The Maggid of Bergenfield

Beshalach: The Manna Bakeoff

Before beginning a new story of the Maggid, a few aknowledgements are in order.

Thanks to MomInIsrael for posting a nice interview with yours truly on her blog. She is an old friend from college, and it was fun to be profiled on her blog.

Thanks to the readers of Jblogcentral for voting  for The Maggid of Bergenfield as the gold medal winner for Best Jewish Humor Blog. It is an honor to be chosen, and I appreciate your support.

And now, back to our regular weekly parsha.

Shemot: 16: 11-28

The Manna Bakeoff was a yearly event at Congregation Ohavei Yisroel in Fairlawn. It was a big fundraiser for the sisterhood and was also very popular with the membership of the synagogue. The sisterhood loved it because it brought in a lot of funds and allowed them to show off their culinary abilities, and the congregation favored it because there was some serious grub to be devoured.

The premise was simple. Each sisterhood member was asked to offer an interpretation of what the manna that the people of Israel ate in the wilderness tasted like. There were no limits to what the contestants could produce, though it had to be either dairy or pareve and had to be nonalcoholic. Any and all views on the manna were encouraged, as long as they were tasty. The judges chose the winner based on delectability, creativity, and adherence to the spirit of the parsha.

Last year Mrs. Silverstein won with her seven layer cake. Each layer was a different type of cake, with a variety of creams separating the layers (chocolate, caramel, vanilla, butterscotch, raspberry, and peach), which was meant to signify the view that the manna tasted like whatever you wanted it to.

Two years ago, the top honors went to Mrs. Mendelowitz for a model of the encampment of the twelve tribes in the desert made out of creatively dyed gingerbread and marzipan (She called it her desert dessert). It had very little to do with the actual manna per se, but it garnered high scores for creativity and historical accuracy. The gingerbread was pretty good, too.

This year's judges were Rabbi Feintuch (as Rabbi of the shul he insisted on serving on the panel yearly), Mrs. Silverstein (president of the sisterhood and reigning manna champion), Mrs. Breidbardt (owner and chef at Chez Tzippy, the local kosher French bistro), and Mr. Segal (winner of the Chanukah latke eating contest three years in a row).

The different manna entries were scattered about the synagogue social hall in random order, with each contestant standing behind her entry to offer commentary and field any questions that might arise.

As every year, honey cakes were very popular. That was because the Torah described the manna as Kizerah gad lavan, veta'amo kitsapichit bidvash. It was like a coriander seed, it was white, and it tasted like a cake fried in honey. Mrs. Cahan had made a cornbread that she subsequently fried in butter and honey, citing loyalty to the original text (though she did openly aknowledge that corn was actually a new world crop). This met with the approval of the rabbi, and Mr. Segal went back for a second helping.

Mrs. Yurowitz made a towering chocolate cake, dripping with thick fudge frosting. She was also adhering to the concept that the manna could taste like anything the consumer desired. She figured that since it could be anything, she had might as well pull out all the stops and go with her best dessert. Unfortunately, although the recipe was extraordinary, she had published it the year before in the shul cookbook, Nosherei from Ohavei Yisroel, and everyone in the community baked it often. Due to its familiarity, the perfection of the cake was lost on the judges.

The eventual winner of the 2007 Manna Bakeoff was a dark horse candidate. Mrs. Lefkowitz baked a giant flat water challah, about the size of a manhole cover. It had a very light taste and left you wanting more, but still Rabbi Feintuch had some questions.

"Nu, Varda, why is this the taste of manna?"

"Well, Rabbi, it's actually quite simple. When Hashem describes the manna to Moshe, He says that the people of Israel will go out six days a week and pick their portion, Lima'an anasenu hayelech bitorati im lo. So that I can test them. Will they follow My teaching or not. Clearly the manna is associated with some sort of test by G-d. But wasn't the manna really a reward? What was the test?

"Rashi suggests that the test was whether the Jewish people would follow the laws regarding how to gather the manna, like not to leave any over for the next day, and to gather twice as much on Friday.

"But the Ramban has a different approach. To him, the manna was a very basic food, and the trial was to see if the Jews could live in the barren wilderness on this simple diet in obedience with G-d's command. If they could exist on this plain bread it would be a powerful sign of their faith. So the manna itself was the trial.

"My version of manna reflects this interpretation. It's simple, but I hope it's still to your liking."

It was obvious that the rabbi was sold. Mrs. Silverstein liked the story and the recipe, as did Tzippy Breidbardt. After all the heavy cakes, the water challah was a welcome respite. Mr. Segal was already on his fourth piece of the challah, and although his mouth was quite full, he nodded in affirmation.

