by Mesu Andrews
“No, Hur. I can’t marry you.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp and reached for her walking stick, but he rested his hand on her arm to stop her. “Why? I know you love me. Tell me why.”
Tears threatened. Her first thought, her commitment as Yahweh’s prophetess, was far more noble, but was it the truth? Or did the reason come from a much deeper, darker place in her soul?
Miriam pushed herself to her feet. “I will not marry you because I can’t lose you too.”
“Lose me? What do you mean?”
Miriam kept walking, Sattar at her heels, leaving Hur to his questions and herself drowning in her fears. She had served El Shaddai her whole life. He’d been enough—her love, her life, her all. But in the past eight months, He’d revealed Himself as Yahweh and had revealed His nature by His actions. She had always known Shaddai’s love. Now, she was seeing Yahweh’s power, and it terrified her. He’d taken Abba, Ima, and Eleazar from her—everyone she held dearest in the world. If Yahweh meant her to be alone, she dare not let Hur get too close. With a will of iron, she would pursue an obedience like she’d seen in Hoshea—even if her heart felt like a boulder in her chest.
45
On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn of both people and animals, and I will bring judgment on all the gods of Egypt. I am the LORD.
—EXODUS 12:12
Eleazar held a bronze shield in one hand and a khopesh—sickle sword—in the other. The curved sword with its hooked end could snag the Nubian’s shield away, but if Eleazar got too close, Kopshef’s guard would bring down his battle-ax and split Eleazar’s head.
It was the third day Ram and Kopshef had pitted their personal guards against each other in the sparring ring. All other matches ceased, and a chorus of Egyptian soldiers chanted, “Kill the Hebrew. Kill the Hebrew.” Evidently, Eleazar’s blood would suffice as partial retribution for Yahweh’s plagues.
“The Egyptians will not kill you themselves.” Mosi leaned heavily on distracting his opponent while fighting.
“Why would any Egyptian hesitate to kill me?”
Eleazar lunged with his khopesh, but Mosi was quick. He swung the ax in the opposite direction, barely missing Eleazar’s right shoulder. “Kopshef is sure the Hebrew god protects you as it protects Moses.” He smiled, revealing white teeth filed to points. “We’ll see if you are protected.”
Another swing and miss, and this time Eleazar smiled. “Don’t blame Yahweh for your poor skills, my friend.” Circling the ring, he watched for an opening, any sign of weakness in the Nubian. He didn’t want to harm him, only disarm him.
Mosi lunged to his right but swung the ax to his left, inflicting a minor cut on Eleazar’s thigh. “It would appear your god lets you blee—”
Tipping Mosi’s ax with his shield, Eleazar then hooked his opponent’s shield with his sword and flicked it aside, slicing the battle-ax’s shaft with an upward swing of the khopesh.
Mosi stood defenseless with a wooden stick in one hand; his smile turned to resolve. “Finish it.”
Eleazar stepped to within a handbreadth. “I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.” He threw his weapons in the dust and stalked over to the Hittites’ forge to check on the progress of the new iron spearheads.
“It’s the third day in a row Kopshef’s Nubian has lost.” The chief metal worker pointed to the center sparring ring, where Mosi stood like a statue while Prince Kopshef lashed him with his whip.
“Perhaps if Kopshef would stop beating his best fighter, the Nubian would be able to kill me.” The whole row of Hittites laughed as if they’d been drinking and brawling all night. Barbarians, all of them, but somehow Eleazar had won their loyalty, and for that he was grateful.
Prince Ram glanced in their direction and shoved his brother away from Mosi, perhaps offering the same advice Eleazar had mentioned to the Hittites. The two princes stormed from the armory, leaving Eleazar under the watchful eye of the man who tried to kill him each day.
Eleazar hurried over to the Nubian, who drew his dagger and turned when he heard the quick approach. Eleazar lifted his hands in surrender. “It’s just me.”
Mosi relaxed and sheathed his weapon. “We serve fools.”
On that much, they agreed. “Are you to be my watchman again today?”
