Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  “I must go.” He jumped up, grabbed his armor, and hurried to the ladder.

  “Eleazar.” Her voice stopped him. “I love you too.”

  A ferocious yearning swept over him. She loved him. “I’ll be home again as soon as I can.” He cursed each step that took him away from his beautiful wife.

  33

  Then Pharaoh summoned Moses and Aaron and said, “Go, sacrifice to your God here in the land.”

  —EXODUS 8:25

  Moses and Doda waited at the bottom of the ladder with four empty grain sacks. Before Eleazar could question their purpose, Moses began wrapping the sacks around Eleazar’s arms and legs. “If these are the stable flies I remember from my days here at Avaris, they’re blood feeders and you’ll need this protection.”

  Eleazar didn’t argue though he looked like a fool with sackcloth wrapped like wings around his limbs. “I’ll send Hoshea with word if Pharaoh relents and decides to release us.”

  Moses finished tying the last sack to his leg and rose to meet his gaze. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  The certainty on his uncle’s expression told Eleazar he’d already heard from Yahweh. The soberness told him this would not be the last battle with Ramesses. Eleazar kissed Doda’s cheek and began his brisk jog toward the city. He reached the edge of the industrial section and waved off the first fly. He’d jogged ten camel lengths, and his face was on fire. A few more strides and the pests started biting through the sackcloth.

  He ran to the throne hall first, but it was empty—not even a guard at the ebony doors. The sounds of shrieks and cries of pain grew louder as he checked one empty audience chamber after another. Eleazar decided to find Hoshea in their underground military barracks. Perhaps he’d know where Prince Ram and Pharaoh were meeting.

  The swarms of flies lessened as Eleazar descended the ramp to the Hebrew barracks. He stepped over Hoshea’s morning rations and pounded at the door of the chamber they shared. Hoshea turned the iron latch and swung open the door, looking at Eleazar as if he had two heads. “What’s wrong?” He appraised Eleazar’s winged arms and legs and then slapped at a fly on his neck.

  Eleazar rushed inside and closed the door behind them, astonished that not a single fly entered the chamber with him.

  “I was just ready to open my door and collect my rations when I heard your knock.” Hoshea helped Eleazar remove the sackcloth. They found welts the size of grapes on his arms and legs.

  Eleazar could only imagine what his face looked like. He collapsed on Hoshea’s sleeping mat. “We have to find Ram. No one is in the throne hall.”

  Hoshea swallowed hard, staring at Eleazar’s wounds. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It appears the distinction Moses prophesied is all about location, not the person. As long as we’re in the Hebrew section of the palace or in Goshen, we’re safe.”

  “We’re soldiers, Hoshea. We serve our commanders. I serve Prince Ram, and you serve me, live or die.” Eleazar saw a shadow of doubt cross his young apprentice’s face, and it startled him. Hoshea had never shown fear. His honor and courage had been faultless.

  The boy extended his arm to help Eleazar stand, but he held Eleazar’s gaze. “If I ever have to choose between obeying you or Yahweh, I will choose Yahweh, Commander.”

  Eleazar released his arm and felt a sting of betrayal. “At least we know where your loyalty lies. Will Yahweh allow you to look for Prince Ram?” He could see his sarcasm wounded Hoshea, and he regretted it immediately.

  The boy offered kindness in return. “Of course, I’ll help you find the prince.” He reached for the sackcloth to retie them, but Eleazar stopped him.

  “It doesn’t help.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “My comment was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I’m going to be in a few moments.” Hoshea grinned and cringed as he reached for the door.

  Eleazar chuckled with him and wondered why he couldn’t talk with Taliah so easily.

  They began their search in the residential wing, swatting flies and crying out in pain as they tried to ignore the overwhelming wails of women and children. But Eleazar and Hoshea found Prince Ram by following the sounds of quarreling. He, Prince Kopshef, and Pharaoh were sealed in an alcove three doors down from Prince Ram’s private chamber. They’d stuffed cloth beneath the door, presumably keeping flies out, but it did nothing to muffle their sharp disagreement on how to stop Egypt’s decline.

