…Is Anything Good?

The first time I studied Exodus in Hebrew school I was around eleven. My family had just returned from another mostly obligatory Albany weekend visit, spending time with the grandparents who couldn’t stand each other. We’d all suffered through at least one lunch at The Club, pretending the swipes were just jokes. I, the sole grandchild, was always the anchor for these meals. Either competed over, critiqued from head to toe, or used as a distraction. My grandfathers were at least quiet. But my grandmothers, oh my. Everybody Loves Raymond is funny because it’s a sitcom. Two Maries at one lunch is a lot to take. No matter what they ordered or how fast it came or how inexpensive the meal — nothing made the cut. “Don’t get the chicken salad,” Bubbie would loudly whisper behind her hand, as if it were some sort of shield that kept her tactlessness inaudible. “It’s not very good.” No sooner had we placed our order for seven, Grandma Dorothy would be flagging down the flustered waitress, demanding to know how much longer. “We’re dyin’ hee-ah.” You’d think she was reliving The Depression. Once the meals arrived, the complaints mounted. The food was a disappointment and the portions so small. I’m sure our waitress had to resist asking, “Is anything good?” It would only decrease her already questionable tip. My father spent this time in the desert busying himself with his burger and fries. He was tall, on the skinny side of lean, and seemingly incapable of gaining weight. My gorgeous Mom would sit next to him, silently seething at this injustice and slicing into her iceberg salad — dressing on the side, no croutons, cheese or egg, please. I’d usually order the exact same thing as my Dad. But not being a skinny-mini, while he was encouraged to get seconds and even dessert, I was forewarned, “A moment on the hips, forever on the lips.” The best part of those visits was our long drive home.

So when our class was instructed to open our Torahs to Exodus, I almost immediately began to laugh uncontorallbly as we read aloud the excerpt where Moses finally rescues the Jews from slavery and they begin their great escape. At first I thought it was a joke, all this complaining. They’re thirsty. So God fixed the water situation, but the portions were too small. They were hot. They were tired. Are we there yet? Where was the good food? Without their pots of unlimited meat, they were dyin’ hee-ah. Clearly, slavery had never looked so good. Their waiter Moses was so accommodating for so long. Schlepping up mountains to debrief God of all their woes. Enduring decades of whining. “Don’t get the matzah. It’s not very good.” In the end, he loses his patience and God punishes him by not allowing him entry into the Promised Land. Most people believe he feels bereft standing on a rock while watching the Jews pass by, acutely aware of the sting of his consequence. But this was not my take. Listening to their complaints dwindling into the distance, watching the best part of them walking away, I’m pretty sure Moses was thinking, “Free at last!”