by Mesu Andrews
“I’m hungry.” Hoshea sighed. Eleazar heard the telltale swish-thump of Hoshea’s new talent, throwing a small ball of twine into the darkness and catching it. His friend had mastered the skill.
They’d been holed up in their chamber since the first day of the storm and hadn’t ventured far from the barracks since. They’d occasionally snuck out to find a morsel of food in the kitchens or leftovers in a vacant chamber.
“Are you hungry enough to get the robes and clean sand out of your teeth when we return?” Eleazar would rather wait until he was starving. The high winds and burning temperatures made torchlight tricky, and sand snuck into every crevice. He had no idea how long the khamsin had raged. With no sun or moon to measure time, the darkness pressed in on them like a grinding stone.
A loud pounding on their door startled Eleazar. He heard Hoshea try to shuffle toward the door, but his whipping wounds had crusted with scabs, so he moved rather slowly. “I’ll get it. Lie down so I don’t plow you over.” Waiting until the sound of shuffling ceased, Eleazar moved toward the door and turned the iron latch. A sudden stream of torchlight flooded their room and made him squint.
Kopshef’s Nubian guard stood holding the insufferable light. “Mighty Pharaoh commands you to bring the Hebrew Moses to the throne hall immediately.” He hurried away before Eleazar had a chance to thank him. Though the Nubian hadn’t done anything to mitigate Eleazar’s beating, he’d transported Eleazar gently to Goshen and treated him with respect. It was an unusual kindness.
“We’d better get out the flint stones and robes.” Hoshea’s voice came from the yawning darkness of their small chamber. “Are your flint stones still at the head of your sleeping mat?”
Eleazar’s heartbeat quickened. “What if we don’t take a torch?” Would Yahweh provide light as He’d provided protection from the hail?
Hoshea answered with silence. What was he thinking? Had he even heard Eleazar’s question over the roar of the wind in the hallway?
A hand on Eleazar’s shoulder startled him. Both men chuckled, but Hoshea spoke first. “I think Yahweh will honor our faith.”
Eleazar took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Was he really ready to try this—without Moses? Yahweh liked Moses. Eleazar wasn’t sure how Yahweh felt about him. “Let’s go.”
Hoshea had already gathered their full-length robes. He shoved one at Eleazar and presumably donned his own to protect the crusted wounds on his back. Completely covered, Eleazar led the way along the dark walls of the barracks hallway. When they reached the arched entryway leading to the open avenue of the palace complex, Eleazar shouted over the wind’s roar, “Ready?”
“Absolutely!” Hoshea let out a horrendous yowl and charged into the swirling darkness.
Eleazar followed closely, and both men were swept into an ethereal bubble of light and peace. They stared at each other, astounded, and then reached a hand beyond the light to feel the harsh sand and heat. They pulled their hands back into the bubble and felt the wonder of their protection.
Without a doubt, Yahweh surrounded them, enfolded them, shielded them.
With each step toward Goshen, the light and peace moved with them. The dust beneath their feet was bright and undisturbed, the terrain familiar, marking the way toward Doda’s long house.
Finally, they stepped into another world. Goshen. No wind. No darkness. No swirling sand. A few Hebrew children halted their play to examine Eleazar and Hoshea. One ran away, crying, “Ima, soldiers came out of the darkness!”
Eleazar knelt and held out his callused hand to the little boy who remained. Someday his son might be frightened. “We won’t hurt you.”
Instead of taking Eleazar’s hand, the little boy ran into his arms and hugged his neck, nearly toppling the big man. Startled, Eleazar realized he’d never been hugged by a child before. What a wonderful feeling. He squeezed the boy gently, careful not to break him, as tears stung his eyes.
“Hoshea?” Moses came around the corner of the long house and then spotted Eleazar with the child. “Eleazar? What’s happened?”
Suddenly conscious of how strange he must appear, Eleazar released the boy and struggled to his feet. “Kopshef’s guard sent us to retrieve you. Pharaoh wants to end the darkness.”
Moses raised an eyebrow and rubbed his beard-covered chin. “Three days. It took his hard heart three days to relent.”