“I’m to report to Kopshef if you have any contact with your uncle or father.”
“I have too much work in the armory today. The Libyan revolt has resolved since Egypt no longer has food supplies to raid, but we need to replace all the spearheads for Ram’s division.” He started back toward the iron forges and raised his fist in the air, shouting, “Looks like another day of banter with the Hittites!” The barbarians jeered and cursed, already starting their good-natured goading.
Mosi groaned behind him. The Nubian hated the Hittites.
“Eleazar! Eleazar, wait!”
The deep male voice struck dread into his soul. Moses. Eleazar whirled on his uncle and found Hoshea escorting him. “What are you doing here?”
Mosi joined them, exchanging a concerned glance with Eleazar. He’d have to report their presence to Kopshef. Too many Egyptian soldiers stood staring at Moses to keep this visit a secret.
Hoshea’s pitiful expression apologized before he opened his mouth. “Listen to the whole message from Yahweh before you say it’s impossible, and remember all the impossible things we’ve already seen Him do, and—”
“Can we trust him?” Moses nodded toward Mosi, and then recognition swept over his features. “Aren’t you the guard who brought Eleazar to the long house after his beating?” He grabbed Mosi’s arm and turned him to see the fresh whipping wounds. Shaking his head, he didn’t wait for Eleazar’s answer. “You’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
More curious than ever, Eleazar glanced right and left at the gathering crowd of onlookers. “Let’s at least move to a private corner in the slave quarters.” He led them to the eastern wall of the armory, and noticed Moses’s lazy grin appear. “Why are you smiling?”
He pointed to the weapons cabinets. “We’ve come to talk to you about those.” Shaking his head, Moses chuckled and placed his hands on his hips. “Just when you think Yahweh isn’t paying attention, He intervenes on a small detail like that. Israel needs those weapons when we leave Egypt, Eleazar, and Ram will give them to you.”
“Hah. Oh really?” Now, it was Eleazar’s turn to laugh, and Mosi joined him.
“I know this Hebrew god commands nature,” said the Nubian, “but he does not command royalty, or your people would have worshiped in the wilderness by now.”
Moses’s humor dissolved, and he shot a questioning glance at Eleazar. Could they divulge Yahweh’s plan to free Israel, not merely give them a festival reprieve? Eleazar nodded his approval to Moses.
“In three days’ time, Aaron will call a meeting at the base of the plateau at dusk for the whole assembly of Israel. At that time, we’ll announce the last plague.” Moses looked at Mosi. “The final plague will kill every firstborn in Egypt, both man and animal, unless the inhabitants are within the walls of a house with lamb’s blood on the doorframe. Yahweh has issued strict rules for the meal that night while the death angel passes over. Pharaoh will drive Israel out—along with all foreigners who align themselves with the Hebrews and are obedient to His instructions.” Moses pointed to the weapons cabinet with one hand and placed the other on Eleazar’s shoulder. “When we leave, we must have that sparring gear and extra weaponry. It’s up to you and Hoshea to get these cabinets unlocked and arm every man in Israel.”
Panicked, Eleazar looked at his apprentice. As usual, Hoshea’s expression fairly glowed with faith. “Yahweh will make a way.”
While Eleazar still processed the magnitude of the task, Mosi leaned into their circle, keeping his voice low. “May I attend this meeting with Eleazar and eat the strict meal in the house with the lamb’s blood?”
Moses’s expression reflected Eleazar’
s surprise, but something more caused his uncle to hesitate. “I must tell you, my Nubian friend, that there is one other requirement that must be met for a foreign man to be saved from this plague and be counted among the people of Yahweh.”
Abraham’s covenant. Eleazar knew the moment Moses spoke of being counted among Yahweh’s people.
“Anything,” Mosi said. “I’ll do it.”
“You must be circumcised.”
If a Nubian’s skin could grow pale, Mosi’s most certainly would have. He stepped back as if Moses might seize him to do the cutting then and there. Eleazar waited silently, watching perhaps the fiercest fighter he’d known make a decision about a man’s most delicate part.
Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ll be at the meeting with Eleazar, and you’ll have your weapons.”
Moses and Hoshea nodded their approval and walked away, leaving Eleazar with the man he’d known for only a short time, but had truly come to know only within the last few moments.
“What made you decide to follow Yahweh?” He spoke barely over a whisper.
Mosi watched the retreating figures of Moses and Hoshea. They stood in silence for so long that Eleazar assumed his new friend chose not to answer. But when he moved away, Mosi grabbed his arm and met his gaze. “My name is Mosi—meaning firstborn. I was first among twelve brothers in my tribe.”
Now the LORD had said to Moses, “I will bring one more plague on Pharaoh and on Egypt. After that, he will let you go from here, and when he does, he will drive you out completely.”
—EXODUS 11:1
46
Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.
—EXODUS 3:1
Miriam’s weary body woke to the sound of shuffling feet. Sattar’s tail thumped on the dirt floor beside her. Moses was awake. Opening one eye, she saw the azure glow of predawn through their single window. Today was the day. The meeting.
Hoshea stumbled out of the adjoining room, fastening his armor as he hurried past Moses. “I’ll give Aaron the message. ‘Meet at the palm tree when the sun clears the eastern hills to determine the final list of elders.’ ” Moses nodded, and Hoshea rushed out the door without a bite to eat.
Breathing deeply, Miriam sat up, yawned, and stretched. “Elisheba will shake that boy like a dusty mat if he wakes her now.”
Moses chuckled. “Why do you think I sent Hoshea instead of going myself?”
Taliah stretched and rubbed her rounding middle. “Good morning, Miriam.” Without waiting for a reply, the dear girl folded her linen sheet, rolled up her mat, and immediately started meal preparations. While the rest of them slept with wool blankets during these cold winter nights, Taliah’s extra blood flow meant rosy cheeks, a bigger appetite, and a constant sheen of sweat on her brow.
Thankfully, it also meant more energy. She and Miriam had spent most of the past three days visiting every village in Goshen, introducing themselves and encouraging the women to attend the upcoming meeting with their children and husbands. News of Eleazar’s safety had stirred Miriam’s faith in Yahweh’s power to work in men’s—and women’s—hearts. They would build strong trust by talking with Hebrew women about the meal instructions and let Yahweh guide them into the right moment to ask for Egyptian treasure.
Moses nudged Miriam out of the way to retrieve the kitchen garbage and went about his usual tasks. Israel’s deliverer had become quite proficient at emptying waste pots. Miriam grabbed a water jug and started for the river. It was quiet this morning with only four women at the shadoof gathering water. She’d already talked with them about tonight’s meeting, so she wished them shalom and hurried home, balancing the full jar on her head.
Bowing under the doorway, she lowered the full jug to the floor and looked up to find both Moses and Taliah staring at her. “What?” She scanned the room. Nothing seemed amiss. What could have happened in the short time she’d gone to the river?
Her chest constricted. Hur.
“Where’s Hur?”
Moses stepped forward, hands extended to calm her. “He must have left in the night. I’m surprised Sattar didn’t wake you.”
Relief warred with anger. Thankful he wasn’t dead, Miriam might kill him for scaring her. “Why would he leave?”
She knew the answer, as did Moses and Taliah. Hur had told Moses about Miriam’s marriage refusal, and Miriam had told Taliah. But they’d all been so busy preparing for the meeting, it hadn’t been unbearably awkward—except at mealtimes. When they finally settled around the mat to eat a meal, the silence was deafening.
Taliah returned to the hand mill and resumed grinding their morning grain. “He commented to me yesterday that he wasn’t ‘comfortable’ here anymore and planned to speak to his son about moving in with him.”
“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?” Miriam’s voice squeaked with barely controlled emotion. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Taliah. Of course, Hur should live with his family.”
“Hur was living with his family.” Moses’s jaw muscle flexed. “You’re too stubborn to accept it.”
“Stubborn? I’ve been extremely flexible considering all the changes I’ve endured.” She ground her teeth, fighting the words that clawed to get out. “Especially with a God who has changed beyond my recognition.”
