me that he cannot see the soon-coming deliverance of Shaddai, the Almighty, but that has not decreased my love for him. Now I behold him with sorrow. In fourteen days he will die... unless Yahweh saves him on my behalf.
~~~~~~~
Every day as I labor for the Egyptians, I
cry. Every time I speak with Tzadak, I have to fight tears. In spite
of my “ridiculous notions”, as he calls my belief, he still loves me very
much. He still looks at me with that fond expression on his face, speaks
with that tender brotherliness that he always has spoken with, and smiles with
his old engaging smile when he’s teasing me. All of this calls forth the
tears of love and heartache that I find hard to control. And every night
when our little dwelling is quiet, I cry softly into my pillow. With each
passing day my heart breaks more and more, for each night is a countdown of the
few remaining days I have left with my beloved brother.
Now it is the tenth day of the month. All around me, Israelite families are selecting their Passover lambs. I have only four days left with Tzadak. My heart is torn in pieces. How can Father be so blind? How can Mother not see that she will soon lose her firstborn? How can Tzadak be so foolish? Oh my foolish and erring brother, cherished in my heart, you are rushing blindly and stubbornly to your death!
~~~~~~~
It is a quiet evening. Everywhere in Goshen
the lambs are being slaughtered. Now the blood is being spread on the
doorways, a sign of humble belief in hwhy, Yahweh. Our home is
different. No lamb was chosen on the tenth day of the month. Mother
is cooking herb rice for supper. Father is engaged in a conversation with
Tzadaq. I am sitting watching my brother with longing in my heart, with an
intense desire to somehow stop what is about to happen. I contain myself
for a while, but finally I can bear it no longer and I burst into tears.
Running to my father, I grab his arm. “Father! Please, PLEASE go and
ask one of our neighbors for some of the blood from their
lamb!"
Father shakes me off. “Tzereth, go help your mother,” he says irritably. “You need something to do.”
“I’ll be glad when this night is over,” Tzadak mutters. “Then Tzereth will be able to act normal again.”
“Tzadak,” I cry in agony. “You will not live to see the morning. You will not know when this night is over unless we do something fast.”
“Tzereth, I don’t want to hear any more of it. Do you hear me?” my father asks sternly.
Numbly I begin to set the table. It is useless. There is nothing I can do except watch my brother die. "Oh Yahweh!" I cry inwardly, "Please look down from heaven and behold the faith of Your handmaiden. Please let Tzadak live for my sake. It is not my fault that Father will not obey You. How can You be so cruel to me and take my only brother when it is not my fault?
~~~~~~~
When everyone is asleep I silently creep out of my
bed and over to where my brother slumbers peacefully. Now my days with him
are decreased to hours. Lying my hand ever so gently on his wavy black
hair I let the tears fall. I drink in every aspect of his handsome
features that I can: his thick eyebrows, his slightly-parted lips, his eyes that
are so perceptive when they are open, his short beard that has been growing for
just seven months, his large nose, his sun-tanned cheeks, his wavy hair that
comes down over his forehead, his ears that have taken in everything I have told
him..... except one thing, the most important thing. Everything about him
is seared on my mind and in my heart. I will never forget. But as I
kneel by his bedside, it is a constant struggle to control my sobs lest I wake
him.
Midnight is drawing near. Isn’t Father going to rise and seek to reverse the terrible punishment in the last few hours that he has left to do so? Isn’t Mother going to slip out of bed and come check her son, lay her tender hand against his cheek, and make sure he’s OK? No. Midnight comes closer and closer. The time appointed of Yahweh and spoken by Moses is about to be upon us. Good-bye, Tzadak. I love you so much.
~~~~~~~
In the quiet of the night I sensed the presence of
ha sachat, the destroyer. Some obscure note of destruction filled our
dwelling, a tense feeling enveloped me, the darkness seemed blacker than before,
and I knew that my vigil was over. Terrified, I grabbed Tzadak’s hand, no
longer worried about waking him up. If only I COULD wake him and lead him
off of the path of death.... but it was too late. Aroused by my sudden
grasping of his hand, Tzadak stirred and began to pull away from me. But
suddenly he gripped my hand with a wrenching pressure that made me cry out, and
at the same moment he let loose a holler of fear and pain. His arm shook
violently, and then the hand that had been so strong for a moment fell limply to
the bed. He was gone.... I knew it. And with his departure, the
presence of the destroyer, also glided away.
