by Mesu Andrews
Moses nodded gracefully and placed his hand on Abba’s back, nudging him forward. Eleazar swallowed hard when he saw Abba’s hands shaking on the staff he carried. Would he do the snake trick? Maybe give the staff to Moses and again show a leprous hand?
“This is what Yahweh, the God of Israel, says to you, Pharaoh Ramesses.” Abba’s voice echoed off the high ceilings and columns of Pharaoh’s cavernous throne hall. “Let My people go, so they may hold a festival in the wilderness.”
Ramesses still chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Who is this Yahweh that the god on Egypt’s throne should obey him?” He waved his flail again. “I’ve never heard of Yahweh, and I certainly will not let my slaves frolic in the desert.”
“But Yahweh has met with us.” Abba Aaron stepped forward, and two guards shoved their cudgels in his belly. Eleazar closed his eyes, feeling traitorous in his helplessness.
Pharaoh laughed again. “Oh, your god met with you? The Hebrew god I’ve heard of is invisible. Was this an invisible meeting?”
Eleazar opened his eyes and watched Moses step in front of Abba. “Please, let us take a three-day journey into the wilderness to offer sacrifices to Yahweh, or He may strike us with plagues or with the sword.”
Plagues or sword? This was new. Moses had said nothing of plagues or war last night. Was it a trick, or had he heard more from Yahweh?
Ramesses stood, hands on hips, his humor gone. “I think you Hebrews are lazy. Since you’ve decided to return to Egypt, Moses”—he spat the word like a curse—“you will work the mud pits with your Hebrew brothers. This isn’t Avaris anymore.” He sat back on his throne and scoffed. “The Hebrews have grown quite numerous. A trip to the wilderness would stop all production. It’s out of the question. Back to work—both of you!” He pointed his flail at the door through which they’d come, and the guards rushed them out. A nervous hum buzzed among the crowd, and Pharaoh slammed his flail on the armrest. “Silence!” The double ebony doors closed behind Abba and Moses, leaving Pharaoh sulking on his throne and the next supplicant shaking in his sandals.
Eleazar breathed a sigh of relief, marveling at the undeniable favor that allowed Abba and Moses to escape with their lives. Whether or not Yahweh was real didn’t excuse the inhumanity Eleazar witnessed every day. How could any god watch men’s cruelty and do nothing? And if Yahweh was real, how could He let Israel suffer the harsh bondage of Egypt all these years? No matter how many miracles Yahweh performed, these questions deserved answers before Eleazar could trust Him.
Thankfully, only three petitioners brought cases for Pharaoh’s hearing before the sun’s ray touched the armrest. He sentenced all of them to execution and continued pouting even as his scribes rolled up their scrolls and started dismantling their reeds and pigment. From across the room, Eleazar’s little brother Ithamar captured his gaze and raised an eyebrow as if saying, I’m glad this day is over.
But before the last scroll was packed, Pharaoh slammed his flail on the armrest again. “Prince Ram, you will summon the slave drivers and Hebrew overseers to the private throne hall in Sety’s palace.” The smaller structure, at the northernmost corner of the palace complex, had been the king’s primary residence until Ramesses’s grander palace had been built.
Ram stood among the gallery of princes. “As you wish, great and mighty Son of Horus.”
The king stared at the double ebony doors as if reliving his disturbing encounter. “If Moses and his brother have energy to complain, they have entirely too much time on their hands. You will issue this order to the slave drivers and Hebrew overseers.” He pointed to the scribes to be sure they recorded every word. “You are no longer to supply the slaves with straw for making bricks. Let them gather their own straw, but require them to make the same number of bricks as before.” A sinister smile curved his lips. “If the slaves work harder, they’ll have no time to hear lies about meeting with an invisible god.”
18
So the people scattered all over Egypt to gather stubble to use for straw. The slave drivers kept pressing them, saying, “Complete the work required of you for each day, just as when you had straw.” And Pharaoh’s slave drivers beat the Israelite overseers they had appointed, demanding, “Why haven’t you met your quota of bricks yesterday or today, as before?”