After the prize was awarded-- a plaque and a fifty dollar gift certificate to Petak's Food Emporium-- all the contestants mingled with the crowd and traded recipes. The proceeds were tallied and announced, to the applause of the entire assemblage. Rabbi Feintuch said a few words, and then Mrs. Silverstein, as the sisterhood president, thanked all the contestants and reminded them that the Hammantashen Bakeathon was only three weeks away. That announcement elicited another round of applause, one much louder than the rabbis's speech had a few minutes earlier. All in all, a good time was had by all.

Bo: Let my People Go: Then and Now

Shemot: 10: 3, 12: 17

Whenever the family flew to Miami to visit Savta and Grandpops over the winter break from school, it was always an adventure. From a fossil hunt behind the local Dunkin Donuts (complete with a stop for calorie-laden treats) to an African safari barbecue by the pool in the backyard, there was no predicting what might happen next.

So when Savta presented her granddaughter Rebecca with a small box wrapped in shiny paper and a bow, Rebecca could hardly contain her excitement. What could it be? Earrings? A new game? A wind-up gorrilla?

Rebecca made quick work of the wrapping paper and opened the box with anticipation. Inside she found a large Star of David on an old gold chain. The star had once been painted gold, but a lot of the paint had worn off. Two of the corners of the star were bent backwards, giving it the appearance of an old western sheriff's badge from a town where perhaps the sheriff had lost his last gunfight.

"Thanks Savta, It's beautiful."

"Don't mention it, dear."

"What is it?"

"Read what it says."

On one side of the star was raised lettering which read Shlach et ami in Hebrew, and in English LET MY PEOPLE GO. In the center of the pendant was a smaller Star of David, this one wrapped in chains with a lock at the bottom of the star in the shape of an old Soviet hammer and sickle symbol.

On the back of the pendant were the words USSR PRISONER OF CONSCIENCE, with a name written above the lettering. The name was hard to make out-- Izia something-- it had been rubbed thin over the years.

"Since you're here the week of Parshat Bo, I figured this would be the right time to give you this."

"How come?"

"Because the words on the star come from last week's and this week's parsha. 'Let my people go.'

"Doesn't that refer to leaving Egypt?'

"That's right."

"So then why is it on that old jewelry?"

"Glad you asked. About thirty to forty years ago, there was a bad country that wouldn't let Jews practice their religion and wouldn't let them leave the country to go to places that would let them worship freely. Some Jews were even put in jail for their beliefs. So Jews all over the world protested so that they could go free. We wore necklaces like this one--your Mom wore this one for a long time-- and we went to giant rallies to protest their treatment. Grandpops and I even flew to that country, which was called the Soviet Union, for a few weeks to meet with those Jews and to offer them support."

"Wow. Was it dangerous to go there?"

"It could have been, but we went there and got out without an incident."

"That's amazing."

"I suppose it was, but I'm not telling you this story to impress you. I want you to learn something."

"What's that?"

"It's that we Jews must be dedicated to supporting freedom. Later in the parsha, when Hashem describes the laws of Pesach, it is written that the holiday should be observed Ledorotam ad olam, for your generations as an eternal law-- in other words, forever.

"The pasuk was referring to the need to observe the holiday every year forever, but I've always felt it also meant that it is the Jewish people's job to fight for freedom forever. We need to remember that we were once slaves and now we're free. That means fighting for freedom of other Jews to worship freely, whether in the old Soviet Union or wherever it may come up.

"I also think it means we have to stand up against the persecution of all people whoever and wherever they are, Jewish or not. That could be in Russia or the Sudan or wherever injustices occur."

"What's persecution?"

"Let's just say it's when people aren't being treated fairly or are put into danger."

"That's pretty heavy, Savta."

"Yeah, I guess it is, but as you get older, hopefully you'll remember what I said and take it to heart."

"Until then, can I just wear the necklace for fun?"

"Of course you can."

"And next time you get me a present, can it be, like, doll clothes?"

"How about a whole doll?"

"Works for me."

"Or maybe a dog that flips and chases its own tail?"

"I'll settle for the doll."

"It's a deal."

Bo: Making Movies

Josh Steinberg had never been to a movie mogul's office before. He was expecting it to be lavish, or at least plush. But he was disappointed. It was a big room with attractive mission furniture, an oriental rug (he assumed hand made Persian), and a view of the Pacific, if you craned your neck to the right just enough. He had been expecting something more, something larger than life. The only sign that Ron Mayer was a player was the humidor on his desk, filled with what Josh assumed were Cuban cigars, and the picture of him and John Huston on the wall.

He had never been taken seriously before. Sure, Josh had done rewrites of some blockbuster scripts in the past. Memoirs of a Geisha. Pearl Harbor. A horror flick that was never made featuring one of the cast members from Friends-- he always forgot which one. But when Josh got the call from Marty Abromowitz, his agent, that Ron Mayer wanted to meet with him, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. This was it, his big break. You don't get called to the office of the president of Tiger Gate Studios unless it was serious.

