by Mesu Andrews
He looked at the moon high in the sky and realized Doda’s household would surely be sleeping by now. Guilt weighted his feet like iron. Halfway back to his barracks, a grave reality struck him for the first time. When would he cease doing Hoshea’s responsibilities? To do so would mean admitting his friend wouldn’t return. He’d have to concoct a story—a lie—about his death. More deception. If he admitted a subordinate slave’s escape, it could mean his own death sentence. Eleazar wiped weary hands down his face. He wasn’t ready to face that dilemma.
Eleazar sped his pace to a jog, passing the houses of soldiers and noblemen, where families had laughed and enjoyed their evening meals together. His mind wandered to Saba Amram and Savta Jochebed. He missed spending time with them. When had he last heard one of Saba’s stories? Almost three weeks had gone by since he’d given his grandparents more than a kiss on the cheek. Why must Taliah’s presence rob him of time with his family? Quickening his pace, he made a decision. This evening, he would ignore the beautiful, quick-witted girl and talk to Saba and Savta the way he used to.
Reaching the palace barracks breathless, he bent over to brace his hands on his knees. Who am I kidding? He’d been trying to ignore Taliah since the day he’d broken her leg, but he’d failed miserably. She was more than beautiful. More than intelligent and high-spirited. Something about her drew him. If only Putiel would reply to his message. The courier had delivered the scroll to Prince Kopshef’s scribe, yet did not wait for a reply. Three weeks, and no word.
It seemed Eleazar was waiting on everyone in his life, and his patience had run out.
He walked down the long, deserted hallway lit by torches and littered with half-full trays of rations. Most of his men had already eaten their meals and were settled in for the night. Since Hoshea’s departure, Eleazar was always the last to his chamber, his food cold and bread stale. As he approached his doorway, the absence of his tray surprised him—no, infuriated him. Had someone stolen his rations? Looking both ways down the hall, he considered scavenging leftovers, but why should he? Pharaoh’s military slave commander forage for food? It was an outrage! He grabbed a torch from the wall and charged into his chamber.
He was met by a growling dog and three men devouring his rations—Hoshea, Abba Aaron, and a man who looked vaguely familiar.
Hoshea licked honey from his fingers and smiled. “I brought them back alive, Eleazar.”
The dog bared its teeth and took a step toward Eleazar. “Sattar, leave it!” the stranger commanded. The dog retreated to the man’s side, keeping a wary eye on Eleazar.
“This is your dohd Moses,” Abba said awkwardly. “He left Egypt when you were seven.”
Eleazar looked beyond his abba’s shoulder to a silver-haired man seated on the floor with his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He wore a lazy grin, and his back rested against the wall as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“I remember only the Egyptian master, Mehy.”
The man offered his bowl of stew to the dog and stood. Eleazar considered making dog stew. That food was for Doda and the others. How could he carelessly feed it to that mangy beast?
Before Eleazar could protest, Moses was standing before him, Eleazar’s equal in height and weight. His arms and chest were well muscled though he was nearly as old as Abba Aaron. He’d obviously been a soldier, but what had he done these forty years in Midian to keep him in such fine physical condition?
“I’ll never forget the words you spoke the night I escaped Pharaoh Sety’s assassins and fled Avaris.” Moses offered his hand in truce to Eleazar, but Eleazar kept his hands at his sides.
“I don’t remember,” he lied.
“You said, ‘Pharaoh can’t stay mad forever. Come back to us.’ ”
Eleazar raised his chin, refusing to be drawn in by the play for emotion. “Touching story, but I was too young to understand your betrayal. Pharaoh Sety had trusted you since childhood. He’d made you vizier of Egypt, yet you never told him you were Hebrew.”
Moses stepped forward, not a handbreadth between them. “And you felt sorry for Pharaoh Sety?”
“I felt sorry for the Hebrews who bore his wrath after you escaped. And I’m angry that we still bear the rage of his son because of your sins.” They stared in silent combat before Eleazar asked the burning question. “Why did you come back?”
Moses’s countenance sagged, and he moved away from his nephew. “I didn’t want to.”
