By Way of the Wilderness

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I’ll send someone to tell him this morning.” She looked up as the door flap opened and smiled at her brother. “Hello, Aaron.”

  “Good morning, Miriam.” Aaron crossed the room and stood over Bezalel. He was a formidable figure, tall, strong, and with a masterful air. “Well, I suppose you’re proud of yourself brawling in public over a strumpet.”

  “Uncle, I’d appreciate it if we didn’t have to discuss this right now.” Bezalel suddenly felt very weak and carefully lay down, hoping he could avoid his uncle’s tirade.

  Aaron laughed shortly. “I’m sure you would, but everybody else is talking about it, so why shouldn’t we?”

  “What are they saying?”

  Suddenly Aaron laughed. He was not a man of much humor, and it took something extraordinary to amuse him. “You’re not the only one who got a beating.”

  “What are you talking about, Uncle?”

  “Laaman gave that worthless woman a beating too—not as severe as yours, of course—then dragged her right to the priest and married her on the spot. I must say, I think they deserve each other.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Bezalel whispered.

  “That’s because you don’t know anything about people. All you know how to do is to make statues for the Egyptians. Aren’t you ashamed of the way you have brought disgrace to your family?”

  Bezalel sat glumly, unable to meet Aaron’s stern glance. He could not shut out the penetrating voice, and he could not get up and leave, so he merely endured it.

  “I hope this will be a lesson to you to stay away from women like that—especially married women. I think a member of the tribe of Judah would have more pride,” Aaron added stridently. “Get yourself a wife of your own and stop chasing after other men’s women.”

  He turned and left the hut abruptly, and Bezalel tried to smile. “He has a rough way, my uncle.”

  “He loves you,” Miriam said. She came over with a bowl of water and a cloth and began cleansing the wounds around Bezalel’s face. “You have so many gifts, son, and we fear you are wasting them.”

  Bezalel tried to think of a response to that, but nothing came to him. Indeed, he knew that his aunt and uncle were right. He could not understand himself, so how could he explain it to Miriam?

  Finally Miriam finished bathing him and asked, “Do you want to sit up again?”

  “Yes. I think I will.”

  Miriam helped him sit up and propped him up with some cushions. She set a cup of drinking water by his side and left the door flap open so he could watch the goings-on in the camp. “I’ve got to go over to help Tabia. Her baby’s coming, and she needs help. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll make sure Rishef is notified that you’ve been hurt.”

  “That’s all right, Mother,” Bezalel said, nodding. “If I get tired, I’ll just lie down again.”

  “You’d better not try to move around too much. Those ribs need a chance to heal.” She came over, looked down at him, and said, “Try to be a good man, son.” She leaned over, kissed him, and picking up a basket in which she had put some food and items to help care for a newborn, she left.

  Bezalel waited until Miriam was gone and then managed to stand up. He bit his lip, for it hurt terribly to move. Crossing the small room, he went to a box where Miriam kept her cooking supplies. He opened it and pulled out the jug of wine that she always kept there. Going back to his mat, he sat back down against the cushions, removed the stopper from the jug, and took several long swallows. He expelled his breath and sat back, the wine jug at his side. At first he thought of Adila, but he soon dismissed her. The woman had really meant nothing to him. She had simply been a challenge. As he rested against the cushions, sipping the wine occasionally, he thought bitterly of how Laaman had beaten him as if he were a child. For a time Bezalel thought of his friend Joshua. “He wouldn’t have beaten Joshua like that,” he said aloud, but Bezalel was no Joshua. He was not a fighting man but an artist, grown soft from good living in the home of a wealthy Egyptian, whereas Joshua was as hard as granite.

  Bezalel hated to be bested at anything, and the thought of being publicly beaten by a brute like Laaman left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that his pride was hurt. For a long time he sat sipping the wine until he grew sleepy. He struggled to his feet once more, replaced the wine jug, and went back to lie down on the pad. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was, You may have married her, Laaman, but let’s see how long you can keep her from me!

