by Mesu Andrews
“What’s the pitcher for?” Doda Miriam interrupted, causing Ima Elisheba to sputter.
She shoved the pitcher into Doda’s arms. “It’s water from the Nile. Aaron says you must hold it. I don’t know why I can’t hold it, but he said it must be you.” Ima lifted an eyebrow at Eleazar. “Hmm.” At least she acknowledged his presence.
Doda received the pitcher and nodded politely. “Thank you, Elisheba. How nice to see you this evening.”
Eleazar stifled a grin at these women who’d been carefully not fighting since Abba Aaron moved in with Ima’s family when they married. Saba Amram and Savta Jochebed approved the marriage but had been hurt deeply when Abba Aaron seldom visited and chose to provide for his wife’s family, leaving Saba Amram and Savta Jochebed to fend for themselves. In Eleazar’s eyes, it was unforgivable—especially now that Ima Elisheba’s parents were gone and Eleazar’s brothers earned a wage and still lived at home, feeding on his parents’ rations like crows on carrion.
Without warning, Ima jerked Eleazar’s hair, pulling his head sideways. “I see you still haven’t cut your hair.” She flung his hair away and pointed to Nadab and Abihu, who stood three camel lengths away near Abba and Moses. “Your brothers have cut their hair to match the Egyptian-style wigs.”
Eleazar held his tongue—as always. But Doda didn’t—as usual. “I suppose if Eleazar did everything like Nadab and Abihu, my parents and I would starve.”
Hoshea arrived in time to hear, and he shot a panicked glance at Eleazar. Eleazar simply closed his eyes, waiting for the real henpecking to begin.
A disgusted huff coaxed his eyes opened. Ima lifted a brow in challenge. “I suppose Miriam has convinced you to marry the harem girl. Your brothers, of course, are men of distinction and will wait for a respectable maiden, but you…”
“Me, Ima?” As soon as he spoke, he regretted breaking his silence.
“It’s well known that Hebrew soldiers have no morals, so why not marry a concubine? What does it matter that other men have traveled that path before you?”
Had he been on a battlefield, Eleazar’s rage would have meant blood, but this woman was his ima, whether she behaved like it or not.
Doda furtively reached for his hand. “Taliah was a tutor in the harem, Elisheba, and she’s far too intelligent to marry my older nephews.”
Ima rolled her eyes, but before she could spew more venom, Abba Aaron’s voice rang out like a trumpet in the cool desert air.
“El Shaddai has heard our groaning and will deliver us from bondage.” He had stepped onto a pile of dried-mud bricks and held Moses’s staff high overhead. Moses stood on the ground at his right side and motioned him to bend closer. The brothers whispered, and the crowd stilled.
But Eleazar had heard it all before. His mind was consumed with Taliah. How many others thought she’d been Ramesses’s concubine? Was this lie also the cause of Putiel’s family shunning her? He couldn’t let a rumor ruin her reputation, her life, her future.
“The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob appeared to my brother, Moses, in a flaming bush atop Mount Horeb in the Sinai wilderness.” Abba continued the story of Moses’s encounter, grabbing Eleazar’s attention with details he hadn’t heard. “He has revealed His personal name, Yahweh, meaning His nature will become evident by His actions. In generations past, only one man at a time—or a woman”—he nodded at Doda Miriam—“was given the honor of knowing our God. But for generations to come, all Israelites have the chance to know Yahweh through His mighty works. Each of us will learn of God personally as He rescues us from Egypt.”
Abba paused as if waiting for roaring applause, but when met with only skeptical stares, he cleared his throat and leaned down to consult with Moses again. The elders began to fidget, an unsettled buzz stirring the crowd. Nadab and Abihu, standing on Abba’s left side, cast a questioning glance at Ima, as if she would direct Abba—as usual.
Without warning, Abba Aaron rose to full height and threw down Moses’s staff. When it hit the ground, a slithering cobra rose in its place, hood extended and ready to strike. Nadab and Abihu shrieked like frightened maidens, and Ima shouted at Abba, “Kill it! Kill it!”
