Avadim Hayinu

We were slaves to King Pharaoh,

that terrible king,

and he made us do all kinds

of difficult things.

Like building a pyramid

of chocolate ice cream

when the sun was so hot

that the Nile turned to steam,

and digging a ditch

with a spade of soft cotton.

That Pharaoh was wicked

and nasty and rotten!


He made us prepare him

a big birthday cake

and buy fancy presents

         for Pharaoh to take,

and he kept us awake

with a terrible noise,

but he never allowed us

to play with his toys.


It's a good thing that God

took us out of that place

and gave evil old Pharaoh

a slap in the face.

Because if he hadn't,

we'd all be in trouble,

still slaving away

in the dust and the rubble,

cleaning up the king's mess

and still folding his clothes

and arranging his torn socks

in eighty-four rows,

and balancing eggs

on the tips of our toes.


Yes, even if we were

as smart as my mother,

as wise as my best friend Dov's

four-month-old brother,

if we'd read all the books

in the public library

or watched as much TV

as old Auntie Mary--

We still should keep telling

this wonderful story

of how we got out

in a huff and a hurry.

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