  ****

  Aaron awoke with a start. His body jerked and his eyes flew open. He almost cried out but managed to restrain himself. His movement awakened his wife, Elishiba. “What’s wrong, Aaron? Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m not sick.”

  Elishiba reached over and touched his face. “You don’t have a fever?”

  “I’m all right, I tell you.” He lay in the darkness, trying to collect his thoughts. “I had a dream of some kind.”

  “Well, it’s gone now. Go back to sleep.”

  Aaron did not answer. He found that he was filled with a nameless dread. Although highly intelligent, he was a man of little imagination—he liked things well organized and in order. The dream had unsettled things. He tried to recall it, but it was elusive, like a fleeting shadow, and it would not come back to him. A message from the dream stayed with him, however, and this is what troubled him. He wrestled with it as he lay in the darkness and finally said, “Elishiba?”

  “Yes, Aaron?”

  “I must leave.”

  “Leave?” Elishiba sat up on the pad that she shared with Aaron. “Why, it’s the middle of the night!”

  “I know, but God has spoken to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I had a dream, and I can remember only one thing about it—a voice was telling me I had to go to the wilderness.”

  “To the wilderness? Why, you can’t do that! There are wild beasts and bandits there. The wild desert men will kill you.”

  Aaron was not a man blessed with dauntless physical courage—such men as Caleb and Joshua possessed this quality—but his strength lay in his orderly mind and his solid determination once he had his mind made up. He rose suddenly in the darkness and began to dress himself.

  “Aaron, you can’t do this,” Elishiba said in a panic. She got up, and the tiny lamp that they kept burning cast shadows about her face. She was a nervous woman, given to fears, and now she begged him to stay.

  Aaron paid her little heed. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “That’s all there is to it.”

  “Well, at least take Nadab and Abihu with you.”

  “No. I must go alone. I know God said that much.”

  “Aaron, I’m afraid!”

  Aaron had finished getting dressed and stood irresolutely for a moment. He had always questioned that God spoke to men in dreams, at least for himself. He had heard that other men had such dreams and had often wished that God would speak to him as He did to others. But now that God had spoken, it seemed a frightful thing to go out into the darkness. “Fix me something to eat, Elishiba. I’ll need strength for the journey.”

  “All right. But we don’t have much.” Elishiba quickly pulled together what food there was, put it into a leather satchel, and handed it to him. “How long will you be gone?”

  “How can I know, woman? I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that I have to go.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful. Oh, be careful.”

  Aaron nodded, patted her shoulder awkwardly, then turned and left their hut. Elishiba moved to the door and watched him walk away, but he was swallowed up almost immediately by the darkness. Fear gripped her, and she stood there for a long time wishing she knew how to pray. She had been exposed so much to the gods of Egypt that the unseen God of the Hebrews, having no form and known only by the aural legends of the elders, seemed vague and powerless. She stood trembling
in the darkness, then turned and went back inside, her heart heavy with fear.

  ****

  Night was coming on, and Aaron, footsore and weary almost to death, stopped and took a deep breath. He was absolutely exhausted. For several days he had made his way toward the mountains, most of the time calling himself a fool. He had encountered other travelers in caravans, who had given him food and water. Without those provisions, he would surely have died. He had not been patient with other men’s dreams and visions, and now here he was headed out into the dangerous wilderness on no more authority than a vague dream he’d had!

  Finally he came to the mountain many called “The Mountain of God,” although no one quite knew why it had that name. He knew he could go no farther, for the dark would soon swallow him. He had reached a tiny creek, no more than a few feet across, but the water was cold and pure. Quickly he gathered sticks and built a small fire. A tree had fallen and there was plenty of dried wood. He took the last of the meat he had, stuck it on a sharp stick, and heated it over the fire. When it was hot, he began to eat it slowly and thought, That’s all the food. How will I eat tomorrow?