—EXODUS 5:12–14
Miriam felt the soft rumble of Sattar’s growl under her hand and rolled over on her sleeping mat. The odor of soiled bandages and lingering herbs stirred memories of yesterday’s wrath. The slave drivers and overseers had ordered Hebrew slaves to gather their own straw for dusting their hands and brick molds. Slaves typically chopped any sort of plant stubble into fine dust to keep the mud from sticking to their hands and molds, but to collect the straw themselves would slow their process considerably. Though the slave drivers and overseers understood the delay such an order would cause, they still required the same quota of bricks. It was ludicrous. Impossible. Unreasonable. So why had they ordered it?
Miriam had a gut-wrenching suspicion it had to do with Moses and Aaron’s audience with the king. So far, no one else had raised the possibility. The brick makers knew only that yesterday had brought more pain, more brutality, and more death than anyone could remember. But how long until someone accused Miriam’s brothers?
While the slave drivers’ whips feasted on Hebrew failure, Moses and Aaron joined every available slave to gather straw from the land. But when beaten and wounded slaves lined up around Miriam’s long house, Moses returned to help her tend the hundreds who begged for relief through her herbs and honey. Even Taliah had postponed her lessons with Masud, Haji, and Tuya to help with the wounded.
Most of their supplies had been used up yesterday, but they could still assist those who brought their own honey. Miriam had sent word to Gedor, the linen keeper, that they needed as many linen scraps as possible to bandage the wounded.
Sattar’s wet nose nudged Miriam’s cheek, bringing her out of half consciousness. Then he was on his feet, growling like a sentry between her and the giant form of a man at her doorway.
“Will that dog ever accept me?” Eleazar asked in the predawn darkness.
“Leave it, Sattar.” Miriam pointed to her mat. The dog left his protective stance and returned to her mat, circled twice, and then lay down beside her. “You’re scary in the dark.” She loved teasing her nephew.
Taliah sat up and pulled on her robe, combing her luxurious black hair with her fingers. Eleazar walked two steps and offered his fist to Miriam. She grabbed it and saw him wince as he hoisted her to her feet.
“What’s wrong? Let me light a lamp.” She hurried toward her small table and felt for two flint stones to strike together. Before she could strike a spark, she saw a flash in her mind. A vision, quick as a blink, of Prince Ram’s whip slicing Eleazar’s back. Then darkness again.
Miriam laid her hands on the flint stones but didn’t light the lamp. “Why did Ram beat you, Eleazar?”
“You were beaten?” Taliah gasped.
Miriam struck the flint stones together over the oil-soaked lamp wick. The lamp offered a small circle of light that she carried toward Eleazar. “Turn around. Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” he said, backing away from her light. He held two bags in his hands. The smallest appeared to be their normal food rations. The larger he held aloft. “Prince Ram sent me with more herbs and honey. He said you should expect increased injuries today. I probably won’t return tonight. I, um…”
“I’ve already seen it. Yahweh showed me. Now, come here, boy.” Miriam held the lamp higher in her trembling hand. When Eleazar hesitated, she moved closer, giving light to her fears. His face was badly bruised and swollen, his lips cut from a beating. Taliah whimpered but covered her mouth when Miriam cast a reproving glance her way.
“Lie down on my mat so I can treat the whipping wounds on your back.”
A single nod was his only response.
Miriam began checking through the new bag of supplies. �
��Taliah, take the rations and then help Eleazar take off his breast piece.”
“Me?” The girl began her protest at the same time Eleazar made excuses.
“But I must return—”
Miriam lifted her hand, cutting off both their pleas. “Now is not the time to be bashful or stubborn.” Miriam pinned Eleazar with her sternest gaze. “I need to organize these supplies, and you need to get that leather breast piece off. The wounds are probably already festering under the dirty leather.” Her voice broke, and she turned away with the lamp, hurrying to unpack the large bundle of herbs, balms, seeds, and powders. Her hands shook as she retrieved some turmeric powder, a few henna leaves, and a jar of honey. Thank You, Yahweh, for speaking to me, but why must it be my Eleazar? Why my boy?
