Batya was tired. She had attempted to nap in the afternoon
but she hadn't been able to. So much still to do! She told
her mother that it was just too much work, but her mother
had chuckled, saying that it's all in the attitude.
Yeah, right! Batya hardly slept late at all these two weeks,
even though it was vacation! She was only allowed to play
and go for walks with her friends in the evenings. Two whole
weeks of non-stop babysitting and cleaning. Ugh! She felt
the incessant work would continue forever. Now, after the
first cup of wine, the words of the Haggadah kept blurring
in front of her eyes. Her little sister Shula was eagerly
following along, word for word, with her newly learned
reading skills. Well, Shula hadn't cleaned, and cleaned, and
cleaned for the last, how long? Even though Batya was in a
bad mood, it was still cute watching Shimmy clomping around
in Tattee's old boots. Because she was in a bad mood,
Miri's off key singing was exceptionally irritating and her
head felt like it was filled with cotton.
What was her father saying? Something about if Hashem
hadn't take them out of Egypt. Really, she thought
drowsily, what would life be like if we were still slaves?
Batya laid her head down on her folded arm.
*
Batya heard forceful footsteps through her semi-sleep. She
bolted upright and continued vigorously scrubbing the food
processor in front of her. Her shoulders stiffened tensely.
The rhythmic sounds of the Nile River seemed to stop
abruptly as the master of Batya's family stepped in; his
presence filled every nook and cranny of the room. She
concentrated hard on cleaning each and every crevice of the
appliance in front of her, trying not to think about the
ever-present whip in her master's hand. She didn't want to
evoke his ire.
Just last month, he had felt that Batya's sister, Yocheved,
wasn't working hard enough. He had bellowed for all to hear,
"It took you a full hour to scrub the floors? Now we'll see
how quickly you can move." He had forced her to catch
scorpions! Yocheved had been stung and hospitalized for
three days.
That first night, not knowing if Yocheved would survive,
with only five of the sextuplets in the room, Batya had
cried herself to sleep. Yocheved did recover but Batya made
sure not to even wipe the sweat from her forehead when
Master was in the vicinity for fear of possible
consequences.
The master seemed satisfied, this time, and the foreceful
footsteps reverberated down the hall.
Batya let out a deep sigh. She was so very exhausted. When
was the last time she had had a full night's sleep? Constant
work: vacuuming their carpets, polishing their
wood paneling, waxing their latest year model 2001
cars, scrubbing their microwaves... Batya's own
family's quarters were usually totally disheveled. No one
had the extra strength needed to tidy up.
Batya tried to shake the fatigue from her head. It didn't
help. She buffed the white finish on the processor until it
looked new, then put it in its place. Without a moment's
pause, she headed towards the dining room to receive further
instructions from her mistress.
That night Batya wanted to cry herself to sleep again but
there were no more tears left. She squeezed herself against
the wall to have a little room to herself. She was so tired
of the fatigue and the lack of space. Even with all the
deaths from lack of food and exhaustion plus those who were
killed outright daily by the Egyptians -- still there were
SO many people in such cramped quarters.
She laid her cheek against the faded linoleum-covered board
that she and her sisters used as a bed, yet as exhausted as
she was, she couldn't fall asleep. Trying to ignore the
snoring from her sisters, she focused her thoughts on her
name, inherited from an ancestress that lived over 3000
years ago. Probably the tattered dress she wore was also
inherited from the same ancestress!
Batya's thoughts were interrupted as Yocheved rolled over
and opened her eyes.
"What's the matter, Batya?"
"I was just wondering what it would be like to be
`free'..."
Yocheved yawned. "Such an abstract thought. And if such a
thing were possible, which it isn't, you wouldn't know what
to do with yourself, anyway."
"Is there really no point in dreaming? Everyone has given
up. Why do I bother thinking such thoughts?" Batya sighed.
"Sometimes I'm so jealous of the men of the tribe of Levi.
They get to learn Torah all day long! I'm glad some people
get to learn, but I'll never have that chance. My days are
menial slavery. Every day and all days."
"Mine, too. Batya, but it's not worth using up your energy
on dreams and thinking. Go to sleep. Soon it'll be
morning."
Batya squeezed her eyes closed.
"Hey! If I can't cry, then why is my cheek all wet?" Batya
roused herself and sat up. Her cheek was dripping sweat from
where she had lain her head after her first cup of wine. She
blinked. She blinked again. "Where am I?"
Her father at the head of the table was booming. "After all
we've discussed, we come back to the original question: what
if Hashem hadn't taken us out of Egypt? Each
commentary that we've explored until now is exquisitely
beautiful. I myself have a humble thought on this subject.
If Hashem wouldn't have taken us out of Egypt, we would have
reached the fiftieth gate of tumoh and would have
been unredeemable. As the Midrash points out -- one more
MOMENT in Egypt and we would have been lost forever,
becoming part of the Egyptian nation. So who knows if we
would really be a nation of slaves or if we would have
simply melted into the Egyptian culture and therefore,
become enslaved with the depravity and materialism that they
themselves were obsessed with!"
Batya's two older brothers looked at each other, nodding
their comprehension.
Batya looked around blearily, her heart growing lighter and
happier by the second. Her family! Her freedom. She'd never
realized how very much this all meant.
Hearing heavy footsteps, Batya suddenly tensed up. But it
was only Shimmy in those old boots. Batya let out a long
breath.
Her mother was bringing napkins and a pitcher of juice to
the table. Batya jumped up to help. Freedom to jump and run,
learn and play, and even freedom to clean for Pesach.
Freedom! Precious, precious freedom.
