Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  Hur patted her hand, looking deeply into her eyes. “Yahweh never looked away from your little brother. He provided Moses with an education and military training that would someday lead our people out of Egypt.”

  As Hur recounted God’s handiwork, envy constricted Miriam’s chest—and she hated herself for it. Yahweh, forgive me for being so petty.

  Hur squeezed Miriam’s hand. “Plagues and destruction aren’t Yahweh’s only miracles, are they? Sometimes we’re slow to notice the miracles right in front of us.”

  His gaze held her and made her heart flutter. Her mouth went dry, her mind utterly blank. What does one say when she’s too old for passion yet too smitten to turn back?

  Aaron chose that moment to enter the curtained doorway. “Where’s Moses?” No greeting. No formalities. Typical.

  Miriam jerked her hand from Hur’s grasp, hoping Aaron hadn’t seen their intimate touch. “He took Sattar and said they were going to pester Pharaoh’s flocks.”

  Aaron lowered himself to the mat beside Miriam. “Well, I’m tired of being ignored.”

  “Am I ignoring you, Aaron?” She hoped he would say yes so she could gut him like a fish for the years he’d ignored Abba and Ima.

  “Of course not, Sister. It’s Moses who ignores me.”

  Miriam felt a little guilty for her thoughts, but was more interested in Aaron’s sudden readiness to confide in her. “I thought you were busy with metal shop projects that Nadab and Abihu brought home for you. Why do you care if Moses ignores—”

  “Moses was supposed to let me speak to Pharaoh and the elders. When I met him in the wilderness, he told me he didn’t speak well in front of others, so Yahweh chose me to be the spokesman. God was supposed to speak to Moses, and then Moses should tell me what to say. But Moses has been progressively doing more of the talking.”

  Miriam thought Aaron sounded like the spoiled little brother she remembered growing up. What did he have to complain about? At least he was chosen by Yahweh. “Have you talked to Moses about your concerns?” She tried not to sound cranky.

  “I was planning to wait until we prepared for the next plague, but Moses informed me earlier that he approached Pharaoh this morning in the royal stables and proclaimed the fifth plague would kill the livestock of Egypt.” Aaron’s eyes bulged. “He did it alone! Without me!”

  Miriam felt the news like a spear to her belly. Why had Moses not mentioned it to her? He had been in and out of the long house several times today. Annoyance began to boil. “What else did he say about the plague?”

  Aaron raised one brow and leaned close. “He told me all livestock belonging to Egyptians will die, but God will again make a distinction and spare all Hebrew livestock. He refused to tell me how the animals will die, but Yahweh has set tomorrow again as the day of reckoning.”

  Miriam’s mind whirred with concern for the Egyptian peasants of Goshen. Many households of Taliah’s students depended on livestock for their livelihood. “All Egyptian livestock or just the king’s? Every animal or just certain types?”

  “Moses said the plague would kill…” Aaron lifted his hand to count off the species, “Horses, donkeys, camels, cattle, sheep, and goats.”

  Miriam thought of the camel and goats and geese they’d received, some of which came from Egyptian neighbors. Should they help their neighbors prepare for the plague? If they slaughtered the animals and began drying the meat now, they’d at least have something to eat later. But no one would believe her. Why hadn’t Moses announced the plague to everyone so they could prepare? Her seething turned rancid. “I know how you feel, Aaron. When my services were no longer needed, I was given no fond farewell. I’m no more than a discarded midwife these days.”

  She turned to Hur for support, but his expression was passive, unreadable.

  “And he’s arrogant.” Aaron jabbed the air with an accusing finger. “Moses lets the elders bow to him as if he were king. Some of the Egyptians even bow when he passes by.”

  Miriam hadn’t seen the bowing, but she was weary of the constant intrusion of visitors with gifts. “My patients must shove their way inside to get treatment. And did you see the goats in our pen outside? Moses won’t let me sell them. Why do we need so many goats?”

  Hur finally joined in. Leaning toward Aaron, he asked, “Why do you suppose Moses went to Pharaoh without you?”

  “He’s hungry for power, I suppose.” Aaron looked first at Miriam and then at Hur. “He wants all the glory now that Yahweh’s plagues no longer harm the Israelites.”