Eleazar shot a silent question at Hoshea and Abba Aaron, who both avoided his gaze. “Then why…”
“The Hebrew God heard the cries of His people, Eleazar. He will deliver Israel from slavery, and He’s chosen me to confront Ramesses.” Moses lifted his chin and locked eyes with Eleazar again. “I didn’t want to come back, but I want to see our people free.”
Laughing, Eleazar backed away, looking from one insane man to the other. Surely, Abba and Hoshea didn’t believe this Hebrew-turned-Egyptian-turned-Midianite. But no one laughed. “You can’t be serious. You’ll kill us all with this nonsense!”
“I begged Yahweh to send someone else—”
“Yahweh?” Eleazar said. “Who’s Yahweh?”
Abba Aaron approached, as if he could soothe Eleazar’s frustration. “Yahweh is the secret name of El Shaddai. He never revealed His name to our forefathers, but on the mountain of God in Sinai, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob appeared to Moses and said Yahweh is the name by which He is to be known to Israel for all generations to come.”
Doda Miriam. Eleazar wondered what she would think of all this. “Why you? Why didn’t the Hebrew God tell Doda Miriam—the prophetess of Israel—these things?”
At the mention of her name, Moses smiled, the hard lines of his face softening. “I wish He had, son. I’m just a shepherd. I was a soldier before that. I’ve never been good with words. I stutter. I recounted these weaknesses to Yahweh—as if He didn’t know. He became angry, but still wouldn’t relent. His solution was that I speak His words to your abba Aaron. Aaron will repeat my words to Pharaoh.”
“Abba Aaron can’t appear before Pharaoh,” Eleazar said. “He’s a slave, and slaves only appear in Pharaoh’s court when they’re summoned. Like when Doda interpreted Ramesses’s nightmares. If you want to march into Pharaoh’s throne hall and get yourself killed,” he said, poking his uncle’s chest, “go ahead, but don’t drag Abba Aaron with you.” He paused, crossed his arms, and glared at him. “I don’t hear you stuttering.”
“I stutter when I’m nervous, and I’m telling you—it’s not my choice to appear before Pharaoh.” He moved closer, intense but not unkind. “Surely, as a soldier, you can understand, Eleazar. I’m merely following orders. I must do as Yahweh commands.”
Eleazar was unnerved by his transparency. “I understand that you’ve returned to Egypt in an attempt to regain power, but this is no longer Avaris. This is Rameses, the capital of Egypt and the trade center of the world. If Ramesses discovers you’re here, every Hebrew will bear the consequences of your return.”
“If we disobey Yahweh, we will bear far worse.” Moses held his gaze, unflinching. “Aaron tells me our parents are still living. And Miriam. We were hoping you would take us to them. Aaron said I could stay there.”
Eleazar’s ire immediately shifted. “Oh, he did? That sounds like Abba Aaron—offering Doda’s hospitality when he has four wage-earning adults in his own household.”
“You know your ima would never allow it, Eleazar.” Abba’s brows drew together above his eyes. Pitiful. “She hates dogs, and…”
“It has nothing to do with the dog,” Eleazar said, sneering. “Ima cares only for Nadab and Abihu. I’m surprised she lets you live there, Abba.” An awkward silence filled the room, and Eleazar’s eyes fell on the empty tray of rations. He had nothing to offer Doda and the others. The scraps on the trays outside suddenly looked inviting. “No one speaks until we clear the palace gates. Hoshea and I will guard you like two peasants from Goshen going home after a late audie
nce with Pharaoh. As soon as we’re off palace grounds, we’ll be safe.” All three men nodded. “Since you’ve eaten the evening meal that should have gone to Doda Miriam and my grandparents, you will pick up food from the trays in the hall, wrap it, and hide it under your robes.”
Moses looked stricken. “Eleazar, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
Eleazar silenced him with a lifted hand. “You can make up for it by not getting us killed.”
Miriam glanced at the curtained doorway again, and Taliah reached over to still her hands on the pestle. She’d ground the dried henna leaves to dust.
“It’s late,” Taliah said. “Even your faithful nephew is sometimes unable to keep his promises.” She released Miriam’s hand and returned to spinning her wool. “I’m sure he’ll be here in the morning as usual with rations.”
