A Humble Baker

As Passover neared, in the camp* grew a fear *Nazi WW2 death camp that this might be the very first year for Jews of every stripe and denomination they'd not have matzo to eat, an abomination To the Lord Above Who'd taken them out of Egypt with signs and wonders and shouts and Who'd decreed long ago that Passover night --Matzo they'd eat as their feet took flight From the House of Bondage toward the Promised Land to exchange rank servitude for the Holy Sand of Beersheba, Jerusalem, the Judean Hills to build His Temple, to do His Will When a humble Jewish baker to the rescue came promising to bake for each Jewish prisoner the same number of matzos -- two -- not three and not four He would risk his life by cooking more... To the task he lowered his worn, tired shoulder with a defiant courage, many times bolder than the greatest heroes of history, his proposition --But just then, the Rabbi's son stated his position His father told him he required four matzos, not one less, not one more... Well, the baker said, No, No, Never He only gets two, no matter how clever His plea or his Talmudic expertise So then the son fell to his knees Crying that he couldn't return without four --Else his father's very life would be no more The baker saw that the son would not be deterred and decided that to his request he would have to defer He gave him four matzos and told him to be quiet if he valued his life and would prevent a riot So the Rabbi got four matzos; the others received two All was quiet; no one suspected or knew 'Till it was time to eat the matzos and the Rabbi appeared at the barracks of the baker, eyes covered with tears And said, 'Here are your two matzos, my friend so good and so dear You provided for all the others but forgot yourself, as I'd feared' --based on Rabbi Moshe Katz' prose story in "The Chicago Jewish Home," April, 2019 edition