Blood Moon/Egyptian Passover
 
Was there a Blood Moon 
that terrible night
long, long ago?
 
Khonsu, Disk of the Moon
            was eaten, 
            turning the color
            of old blood.
The wails of the women
            leapt from house to house,
            hovel to tent,
            it is said even to 
            the palaces themselves.
The curses of the men
            bearing the limp bodies
            of their sons
            into the dark air
            damning the Moon
                        the Jews,
                                    Pharaoh himself.
 
What quarrel between bondsmen,
            the mighty and their Priests
            belongs to them, not us.
 
We are the farmers,
            fishers of the River       
                        and the seas,
            the shepherds, the weavers,
            the folk who cast pots,
            the brewers of beer,
            the molders of simple brick
                        from mud and dung,
            the house slaves
                        and wet nurses,
            the prostitutes…
 
What care we for those palaces,
            those temples,
                        those monuments,
those damnable tombs,
                        or the slaves who build them!
 
 
No Jews dug our wells,
            laid course of simple brick
            for our homes,
            piled a single stone on stone
            on our graves
            to save our dead
            from the jackals.
 
Yet they called down on us
            the frogs,
            spoiled our grain
            with locust,
            stoned our kids and lambs
            to death by hail,
            our flesh that erupted
            in festering boils.
 
And now our very sons!
 
What harm did they do you,
            you Jews?
 
If your  damn God 
            is so powerful
            why did you not call him
            to just wipe out Pharaoh,
                        the Priests,
                                    the Generals in their chariots,
                                                and all their minions
            who have had their sandals 
            on our necks
            since time began?
 
Such a God would be 
worth worshiping!
Your freedom—and ours—
would be one!
 
—Patrick Murfin

haggadah Section: -- Ten Plagues