I began to wail. My voice rose with a piercing and bitter cry that woke my parents. “Tzereth, are you doing it again?” asked my mother with irritation in her sleepy voice.
“Mother, he’s gone!” I cried. “Father, he’s dead!”
For the first time, Father and Mother did not silence my words of dread. For the first time they took me serious. Mother came tearing over to Tzadak’s bedside. Father shuffled hurriedly after her, calling his son’s name. I rose, feeling as if I were a walking dead woman, and lit a flame. My father seized it from me and held it near Tzadak. Then my mother too began to wail. She took me in her arms and cried bitterly. Even my father sat down on the edge of his bed, buried his face in his hands, and shook with sobs. It was a horrible nightmare, and yet it was a reality.
~~~~~~~
We are leaving Mitzrayim, Egypt. But we are
also leaving Tzadak. My father’s face is expressionless, as though he is
trying to block out all of the horror that he feels. Tears fall from my
mother’s eyes as she walks beside our flocks. We are surrounded by fellow
Israelites who are rejoicing at the miraculous hand of Elohim in smiting
Israel’s enemies and delivering her. But we travel in sorrow and
destitution, fervently desiring to be alone and away from all of the
thanksgiving of our neighbors.
We have stopped to rest for the night. Now Moses stands up before everyone. I glance at my father. His eyes are downcast. It must be hard to face this man who looked out for the well being of his people. It must be hard to face this man whom he had openly scorned. It must be hard to face this man whose predictions had been true.
Moses begins to speak: “You have seen how Yahweh has smitten the firstborn of Egypt, their pride and future. Now, unto you who have been delivered by your faith in Elohim, Shaddai, the Almighty says: ‘Sanctify unto Me all the first born, whatsoever openeth the womb among the children of larcy, Israel, both of man and of beast: it is mine.' " My mother weeps quietly by my side. My father bows his head in grief.
~~~~~~~
I am lying awake in our tent. I cannot
sleep. I still hear muffled sniffling coming from my mother. I feel
Tzadak’s absence, and shiver with remembrance and sorrow. I lie here
trying to remember everything that I can about Tzadak: his face, his manly
stride, his gentle kindness, his lack of belief, his stubbornness, his laughing
and teasing, his brotherly kindness. Now and then tears well up in my eyes
and I have to stifle a sob.
By and by, everything grows still. I hear the slow even breathing of my mother. Then, a dark shadow arises. It is my father. He emerges from his place of repose and quietly goes out into the night. In the soft glow that comes from the moon, I see him kneel on the ground and lift his arms to El Shaddai. I hear him whisper in a grief-stricken voice, “Yahweh, I have no firstborn to give you.” He pauses for a long moment, then whispers again, his tone now one of dedication and purpose. “But heavenly Ab, Father, from henceforth and for ever I give You my all. I give You myself.” Then, with humble pleading, “Take my sins far from me. Wash away the filth that has built up in my heart. In Your mercy, Father, pass over me and my family tonight.”
By and by, everything grows still. I hear the slow even breathing of my mother. Then, a dark shadow arises. It is my father. He emerges from his place of repose and quietly goes out into the night. In the soft glow that comes from the moon, I see him kneel on the ground and lift his arms to El Shaddai. I hear him whisper in a grief-stricken voice, “Yahweh, I have no firstborn to give you.” He pauses for a long moment, then whispers again, his tone now one of dedication and purpose. “But heavenly Ab, Father, from henceforth and for ever I give You my all. I give You myself.” Then, with humble pleading, “Take my sins far from me. Wash away the filth that has built up in my heart. In Your mercy, Father, pass over me and my family tonight.”
For the first time in many days a surge of thanksgiving and gladness passes over me. A heavy weight is lifted from my heart. I want to lift my hands in thanksgiving to Yahweh, but I refrain from doing so just in case Father should see and know that I am awake. My father rises from his prayer and comes back into the tent. He draws near to where I am lying. I squeeze my eyes tight shut and lay as still as I can. Then I feel his shadow over me as he stoops and kisses my cheek.