  Eleazar recognized Prince Ram’s voice first. “Kill Moses and Aaron! If they can’t announce the plagues, the plagues won’t happen.” Should Eleazar knock on the door or run back to Goshen and warn Abba and Moses?

  “You imbecile!” Kopshef screamed. “It’s not Moses and Aaron that overpower Egypt’s gods. It’s their Yahweh. Who’s going to kill him when we can’t even match his tricks?”

  Eleazar pounded on the door and heard Pharaoh bark, “What?”

  “It’s Eleazar, my king. How may I serve you?”

  “I’ve already sent my chariot to Goshen to collect Moses and Aaron. Make sure they find us.”

  Hoshea slapped a fly from his neck and shrugged, glancing around the deserted palace hallway. “We might as well get comfortable,” he said, sliding down the wall and landing in a heap.

  Eleazar stood, arms crossed over his chest, assessing the eerie sight. The morning sun streamed in the long, narrow windows showing dust dancing on marble tiles, intricately carved pillars, and luxurious tapestries. That same dust had become biting gnats weeks ago, bringing pain and destruction to the three most powerful men in the world—men now huddled in a locked room hiding from…flies. Couldn’t a God who turned the Nile to blood, turned dust to gnats, and caused flies to swarm on a single city free the Israelites in a single day? Eleazar grinned. Yahweh was indeed teaching both the Egyptians and the Israelites many things about Himself in these days of plagues and patience.

  With the thoughts still rumbling in his head, Eleazar noted four silhouettes at the far end of the hallway. Flies swarmed all around the two Egyptian guards, but none landed on Abba or Moses. Eleazar pointed to the sight. “So much for our theory of God’s distinction being geographical, not personal.”

  Hoshea’s face lit with wonder. “We’re discovering Yahweh can do most anything.” They waited impatiently for the two elders to arrive. When Hoshea could wait no longer, he shouted, “Has a single fly landed on you?”

  But Moses was sober, his countenance more melancholy than triumphant. “No, but we’ve seen much suffering on our way here.” He pointed to the closed door. “Is Ramesses in there?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door. No knock. No warning. He simply barged through the door Pharaoh had barricaded shut and closed it behind him. The Egyptian guards were as stunned as Eleazar and shoved him aside to press their ears against the door.

  There was no need. Everyone in the city could hear Pharaoh shout. “Go, Moses! You may sacrifice to your god in our land.”

  “Not good enough.” Moses’s reply was calm but commanding, also easily heard. “Our sacrifices are detestable in the eyes of Egyptians. We might be stoned while we worship if we remain here. No. We must be allowed a three-day journey into the wilderness to sacrifice as Yahweh commands.”

  “Aahh!” Pharaoh growled, and Eleazar heard increased swatting and more groaning. “All right! You may sacrifice in the wilderness, but don’t go far. Now pray for me!”

  The Egyptian guards exchanged a stunned glance, as did Hoshea and Eleazar. Pharaoh, deified Son of Horus, asked for a blessing from a slave’s god.

  “As soon as I leave the city, I will pray to Yahweh, and tomorrow,” Moses emphasized, “the flies will leave Pharaoh, his officials, and his people. But be sure you don’t deal deceitfully again with Yahweh’s people, Ramesses.”

  The door swung open, and the leaning Egyptian guards nearly fell into the room. Moses stepped back, allowing them to regain their balance—and their composure.

  “Wait!” Pharaoh pointed his flail at Moses
. “I will not wait for tomorrow. Tell your god the flies must leave today.”

  Moses grinned. “Yahweh gave you one chance to choose the time of your deliverance—with the frogs—and you were too proud to ask urgently. The flies leave tomorrow.” He slammed the door closed behind him.

  Eleazar glimpsed Prince Ram before the door closed, his welted face mottled with rage. Was he angry with Moses? Or maybe Kopshef or Ramesses? Or had he summoned Eleazar this morning and found him absent?

  Moses stepped within a handbreadth of Eleazar’s face. “Now that Yahweh has made a distinction between Goshen and Egypt, you would do well to do the same, son.” He motioned to Abba Aaron. “Come, let’s return home. We’ve done all Yahweh requires of us here.”