Josh elected to go without his agent. He wanted to be one on one with Mr. Mayer, to get a sense of the man. If it all worked out, they could iron out the details later. Mayer's secretary let him into the inner sanctum, they shook hands-- Ron Mayer had small hands but a firm grip-- and went to work.

"So Josh-- May I call you Josh?"

"Of course Mr. Mayer."

"Please, call me Ron."

"O.K., Ron." Josh thought his head was going to burst with glee."

"Josh, I hear you're working on something that has potential."

"I hope so Mr. , um, Ron."

"You're too modest, Josh. Everyone is talking about it in the trades. It has a lot of positive buzz."

"Thanks, Ron."

Ron Mayer picked up a cigar and rolled it between his fingers. He looked out across his desk expectantly at Josh, who stared back in silence. Josh didn't know what he was supposed to do.

"Let's have it, son. Give me your pitch."

"Oh, O.K. Essentially, it's a remake of The Ten Commandments. You know, the whole Jews out of Egypt story."

"Yes, Josh. I read the book. I went to Hebrew school, just like you."

Actually, Josh had been to much more than Hebrew school. He had attended twelve years of New Jersey's finest Jewish day schools before attending NYU Film School. But he was not about to correct Ron Mayer. No one corrects Ron Mayer.

"Right. The difference is that I'm going to do it as a strict period piece, hewing very close to the original. The characters are going to speak in ancient Hebrew and Egyptian, with subtitles. And we're going to be very loyal to the story, using the actual words of the Torah as our guide."

"Kind of like Mel Gibson in The Passion of the--"

"Lehavdil." Josh jumped in. "But essentially, yes, it's the same idea. And I want to use Jewish actors as much as possible for authenticity."

"Authenticity?"

"Yes. I thought that either they might feel a stronger connection to the material or perhaps they already had some Hebrew skills."

"And why not? I'm sure that will play well in the press. After all, Hollywood could use a stronger Jewish presence."

Josh assumed Ron was making a joke, but he went on.

"The script's already written, and my agent's been sending out feelers to see who might be interested."

"Well, it's certainly an unusual idea, picking Jewish actors on purpose." Ron said. "We could cast Natalie Portman as Moses' wife. What's her name?"

"Tziporah."

"Right. And maybe Zack Braff as Moses. And Jake Gyllenhaal as Aaron."

"Is he Jewish?"

"I think so. At least I'm pretty sure he's at least part Jewish."

"Uh huh."

"And we could get Robert Avrech to direct. He's a natural for this. I'm guessing his Hebrew is impeccable."

"Sure, why not."

"And here's an inspired idea. How about Bill Gates as the voice of G-d?"

"Um. I don't think Bill Gates is Jewish."

"Really? I always assumed he was."

"No, I'm pretty sure." Josh said in his most contrite voice.

"Then how about Steven Spielberg? He would make a great G-d! Some people in the industry would swear he already thinks he's playing the role."

Josh gave Ron a few seconds to laugh at his own joke.

"But seriously, Spielberg is an inspired choice. If he gets on board, we could get some great special effects for the plagues."

"Actually, he did an animated movie about this story. It was called The Prince of Egypt."

Ron slapped his desk top. "Of course he did! Still, he might consider the whole G-d thing. He's very spiritual, you know. And essentially, it is just a cameo. You know that Cecil deMille did G-d's voice in the original."

"By the original I assume you mean The Ten Commandments, with Charlton Heston?"

"Of course."

"Because in the original, I think G-d did His own voice."

"Yes, I see your point."

Silence ensued for a few moments, then Ron spoke.

"So what's the hook?"

"The hook?"

"Yeah, what does the movie hang on? What is the key to the movie, the denouement, so to speak."

Josh cleared his throat.

"The script is based around the first commandment that Hashem, G-d , gives the Israelites in Egypt. Just before the Plague of the First Born hits, G-d tells the Jews Hachodesh hazeh lachem rosh chadashim. This month will be for you the beginning of months. G-d is telling the Jews to establish the Jewish calendar. The people are now responsible for setting when Rosh Chodesh, the new moon , occurs every month. That makes them responsible for controlling the days the holidays will take place. It shows the direct and close relationship between G-d and man in Judaism."

"But Josh," Ron said, "where's the action?"

"It doesn't have action. The story is about the forming of a nation."

"Couldn't you focus on the plagues? Now that's drama for you. Or at least concentrate on the next commandment, the Passover sacrifice. Then you can open with a closeup of blood on the doorposts. Blood puts people in movie seats, let me tell you."

"No, it's Rosh Chodesh, the new moon. That's the key to the whole story."