Sattar, sensing the need, moved off her mat as Eleazar sat down. Taliah knelt behind him and began untying the straps, gently pulling the blood-soaked leather from his back. Eleazar kept his head bowed, silent. He’d worked hard to keep her at a distance and seemed determined to continue. Stubborn man.
Miriam knelt beside them. “All right, boy, lie on your stomach and tell me what happened.”
“Doda, I’m not a boy. I’m forty-seven years—”
“You’re my boy. Now, on your stomach.” Miriam pointed to the mat and waited for her gentle giant to position himself. Nearly twice as wide and long as her mat, he rested his chin on a fist and waited for her to begin. She turned to Taliah, who was standing over them twisting her hands. “I’ll tend the wounds, dear, but you must sit beside his head and distract him from the pain.”
Taliah took tentative steps on shaky legs. But instead of sitting by his head, she prostrated herself, matching his posture with chin on fist, placing her face a handbreadth from Eleazar’s. “Is this close enough to be a distraction?” she whispered to him.
Miriam could hear Eleazar’s gulp from where she sat and decided now was the time for the turmeric powder. She sprinkled a thin layer across the deepest wound that extended the length of his back. He sucked in a quick breath. “The more you talk, the less it will hurt,” she said. “Why did Prince Ram beat you and send you to me with supplies? And why would he warn us of more wounded?”
“Mmm.” The single noise through clenched teeth was the only sound Eleazar could make until Miriam moved to the other wounds on his back. Taliah reached out and combed a stray curl from his forehead. He stilled under her touch and began his explanation. “Prince Ram believes his father is being unreasonable. They gave the Nubians and peasants leave to worship their gods last year, so even the king’s officials realize that Moses’s request isn’t excessive. But no one will challenge the king because he’s blinded by hate for Moses, and his anger is mounting.”
Miriam placed the first henna leaf across the deepest wound, and he clenched his teeth again.
“Look at me,” Taliah said. “What do you see in my eyes, Eleazar?”
“Mmm,” he groaned. “I see Putiel.” He buried his face in his hands. “Telling me to protect you.”
She stroked his hair, removing the leather tie that bound it at his neck, and then leaned close. “If I look like my abba, two months without harem lotions and paints has done more damage than I imagined.” Miriam grinned as she began coating bandages with honey.
Even Eleazar chuckled, lifting his chin onto his fist again. “Your only resemblance to Putiel is your strength of spirit. Thankfully, you have your ima’s beauty.”
Miriam kept slathering honey on bandages and placing them on his wounds, but Eleazar seemed oblivious to everything but Taliah. The girl looked up at Miriam, and her cheeks pinked. “Here, let me help you with the bandages while Eleazar tells us more about what Prince Ram said.”
When Miriam smoothed the final bandage over his deepest wound, Eleazar’s words came out on a groan. “The brick makers haven’t reached their quota since Pharaoh commanded them to haul their own straw.”
Taliah glanced at Miriam. “You mean Pharaoh issued that command? Not the overseers?”
Miriam squeezed her eyes closed. Her fears were valid. “Go on, Eleazar.”
“Pharaoh’s building projects are falling behind. He woke Prince Ram in the middle of the night, ordering him to command all Hebrew overseers beaten.” He looked over his shoulder at Miriam. “Ram started with me to make a point.”
Miriam’s heart was in her throat. “Does he know you’re Moses’s nephew?”
“I don’t think Prince Ram or the king has made that connection yet.” Eleazar pillowed his hands and laid his head down, keeping his focus on Miriam. “The greatest proof of Yahweh’s existence isn’t my uncle’s return or the miracles he and Abba performed in front of the elders. It’s the fact that Ramesses hasn’t killed Moses yet—because I know how much he hates Sety’s betrayer.” He paused and then shifted his eyes to Taliah. “I see worse than beatings if Pharaoh discovers any of us are connected with Abba and Moses. I won’t be able to protect anyone in this house.”