Sattar growled but kept his distance, making Eleazar chuckle. But Moses seemed unruffled, walking around the circle of terrified elders, capturing the attention of those who dared look at him instead of the snake. Ending his perusal of first-row elders, Moses grabbed the serpent’s tail, instantly returning the slithering creature to his sturdy shepherd’s staff. He resumed his position at Abba’s right side.
Now came the roaring applause, but neither Aaron nor Moses took a bow. Doda Miriam stepped closer to Eleazar and slipped her hand around his elbow. Was she afraid? It wasn’t like her to be timid.
“I’ve seen that trick before in the market,” shouted Medad from Dan’s tribe. “Did your Egyptian brother teach you that, Aaron?” Discontent rumbled through the crowd, but Moses remained silent, chin high. A storied soldier knew better than to engage the rabble.
Abba Aaron raised his voice above the grumbling. “Yahweh anticipated your doubt and told us to display a second sign.” Abba slipped his right hand inside his robe for only a moment. When he removed it, he lifted it overhead and scaly white skin fairly glowed in the moonlight—leprosy.
The audience gasped, and Ima Elisheba fell into Hoshea’s arms, wailing. Abba Aaron turned his face away, seeming as rattled as the rest to see his flesh eaten so thoroughly. Eleazar felt the same panic and turned to one he hoped could explain. “Doda, why would Yahweh destroy the hand of a metal worker? Abba will be expelled from the craftsmen’s village and sent here to the plateau to work the mud pits.”
Before she could reply, Abba Aaron hid his hand inside his robe again and then removed it—this time perfectly restored. The awe on Abba’s face matched the flutter of wonder among the elders.
Hoshea shook Ima. “Look, Elisheba. He’s healed. Look!” But she was too busy crying to see the miracle before her.
Eleazar leaned over, trying to read Doda’s puzzling expression. “What do you think of that?” Eleazar expected a litany of praise, perhaps a list of I told you so’s, or at least a short song overflowing from her heart.
But she shook her head and covered her quiet sobs, cradling the pitcher of water. What was happening inside his typically effusive Doda? Yahweh’s miracles had obviously overwhelmed her, but were her tears happy or sad?
“Why didn’t you let someone inspect your hand, Aaron?” A dissenting voice rose among the elders.
“How do we know you didn’t dip your hand in yogurt to make it white, and then just wipe it off?”
“There are a dozen ways you could do that trick.” More doubters raised their voices until Eleazar feared the noise would travel to the watchmen on guard in the valley. Sattar had taken a protective stance in front of Doda Miriam, the fur on his back rising with his growl.
Eleazar considered quieting the crowd himself, but Moses joined Abba on the pile of mud bricks, and stilled the elders with uplifted hands. “I’m not asking you to believe in m-m-me, men of Israel, but at least consider the f-f-facts before you.” He pointed to Doda Miriam. “Yahweh has spoken to my sister, Miriam, since she was a young girl—the only prophetess in Israel since the days of Jacob and Joseph. But as the Nile waters flow through the banks of Egypt, so God’s power flows through His messengers, and now Yahweh’s power also flows through Aaron and me.”
Moses extended his hand toward her. “Miriam, please give Aaron the pitcher.”
As if in a trance, Doda raised her head and lifted the pitcher into Abba’s hands. Eleazar cradled her shoulders. She seemed so frail, so small in that moment. He leaned close to whisper. “He didn’t say they’d been chosen to replace you, Doda.” Her face twisted with renewed pain, and she waved away his sympathy. He squeezed her to his side and watched for more proof of Yahweh’s power.
Abba Aaron tipped the pitcher and poured a small stream of water at the base of the brick pile, sending a
puff of dust into the air before a puddle formed.
“Can everyone attest that this pitcher contains water?” Moses asked. “Those in front, please testify to those who can’t see it. Is there agreement before we proceed?” Nods and anxious stares gave Moses permission to proceed. “Pour the remainder of the pitcher’s contents on the ground, Aaron.”
Abba obeyed, and the stream ran clear at first but gradually became red and thick, sticky as it hit the ground. Soon the stench of blood filled the air. Ima Elisheba screamed as it splattered on her robe. Abba kept pouring, the contents far exceeding what the small pitcher could have contained.