“It’s been three days?” Hoshea asked. “We couldn’t tell because of the darkness. I don’t suppose Goshen has seen any wind or sand.”
“Not a grain.” Moses’s smile faded when he turned to Eleazar. “Before we return to the palace, I need to tell you…”
His pause made Eleazar’s heart skip a beat. “Is it Taliah?”
“No. It’s another plague—the final plague.”
“Yahweh is planning another plague before this one is over?”
Hoshea was shocked, but Eleazar remembered Moses’s words on the morning before the locusts. Ramesses will lose his wealth, his power, and his sons.
“Remember, Hoshea, I told you about the final plague during the plague of frogs.” The boy’s blank stare goaded Moses. “Yahweh warned me of the last plague on my way from Midian to Egypt. He said—”
“Israel is My firstborn.” Hoshea’s face paled. “Has He revealed which firstborns will die?”
Eleazar squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to hear the answer.
“Every firstborn male in Egypt, Eleazar.” Moses spoke softly. “Men and animals. From the lowest slave’s house to Pharaoh’s palace.”
The three of them stood in silence. What was there to say? Yahweh had given Ramesses every chance to let Israel leave peacefully, yet Ramesses had broken every promise and chosen deception over truth every time.
Eleazar forced a single word from his dry lips. “When?”
“Yahweh has set our deliverance in motion. The plague of darkness began on the first day of the first month of the Hebrew New Year. Nothing Pharaoh says today matters. The tenth plague is coming.” Without another word, he began walking toward the storm.
Hoshea and Eleazar rushed to flank each side, and again the strange bubble of protection carried them through the darkness of Rameses. This time, however, Yahweh ushered them through the palace courtyards and into Pharaoh’s presence. Ramesses, Prince Ram, and Kopshef sat huddled in the dark throne hall around a single torch. Wind and sand blew through the tall, narrow windows, threatening their sputtering source of light.
Eleazar noted their awe as the Hebrews approached in the glow of Yahweh’s protection. Prince Ram met his gaze and held it. Pharaoh’s second firstborn had become hard as Hittite iron. What degradation would he plan for Eleazar and Hoshea after this confrontation? Hoshea must return to Goshen with Moses. He wouldn’t survive another beating. For reasons Eleazar couldn’t define, he knew in his gut he must remain at the palace. Leaning over, he whispered to Moses, “Hoshea goes home with you. I’m staying. Tell Taliah I love her, and I’ll be at her side when Israel leaves Egypt.”
To his credit, Moses never broke stride. The three Hebrews continued their march to the edge of the crimson carpet, halting before the throne.
Pharaoh stood, inspecting the light and calm surrounding the three men. His awe abruptly gave way to fury. “Go, worship your god. Your women and children may go with you, but leave your flocks and herds behind.”
“No.” Moses spoke firmly. “Our livestock goes with us for the sacrifices and burnt offerings we present to our God. Not a hoof is to be left behind. We won’t know the number of sacrifices required for our worship until we arrive at our destination.”
Ramesses began to tremble with rage, and both princes stood. “Get out,” he seethed, descending two steps. “Get out of my sight, and don’t appear before me again! The next time I see your face, you will die.”
Eleazar stepped nearer to Moses, ready to take the blow if Prince Ram or Kopshef advanced with a sword, but Moses nudged him aside and offered a respectful bow. “As you say, I will n
ever appear in this throne hall again.”
44
Tell the people that men and women alike are to ask their neighbors for articles of silver and gold.
—EXODUS 11:2
Miriam sat beneath her favorite palm tree, Sattar snoring softly by her side. She buried her hands in his fur and let the new sounds of Egypt waft over her. Though the season of Shemu had come, no harvesters picked ripe fruit. No slaves swung sickles in the fields. Only the slosh and slurp of the Nile interrupted the silence of devastation. There was no barley for beer, no flax for linen, no normalcy in the wake of Pharaoh’s stubborn resistance.
The day Moses had been summoned to end the darkness, the khamsin’s wind faded. As shadows lifted from the city of Rameses, the safety and peace of Goshen’s three-day light-cocoon had drawn Hebrew slave and Egyptian peasant together. Both had tasted freedom from Ramesses’s malevolence and formed stronger bonds than Pharaoh’s edicts imposed.