“You know it’s not the food I’m worried about.” Miriam rocked to her feet to fetch a jar for the henna powder. “If El Shaddai were still with me, He would have told me Eleazar wasn’t coming—and probably why he couldn’t be here. Can you imagine losing your ability to see colors or taste the sweetness of honey? That’s a shadowy glimpse of the loss I feel at El Shaddai’s silence.”
“So everything is about your God abandoning you.” The furrows of her brow grew deeper. “Aren’t you just a little concerned about Eleazar?”
Impudent little snip. Miriam set aside the henna and took several deep breaths before responding. “That’s my point. I never needed to worry when I lived in Shaddai’s presence. He gave me insights that helped me protect those I love, but now worry has replaced His presence.”
Taliah halted her spindle and whorl, resting it on her lap. “I don’t mean to offend you, Miriam, but it seems to me if you believed your God had a good plan—as you told me after my attack—then you wouldn’t need to worry.”
A slow grin robbed Miriam’s irritation. “You know, it’s going to be very difficult to keep living with you if you insist on listening to everything I say.” She chuckled then and began pouring the henna powder into the jar, cautious not to spill any on their small square table.
“Perhaps I won’t live with you much longer.”
Miriam’s heart nearly stopped, and the last bit of henna missed the jar completely. “What do you mean? Where would you go?”
“When I begin teaching peasant children, I might earn enough to have my own home. Perhaps even have an extra room where I can teach the students.”
Miriam inhaled deeply. This conversation had to happen. “Taliah, dear, life in Goshen is very different than you experienced in the palace. You’ve been protected in the safety of my little rooms and—”
“Protected? I’ve felt the sting of my family’s rejection and the shame of a ruthless man’s touch. I will fight, Miriam, for power, respect, and status so that I never need to rely on anyone—human or a god—again.” The girl swiped at tears that intruded on her strength.
The sound of footsteps outside their window stole their attention. Suddenly Eleazar filled the doorway wearing a strange expression evident in the moonlight.
Afraid to ask, but unable to remain silent, Miriam prepared for the worst. “Have you heard from Hoshea?”
Eleazar stepped inside, and Hoshea ducked around the curtain. Miriam gasped and jumped to her feet, covering a joyful sob, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight that followed. Two older men shoved aside the curtain and stood as tall as Eleazar. Aaron, the brother she knew, and Moses, a familiar stranger. Unable to decide which one to hug first, she ran to the middle and circled both their necks until they buried her between them. Tears ran freely, lost years forgotten.
“You’re home. You’re finally home,” she whispered. Before either brother could answer, a menacing growl interrupted. Startled, she turned and found a black-and-white dog moving toward her, snarling, hair bristled.
“Sattar, leave it.”
Moses’s single command quieted the creature, but Eleazar and Hoshea huddled at the doorway, Eleazar looking like he’d eaten a bad fig. “That stupid creature threatens anyone who gets near Moses.”
Moses turned his head slowly, irritation evident. “His name is Sattar, protector. It is his nature to protect his master and the flocks in his care.” Moses and Eleazar locked eyes in a silent battle as the dog growled at his master’s side.
“Well, this will never do.” Miriam marched between her brother and nephew, interrupting the dog’s guttural rumble. She rummaged in a basket for a piece of dried fish and tore off bits for everyone, giving the largest serving to Eleazar. “Go on. Feed him, Hoshea. You too, Taliah.”
Sattar made his way around the room, gathering morsels from the hands of each new friend, but shied away when Eleazar offered his piece of fish. Eleazar crossed his arms over his chest. “See, Doda? The dog hates me.”
“And Sattar knows you hate him, so who’s the master and who’s the beast?” Miriam stood beside her nephew and demonstrated. “Now, hold out your piece of fish—and be nice.”
Eleazar scowled but held out the morsel, keeping his hand close to his side. Sattar stood his ground but stretched as far as his mouth would reach to capture the proffered meat. Two stubborn males brandishing wills of iron.