"How about a relationship crisis to liven things up? In The Ten Commandments there's this whole love triangle between Moses, played by Charlton Heston, and an Egyptan Princess, Olivia de Havilland, and Pharaoh, Yul Brenner. And in Prince of Egypt, there's sibling rivalry between Moses, the voice of Val Kilmer, and Pharaoh, the voice of Ralph Fiennes."

"No, said Josh. "In this movie I'm staying close to the original, so the relationship that matters is between G-d and the Jewish people. And that's where the celebration of the new moon comes in.

"This commandment is so important that Rashi, the midevil Jewish commentator par excellence--"

"Yes, I know who Rashi is," Ron interjected.

"Sorry. This mitzvah is so important that Rashi's first words on the Torah, all the way back at the beginning of Bereishit, ask why doesn't the Torah just start from Hachodesh hazeh lachem."

"Wow. That's heavy."

"Yeah, I know. So that's the heart of the movie. There's no other way."

"Groovy. Far be it from me to question your artistic vision," Ron said.

"Thank you."

"The whole thing sounds terrific to me. Tell Marty to give me a call and we'll see if we can get the ball rolling."

"Wow, really?"

"Yes, really. My people tell me the script really rocks. And besides, I respect your integrity."

"That's great, Ron." Josh shook hands with Ron Mayer again and started toward the door.

"And Josh, how about Ben Kingsley to reprise the Edward G. Robinson role of the evil Dathan from the original movie? Or maybe Richard Dreyfus?"

"Call my agent," Josh said, as he closed the door behind him.

Va'eyra: The Plagues: A Modern Version

As I was eating breakfast in front of the television-- a nice piece of Lebanese baklava with a cup of Earl Grey tea-- the weatherman for Good Morning Egypt was standing in front of his map of the country, pointing toward the Nile Delta.

"Today will be partly cloudy, with a twenty percent chance of frogs."

Suddenly from the window to his side-- you know, the one where all the adoring fans stand outside waving signs that say things like "We love Goshen," or "Ahmed. will you marry me?"-- a small green object splattered against the window pane.

"Make that a ninety percent chance of frogs."

I shut off the television. Things had been pretty weird since the Nile turned to blood last month. Back then I was stuck drinking whatever was left over in my fridge for seven days straight: beer, lemonade, tomato sauce, pickle brine, it made no difference. And none of us got to bathe for a week. It had gotten ugly. And to make matters worse, all the fish had died. People did what they could, but after a few days of bass ice cream, pike preserves, and freeze dried mackerel, we started losing interest. All the fishermen were out of work, and they had families to feed. It was a mess.

Everyone seemed to take the frogs in stride. I must admit, I found it hard to sleep, what with the frogs here, frogs there, frogs jumping everywhere, and a lot of public events had to be canceled, including a soccer game that I had been looking forward to for months. It was hard to get anything accomplished, as the whole countryside was covered in amphibians, but after a while, you kind of got used to it. The only people making a living that week were the pest  control companies. While the Cairo Stock Exchange had plummeted, Scarab Busters was up fifty-percent.

There's no denying that the lice was unpleasant.The pharmacies ran out of Nix, Rid, Lice-Be-Gone, and every other lice treatment within an hour after the infestation started. At first all the schools were closed, but they soon reopened after the Board of Health realized that everyone was infested. For me this plague really hit home because even if you lived in an expensive condominium, or were an important politician, you had lice. It was an equal opportunity plague.

Pharaoh decided to address the nation on the second night of the lice. The newspapers had played up the fact that the King's sorcerers couldn't duplicate Moses' trick, so clearly this was the work of a powerful deity. Pharaoh's numbers were dropping in the polls, and more Egyptians were starting to think we should just let the Israelites go.

I got a bunch of friends together that night to watch Pharaoh's speech on my big screen TV. I called it the "Scratch Your Itch Party," and a lot of people came, despite how uncomfortable they all were. Pharaoh wore a gold head dress-- most likely to hide his lice-- and looked visibly uncomfortable. He spoke of staying the course and of national pride. "No, no, no, I will not let them go," was his catchiest sound bite that night, and it was all the rage the next day at the blood-free water coolers.

People were pretty demoralized when the swarm of wild beasts came. Everyone just locked their doors and stayed inside. The media kept alternating between footage of some Animal Kingdom show and Pharaoh's speech from the week before, but no one wanted to watch. Finally, a story broke that Pharaoh was in negotiations with Moses to give the Israelites limited worshipping rights, but apparently the plan fell through. Moses stated it was an all or nothing deal. Still, everytime a plague ended, the Egyptian people had hope. Then rumors would start of the next plague, and the next thing you knew it was upon us. It was then that people really started to lose it.