Miriam helped him sit up, and Eleazar held his hair out of the way while she and Taliah wrapped a single cloth around his torso to hold the treated bandages in place. Miriam gathered the new supplies and began categorizing them. “I know you try to protect us, and I’m grateful, boy. Really.” She set aside her jars and baskets and cupped his face. “But consider for a moment that the God you’re so angry with has protected you all these years and might have placed you in Pharaoh’s palace for a reason you can’t imagine.” She rolled to her knees and then stood, looking down at two puzzled faces.
Let them wonder—it’s how faith grows.
Within the bag of Prince Ram’s supplies were more than rolls of linen and dried herbs. Six jars of poppy seeds would provide anesthetic and strong pain relief, and eight jars of turmeric powder were meant to treat open wounds like Eleazar’s. Prince Ram was telling her that injuries would not only increase in number but also in severity. It was a warning clearer than a courier with a scroll. Prince Ram often tried to moderate his father’s excesses—he was a good boy as Egyptian princes go—but he was telling her that even he couldn’t forestall Pharaoh’s wrath this time.
19
When [the Israelite overseers] left Pharaoh, they found Moses and Aaron waiting to meet them, and they said, “May the LORD look on you and judge you! You have made us obnoxious to Pharaoh and his officials and have put a sword in their hand to kill us.”
—EXODUS 5:20–21
Injured overseers began arriving as Miriam and Taliah helped Eleazar replace his leather breast piece.
“The Egyptian physicians won’t treat us anymore,” one man said, offering her a jar of honey to treat his wounds. “They’re afraid Pharaoh’s wrath will fall on them if they help us.”
Miriam received his payment, but the amount he offered wouldn’t even cover his own wounds, let alone the wounds of those in the line of slaves forming outside her door. She caught Eleazar’s arm before he slipped outside. “Ask Prince Ram to make arrangements with the Egyptian physicians. If they won’t treat the slaves, they can at least share their supplies with us.”
By midday, Prince Ram’s supply of bandages and treatments was nearly gone, and Miriam had received no word from the Egyptian physicians. Thankfully, most of the overseers were better compensated than plateau slaves and brought their own bandages and honey.
Now almost dusk, Miriam’s back ached. She wiped sweat from her brow, stretched her arms overhead, and returned to debriding the wound of an overseer from the tribe of Reuben. A pair of brick makers carried in an injured man. He was barely conscious. “He’s an elder and overseer of Judah. Stop what you’re doing and help him.”
Taliah intercepted the demanding newcomers. “Let’s take him into the adjoining chamber to wait. It’s quieter, and he’ll be more comfortable with Amram and Jochebed.”
“No!” one of the weavers shouted. “The Judeans have donated more supplies than any other tribe. You will help him now!”
Calmly, Miriam left the Reubenite and inspected
the Judean’s injuries. Though no doubt painful, the whipping wounds on his unscarred back were neither life threatening nor urgent. “I am grateful to the tribe of Judah for their donations, but I decide who is treated first based on need, not bluster.” She turned to Taliah. “He can wait outside if he refuses the quiet company of my parents.”
The injured Judean lifted a weak hand toward the curtain and the adjoining room. His companions hadn’t been the first of their tribe to demand preferential treatment. Judeans had been blessed with thirty overseers’ positions—a distinction of honor any day but today.
Miriam returned to the Reubenite on her mat and finished her work with a prayer, “May Yahweh make Himself known to you by His mighty works on your behalf.” She had prayed aloud over each patient, mentioning the name Yahweh so the nation of Israel would recognize their coming deliverance. Some of them thanked her without question. Some responded with growing faith, while others spewed cynicism that had grown from generations of buried hope. Some were inquisitive at the mention of Yahweh and asked why El Shaddai’s prophetess would serve another god. “Yahweh is the new name by which every Hebrew can know El Shadd—Yahweh, the I AM. His mighty works will soon reveal the nature of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as we’ve never seen before.”
Somehow, the confidence of her declarations made Yahweh’s silence to her more bearable.
Taliah returned from the adjoining room as the lavender hues of dusk shone through the window. “Our special guest is settled in the back room,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “Amram is telling him a story to keep his mind off the pain.”
