By Way of the Wilderness

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Then you need a man now,” Magon said with a cruel laugh, grabbing Berione’s arm and pulling her up. He had begun to tear at her clothing and Moses knew he had to do something.

  “Let her go.”

  Magon turned to see a large figure coming at him swiftly. He dropped Berione’s arm and plucked a dagger out of his belt, holding it out menacingly. “On your way, fellow.”

  But Moses continued to advance. “You have killed him,” he said.

  “And I’ll kill you!” Magon growled in a guttural tone. He had killed many of the slaves, and though this one was bigger, he had no doubt he would kill him as well. He leaped forward, thrusting the dagger out, intending to pierce his opponent through the heart.

  But Moses’ training in arms stood him in good stead. With a quick motion of his wrist, he turned the blow of the dagger aside, then closing his hands over the fist that held the dagger, he put his leg behind Magon and threw him to the ground. The breath rushed out of Magon, and he saw the dagger in his own fist coming down toward his throat.

  “No—no!” he cried out.

  But it was too late. Inexorably the dagger came down, piercing the throat of the Egyptian, scraping on the bone until it was down to the hilt. Scarlet blood exploded from the struggling man’s neck, and a filmy red mist floated from his mouth. He tried to speak, but his mouth was filled with blood.

  Moses stood up and watched as Magon made a feeble attempt to pull the dagger out. But it was too late. He shuddered, kicked the ground with his heels, then went limp and still. With one look at Berione, Moses knew he had to get rid of the body of the Egyptian or she would pay the price.

  “Here. Let me help you move Yagil inside and then I will come back and see to his burial.” He carried the fragile body into the hut and then, with an easy motion, scooped up the body of the Egyptian. He threw it over his shoulder and hurried away. He looked carefully for witnesses but saw no one, for it was very early in the morning, the light barely dawning. By the time full light had come, he was standing beside a grave he had scooped out with his bare hands and dumped the body of the Egyptian in. He looked down at the man in disgust, feeling no compassion or pity for him. “You will kill no more Hebrews,” he said, then turned and went back to see what he could do for his dead brother.

  ****

  For several days Moses was apprehensive that someone might have seen him. He half expected one of the Egyptians to arrest him, but nothing happened. A week later he began to relax. Although he kept up his work as a slave, it all seemed futile. How could he help his brothers by trampling out mud to make bricks? They needed a redeemer, and he was obviously not the one.

  Late in the afternoon one of the Hebrew overseers glanced at the tally and began to yell, “You are two hundred bricks under your quota! You want to get us all beaten to death?” He picked up a stick and began to strike the naked backs of the men. They covered their heads and accepted their punishment mutely.

  But once again Moses intervened. He grasped the wrist of the Hebrew, crushing it as the man screamed in pain. Moses said furiously, “Why are you hitting your brother?”

  The taskmaster wrenched his arm away. He looked around and saw several Egyptian guards coming and muttered under his breath, “Who made you a prince and a judge over us? Do you intend to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?”

  Startled, Moses took a step backward and saw triumph in the overseer’s face. Without a word, Moses turned and fled. He did not stop running until he returned to the palace. He went at once to his old quarters, ignoring the cries of his former attendants, and bathed and put on fresh clothes. His jaw tensed as he moved through the palace toward his mother’s apartment. “Tell my mother I’m here,” he said to the attendant.

  “Yes, master.”

  Moses waited until the servant stepped out and gestured; then he entered his mother’s apartment.

  She gave a glad cry and rushed to embrace him. “Moses, you’re here!”

  Moses stood absolutely still, not able to return the embrace, knowing what he had to say would crush her.

  Kali looked up, troubled, trembling as she saw his stern face. “What is it, my son?”

  “I must leave this place.”

  “Tell me why,” Kali whispered. She listened in horror as he told her what had happened.

  His voice was thick with misery as he explained, “I can do no good for my people here. I am not an Egyptian. I must leave, Mother.”

  “But where will you go?”

