The incredible and unpredictable story of baby Moshe's survival is familiar to one and all. The love of his parents, the dedication of his sister, and the kindness of the Egyptian princess - all choreographed, of course, by the invisible hand of Hashem - coalesced to enable Moshe to escape Pharaoh's murderous decree. 

But the dramatic account of Moshe's rescue raises the question about the fate of the other baby boys. Surely some of them were tragically killed, but there is no indication that an entire generation was wiped out. On the contrary, in many places Chazal refer to "Doro Shel Moshe," the "Generation of Moshe." But where did these contemporaries come from? Obviously they weren't all raised in the royal palace, so the question remains, how did they these babies survive? 

The Torah text is silent but the Midrash (Shemos Rabbah 23:8) fills in this lacuna.  

The Midrash recounts that to avoid the Egyptian death squads, Jewish women gave birth under the protective cover of the forest. However, if the baby was a boy they had no choice but to abandon their newborn sons but not before they offered a poignant and powerful prayer:  

"Ribbon HaOlam," they cried out to Hashem, "ani asisi es sheli, ve'atah aseh es shelcha," I did what I had to do; now You - please - do Your part.  

After offering that tefillah the mothers returned to their homes without knowing what would come of their beloved sons.  

Once the mothers departed, the Midrash continues, HaKadosh Baruch Hu Himself, as it were, cut the umbilical cord, bathed, and anointed the babies with precious oil. And then HaKadosh Baruch Hu gave each child two rocks, "echad maniko shemen v'echad maniko devash," one which yielded oil and another with supplied the baby with honey.  

Safely hidden in the forest and with their sustenance now miraculously provided for, the babies - unbeknownst to the parents or anyone else - grew into young boys. Once they were old enough to "age out" of Pharaoh's decrees the boys retuned to their respective homes.  

One can only imagine the overwhelming shock and joy in each household as they witnessed a form of "techiyas ha-meisim," as children they had given up for dead now, years later, walked into their homes and back into their lives.  

"How did you survive?" they asked. "Who took care of you?" the parents wondered. The Midrash records that young men explained that they had been cared for by a "bachur na'eh u-meshubach;" apparently Hashem appeared in the form of a handsome and kind young man while providing for these boys. 

Upon witnessing God's revealed presence during the splitting of the Yam Suf, the Midrash continues, these very children turned to their parents and excitedly told them, "ze'hu oso she'asah lanu kol osan ha-devarim k'shehayinu be'Mitzrayim," this is the one! He is the one who took care of us all those years ago in Egypt!  

The revealed image of God on the banks of the Yam Suf was identical to the image of the young man who had cared for the children while they were in the forest. For years the boys and their families had thought that a kind stranger had provided their sustenance and only now, at this auspicious moment, did they finally realize that is was the Ribbono Shel Olam who had so lovingly cared for them all along. With this clarity and newfound understanding, the Midrash concludes, they joyously called out, "zeh keli v'anvehu," this is our God! This is who was with us even when we didn't realize it. "This is my God and I will beautify him" (Shemos 15:2). 

What an amazing Midrash! 

The Sefas Emes(Pesach 5638, "Hefresh HaGeulah") suggests, somewhat cryptically, that at the moment of Yetzias Mitzrayim, when we left Egypt, we became "Avdei Hashem," servants of God, but at Kerias Yam Suf, when He split the sea for us, we became "Banim Le'Hashem," the children of God.  

The simple understanding of the Sefas Emes clearly points to a progression in our relationship with Hashem. Initially we were merely servants but, eventually, we reached the higher level of children. 

But perhaps we can suggest, based on the above Midrash, a deeper understanding. 

The events that took place from the time when the Jewish people left Egypt until they were safely across the sea didn't transform our relationship with Hashem; rather, it revealed the true nature of that relationship. There was no progression. We were always "banim," we just didn't realize it until Kerias Yam Suf. Just like we thought it was a "bachur na'eh u-meshubach" and, in fact, it had always been "zeh keli," so too, we thought we were just "avadim" when in truth we were always "banim."  

Throughout the generations our Pesach celebration marks this revelation. On the first day(s) we acknowledge and are thankful to Hashem for taking us out of Egypt. But on the last day(s), we truly appreciate all that He has done and was always doing for us. On "Achron Shel Pesach" we discover who we really are and always were - "Banim Le'Hahsem," His beloved and special children!