  He sat by his fire, miserable and frightened, as the darkness closed in. He trembled at the sounds of wild animals and drew his cloak around him. Strangely, he was not sleepy, although his body was completely exhausted.

  After sitting for a long time, he finally grew sleepy. He lay down, wrapping himself in his cloak, still wondering what he would eat the next day.

  As he was drifting off to sleep he heard twigs snapping and rocks tumbling nearby and sat up abruptly, his heart pounding in fear. Stifling a cry, he peered into the murky darkness. There was a sliver of moon giving light, and the shadows of the bushes and the spindly trees of the desert seemed to grow monstrous to his frightened imagination.

  He gasped when a huge form suddenly appeared to his right. Scrambling to his feet, he fumbled to pick up his staff. He held it like a weapon. Is it a bear or a lion? But as he saw it more clearly, he could make out that it was a man—and a big man, at that. Thoughts of bandits and robbers, murderous hill people, came to him, and he cried out in an unsteady voice, “Stay right where you are! Don’t come any closer!”

  The form did stop, and then Aaron was shocked and at the same time gladdened to hear his name called.

  “Aaron, is that you?”

  “Moses!” Aaron dropped the staff and moved forward.

  Moses emerged from the darkness, and the moonlight made a silvery track on his face. He reached out and embraced Aaron, and the two men clung to each other. “What brought you out here, Aaron?” he asked.

  “I …” Aaron choked, unable to answer. He found it difficult to tell Moses that he was here because of a dream. Finding the courage, he explained, “I had a dream, and a voice told me to come to the wilderness.”

  “That was God talking to you. The God of Abraham is speaking to men.”

  Aaron was shaken by the meeting and yet filled with a sudden burst of joy such as he had never felt. “You must come home with me, Moses!”

  Moses laughed deeply. “The truth is, I am on my way. I have much to tell you. Stoke up the fire. I have some food with me.”

  Aaron at once began building up the fire, and the two men sat down.

  “Tell me everything,” Aaron said. “Everything that’s happened since you left …”

  ****

  “Go before Pharaoh? But, Moses, that … that can never be! He would have us killed, thrown to the crocodiles!”

  Aaron had listened breathlessly as Moses recounted the story of his sojourn in the land of Midian. He had been enthralled as Moses related how God had spoken to him out of the burning bush, but when Moses repeated the commission that God laid upon him to go before Pharaoh and demand the emancipation of the entire nation of Israel, Aaron’s heart froze. “Surely God cannot have meant that!”

  “I think God always means what He says,” Moses said, smiling slightly. “But we won’t be killed.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “God would not give us this task just to be killed.” He leaned forward, and for the first time Aaron saw the eyes of Moses blazing, filled with a light such as he had never seen in the eyes of any man. “It is the time of the Redemption, Aaron. God is going to deliver His people from the Egyptians.”

  Far into the night Moses spoke about what God was going to do, and finally he said, “I have been remiss in not telling you about my family. My wife and sons left Midian with me, but Zipporah was not happy over my reasons for going to Egypt. She could not accept that God had spoken to me, and the more we talked about it on the way, the angrier she got.”

  “What happened?” Aaron asked gently.

  “She and my two sons refused to go any farther and they returned to Midian.”

  “I am so sorry, brother,” Aaron said, laying his hand on Moses’ arm.

  “It is probably for the best,” Moses said with a sigh. “What I am about to do may be very dangerous. I am praying that God will be with her and that someday she may understand.”

  Both men sat quietly for a moment, then Moses said, “What about our family, Aaron? Are Father and Mother well?”

  “Our parents are gone. Father died fourteen years ago and mother, three.”

  Moses sighed. It hurt him to think of never seeing his parents again, but he had been gone a long time. “What about Miriam?”

  “She’s alive.”

  “Does she have a family?”