  As they lumbered down the long hallway in silence, Eleazar felt torn. Should he escort them back to Goshen or remain outside this door in case Prince Ram emerged? Hoshea squashed a few flies under his sandal, glancing up at his mentor for direction.

  “Escort Abba and Moses back to Goshen. Tell Doda and Taliah I’m staying at the palace until the flies are resolved.”

  Hoshea drew a breath to comment, but thought better of it. “As you wish, sir.” He hurried to catch up with the elder Hebrews, and Eleazar watched them go, fearing he’d made the wrong choice.

  34

  Pharaoh said, “I will let you go to offer sacrifices to the LORD your God in the wilderness, but you must not go very far. Now pray for me.”

  Moses answered, “As soon as I leave you, I will pray to the LORD, and tomorrow the flies will leave Pharaoh and his officials and his people.”…

  But this time also Pharaoh hardened his heart and would not let the people go.

  —EXODUS 8:28–29, 32

  Miriam sat beneath her palm tree, Sattar by her side, listening to the shrieks and moans of suffering Egyptians. The flies had been relentless, coming in waves and swarms all day long. Yet not a single bloodsucker had landed in Goshen. Her people were safe. They were witnessing the mighty hand of Yahweh judging their oppressors and shielding His beloved Israel.

  So why was Miriam crying? I’m a ridiculous old fool. It was the only explanation. She ached for life as it was before. Abba and Ima in the next room, sharing their daily wisdom. El Shaddai’s intimate whisper throughout her day and in her dreams—yes, El Shaddai, not Yahweh. It didn’t matter anymore whether she was important among the tribes. She simply yearned for the constant presence of those who knew her intimately. This loneliness was too much to bear. Please, Shaddai, I don’t want to live another moment without feeling You near.

  Sobbing into her hands, she knew she must confess to Him the greatest foolishness of all. She couldn’t whisper it. She could barely even think it. Forgive me for falling in love with Hur. Mortified, Miriam shook her head in shame. She was too old to fall in love, and she’d never needed anyone but El Shaddai. Why now was she suddenly acting like a besotted maiden? Throwing tantrums. Worrying about her appearance. Guarding her words. I want You, El Shaddai, only You. She felt as if she had betrayed her first love, her true Husband.

  Only silence answered.

  Who has betrayed whom? The bitter accusation rose up in her before she could stop it. Her God, now called Yahweh, seemed busy elsewhere, but she couldn’t give in to resentment. If she believed her God loved her—and she did—why would He choose to harm her?

  Sattar stirred beside her. Miriam glanced over and saw his tail thumping the ground wildly. She needn’t look behind her. Only Moses roused that kind of welcome.

  “May I sit with you?” But it wasn’t Moses. It was Hur.

  Miriam’s heart jumped to her throat. “Of course.” She wiped her face with her mantle.

  He sat on the other side of Sattar and dug his fingers into the thick black-and-white fur. Sattar laid his head on Hur’s leg, and Miriam rolled her eyes. Traitor.

  “It appears you’ve made a friend,” she said coolly.

  “It appears I’ve lost one.”

  Tears stung her eyes again, and she struggled for control. “That’s how I feel about El Shaddai—an old Friend who changed His name and chose other people to spend time with.”

  “Why do you suppose He did that?” Hur asked the question as if pondering how much garlic to add to a stew.

  Annoyed, she swiped at tears and glared at him. “If I knew I wouldn’t be sitting here crying.”

  He nodded slowly and turned his focus toward the Nile. “Why are you angry with me, Miriam?”

  There it was. The question she’d dreaded. She shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to release the words that burned within.

  “You’ve never been shy about speaking your mind.” He grinned and turned to her then, searching her eyes. “Do you feel you’re betraying Yahweh if you love me?”

  Stunned at his audacity, she opened her mouth, but no words came.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek and then went about the lengthy process of standing up. “That’s the wonderful thing about Yahweh, Miriam. We don’t have to choose between Him and those we love. His love flows through us.” He reached down and brushed her cheek. “Consider yourself kissed by Yahweh today.”