  Hur grasped Miriam’s shoulder, gentle but firm. “Do you believe that?”

  She swallowed hard. Did she really believe Moses was seizing glory for himself through Yahweh’s miracles? No, even as an Egyptian prince, he hadn’t sought fame and recognition. But he’d definitely hurt her by disregarding her position among the Israelites. “I think Moses should realize he’s not the only one to whom Yahweh has spoken.” Miriam raised her chin, straightened her spine, and silently dared him to ask another question.

  The sparkle in Hur’s light-brown eyes faded, and he released a weary sigh. “I’m sure if you asked Moses why he went to Pharaoh alone, he would explain his decision. My guess is he was following Yahweh’s orders, as I’ve watched him do since I arrived from Pithom.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry you two see Yahweh as a bauble to be traded and hoarded. I believe God is infinite, and we experience Him more fully when we share Him with others.”

  He got to his knees, the silence magnifying every creak and pop of his joints. When he pushed to his feet, he looked down at Miriam. “I once knew a girl who heard El Shaddai whisper in her dreams. She delighted in God and her delight was contagious. But your delight is gone, Miriam.” Miriam drew a breath to defend herself, but Hur leaned down and kissed the top of her head, silencing her. “Yahweh’s presence is constant. He never abandons us, but I think He grows tired of our flailing.” He disappeared through the curtained doorway before she could spew her protest.

  Miriam sat fuming, and Aaron shuffled quickly to his feet. “I must get back to Elisheba. She’ll wonder where I’ve been.”

  “Can’t you stand up to her once, Aaron? Can’t you tell Elisheba that your sister needed you? You didn’t get to say good-bye to Abba and Ima, and your two youngest sons won’t step foot in your home. Haven’t you sacrificed enough for your overbearing wife?” The words rushed out, heavy with years of bitterness.

  Aaron stood, head bowed, silent under their weight. Miriam thought she’d feel relief at releasing the emotions she’d restrained for so many years. Instead she felt like Elisheba, battering Aaron with a stronger will.

  “Go.” It was all Miriam could muster. And he obeyed.

  Miriam sat alone in the home she’d known all her life, but she felt like a stranger in it. The baskets of grain sat in the same place, the jars of balm were arranged exactly right, and bundles of herbs hung from the proper rafters. Village children sat outside her window in the afternoon sun with a skilled teacher. Your delight is gone, Hur had said. Yes, her delight left when El Shaddai stopped whispering in her dreams—or had it gone before that? Hur said Yahweh’s presence was constant, that she was fighting Him. Was it true?

  A warm breeze wafted through the window, lifting a few stray hairs off her forehead. Yahweh, is that You? It was how she used to sense His presence.

  But she neither heard nor sensed His reply. Instead, she remembered the conversation with Abba and Ima when she’d determined to experience Yahweh anew. Had she ever really tried?

  Perhaps she hadn’t tried, but Yahweh had revealed Himself anew in spite of Miriam’s lack. He’d replaced the nighttime dreams and detailed, candid visions of her youth with shorter glimpses of an event that required discernment and were immediately fulfilled. Like when Aaron and Moses had been in danger and the warning Yahweh had given her of the frog plague. Hur’s kiss was definitely a new experience of Yahweh’s tenderness. Even Sattar’s constant presence and protection felt like a provision of
Yahweh’s care.

  She dropped her head into her hands, voice trembling. “Thank You, Yahweh, for Your sweet wooing. Forgive me for being so blind to Your presence.”

  But something else nibbled at her heart, ate at her spirit. Why not speak the words to the One who already knew her thoughts? With a deep sigh, she spoke into the stillness. “Why are the delightful moments with You so fleeting? Why am I so easily drawn into bitterness and pettiness?”

  Because you’re angry with Me.

  The words came as a knowing within her, not audibly, but as real as if Yahweh stood before her and spoke as a man. She hadn’t dared admit the truth, but she was indeed angry with her Shaddai. Yahweh, who turned the Nile to blood; Yahweh, who sent frogs to Pharaoh’s bed; Yahweh, who set boundaries on swarming flies. How dare she, a flawed human, a simple Hebrew slave, have the audacity to be angry with Him? But she was.

  Still, He had the patience to woo her as she made these discoveries at her own pace. Her heart broke at the reality.