They were calling the next plague Crazy Camel Disease, but it wasn't just the camels. The cows, horses, and sheep died, too. At this point a national malaise fell over Egypt. I lost a camel and two horses. With the help of some friends, we dragged their carcasses out to the street for the garbagemen to pick up, like we did with the frogs we had swept up from all over the house in the earlier plague, but the sanitation department couldn't pick them up for obvious reasons. All its donkeys were gone. It felt like the garbage strike of '29.

O.K., I'm going to be honest with you. The boils? They were the worst. I mean, I thought the lice were bad. But boils? Just awful. The papers carried the story that even the sorcerers of Pharaoh had them. But for me, I started to worry when I heard my dermatologist was stricken.

Actually, if you don't count the property damage and the idiots who stayed outside during the storm and died, the hail was kind of cool. I mean, hail that turns to fire when it hits the ground? There's a story to tell your children someday, assuming you live that long. We tried to scoop it up with oven mitts and have fireball fights, but it just wouldn't make good hail balls. I guess you need lighter hail for that, or perhaps just not of divine origin.

That's where we are now. Pharaoh has come up with a new plan to handle the "spate of unnatural occurences," as he calls them, and he still refuses to let the Israelites go. Personally, I don't get it. I've heard of stubborn, but this is ridiculous.

There are rumors of some great darkness coming. Sounds good. I could use the rest. And yet, after all that we've been through, and despite the threat of impending blackness, I'm starting to think I can see some light at the end of the tunnel. I mean, how much worse could it get?

Va'eyra: Even Prophets Get the Blues

Shemot: 5: 22, 6: 2-9

                                          (For Abby)

"Spell geography."

"G-I-O-G-R-A-F-Y"

"Um, not quite."

"Chavi had a spelling test the next day, and things weren't going so well. Why an eight-year-old needed to know how to spell the word meridian was beyond her mother, Becky, but who was she to question the reasoning of a third grade teacher?

"It's G-E-O-G-R-A-P-H-Y."

"O.K."

"How about intermediate?"

"I-N-T-E-R..."

"Yes..."

"M-E-D-I-A-T..."

"Yes..." Becky leaned forward, trying to draw the last letter out of her daughter, but it was not forthcoming."

"E," Becky added.

"Are you sure?"

"Mmm hmm."

"No. There is no 'E' at the end of intermediate."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there is."

Chavi snatched the spelling list from her mother's hands and checked in disbelief. Sure enough the "E" had magically materialized at the end of the word.

"I give up."

"Oh, come on, Chavi."

"No. This is impossible." Chavi folded her arms across her chest and looked away, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

Chavi was actually an excellent student, but sometimes she took things too much to heart. She usually did her homework as soon as she got off the school bus, but today she had been distracted by everything, from a call from her grandmother to her little brother's playdate. Now it was eight o'clock, and she was fading fast.

"Try latitude."

"L-A-T-T"

"One 'T'."

"Are you sure?"

"Take my word for it."

"I quit."

Spelling was officially done for the night.

"Listen, Chavi, you're not the first person to ever get discouraged. I've had times when things seemed impossible, too. In fact, even Moshe Rabeinu had his off moments."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. At the end of last week's parsha, Shemot, Moses is feeling down. Pharaoh increased the workload of the Jews, and they take it out on poor Moshe. Moses complains to Hashem and says: Lama zeh shlachtani, Why did you send me to Pharaoh?

"This week's parsha, Va'eyra opens with a pep talk from G-d. He reminds Moshe of the forefathers. He reminds him of His promise to save Israel. Let me tell you, G-d can be very convincing when He wants to be. Then Moshe goes back to the Jewish people with the new message, and they still don't listen to him. The Torah says: Velo Shamoo el Moshe mikotser ruach ve'avodah kashah. Israel didn't listen to Moses because of shortness of breath and hard work. Can you imagine? We're talking G-d here!"

"I get it, Mom."

"Well, as you know, despite Moshe being bummed out, the story has a happy ending. He goes back to Pharaoh, and ten plagues, a split sea, and a whole lot of matzoh later, it all works out."

"O.K. So what's your point?"

"You're allowed to be discouraged sometimes. It's only natural. Even prophets get the blues. But just know that if you stick with it, there's a good chance it'll all work out."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Don't mention it. Now, spell opportunistic."

"What? That's not on the list."

"Just kidding. Go take a shower. You're done for tonight."

"V-E-R-Y  F-U-N-N-Y."

I sincerely hope I made no spelling errors in this story. There's nothing worse than a spelling story with spelling mistakes.

Shemot: The Rewards of a Good Delivery

Shemot: 1: 21

Dr. Weinberg knocked lightly on the door.

"Anybody home?"

Mrs. Klein sat up in her hospital bed.

"Come on in , Doc."

"How are we today?"

"Just great, Dr. Weinberg, and I have you to thank."

"Oh, don't be silly. I was just doing what any obstetrician would have done." She smiled politely.