Taliah’s village school had been a powerful melding force. She invited any child who wished to learn, and her classes had grown to three sessions a day of thirty children each. Little heads bent to watch as she scribbled maps and letters and pictures in the dust. Dirty faces lifted in rapt wonder as she recounted Egypt’s history—and that of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Moses appeared each day to authenticate the military tales and thrill the young boys who ran off after lessons to play with wooden swords.
But Taliah’s cheerful expression was replaced with distant stares each evening when she left the long house to stand at Goshen’s edge and wait for Eleazar.
Miriam wiped tears from her cheeks. “He isn’t coming home this time, is he, Yahweh?” Did Taliah sense her husband’s death? Is that why she ignored the message Moses brought home from Eleazar, promising they’d be reunited when Israel left Egypt? Miriam pressed her fists against her eyes, forcing the tears to stop. I’m trying to trust You, but must You take everyone I love?
“I thought I’d find you here.” Moses’s voice intruded, and she looked up to find not only one brother but Aaron, Hoshea, and Hur as well.
Sattar never stirred. She tousled his fur. “Some watchdog you are.” Miriam shaded her eyes against the midday sun, levity fled, fear of the worst nearly choking her. “Have you heard something about Eleazar?”
“No, no!” Moses knelt beside her, holding her gaze. “We’re here to make preparations for the journey into the wilderness.”
She searched his eyes for anything held back but saw nothing. Then she measured the others’ expressions. The men sat down in a half circle around her with the stoic calmness of their gender. Relief swept over her like a wave, and she swatted Moses. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“I’m sorry, but I needed to speak privately with those I trust.” He drew her close and whispered, “Eleazar will be all right. Yahweh has plans for our nephew.” Miriam’s throat tightened with emotion as Moses began his impromptu meeting. “Each of you has a vital role during our last days in Egypt.”
Our last days in Egypt. The words cut Miriam like a sword. “This is really happening, isn’t it? We’re really leaving Egypt.” She blurted out the thought, interrupting whatever Moses was saying.
His face lit with that lazy grin. “Yes, Miriam. In a matter of days, you will no longer be a slave in Egypt.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “How does that feel?”
As a matter of fact, it was terrifying. Everything that had happened in the past eight months had been beyond astonishing, but far more upheaval than an eighty-six-year-old woman expects to encounter at the end of life.
But Moses hadn’t waited for her reply. “Hur, you and Aaron will work together to reconfigure our tribal leadership. Yahweh requires seventy elders—six from each tribe with the exception of the Levites, from which Aaron and I will serve as two of the six.”
Miriam laughed, wide eyed. “You want to give the Reubenites the same number of elders as Judah?” She looked at Hur and then Aaron. “Tell him. The righteous tribes—Naphtali, Levi, Judah—will never allow Reuben and Ephraim and—”
“Yahweh commanded it, Miriam.” Moses’s voice was soft but firm. “We must learn now to obey or remain in Egypt.”
The finality of his words settled into her spirit. Learn now to obey or remain in Egypt. “All right, Moses. What can I do to help?”
“Aaron will call the whole assembly of Israel together for a meeting in three days at dusk. At that meeting we’ll announce the final plague and describe Yahweh’s precautions for His people in order that no one in Goshen will die. I need you to work with the women after that meeting to make sure their meal preparations are precisely as Yahweh has instructed. The women know you and trust you. You’ve either been midwife for the births of their children or brought them into the world.”
Miriam sat a little taller. Finally, something she felt equipped to do. “I’ll ask Taliah to accompany me. That way she’ll get to know more women, and they’ll see her devotion to Yahweh.”
“Good, good.” Moses paused, looking nervously at each member of the group. “The next task will likely sound as strange to you as it did to me when Yahweh spoke.” He tore at some sprigs of grass and tossed them in the air with a sigh. “Yahweh wants every Hebrew—men and women alike—to ask our Egyptian neighbors for articles of gold and silver.”