  “I do not know.” He suddenly threw his arms around her and held her tight. “Don’t be afraid. I will go find this god that the Hebrews talk about. I must know him, for I have no god.”

  Then Princess Kali wailed in grief, knowing that all was lost. She held him tightly, as if to keep him with her forever, but finally she pulled her head back and looked up. “When you find him, Moses, come and tell me where I can find him too.”

  Moses kissed her and left without another word. As he hurried out of the palace, he knew he was saying good-bye to the only life he had ever known. But somewhere out beyond the palace walls, beyond the magnificent streets and buildings of the Egyptian capital, he was certain he would find the god that the Hebrews worshiped.

  Chapter 6

  After fleeing the city, Moses walked alone through a sandy wilderness that stretched away in all directions, not exactly sure where he was heading. As he made his way through the desert, he thought constantly of the idea of a God of righteousness. Though he did not understand Him, Moses now believed that—unlike the gods of Egypt—the God of the Hebrews was worthy of his allegiance and service. He had a hunger in his heart to know this unseen, silent God who seemed to have a hand on his life. He had no final objective or goal in mind except simply to leave Egypt. His mother had seen to it that he had plenty of food, supplies, and money, and he had studied a map and decided to head first for the oasis city of Kadesh-Barnea in Midian.

  Night was now almost upon him, so Moses made camp, ate a little of the food he had brought, then lay down and looked up at the stars. He remembered the story Zuriel had told him about his forefather Jacob. Jacob had been a fugitive, even as Moses was, and on his journey away from his home, a lone man, Jacob had dreamed a strange dream. In the dream, a ladder reached all the way to heaven, and angels were on that ladder, ascending and descending. Moses longed for such a dream as this. He had asked Zuriel what the dream meant, and the old man had answered, “It means that there is a connection between men on earth and God in heaven. There is a coming and going of the servants of the Great Spirit, so be careful. You may encounter an angel.”

  “I wish I might see an angel.” Moses spoke aloud, and his voice seemed to shatter the night. He looked up at the stars and thought of how he would rejoice if the Great Spirit would let him know that He existed.

  He thought of Jacob, who was not the best man who’d ever lived but was a man to whom God spoke. Somehow this God of Jacob was calling him. Until now Moses had known only the sterile religion of the Egyptians. He had always hated their worship of death, and now as he made his way toward Midian, he was determined to find the God of Jacob, the giver of life.

  Suddenly Moses found himself on his knees, his arms stretched toward the stars of heaven, and crying out, “O mighty God of the Hebrews, you who have no visible form, I call out to the One I cannot see and the One I cannot hear. You know my heart, for you know all things. I have prayed, O Great Spirit, the only God, that you would free my people, and I pray also that I might be one with my people.”

  Moses prayed for a long time, his voice echoing in the silence of the desert. At times the howls of wild dogs and the cries of night birds joined with his voice. Moses waited, hoping to hear a voice, to see something, but he heard nothing and he saw nothing. Finally he lay back down and went to sleep without having met the God of Abraham.

  ****

  After a long and dangerous journey, Moses reached the area of Ezion-Geber. He was aware that this was not the safest plac
e in the world for him. It was a meeting place for caravans and travelers, a Red Sea port that served as a base for the pharaoh’s ships. It was always possible that someone would see him, recognize him, and report his presence to Pharaoh.

  Moses skirted the village, and when he approached a still smaller village, he came to a well just outside the settlement. He had been walking in the cool of the night, and it was early morning, before sunrise. He sat down within sight of the well to wait for daylight before entering the town.

  As had become his habit, he lifted his thoughts to the God of the Hebrews. “I wish I knew your name, O Great Spirit, great God of Abraham. Show yourself to me,” he prayed. “Let me see and hear you.”

  He thought again of how Jacob had had to flee his father’s house, and the first person he saw after getting to a strange land was a young woman. He fell in love with her at once, and they eventually married, but only after much difficulty.

  Moses longed for clear evidence of God’s hand on him, as Jacob had experienced. “O God of Jacob, put your hand on me as you did on your servant Jacob.”