"That's not what I hear," Mrs. Klein said. "From what the nurses told me, you were amazing. If it had been any other doctor, I would have ended up with a Caesarian section, but thanks to your patience and your cool under pressure, my daughter was born without a hitch."

"Thank you, but it was nothing, really." Dr. Weinberg said, glancing down at the chart. "How is the baby doing?"

"Great. She was in the room a few minutes ago, and everything is perfect. She's feeding well, and she's as pink as can be."

"That's terrific."

"Dr. Weinberger, my husband and I were wondering about something."

"Yes?"

"We really appreciate everything you did for us, and we were wondering if there were some gift we could buy you to show our appreciation."

"No, no, that's totally unnecessary."

"But we insist."

"That's really sweet. Thank you.  I suppose there is something I could use."

"Just name it and it's yours."

"Well, to be quite frank, I could use a new house. It's been getting kind of cramped in our little colonial, with the three kids, the husband, the two dogs, the cat, and the goldfish."

"Excuse me?"

"And the garage barely fits the minivan."

"We were thinking more like a bottle of wine."

"The closets have always been a little on the small side."

"Maybe some chocolate?"

"And the roof probably needs some work."

"Perhaps a gift cerificate to a spa, or something like that."

"And the landscaping is a disaster."

"Dr. Weinberg!"

"What?"

"Surely you're not serious. We were thinking more of a small token of our appreciation, not a piece of real estate."

"I suppose you're right," the doctor said with a sigh. "Still, it's always been my dream that someone would buy me a house to thank me."

"That seems a bit much, wouldn't you say?"

"No, not really. That's the way G-d rewarded the midwives for delivering the Jewish babies."

"What do you mean?"

In Parshat Shemot, when the midwives, Shifra and Poo'ah, save the male Jewish babies from Pharaoh's decree of death and deliver them in good health, it says: Vayehi ki yaroo hameyaldot et haElokim vay'as lahem batim. And it was because the midwives feared G-d that he made them houses. I've always thought that was a nice way of looking at the job I do everyday, how G-d watches over the delivery of babies. But on a more literal level, according to the Torah it would seem that a house would be the proper reward for a nice, healthy baby delivery. Wouldn't you agree?"

"First of all, said Mrs. Klein, "that was a reward from G-d, not the parents of the babies. I'm sure that back then a nice loaf of bread would have sufficed as a gift, thank you very much. Second of all, I'm not sure Hashem actually gave them houses. Rashi suggests that the reward for Shifra and Poo'ah, who are actually Yocheved and Mirriam by his interpretation, was actually a family dynasty, particularly the house of the Cohanim, the priests, and the house of King David."

"Really?" said Dr. Weinberg. "Well, if that's the case, I suppose a bottle of wine will be just fine."

"White or red?"

"Surprise me."

Shemot: Free at Last

Bereishit 5: 3,  7: 26

"Mom, can I have orange soda?"

"No, dear."

"Please?"

It was a Monday night in Springfield, and Dina Traub was sitting in the local deli, Essabissel, with her youngest child, Danielle. Her husband was away on business in Denver, her oldest was at basketball practice until eight, and her second-born was at choir and then was planning to sleep at a friend's. It was just her and her baby with a night on the town, and she was feeling, for lack of a better term, free.

"Sure, Danielle, orange soda is fine. But don't tell your brother or sister. it will be our secret."

That really made Danielle smile. Orange soda and a secret.

They had already eaten all the pickles the waiter had put out on the table and polished off most of the rye bread in the basket. The restaurant was empty. Dina assumed most families were home polishing off the last of their shabbat leftovers on a Monday night or eating something you could whip up quickly, like baked ziti or fish sticks. Who goes out to eat on a Monday? It's a school night, with lots of homework and plenty of responsibilities. Piano practice. Board meetings. Work assignments. Sitting in the empty Essabissel with only one child, Dina felt buoyant, almost decadent.

"And Danielle? If you finish your chicken nuggets, you can have any dessert you want."

"Even jello?"

"Even jello. With whip cream, if you like."

"Holy cow."

As for Dina, she normally didn't eat red meat-- high cholesterol, and all that-- but tonight she ordered a double-decker sandwich, corned beef and pastrami. Tonight, all bets were off.

"You know, Danielle, we're starting to read the book of Shemot in shul this week."

"I know, Mommy. That's when we were slaves and then left Egypt."

"Yes, well, that's probably more next week's parsha. this week we're still slaves."

"Bummer."

"Um, yes, bummer. Major league bummer. Still, I can't help feeling like tonight we're celebrating our freedom."

"Really?"

"Yes," said Dina, pinching Danielle's cheek lightly, "Thanks to Hashem freeing us from Egypt, we're no longer slaves, and we're free to do as we please. We can do goofy things, like drink orange soda or eat whip cream. Tonight, I feel especially liberated. Do you know what I mean?"