  36

  Then the LORD said to Moses and Aaron, “Take handfuls of soot from a furnace and have Moses toss it into the air in the presence of Pharaoh. It will become fine dust over the whole land of Egypt, and festering boils will break out on people and animals throughout the land.”

  —EXODUS 9:8–9

  The cloying smell of smoking hooves, flesh, and offal hung in the air over the city of Rameses after the total annihilation of Egyptian livestock four days ago. Eleazar much preferred the smolder of the armory forges and the distraction of the skilled Hittites pounding and shaping new battle-axes. He’d worked hard to restore his relationship with the Hittites after disciplining them and would work harder still.

  “Thank you for your work,” he said to the chief iron worker, meeting his hard stare. “It’s not easy to aid the nation that enslaves you.”

  The Hittite paused his hammering. “I don’t forge weapons for Egypt. I do it to save my back from the whip.” He plunged the hot iron into a tub of water, sending a rush of steam into the air and ending their exchange.

  And Taliah wonders why I struggle with conversations. Eleazar moved to the next Hittite, their burly red-haired leader. Surely he would understand that Eleazar couldn’t allow the sabotage of ax heads to go unpunished. As slave commander, Eleazar walked a fine line between his fellow slaves and his Egyptian master. Prince Ram must trust him implicitly, but the slaves must also know Eleazar was their brother, subject to the same ruthless masters.

  As he approached the central furnace, he noted one Hittite elbow another and point behind Eleazar. Curious, Eleazar looked over his shoulder, and his knees nearly buckled. Moses and Abba Aaron had gained entry through the armory gates and were headed toward Eleazar.

  The metal worker leaned close and chuckled. “Aren’t they the Hebrew magicians? Maybe they’ll set the Hittites free too.”

  Eleazar rushed to meet them, hoping to send them on their way before Prince Ram arrived for their sparring session. “What are you doing here?”

  Moses kept walking. “Yahweh told us to collect ashes from a furnace.” Abba Aaron glanced nervously right and left. Sparring soldiers in the circles of combat ceased their training, and several Hebrew soldiers bowed as Moses passed by.

  Eleazar stepped in front of his uncle, halting his progress. “You can’t just walk into the armory and take what you want.”

  “I won’t take it, Eleazar.” He paused, eyeing the forge. “You’re going to give it to me.” He stepped around him and walked directly to the central Hittite furnace and greeted the chief iron worker. “I’ll need some soot to take to the throne hall.”

  The Hittite turned to Eleazar for approval but suddenly looked from Moses to Aaron to Eleazar and back. “Commander, you resemble these old Hebrews. Are you related to the magicians?” He goaded his Hittite buddies. “Maybe the commander will turn his cudgel into a serpent.”

  “Enough!” Eleazar took a single step toward the furnace, when a hand abruptly whirled him around.

  Prince Ram stood inches from Eleazar, betrayal written on his features. He stared at his personal guard as if seeing him for the first time, then examined the enemy Hebrews. “You’re related, aren’t you?” The muscle in his jaw danced as he waited for an answer.

  Eleazar’s thoughts whirred, trying to condone his deception, but a soldier made no excuses. “Moses is my uncle. Aaron, my abba.”

  Ram’s nostrils flared, and Eleazar prepared himself for the blow that was sure to come. He deserved death, perhaps torture. Instead, the prince stepped back and addressed Moses. “Conduct your business, and I’ll escort you to the throne hall myself.”

  Moses pointed to the furnace’s lower compartment where the ashes fell, and the chief Hittite slipped on his glove, turned the latch, and opened the grate. He scooped several handfuls of soot onto a tray to cool, stirring the ashes. No one spoke.

  “Cool enough?” Moses asked. The Hittite nodded, giving Moses the go-ahead to scoop the ashes into a pouch on his belt. He paused near Eleazar for an excruciatingly long moment. “Your family misses you.”

  In that moment, Eleazar wanted to spar with Moses—using real swords. How dare he and Abba march into the armory without warning, without Eleazar’s permission? Despite his anger, he was relieved they hadn’t revealed Taliah’s identity or the fact he was married. The reminder that Eleazar hadn’t been home in weeks heaped burning coals on his already guilty conscience. He hadn’t visited Goshen since the plague of flies, but it wasn’t because he’d forgotten his wife or his responsibilities.

