בס״ד
Shevi’i shel Pesach
Suf, the threshold between two realms,
One of darkness, one of light,
Some designated to cross on sanctified earth,
Untouched by foaming walls of tumah,
Others, simply swept away
Into the reeds.
There are those who tread on dry land,
For others, thick fingers of oozing, angry mud,
Resent their passage, unwheel them,
“You shall not pass”, echoing,
Between raging waters of debris,
The discharge of slavery.
Shock and awe erupt from a jagged fissure,
A tidal wave of the redeemed,
Gushing from a fractured flint,
Inundating the pursuer.
Agape, from the eastern edge of the abyss,
They gaze, wordless, as Egypt drowns,
In its own inhumanity.
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