"Sure, Mommy."

But how could an eight-year-old girl in suburban New Jersey know anything about liberation? For that matter, how could she, a thirty-eight year old soccer mom, understand either? To understand freedom fully, one probably had to experience true servitude.

The orange soda arrived before their main courses.

"Can I drink my soda now?"

Any other night the answer would have been no. Danielle would have been instructed to wait for her main course.

"Sure, honey, but don't forget to make a bracha."

"Of course, Mommy.'

"Do you know why?"

"Because you have to make a bracha on everything you eat?"

"Well, yes, of course. But I was still thinking of Parshat Shemot. When the Jews were freed from Egypt, they didn't leave just to escape slavery and have orange soda in the desert. They were going out to worship Hashem. When Moshe and Aharon tell Pharaoh to free the Jews, they say Nelcha na derech shloshet yamim bamidbar venizbechah laHashem Elokeinu. Let us now go for a three day journey in the wilderness, and we shall bring offerings to Hashem our G-d. Hashem says it even more clearly in next week's parsha: Shlach et ami veya'avdooni.  Send my people out that they may serve me.

"So we are free, but we use our freedom to worship G-d. No orange soda without the blessing."

"Got it."

Danielle unsheathed her straw, blowing the paper cover across the table at her mother. She made the blessing, Shehakol nihiyeh bidvaro Through whose word everything came to be, and then drained the bubbly orange liquid in what seemed to be one giant suck. The slurp noise from the straw at the bottom of the ice-filled glass happened in a matter of seconds.

" Freedom is good."

"Aint that the truth."

Vayechi: Of Redemption and Hot Sauce

Bereishit: 48: 16

No one likes going to the principal's office. Kids certainly don't like it. Usually it means you're in some sort of trouble. Parents don't like it. It would normally indicate your child has done something wrong. I'm not sure how teachers feel about it, although I doubt a visit connotates a particular misdeed for them. But to sum it all up, I'm not even sure the principal likes going to the principal's office.

So when Morty and Cynthia Rubin were called to Rabbi Rosenthal's office to discuss their son Benjamin, they weren't too thrilled. The secretary let them in a few minutes before the rabbi arrived, and they sat down in the hard wooden chairs, shifting back and forth in their seats. Cynthia couldn't sit still because the chair was as comfortable as a midevil torture device, and Morty had a serious case of the heeby jeebies, remembering visits he had made to this very room as a child.On the walls were friendly prints of Yerushalayim and an impressive aerial view of the Nachmanides School, but no matter how warm and fuzzy you made the room, it was still the principal's office.

Rabbi Rosenthal came into the room and sat down without a word. That was not a good sign.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rubin, it's nice to see you."

Nods all around.

"I'm sorry to call you in under such circumstances, but Binyomin is in a good deal of trouble."

"What did he do this time?" his mother asked with trepidation.

"I'm afraid he snuck into the kitchen and put some sort of hot sauce into the sloppy joe pot*. It made lunch today nearly inedible to all but the heartiest palates. Everyone ended up eating either the tuna or the plain noodles."

"That's terrible," Cynthia said.

Morty looked down at the floor and tried to suppress a smile.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rubin, is this funny?"

"No, of course not," said Morty Rubin. "But I have to admit, as practical jokes go, that's a good one. Hopefully, no one was hurt, chas veshalom. But it's so much more creative than the Vaseline on the toilet seathe did last year, or when he shook up his teacher's seltzer bottle two years ago."

"I suppose," said Rabbi Rosenthal, with a small hint of a grin, "but still, this was not a small thing he did. It spoiled lunch for all the children in the school, not to mention the teachers who look forward to Sloppy Joe Day."

"That is true," Morty said, "and clearly Benjy needs to be punished, but still, I can't say that I wasn't expecting something like this. It's what little boys like Benjy do."

"What do you mean?" the rabbi asked.

"Yes," said Cynthia Rubin, "do explain. And Rabbi," she said, turning to the principal, "this should be a doozy."

"Well, little boys aren't expected to behave any more than we are," Morty said. "In this week's parsha, Vayechi, when Yakov gives Yosef's children their bracha, he utters that famous line that is said every night with Shema, when we go to sleep: Hamalach hagoel oti mikol ra yevarech et hane'arim veyikareih bahem shemi. May the angel who redeems me from all evil bless the boys and may my name be declared upon them. Notice that Yakov says Hamalach hagoel oti mikol ra, the angel who redeems me from trouble. He doesn't say Hamalach hamone'a oti mikol ra, the angel who prevents me from getting into trouble. Clearly G-d knows we're going to get ourselves into the occasional mess. It's called free will. Yakov asks that Hashem rescue us afterward, just as He rescued him. And let me tell you, Yakov knew a bit about kids getting themselves into trouble. His bunch was definitely a handful.

