Just like the rest of us, Moshe, our Teacher par excellence, Wanted to know if his time Shuffling along this small clod Was worth it all. And, our story recounts, He was humble and bold enough To ask The Holy One, Blessed be He, If his efforts would last. Flick-flack, he lands In the back row Of the great classroom Of the great rabbi Of a future age And was relieved and convinced That what he took from Him Down the mountain Would persist. And, he asked Him, I interpolate, How else might My work be recalled By the progeny. And He sat him down At the seder table And together, with their host, They read the haggada, Told the story, Ate divine matzot. Moshe was puzzled. I was there, I spent My life there. But where am I In this retellling. Hush, He said to him, Perhaps Eliyahu might Fix that lacuna But no matter: It is my intention. And, if you really want To know how it turns out For some, Read on, read on, And see Akiva’s reward, For that too was My intention. Would you rather this absence, Or his fate.
Thank you for the explanation.