Short Shavuos Vignette - Milk & Honey

amother

Mon, May 30 2022, 8:23 pm

Inspired by the generosity of "Fracture," here's a short Shavuos vignette I wrote a few years ago.

Milk and Honey

“Ima, I’m hungry!”

She looked down, startled at the normal sound of her young boy. Not the smallest miracle was that Yoni had not uttered a word for hours now, not asking even one question! She could feel the unborn baby inside of her retuning to his lusty pattern of kicks, after the unnatural calm of the last few hours. “Ima, I’m hungry!”

The magnificent events of the last few hours still echoed in her ears, in her heart, in her mind. She would need to find words for them, soon, to explain to her son what he was sure to ask her.

“Come, little one,” she said gently, holding his hand and guiding him past the rivers to their tent. He did not ask to play in the water today, a sure sign that he was truly hungry!

The scent of delicious stew welcomed her as she entered the cool dimness of her tent. They had slaughtered one of the young lambs yesterday, in honor of Shabbos and this holy event. What a relief, she would not need to prepare anything. All she needed to do was take the pot from the oven and give the stew to her young one, together with some fresh mahn from the shelf.

But wait! The new laws she had learned today. Hadn’t one of them spoken about Yoni’s dinner? She shut her eyes desperately, forcing herself to remember. Yes! Meat. Dishes. They needed to be toiveled, kashered. She stopped short. She could not serve her son this meat.

For a moment she stood, unsure what to do. Then, decisively, she lifted the pot out of the coals where she had buried it — yesterday? years ago, and carried it outside. Her son grasped her robe tightly, asking questions, as she hurried out to the animals.

She had carefully prepared that meat, placing juicy dates around it to flavor the broth, and the smell was sublime… but it was only with the tiniest pang of regret that she poured it out in the trough. The animals leaned in close, sniffing the steaming meat appreciatively, waiting until it cooled enough to taste. “It’s a special feast,” she told the animals, “in honor of today, the most special day in history.”

“Ima, why did you do that?” her son cried.

“This is not for us, not for today,” she told him. “It is not kosher for us right now.” On her way back to the front of her tent, she noticed her friend also carrying a pot out to the troughs.

Yoni followed close at her heels, distraught. “But then what is our special Shabbos treat?” he whined. “You promised us meat!”

“Yes, my dear one,” she answered. “But today we will be having something else.”

Back in the tent, she unwrapped a ball of cheese from the shelf, laying it on the table. The milk jug, with the word “chalav” painted crudely on. She smiled at the childish letters, a project she had invented for Yoni during that endless day they had waited for water, escaping the murmuring anger fomenting around her tent. A pitcher of cool water. A bowl of dates. She piled the mahn carefully on a clean cloth, hoping the plain cold food wouldn’t look to her husband as if she didn’t value this special day, her family. She sat on her cushion next to Yoni, awaiting his return.

Her husband soon arrived back at the tent, his face aglow. Would his face fall as he sat down, not seeing the steaming meat she knew he loved?

No, his face showed only pure joy, followed by a brief look of puzzlement, and finally a warm smile in her direction. “The dishes,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes,” she nodded, still unsure if her decision was correct, if this cold dinner was appropriate after the cataclysmic events of the morning.

Reaching for the milk jug, her husband spoke to her earnestly. “I was standing with the other men, listening to Moshe. He taught us many beautiful halachos, and explained a deeper meaning of many of the mitzvos. But then he said something that seemed irrelevant, and I didn’t understand why we needed to know it. But here at this special feast, I finally understand.

“Here are Moshe’s words: Torah is compared to milk and honey.”

Wonderingly, she licked the honey flavor of the mahn off her lips and sipped the frothy milk from her mug. Her cold and simple repast felt completely transformed. This was truly the most beautiful meal there could be for the day of the giving of the Torah.