Moses raised his voice over the stunned exclamations. “When Yahweh appeared to me on Mount Horeb, He said, ‘I have indeed seen the misery of My people in Egypt. I have heard their cries, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue My people Israel from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey—the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites.’ ”
One-by-one, the elders fell to their knees, stretching their arms out before them, foreheads on the dust. Even Ima Elisheba and her sons bowed the knee, humbled in the presence of such power. Moaning and cries rose to heaven—hearts broken in worship of the God who had remembered His promise and His people.
Eleazar knelt on one knee but rested his elbow on the other, watching. He’d known many of these men all his life, grown up with their children, served with some of their sons. How could they worship Doda Miriam’s God tonight when they’d bowed before Egypt’s gods most of their lives? Some of their children knew nothing of the Hebrew God. The stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, and Abraham had faded into obscurity. Their loyalty was fickle, their worship now aimed at a God they didn’t know.
Even more convicting was the seed of faith growing in Eleazar’s belly. How dare he hope in the God he’d cursed at Kadesh! Could the same God who’d allowed a twelve-year-old boy to murder dozens of innocent Hebrew soldiers at Kadesh now rescue the whole nation from that boy’s father? It would take more than a few tricks to bring Eleazar to his knees.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Doda Miriam’s serene smile mingled with tears. Sattar sat beside her, attentive but peaceful. Doda lifted her hands toward heaven and opened her mouth, releasing the sound Israel had come to know as most holy worship. Doda’s songs, with their haunting beauty, had silenced even the Egyptians, but tonight the melody blended with the fledgling praise of Israel’s elders. Whatever inner turmoil she’d experienced was soothed by her song. How could she praise a God she couldn’t see or understand?
Abba Aaron had said each Israelite would experience God personally as His nature was revealed during their rescue. Experience Him personally. El Shaddai had always been Doda’s God, Saba and Savta’s God, but never Eleazar’s God. He was too holy to fathom and too distant to trust.
If You’re there, Yahweh, prove it to me.
Surrounded by worship late into the night, unexpected emotion rumbled up from Eleazar’s chest. Only one person came to mind who might understand his conflicted thoughts. Only one person was intelligent, candid, and open-minded enough to really listen if he could gather the courage to voice his deepest questions.
Only Taliah.
16
The LORD is my strength and my defense;
he has become my salvation.
He is my God, and I will praise him,
my father’s God, and I will exalt him.
—EXODUS 15:2
Miriam’s song carried on the night wind, her voice as strong as it had been when she was a child. “El Shaddai is my strength and my salvation.” Her heart skipped a beat, and she repeated the refrain using His new name. “Yahweh is my strength and my salvation. He is my God, and I will praise Him, my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.” Emotion threatened to choke off the melody, but she resisted. Repeating Shaddai’s new name was the only way to know Him anew as Abba Amram had suggested. “Yahweh is my strength and my salvation. He is my God…” Into the worship she sang, eyes closed, tears flowing. Her heart, mind, and hands lifted to the Giver of Life, the Sustainer of her soul.
I rejoice in the revelation of Your mighty power, O God, but please…please…don’t take Your Spirit from me. When Moses had demanded the pitcher of water from her, she had clung to it as if to a lifeline. Surely, Yahweh would allow her to participate in one miracle before the elders. Surely, He would use her brothers and her in His deliverance. But no. Only Aaron and Moses had been used to display Yahweh’s mighty power tonight.
“Yahweh is my strength and my salvation. He is my God, and I will praise Him, my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.” The familiar chorus washed over her spirit like healing balm, reminding her of Moses’s words. This isn’t about you or me, Miriam…it’s about Yahweh showing the world He is the One True God. If she could keep her focus on Yahweh, concentrate on His mighty works, His ultimate plan….
“Doda, it’s late. I should take you home.” Eleazar cupped her elbow and helped her stand. Dear boy.
She nodded, leaning heavily on his arm. “Come, Sattar.” She snapped her fingers, and he followed. Moses noticed their departure and joined them; Hoshea too. The moon lit their path, and exhaustion imposed silence.