Miriam stared, incredulous. Hur rubbed his chin, Hoshea’s eyebrows rose like the eastern hills, and Aaron studied his sandal laces. Was she the only one willing to ask the hard questions? “Our neighbors have barely enough grain to put bread on their tables. How can we ask them to give us their treasured possessions when we’ve only recently gained their trust?”
Moses rubbed his temples, eyes closed. He wasn’t convinced this was a good idea either. “Some Hebrews work for Egyptians in the palace, others for noblemen, so they have more to give. Yahweh said every slave is to ask his or her neighbor for gold and silver—and for clothing. This is how we will plunder Egypt’s wealth without lifting a single weapon.” With another deep breath, he lifted his eyes, weariness heavy on his brow. “Again, Miriam, I need you to speak to the women about this. Hur will talk to the men in the villages.” He turned his attention to Hoshea. “We’re to gain weapons in much the same way. I need you to go to the armory and find Eleazar. He must ask Ram to give us weapons—”
“No!” Miriam would hear no more. “It’s too much, Moses! Yahweh asks too much. We don’t even know if Eleazar is alive, but if he is, must he tempt the executioner further by asking Ram for weapons? No!”
She grabbed her walking stick and tried to push to her feet, but Moses stopped her. “Does Yahweh ask more of you than He’s asked of me? Haven’t I given up my wife, my sons, my parents? I’m asking you to do no more than I’ve done myself. Obey, Miriam. We must all obey in order to reap the promises of the God who loves us.” His words stung, but worse was his quick shift of attention to Hoshea. “Will you go to the armory?”
“I will.”
The boy’s two simple words smothered Miriam in shame—inescapable, binding shame.
Hoshea stood immediately, and Moses lifted his hand for help to stand. “I’ll go with you. I want to see if Eleazar is there.” He looked back at Miriam. “At least then I can assure my sister he’s alive.”
Did Hoshea’s courage spring from the exuberance of youth or from stronger faith? Did it matter? Looking up at him and Moses, Miriam shielded her eyes from the sun. “When are we to begin asking our neighbors for gold and silver?” She didn’t even try to hide the defeat in her tone.
“As soon as Yahweh provides the opportunity.” He patted Hur’s shoulder. “When you tell the people, let them know God will make a way.”
“We will,” Hur said. “Be careful at the armory.”
Moses and Hoshea walked away, and Hur scooted into the shade with Miriam, Sattar between them. “I’m not sure which will be more difficult. Getting gold from our Egyptian neighbors or prying Judah’s hands from the scepter they think
they inherited from Jacob’s ancient blessing. Those elders will not give up their authority willingly.”
His friendly banter was endearing but not helpful. “So you’re not oblivious to the obstacles, just silent when it matters.” Why didn’t he speak his mind instead of watching quietly while others made decisions for him?
“I believe Yahweh speaks to Moses clearly. I trust Yahweh. I trust Moses. What more is there to say?”
“But it’s not that simple!” Hadn’t she said those same words to Eleazar when he was criticizing Yahweh?
“Of course it’s simple, Miriam. It’s simply not easy.”
She glared at him, this man with his integrity and wisdom and faith. Why couldn’t he do something hideous so she could have a reason to be angry with him?
“Marry me, Miriam.” His penetrating stare stole her breath—those light-brown eyes so full of love—for her.
Surely, she hadn’t heard him correctly. Better not to say anything than to make a fool of herself and—
“Did you hear me? I asked you to marry me.” He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I…I…heard.”
“My son Uri and grandson Bezalel have given their blessing. They thought it foolishness at first—because we’re old—but when I pointed out that you and I will need help traveling through the wilderness, they agreed we could be very useful to each other.”
“You want to marry me because I’m useful?”
“No, no, no.” Hur reached for her hand, brow furrowed. “That didn’t come out at all the way I’d planned. I want to marry you because I have loved you for as long as I can remember—first as a friend, then as Israel’s prophetess, and now as a woman. Please, Miriam, honor me by becoming my wife.”
Yahweh, what are You doing? Where are You? She’d had no warning this was coming, no time to adjust. How could she become a wife after a lifetime of serving only One? She loved Hur, yes, and she’d come to grips with that, but to betray her calling as Israel’s prophetess by marrying another?
