My friends, the Holy One Blessed Be He who knows all, past, present, and future, ordered Moshe to take the staff because he knew he would hit instead of talk. He knew Moshe needed to act out, to vent. He knew Moshe had to get it out of his system. And the Holy One Blessed Be He who is merciful above all also knew and understood that at that moment Moshe in his heart of hearts no longer wanted to enter the Promised Land. Why? Because his beloved sister and nanny would not be coming too. The One Above understood that Moshe’s greatest desire at that moment was to stay in the desert, in exile, in the diaspora, close to his beloved sister-nanny, Miriam, until the arrival of our Master, our Teacher, our Rebbe, the Messiah the King, may it be quickly in our time.

“My friends”—Shmuly was wrapping up—“the Talmud talks about yisurim, pain and suffering. It talks about the yisurim of love. I won’t go into what the rabbis mean by love here, but in my opinion Moshe was suffering from love, from the agony of lost love when his sister, his Miriam, was taken away from him. It also talks about the yisurim necessary to acquire the land of Israel. Nothing worthwhile in this life is gained without yisurim. That also applies to a delicious meal such as we are all enjoying here tonight. To earn it you have to suffer a little, say a few prayers before and after, sit in your place now after eating your fill when maybe you’d rather go home already and loosen your belt but instead you’re stuck here and forced to listen to me yakking and blabbering on and on.” He flicked me a reproachful glance, then cast his eye to the far end of the table where you were sitting, and remained sternly riveted on you. “So my friends, here’s the deal. Come back tomorrow for a delicious lunch, you’re all invited to come and continue our celebration in honor of our awesome nanny heroines. But please—before you give yourself the reward of eating, you should also be ready to undergo some yisurim, it’s only right. First go to shul and pray, do a little necessary suffering, it’s not too much to ask. Tomorrow morning before treating yourself to another delicious meal, go to shul. Spend a few hours sitting in shul talking to the Rock.”

Next morning, following orders at your insistence, the three of us were the first females to show up at the blue Sassoon synagogue, Knesset Eliyahoo, and make our way up to the ladies’ balcony. It was so early that below us, in the main sanctuary, a full quorum of ten adult males had not yet arrived to launch the significant prayers. “No minyan yet,” Rabbi Mendy sang out. “Only eight people.” Okay, I thought, maybe Manika doesn’t count in the category of people because she’s not Jewish, I’ll even grant that for argument’s sake, but by my calculation, when you’re talking people, with you and me up in the peanut gallery sharing the oxygen supply, the sum total is ten—so let’s get the show on the road, Rabbi.