Aloft on her chair, Manika flashed a joyous grin, black gummed from a lifetime chewing paan. She drew off from around her neck the rose silk dupatta that Geeta had given her and grasping it at one end she fluttered it toward you, Maya, and you caught the other end of the scarf in your hand, and there you were dancing like Miriam the prophetess after the splitting of the sea, that night I saw you dancing, I will not forget it, and all the women and girls coming out after you with song and dance.

Miriam is all about water, Shmuly went on once the dancing subsided and all the guests staggered back to their seats and slumped down again, submitting to their fate of sitting through the speech. Her name means bitter sea, maryam—a mixed message, like our monsoon, flood and darkness, but also cleansing, cooling, growth. In Miriam’s merit the Israelites were provided with water in the desert, our sages tell us. She dies and is buried, and the next thing you know the water system shuts down, just like our electricity shut down tonight. Right away the Israelites start complaining to Moshe. Where’s our water, Moshe? So what else is new? From time immemorial we Yid’n have always been big complainers. And God says to Moshe, Take your staff and go talk to the rock before the eyes of the people and water will come out. You have to wonder—why does Moshe need a stick to talk to the rock? Is this the first case of, Speak softly and carry a big stick? And why does Moshe hit the rock when God says to him loud and clear, Talk? He was a prophet, he could see the future; he knew what would happen if he didn’t listen. Oh yes my friends, he was a prophet—but even a prophet is human. Moshe was mad, boiling mad. Moshe had a temper, a holy temper, he exploded only in God’s name. Like when he came down from the mountain and saw the people worshipping the golden calf, and he threw down those two stone tablets in such a rage and smashed them to pieces. He had knocked himself out for these people for so many years, and now here they are bellyaching about the water. How could they hassle him at such a time like this, when he had just lost his beloved sister, his faithful nanny? Didn’t they have any consideration? He was in mourning, it shouldn’t happen to us. He would have liked to whack them, he would have liked to give them such a good zetz, but instead he takes his stick and whacks the rock—two times yet! I think there’s a word for that in mental health lingo. You can check it out with Rabbi Dr. Freud. Transference? Displacement? Channeling? Whatever. So Moshe, he gives it to the rock, two good clops. And what is his punishment for disobeying God? Shut out of the land. Sorry Moshe, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here in the desert. No Promised Land for you.