  Even as he prayed, he looked up and saw a flock of sheep approaching. He paid little attention to the sheep, however, for his eye was on the young women who were leading them. The tallest of the group was in front. Her black hair fell about her shoulders, and she walked proudly.

  For a long time Moses sat there as the women drew water out of the well for their sheep. He had an impulse to go speak to them, as Jacob had done in his encounter with Rachel, but he knew that this situation was different. Rachel was Jacob’s relative, while he was a stranger in this place.

  The women were laughing and talking and had not noticed Moses, who was inconspicuous from his seat under a tree. They suddenly became upset, and Moses sat up straighter and saw that a group of rough-looking shepherds had come and were shouting at the women to get out of the way. They had brought their own sheep with them. The black-haired woman argued with him, and one of the roughest-looking of the shepherds shoved her away, so that she fell down.

  Moses was on his feet, flying over the ground without thought. He halted before the shepherd, his eyes blazing. “You call yourself a man, yet you treat helpless women like this?” Moses’ hand shot out, and he grabbed the man’s throat. The man struggled like a fish on a line but was powerless against Moses’ strength. “Take your mangy sheep and get away from here before I break your neck!”

  Moses flung the man backward. The shepherd fell in the dirt and scrambled to his feet. He gave Moses a murderous look, but then looked at his two companions, who were watching him. “Come on. There are other wells,” he muttered.

  Moses turned to the young woman, who by now had gotten to her feet. She was dusting the sand from her garment, and she smiled at him, saying, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Let me help you collect your flock.” Moses helped the young women as they gathered their sheep and watered them. When they were finished and started to lead them away, Moses said, “Go in peace,” and the tall young woman smiled at him and nodded. “Yes. We will go, and we thank you, sir, for your help.”

  ****

  Moses had dozed beside the well, thinking of how very similar his encounter with the tall, black-haired woman was to that of his ancestor Jacob. It pleased him to think this, although he did not know why. Finally hearing the sound of feet, he looked up and saw that very woman approaching. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. He stood up at once, and she said breathlessly, “Our father, Jethro, sent me to get you. Please come with me so that you may break your fast and eat bread under our father’s roof.”

  Moses was pleased. “I will be happy to.” As he went with her, he asked, “Who is your father?”

  “He is the priest of Midian. I am Zipporah, the oldest of my father’s children.”

  They reached the dwelling of Jethro, and a close-shaven man came out to greet them. He bowed low before Moses and greeted him. “My daughters have told me how you kept them safe from the men at the well. Please come into my house and take bread with us.”

  Moses bowed also, gave his name, and then went inside. The meal was excellent, and after it was over, Jethro said, “You have an Egyptian name, but you do not look like an Egyptian.”

  “No, I am not. My people are slaves of the pharaoh.”

  Jethro’s eyes flew open. “You are a Hebrew?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised that you should know them.”

  “Why should I not know the descendants of Abraham, the father of the Hebrews?”

  Moses stared at the man in shock. He could not believe that here in the desert he had found those who knew the God of his people and of his people’s history. “How could you know such a thing?”

  “How could I know Abraham, you ask? Why, who does not know him? I know his entire history. Are you indeed a descendant of Abraham?”

  “Yes. I was raised as an Egyptian, but I am a Hebrew, the son of Amram of the tribe of Levi.” He wondered how much to tell this man and finally decided to tell the whole truth. He related the parts of his story that he felt were good for Jethro to know, and finally said, “And so I am a fugitive.”

  “Then you may stay with us,” Jethro said firmly. “I do not have any sons, only daughters, but I am the priest of Midian. Since you are trained in the arts of the Egyptians, you might become a priest also.”

  “Not I,” Moses said hastily. He had seen enough of the priesthood in Egypt that the very idea offended him. Then a thought leaped into his mind, and he said abruptly, “I will tend your flocks and your herds. My forefathers were shepherds, and I have a yearning to know their trade. I will keep your sheep.”

  “And what shall be your reward?”

