This post is the eleventh in a series about 25 years living in Israel.

We spent the first day of Pesach with lots of kids, human ones and animal ones. That is because our friends have a goat farm, and a new grandson, and invited several families with children to their Pesach celebration.
I love kids. I haven’t been privileged to have my own, but I have had the honor to help raise several Israeli kids in the course of the last 25 years. I am the aunt of five beautiful nieces and nephews, back in the Netherlands. And I may call myself a proud grandmother, now that my husband’s daughter has a baby girl! I love that girl, and she loves me!

Goat kids are adorable. Our friends with the goat farm are very busy with the new births in spring. When Pesach comes around, the newest goat kids usually wait for us in a box by the door (the bulk of the births is much earlier, so these are the last few ones).


On the night of the exodus, in Egypt, the Israelites had to eat a roasted lamb or kid, and its blood had to be put on the door posts. They had to take the animal inside the house five days earlier. Imagine they ate the lamb or kid after having it in the house for a few days! I don’t know how I would have felt. We ate roasted goat for dinner. But at least I did not know the goat I ate!


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