  Prince Kopshef had offered to send Egyptian physicians to check on the condition of Eleazar’s failing grandparents—a threat veiled in kindness. As far as those in the palace knew, Saba and Savta had died the next day, and Eleazar’s excuse to live in Goshen died with them.

  “Very convenient that your grandparents should die the day I plan to send my physicians to check on them.” Kopshef’s smirk had hinted at victory.

  Eleazar made no reply, but he’d noted Prince Ram’s suspicious glare. As the only Hebrew among the royal guards, Eleazar had always been singled out for scrutiny, but Ram had defended him as unimpeachable. The plagues—especially after Yahweh made the distinction between Hebrew and Egyptian—had driven a deeper wedge between all Hebrew slaves and their masters. Eleazar had been trying to regain Prince Ram’s trust by proving himself loyal and available, day or night.

  Today’s revelation of family ties had demolished any trust he’d rebuilt.

  Eleazar’s silence communicated his anger, and Moses returned his attention to Prince Ram. “I’m ready to see Pharaoh.”

  Ram extended his hand in the direction of the palace. “Well, if you’re ready, lord Moses…” His sarcasm preceded a seething glare at Eleazar. “You will follow us to the throne hall.”

  “Yes, my prince.” Eleazar noticed Hoshea watching from one of the weapons compartments, and he prayed the boy stayed away. If Ram meted out his fury on Eleazar, Hoshea was fully capable of assuming the role of commander.

  Prince Ram led Abba and Moses out of the armory toward the palace complex, and Eleazar provided rear guard. No one spoke as they passed through narrow pathways between charred remains of animal carcasses. The cleanup had almost finished, and Egyptian shepherds were now choosing which Hebrew animals would be taken as Egyptian flocks and herds. By the time they entered the palace gates, the sun was directly overhead in a cloudless sky.

  Prince Ram led Moses and the others into the palace through the back entrance, again forgoing the public baths and formal linen robes. “I’m sure Pharaoh’s public forums are over for the day, but he may still linger in the throne hall. I’ll show you to the princes’ quarters.”

  They climbed a marble staircase and walked through a large courtyard where Ram’s wife played with their children. The youngest daughter ran to her father and hugged his legs. Ram leaned down and hoisted the little princess into the air, inspiring giggles and more hugs. As the prince set her down
and patted her behind, she ran back to join her brothers.

  Ram turned to the men, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. “These are the ones who suffer from your plagues, Moses.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and led them up the second marble staircase and then down a narrow hallway with intricately carved doorways lining both sides. Eleazar knew this route to the courtroom as well as he knew his own name, and he’d grown immune to the luxury until he saw wonder fill Abba’s expression. Persian pottery sat atop marble half pillars. Luxurious tapestries bearing the purple shades of Phoenician dyes graced every wall. Floor tiles the size of grapes fit together in a splendid sea of designs. Prince Ram opened the gold-plated door at the end of the hall, and they emerged directly onto Pharaoh’s dais.

  The throne hall was nearly empty. A few stragglers from the day’s petitioners remained to settle accounts with the scribes. Eleazar saw his brother Ithamar rolling up his scrolls and neatly arranging his pigment and reeds. Six firstborn princes were gathered around the king, as well as a few of his advisors and magicians.

  Ramesses glanced over his right shoulder at the same time some of his officials spotted Ram and his motley band emerging from the prince’s entry. Pharaoh failed to hide his disgust. “What are you doing, Ram? Why did you parade Hebrews through the palace?”

  “I wanted them to see where my children play and where your sons sleep.” He led Abba and Moses off the dais, down the steps, and pointed to the spot on the red tapestry where they were to stand. Eleazar followed, taking his place behind Ram, keeping his head bowed as the prince addressed Moses. “I want you to realize who is being harmed by these plagues of yours. When your god killed Egypt’s horses last week, it was my sons’ army he weakened. When your god killed our goats, he took milk from my children, and dead cattle means less meat for our tables.”

  Moses kept his tone even. “What about the Hebrew children who have never tasted goat’s milk or eaten red meat? What about Hebrew households who now have no livestock because you seized their animals when your own died in the plague?”