When they reached the long house, Moses turned to Eleazar and Hoshea before going inside. “Aaron and I will appear before Pharaoh in the morning. We’ll deliver Yahweh’s command, ‘Let My people go, so they may hold a festival to Me in the wilderness.’ ”
“A festival?” Miriam touched his arm, drawing his attention. “You told the elders Yahweh would free Israel completely.”
“And He will, but first we must ask this reasonable request of Egypt’s unreasonable king. Ramesses will refuse. Yahweh has told us He’ll harden Pharaoh’s heart repeatedly, but God will compel Pharaoh with His mighty hand.” He sighed deeply and ran his hand through his long, white hair. “Eventually, Israel will be free.” He looked up at Eleazar. “But it will not be a quick deliverance.” He disappeared through the curtain, leaving Miriam as confused as Eleazar and Hoshea.
Eleazar shook his head. “If Ramesses recognizes Moses as the man who betrayed his father, he may kill both him and Abba before they speak a word.”
Afterward Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and said, “This is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘Let my people go.’ ”
—EXODUS 5:1
17
Pharaoh said, “Who is the LORD, that I should obey him and let Israel go? I do not know the LORD and I will not let Israel go.”
—EXODUS 5:2
Pharaoh began receiving supplicants when the morning sun shone through the tall, narrow throne-room windows and stretched to the farthest corner. Eleazar had been watching the progression of the sun’s rays across the marble floor all morning, waiting for Abba Aaron and Dohd Moses to arrive. He’d declined to help them gain an audience; refused to help Moses commit suicide. If Pharaoh Ramesses knew Prince Mehy had returned to Rameses, it would mean death for Moses and anyone associated with him.
Moses had nodded and smiled. “Yahweh will make a way,” he’d said.
If Yahweh planned to make a way for them to see Pharaoh today, He’d better hurry. Pharaoh ceased his morning hearings when the sun’s rays touched the left arm of his gilded throne. The tip of daylight had now reached the royal dais.
Prince Ram lifted his right hand and glanced over his shoulder, summoning Eleazar for whispered instructions. “Let’s use battle-axes for our sparring today.”
“You can test the new ones the Hittites forged last week.” Eleazar resumed his position while the prince feigned interest in political affairs. Both of them hated court. They much preferred their daily sparring match at the armory after midday, but Pharaoh’s second firstborn knew the importance of pleasing his father. So he sat and Eleazar stood for what seemed like days every morning.
A commotion
at the two-story ebony doors drew every eye toward two men being escorted by the king’s guards. Eleazar’s chest constricted. Abba and Moses. Abba was dressed in a white supplicant’s robe. Moses remained in his shepherd’s garb. Their long gray beards betrayed their Hebrew lineage. Both men’s hands were tied. They’d been arrested. Moses must have revealed his identity.
Ramesses flicked the horsetail flail, ordering the current supplicant aside. He leaned forward, narrowing his kohl-outlined Eyes of Horus, and addressed his soldiers. “Guards who disrupt my throne hall put their lives in jeopardy.”
The soldiers, nearly jogging, hurried the prisoners up the long crimson carpet. The guard on the right spoke breathlessly. “Keeper of Harmony and Balance, Strong in Right, Elect of Ra—the time for petitions is growing late, and we knew you would want to see these men today.”
“You knew, did you?” Pharaoh relaxed against his throne with a grin.
Abba Aaron bowed, but Moses stood like the royal he once was. “Good m-m-morning, Ramesses. It’s been a long time.”
Indignation swept Pharaoh’s features. What Hebrew would dare use Pharaoh’s familiar name? He looked closer, and confusion settled on the royal brow. Disbelief came next with a gasp. “Mehy?”
“I’m called Moses now, and this is my brother, Aaron. I’ve been a Midianite shepherd these forty years.”
Ramesses’s eyes bulged, and a slight chuckle escaped instead of the anger Eleazar had feared. “You’re wearing Midianite stripes and you smell of sheep. The once-great warrior who taught me to wield a sword is now a shepherd? The one-time vizier and honorary brother of Pharaoh Sety is now brother to a slave?” His chuckle bloomed into laughter. “The gods have punished you far worse than Abbi Sety’s death squads could have.”