"So that's how we need to manage our children. Parents and teachers should know that kids are going to get into trouble. It's inevitable. And that doesn't mean we shouldn't discipline them when they go wrong. But we should also understand that they're not expected to be perfect, any more than we are."

"That's very interesting, Mr. Rubin," Rabbi Rosenthal said.

"Thank you."

"I told you it would be good," Cynthia Rubin said.

"So how do you recommend we discipline Binyomin?"

"Well," said Morty Rubin, "I think the punishment should fit the crime. Perhaps he should have to eat a big plate of the spicy sloppy joes. Also, I think he should stay after school to clean the giant meat pot."

"Wow, that's pretty good," the rabbi said.

"I've had a lot of practice at this, Rabbi."

"Hey, are you the Morty Rubin who put the cherry bomb firecracker down the toilet in the boy's bathroom about twenty-five years ago?"

"I have no comment at this time," Morty said. "Perhaps you should speak with my parents."

"Or his lawyer," Cynthia added.

*For the uninitiated, sloppy joes are ground beef in a seasoned tomato sauce, a school lunch program staple in many fine institutions of learning.

Special thanks to Racheli Epstein for Hebrew language counseling.

Vayechi: The Lesson of the Parched Rabbi

Bereishit 49: 13-15

On a hot summer afternoon in the town of Fairlawn, three children opened up a lemonade stand in front of their house. It was a very hot day, actually. And humid, too. It was the kind of day where even the trees seemed to be sweating. Heat, humidity, the whole megillah.

Anyway, these three children opened a lemonade stand in front of their house. It was a quarter a cup. Their house was on the route of lots of bicyclists and joggers huffing and puffing through the hazy afternoon, so business was good.

The children had drawn a sign in sunny colors on a large piece of white oaktag and hung it from their stand. The ten-year-old had done the lettering (One glass for a quarter, five for a dollar!), the eight-year-old drew a picture of a bright orange sun, and the five year old drew a beautiful cup of lemonade in purple, green, and blue (give her a break, she's only five). And they were cute kids, which certainly helps when the profit margin is low. So they had location, strong marketing, curb appeal, and a good product. What's not to like?

Business had been brisk in the early afternoon, but as it drew towards five o'clock, the customers started to dwindle. They were thinking of closing up shop when a big black Lincoln Continental pulled up across the street. The windows were tinted, and the children couldn't see who was inside. When the door to the car opened, who should step out but the principal of their Hebrew day school, Rabbi Rosenthal. He was a tall, bulky man in a black suit, white shirt and no tie, and he looked hot. He trudged across the street, licking his parched lips.

The children were stunned to see their principal appear before their house.

"Rabbi R.," said the eight-year-old. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for some lemonade," said the Rabbi.

They handed him a glass, and he devoured it in one gulp.

"Keep it coming," Rabbi Rosenthal said. And he laid a five dollar bill on the table. He drank the lemonade faster than they could pour it. The trio watched in amazement as he guzzled nearly an entire pitcher of the lemony mixture.

"Ahhh!" the Rabbi said, wiping a drop of lemonade from the corner of his mouth.

"Rabbi R.," the ten-year-old said, "I'm glad you like our lemonade, but why are you really here? You don't live anywhere near Fairlawn."

The Rabbi smiled at the boy and patted him on the head. He was very bright. Apparently all those enrichment courses were paying off.

"Well, Naftali, you're right. I'm not just here for the lemonade, although it was excellent. I'm here because I heard from your mother that you were giving half the proceeds from your lemonade stand to the Yeshiva. Is that true?"

All three children nodded yes.

"That is truly admirable, my friends. You know, in Parshat Vayechi, when Yakov Avinu blesses his children, he gives Zevulun his blessing before Yisachar, even though he is younger than his brother. Do you know why?"

All three children shook their heads no.

"He did because Zevulun, symbolized by a boat, would raise the money so that Yisachar, symbolized by a donkey, could sit and learn Torah. The one who raises money for others to learn Torah is just as praiseworthy as the one who learns, perhaps even moreso.

"And so, I came to thank the three of you, Naftali, Eitana, and Leora, for raising this money for our Yeshiva. And besides, I was really thirsty."

Rabbi R. ," said the ten-year-old, "you only drank twelve glasses of lemonade, but you paid for twenty. And that's without factoring in the bulk discount. Would you like two dollars back?"

"Keep the change," said the Rabbi. He really had to find out who this kid's math teacher was and give him or her a raise.

And so, Rabbi Rosenthal drove off refreshed and pleased with the lesson he taught the children. Naftali, Eitana, and Leora were happy with the success of their lemonade stand. They donated ten dollars to their school, and purchased Yu-gi-oh cards, hair barretes, and a doll for themselves. All in all, a good day's work.