  She never married, but she adopted a son. Do you remember her friend Illa? She married Uri, the son of Hur in the tribe of Judah.”

  “Yes, I remember him.”

  “They had a son named Bezalel. Both parents died, and Miriam took the child to raise. She loves him dearly, but he’s no good, Moses.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Almost seventeen.”

  “Well, he still has time to improve.” He reached over and grasped Aaron’s shoulder with a strong hand. “I’m glad to see you, brother.”

  “And I you, Moses.”

  “We’ll sleep for a time, then start back at dawn.”

  Aaron nodded; then as he lay down, he muttered, “There’s going to be trouble in all this, Moses. I don’t know how the elders will take it.”

  “They’ll be glad that God is beginning to move among His people.”

  “I hope so. But they are stubborn. You know that.”

  “So is God,” Moses said firmly, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  ****

  Bezalel had been asleep, but he woke suddenly at a touch, and when he saw a huge stranger leaning over him, fear leaped into his throat. He thought at first, in the dim light, that it was Laaman coming to finish the job of killing him. But the huge man said, “I am Moses, the brother of Miriam and Aaron. I take it you are Bezalel.”

  “Yes,” Bezalel said, struggling to sit up. There was not so much pain now, and he got to his feet, staring at the huge man. He had heard so much about this brother of Miriam and Aaron, but Moses had been gone for so many years he had become almost a mythical figure. The Egyptians had forbidden anyone to speak his name, but the Hebrews had long memories. Now Bezalel said, “You’ve come back, Uncle.”

  “Yes. Where is Miriam?”

  “She has gone to help a sick woman.”

  Moses studied Bezalel and said, “Your uncle Aaron has told me about you.”

  Bezalel felt his face grow warm. He could not think of a single thing to say. Moses put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Be good to Miriam. Aaron tells me she loves you very much, and he himself loves you. Now I am back, and I will care for you too.”

  A warmth came over Bezalel at Moses’ words. Something about this man inspired trust, and somehow he knew he would follow him to the death if need be.

  “Aaron has gone to his family,” Moses said. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Yes,” Bezalel said. “Sit down, sir. Let me fix something.”

  While Mo
ses sat down on a small rug on the ground, Bezalel hurriedly put together a meal and placed it before him. Moses had not finished eating when Miriam came in. He quickly stood to greet her. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes opened wide.

  “Moses!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “You’ve come back, just as I told everyone you would!”

  Moses held her tightly. “Sister, I have missed you so.”

  Miriam was shocked by Moses. He was so much older now—but, then, they all were. Other than his age, though, something was different about him. He was stronger, more powerful, and his eyes seemed to look directly into her heart. She whispered, “Why have you come home?”

  “It’s the time of the Redemption, my sister. Our people must be free, and the God of our fathers has chosen me to lead them out of their bondage.”

  Overcome by joy, Miriam could not speak. “Moses, God raised you up for this hour. I knew it from the time I put you in your little basket in the Nile and Princess Kali pulled you out of the water. You will be the Redeemer of our people.”

  “No, the Almighty will be the Redeemer of our people.”

  “Yes, brother, you are right. But He will use you,” Miriam said, and her heart was filled with pride and joy at the return of Moses.

  Chapter 10

  The elders of Israel had assembled themselves secretly to meet with Moses. Having been gone for forty years, he barely recognized the older men, and now there were several young men he had never laid eyes on. He did recognize Korah and his sons, and also Dathan and Abiram. He knew these two as overseers of the Hebrews, appointed by the Egyptians to get the most work out of the Hebrew slaves.

  Moses said almost nothing at the meeting. When he and Aaron had been invited to come in, he had felt every eye fixed upon him, and was even more aware of the doubts of the assembly. He stood quietly while Aaron repeated his testimony of how God had appeared to him in the wilderness in the mountains of Horeb. Aaron spoke well and related how God had told Moses to assemble the elders of Israel and tell them that it was time for the Redemption.