Dayenu: It would have been enough
My darling wife and I were driving back from somewhere in the south suburbs, and as a scenic route to our home, we turned in along the river. There, on an expansive grassy median between the river road and expensive houses, were some turkeys.
"Ohhhhhh, look," I said. "Turkeys!" Because turkeys, glorious, round, colorful, wild turkeys, always warrant an observance.
And, as if that wasn't enough, there were more turkeys.
And more and more and more turkeys.
And then more turkeys!
There were more turkeys than we could count. Is Dayenu a number?
I have found that any overly magnificent spectacle of nature takes on a touch of delightful comedy.
I mean, unless it's killing you. Like, maybe seeing a Grizzly with its cubs isn't so funnily wonderful if at that moment the mother is mauling you.
But these turkeys totally weren't killing us. And there was a magical whimsey to seeing more and more of them long after it was already a wonder. They were all very chill, pecking around on the ground peaceably, gathered together perhaps for some annual bounty of nature.
Maybe there was something good to eat in that grass?
I mean, besides the turkeys.
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