  He walked away as she covered a sob. Kissed by Yahweh. Her heart ached at the tenderness she felt in that moment. Months since she’d had a dream, weeks since her last vision—who could have guessed she’d feel Yahweh’s presence through the persistent kindness of a longtime friend.

  She pulled up her legs, rested her forehead on her knees, and wept. Cleansing, grieving, refreshing tears. The sun had begun its western descent when she raised her head and untangled her creaky body. She was too old for these depths of emotion. Yahweh, keep me bobbing in the shallows. She chuckled, feeling as if her God grinned with her. Yes, right there with her.

  The cries of suffering from the city had dissipated. Miriam wondered if the biting flies had gone, if they’d had their fill of human blood, or if people had resigned themselves to the pain. She should get back to the long house and see if they needed her. She paused at the thought. No, they didn’t need her, but they would certainly miss her if she was gone.

  35

  Then the LORD said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh and say to him,…‘Let my people go….If you refuse to let them go…, the hand of the LORD will bring a terrible plague on your livestock in the field….But the LORD will make a distinction between the livestock of Israel and that of Egypt, so that no animal belonging to the Israelites will die.’ ”

  —EXODUS 9:1–4

  It had been three weeks since the flies began, but they’d known within moments of the swarm’s departure that Pharaoh would not let Israel leave Egypt. Slave drivers were dispatched in droves to Goshen, most of them still welted and bleeding from fly bites. The season of Peret—the months Egypt sowed barley, flax, wheat, and spelt—was a few weeks away, so the field-working Hebrews were reassigned to brick making. Slower and less skilled, the displaced brick makers drew the brunt of the pained Egyptians’ wrath, and Miriam’s herb supply dwindled again.

  In spite of the increased workload and beatings, Yahweh’s distinction during the fourth plague caused more Hebrews to return to the faith of their forefathers. While Hur helped Miriam tend the wounded, others gathered at the door hoping for a peek at Israel’s deliverer. Notoriety had become both a blessing and curse for Moses. As a result, he began spending long hours away from the long house. He’d lost any shred of anonymity, and gifts continued piling up: grain, livestock, robes, even jewelry. They traded most at the market for food supplies to give back to Goshen neighbors who barely had enough to survive. Not so long ago, it had been those in Miriam’s household whose bellies had rumbled through the night.

  Taliah had taken leftover rounds of bread from today’s midday meal to her students gathered outside the long house. Hur and Miriam listened to the children’s questions and Taliah’s knowledgeable replies.

  “She’s so good with them.” Hur’s observation broke their companionable silence.
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  Miriam crushed more dried thyme, letting it fall into the bowl. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Where are your thoughts right now?” Hur touched her cheek, startling Miriam from her task.

  Miriam’s face flushed as she ducked her chin. Since that day beneath the palm tree, Hur seemed to understand she wasn’t ready to voice her feelings, but she’d at least stopped fighting them. “I was thinking how blessed we are,” she said. “In spite of Pharaoh’s second refusal to let us leave Egypt, I feel like Yahweh is in control and will deliver us at the proper time.”

  “It helps that we’ve seen Him confound orders from pharaohs in the past, doesn’t it?” The impish grin on Hur’s face reminded her of younger days.

  “Do you remember pompous King Tut?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He was such a little boy, yet he thought himself a god who could order your wife and Puah to throw our male infants into the Nile. Our midwives were very brave to defy him.”

  Hur gazed at a spot far beyond their small window. “I remember the day the Medjay guards arrested Shiphrah and dragged her and Puah before the king. It was a miracle Tut didn’t order their executions.”

  Miriam nodded. Their afternoons of memories nourished her soul. “Moses’s whole life is a miracle. Do you remember how Ima Jochebed hid him for three months? Then one night, he cried all night—”

  “I remember!” Hur’s eyes were full of excitement. “And Jochebed and Amram coated a basket with pitch and—”

  “And put Moses in it, then floated him on the Nile. I followed him into the bulrushes where Pharaoh’s daughter was bathing. I couldn’t believe it when Anippe rescued him.”