  Another idea came to Moses. He was not usually given to such impulses, but he was very taken with the black-haired Zipporah, and he said to Jethro, “You may have heard the story of my forefather Jacob.”

  “I know it well.”

  “Then you know that when he left his father’s house and came to a strange land, the first person he saw was a young woman, and he loved her. Give me your daughter Zipporah for my wife, and I will serve you for seven years, even as Jacob served for Rachel.”

  Zipporah had not said a word through this interchange. She did, however, have her dark eyes fixed on Moses, and her lips were slightly parted.

  Moses turned to her and said, “Of course, I would not take you against your will, but if you will have a stranger for a husband, perhaps God will be good to us.”

  Zipporah’s eyes were locked with Moses’ own, and she said quietly but with certainty, “I will have you for my husband.”

  “That is good!” Jethro exclaimed. “I will have a son after all. My daughter is yours, Moses, and one day the sheep will be yours too.” The sisters excitedly gathered around Zipporah, whispering to her and hugging her.

  As Moses rose and went over to his betrothed, the sisters separated, their eyes envious. He held out his hand, and Zipporah put her hand in it. “This is very sudden, Zipporah. You do not know me, nor do I know you.”

  “But I will be your wife, and a wife will know her husband.”

  “You are marrying a strange man,” Moses said. “I give you fair warning. You would be better off with another.”

  But Zipporah shook her head. “No,” she said. “I take you for my husband.”

  “And I take you,” said Moses, “for my wife. We will go to the desert and keep your father’s flock. We will have many children.” He put his other hand over Zipporah’s and smiled. “Our lives will be simple, as simple as those sheep that we care for.”

  Chapter 7

  “There now, my little one, don’t wiggle—let me help you.”

  The young shepherd who was watching Moses attempt to free a scrawny lamb from the grasp of a thornbush shook his head in disgust. His name was Gili, and he spent a great deal of his time wondering what sort of man his master was. Now he snorted impatiently, “That lamb’s going to die anyway, master. Just break its nec
k and spend your time on more important things.”

  Moses turned to look at the shepherd. Gili was a tall, stringy individual, almost emaciated but tough as a piece of dried leather. Two of his front teeth were missing, which gave his speech a whistling quality, but despite the missing teeth he considered himself quite a catch for the young women he pursued. Moses shook his head. “You’re a hardhearted young man, Gili.”

  “Hardhearted?! Why it’s just a worthless lamb!”

  “Nothing is worthless in God’s sight.” Moses’ big hands moved carefully and gently pulled the thorns away from the twisted, stringy wool of the lamb. “The Great Creator made this lamb the same as He made you.”

  “That’s ridiculous! It’s just a dumb beast—while I, on the other hand, am a human being.”

  Moses did not answer for a moment. He had removed the last of the needlelike thorns from the lamb’s wool and now stood up, cuddling the tiny creature in his arms. He stared at Gili, trying to think of a way to make the ignorant young man understand something about the God he himself longed for so desperately. For nearly forty years now he had wandered in the desert, tending the sheep of his father-in-law, Jethro, but it seemed to him that God was even more evasive than when Moses had been a prince of Egypt. Still, the years in the desert had not weakened his intense desire for the God whose name he did not even know.

  “Haven’t you ever looked up at night and seen the stars, Gili?”

  “Seen the stars? Why, of course, I have. What about them?”

  “Have you ever wondered who made them?”

  “No. They’re just there. That’s enough for me.”

  With a sigh, Moses rose to his feet, stroking the woolly head of the lamb, who was bleating piteously. “You’re hopeless, Gili,” he said. “Somebody had to make the stars, just as somebody had to make you and me and this little lamb.”

  He turned and walked toward the camp with Gili following, peppering him with questions. It was the one trait of the young shepherd that got on Moses’ nerves. He himself loved the peace and quiet of the desert, but he could enjoy little of it with Gili around. The lad seemed to have a compulsion to talk constantly, and when he asked a question, he immediately forgot Moses’ answer.