Moses’s features softened, and he exchanged a glance with Taliah. Both left their chores, and Moses guided her to her mat. “Sit down, Miriam. We must talk.”
“You won’t convince me to marry Hur. I—”
“Whether you marry Hur or not is your decision.” Moses sat across from her, quieting her with a stern look from beneath furrowed brows. “We must talk about Yahweh. He does not change, Miriam.”
She looked at Taliah, afraid her continuing questions might rattle the girl’s burgeoning faith. Taliah held up her hands. “I won’t debate. I’ll sit quietly and listen. I promise.” That wasn’t Miriam’s concern, but Taliah’s silence might be helpful.
Moses reached for Miriam’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Sister, you’re the one who taught me as a child that God is constant, and it’s still true. The changes you sense are merely changes in your knowledge of Him, not changes in Yahweh Himself.”
“That may be true,” she said, “but it’s not just my knowledge that’s changed. My relationship with Him has changed because I don’t know how to feel about this new knowledge or how to incorporate the new knowledge into my daily living.”
Moses fell silent, staring into the distance. Miriam knew he was listening to the Voice as she’d never heard it—clear, succinct, indisputable words, not vague impressions or images to decipher.
When he turned to her again, his eyes were full of compassion. “The day I saw the burning bush, I’d led my flock to the far side of the desert and climbed up the only path I knew on Mount Horeb. I had to leave that path to see the bush burning, to speak with Yahweh, and learn His name. I was on uncharted ground.” He chuckled and added, “I’ve been on uncharted ground ever since. Yahweh said we would come to know Him through His actions, and so we have. We are still learning who He is, if we watch carefully and open our hearts to each revelation He gives.”
“The El Shaddai I knew was powerful. He revealed the future in dreams and visions, and His presence was like fresh-baked dark bread—warm and inviting, never threatening or strange. But Yahweh reveals His power through extraordinary and frightening plagues. What am I to believe about His nature now?”
Moses’s expression softened. “He is still warm bread, Miriam, but He has added red meat and calls us to His banqueting table to eat and grow.” He let his hand fall back to his lap. “After Yahweh spoke to me from the burning bush, He led me down the other side of the mountain. I cut a new path through the briars and rocky crags. Did Mount Horeb change because God revealed a new path?”
Miriam rolled her eyes. Of course, a mountain couldn’t change, but Miriam hated briars, and she didn’t like this new path.
Moses chuckled. “Yahweh is bigger than a mountain, Sister, and we’ll never come to the end of His newness.”
“Can I say something?” Taliah was nearly bursting.
Miriam couldn’t keep from grinning. “Go ahead.”
“The strange and frightening things that make you question Yahweh are the very things that help me believe.” She reached for Miriam’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t want a warm-bread god that I can understand. I need a God who hears my hopeless cries at the edge of Goshen when I think my husband is dead. I need a God I can’t explain to do the things I know are impossible.”
Tears came unbidden at the untainted wonder in Taliah’s countenance. She was utterly enamored with Yahweh. He had revealed Himself at the core of Taliah’s identity—her intellect—and she was entirely captivated by this God who was both powerful and personal.
Miriam drew the girl’s forehead down for a kiss. “Thank you, my precious Taliah, for reminding me of His wonder.” She released her and used Moses’s shoulder to push herself to her feet. “And thank you too. Now, let’s get on with our day.”
The abrupt end to their conversation drew raised eyebrows, but Miriam wasn’t ready to talk more about Yahweh or Hur with them. All these words and explanations did little to nourish her soul. She needed time alone at her palm tree, quiet moments with her Creator.
But that couldn’t happen until after tonight’s meeting.
47
Tell the whole community of Israel that on the tenth day of this month each man is to take a lamb for his family, one for each household….Take care of them until the fourteenth day of the month, when all the members of the community of Israel must slaughter them at twilight. Then they are to take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of the houses where they eat the lambs. That same night they are to eat the meat roasted over the fire, along with bitter herbs, and bread made without yeast.