When Sattar finally latched onto the fish, he curled up at Miriam’s feet. Her heart nearly melted. She reached down to stroke his rough black coat and gave him her last piece of fish. “That’s a good boy. You know who’s really in charge, don’t you?”
Moses and Eleazar laughed first and loudest, draining the tension from the room. Moses opened his arms toward Miriam, but Sattar grumbled a low protest. Wide eyes and more laughter framed Moses’s words. “I believe my dog has chosen a new master.”
11
Go, assemble the elders of Israel and say to them, “The LORD, the God of your fathers—the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—appeared to me and said: I have watched over you and have seen what has been done to you in Egypt.”
—EXODUS 3:16
Taliah heard it first. “Miriam, Amram is calling.”
Miriam realized she hadn’t introduced Taliah to Moses, but now wasn’t the time. Everyone stilled, listening for Abba’s weak voice. “Moses.”
Moses’s eyes welled with tears, and he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth. Pointing toward the curtain, he asked, “May I go?” Miriam bobbed her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
Everyone else stood like pillars, but Moses turned like a frightened child. “Come with me, Miriam.”
She fell in step beside him, the others close behind. She held aside the curtain and heard Moses’s small gasp when he saw their parents’ frail forms lying side by side. He hurried to them, knelt, and gathered their hands in his. Ima Jochebed touched his face, his hair, as if in a dream. Abba Amram patted his hand, whispering, “My son, my son, my son.”
Miriam and the others lined the wall, watching the holy moment in silence. Surely, there could be no doubt in any mind that El Shaddai had done this. Who else could rescue a babe from certain death, educate him in Egypt, refine him in the wilderness, and return him to his family? No one but You, Shaddai.
“You will see freedom, Abba.” Moses spoke through his tears, stroking Abba’s brow. “You have lived to see Abraham’s promise fulfilled.”
“What are you saying?” Miriam hurried to the huddled trio, kneeling beside Ima’s shoulder. Sattar followed her like a shadow.
Moses’s expression was a mix of joy and sadness. “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob met with me on the mountain of God. He has heard the cry of the Israelites in bondage and has sent me to command Pharaoh, ‘Let Yahweh’s people go.’ ”
Miriam felt the blood drain from her face. How could the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob meet with anyone? And…“Who is this Yahweh?” Her tone issued a challenge.
Moses sighed and dropped Abba’s and Ima’s hands. “It is the name by which the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob is to be called for generations to come.�
�� He held Miriam’s gaze, a slight grin replacing his weariness. “It is His secret name, Miriam, like the secret name of Ra in the story Ummi Anippe used to tell me—except Yahweh is real, and He will prove it in the days to come.”
Miriam’s chest ached, and tears came without permission. Was it true? Had El Shaddai truly met with her little brother on a mountain in Sinai—while He’d been silent toward Miriam? Had her God told Moses His secret name? If Moses was telling the truth, Israel could be free. If what he said was false, he would tear this family apart.
She stared into the pleading eyes of a man she’d known since he was a baby in a basket among the bulrushes. He looked like any other shepherd—strong, tanned, weary—but the brother she knew best was an Egyptian master. She lifted her sleeve to reveal the branding scar. “Do you remember this?”
Moses ran his fingers over her wrinkled scar. “Yes. I hurt you.”
“You saved me,” she said, bowing her head to hide the mounting confusion. “And hurt me. Pain and protection aren’t exclusive, Brother, and I fear that’s what you’ll do again.”
“Should I look elsewhere for shelter while Yahweh delivers His people?” She heard the tremor in his voice and looked up. His sun-leathered cheeks quaked with barely controlled emotion.
Abba and Ima awaited her reply too. Aaron, Eleazar, Hoshea, and Taliah—all were standing over them, waiting for the prophetess of Israel to speak. But she had no word from El Shaddai. She was empty, dry, abandoned. “You’ll stay with us, here, in Abba and Ima’s room.” Abba Amram squeezed her hand in approval, and Moses exhaled. Why were they worried about her approval? Ridiculous men. They do what they want anyway.
Moses, still kneeling between their parents, tilted his head to meet her gaze. “Aaron and I will need your help to speak with the elders.”
