It's Baby Moses!

Every year when my sister and I go home for Thanksgiving, my parents insist on driving to the "Christmas House," which is decorated with hundreds of animatronic people, bears, santas, elves, and reindeer. The entire roof is a city comprised of cut-out cartoon characters, snowmen and children dance in the windows, and the whole garage is a robotic moving, singing Santa's toy workshop. The crowning glory, however (and what we, as Jews, always skip) is the nativity scene on the side of the house.

The nativity scene is the setting for my mom's favorite story about my childhood. I was 3 years old when my parents brought me to the Christmas House, and after looking at all the dancing figures and lights we went to see the people crowded around the baby in the basket.
"Look Mommy," I cried, "it's baby Moses!" I cried, undoubtably pleased with myself that I remembered the Passover story from earlier in the year.