How did that night of Yetzias Mitzrayim look, as the Jews sat in their homes, eating the Korban Pesach, and waiting for the promise of “chatzos halaylah” to be fulfilled?
My eyes scanned the area in front of me, as I mentally counted the people there. My seven children and their children. Nearly 100 people in one home.
“Where is Avihu?” I whispered to myself as I looked for my son Matanyah’s third child. “Ah, there. And Yocheved?”
“Has anyone seen Yocheved?” I raised my voice.
“She’s here, Ima!” Evyasar yelled back.
“Quickly, let’s go, it’s almost bein ha’arbayim, dusk! Go out with the lamb, we need to slaughter it!” Matanyah shouted. “What a mess it is here! All these sacks of gold and silver from the Egyptians…” He nudged the sacks aside, then undid the knot that tied the lamb to the bed.
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