by Mesu Andrews
—EXODUS 12:3, 6–8
After nearly a week of sparring, both Mosi and Eleazar were cut, bruised, and scabbed—but still alive. Ram and Kopshef finally tired of the sport, perhaps realizing their two guards had no desire to kill each other. The princes left their personal guardians to work in the armory all day since Pharaoh had abandoned all audiences in his court after the locusts ended Egypt’s trade.
No one knew what occupied Prince Kopshef’s time, but Prince Ram had brokered a deal with Canaanite traders to replenish Pharaoh’s stables with Arabian stallions, his fields with Amorite oxen, and his sheepfolds with the finest Canaanite flocks. The royal granaries would once again teem with barley for beer and emmer wheat for bread—staples of life and health for every Egyptian. Rumors swirled that even melons, grapes, radishes, onions, and cucumbers would once again grace Pharaoh’s table at a banquet to celebrate his business-savvy son. Ramesses had given the palace slaves four days to make preparations for a celebration that even the gods would envy.
“The barley and wheat arrive tomorrow.” Mosi twirled his dagger on a wooden plank, deep in thought. “So the bakery and brewery slaves will begin working nonstop again.” He stopped the dagger and looked up at Eleazar. “Do you think it coincidence that the Hebrew meeting is tonight and their workload resumes tomorrow?”
Eleazar chuckled, remembering Moses’s words from a few weeks ago. “I no longer believe in coincidence.” He pointed at the sinking sun. “It’s almost dusk. We should go.”
They walked together across the armory compound, assessing the two sparring matches in progress. Since the Libyan crisis had resolved and Pharaoh was more interested in eating than war, fewer Egyptians trained for battle, which meant less work for the slaves. This allowed the Hebrew slaves to slip away for the meeting, leaving only the Libyans, Nubians, and Syrians trying to look busy.
Eleazar and Mosi arrived at the central forge as the chief iron worker doused a new sword in the cooling bath and steam shot into the air. He pulled the blade from the bath and smiled. “Good timing, Commander.” Then, pointing to a new sword resting on a bench with twenty others, he said, “Try one.”
Mosi grabbed a hilt, tossed it hand to hand, and then brought the new sword down hard on top of a wooden whipping post. The sword cut the wood like a warm knife through fat.
The Hittite sneered. “Oh, how I wish it was an Egyptian head.”
Ignoring the comment, Eleazar pointed to the other swords on the bench. “Can I trust them all, or will some crack like an eggshell—as did your battle-axes?”
The Hittite metal workers exchanged uneasy gazes, and their spokesman cleared his throat. “Every sword is true, Commander. You have our promise and our loyalty.” He pounded his fist against his breast piece—over his heart—prompting the Hittites near him to signal the same allegiance.
Eleazar returned the gesture and eyed Mosi, coaxing him to do the same. The Hittites knew their commander was up to something when the Nubian showed them respect.
Eleazar leaned in close to the chief Hittite. “Can I trust you to cover for the Nubian and me? We’ll be gone for the length of the evening meal. If our princes should return unexpectedly, tell them we’ve gone to the stables to prepare their new Arabian stallions that arrived this morning.”
The Hittite smiled, revealing missing and rotted teeth. “What do we get in return for our help?”
Mosi patted his shoulder. “The opportunity to be circumcised, my friend.”
The remark won a ribald laugh from the Hittite, assuring Eleazar and Mosi of his cooperation. They hurried through the gate, talking loudly about the new Arabian stallions Prince Ram had secured from traders to replace the horses killed in the plagues. Jogging at a steady pace, they cleared the first rise. Once out of the armory’s clear view, they abandoned their course, backtracking toward Goshen. Staying low, they crossed ruined fields and hid behind mounds of burned carcasses until they reached the cover of long houses and peasant huts.
Weaving through a sea of people, Eleazar hurried through Abba Aaron’s village first since they’d come in from the north. Hebrews and Egyptians lined up in the alleyways between long houses, shoulder to shoulder, on their way toward dead-man’s land. Most of them moved aside when they saw Eleazar and Mosi in full-dress armor.
“There they are.” Eleazar pointed to the edge of the plateau where Moses and Abba Aaron stood above them. When they reached the main road that connected the villages to the city, he noticed many of the Hebrew leaders standing in the waste piles directly below the plateau.
“Why are the people standing in the refuse, my friend?” Mosi curled his nose.
Eleazar had no answer. Then he saw Doda, Hur, Taliah, and Hoshea among them and was determined to find out. “I don’t know, but that’s where we’re going.”
Shouldering his way through the crowd, Eleazar had no time for pleasantries. Abba Aaron had raised his hands for silence, and the rumble of the people stilled.
Eleazar and Mosi began climbing the slippery, smelly waste pile at the base of dead-man’s land. The stench was overpowering. Finally reaching Doda, Eleazar tapped her shoulder. She turned and slipped in the sludge. He steadied his doda, but his eyes caressed Taliah, who looked back at him with joy welling on her lashes.
Doda released him. “Go, go hug your wife.” She waved him away and noticed Mosi. “Well, here you are. Moses said you’d be joining us, boy. Welcome.” She reached for Mosi’s hand, pulling him toward her and startling the Nubian with her waste-pile hospitality.
Taliah was trembling as she threw her arms around Eleazar’s neck, clinging like she’d never let go. Hoshea slapped his shoulder. “Welcome, Commander,” he said, beaming.
Several around them began shushing. “We’re trying to hear Moses.” Hur, ankle-deep at the pinnacle of the sludge three rows ahead of them, turned to greet Eleazar.
Still holding his wife, Eleazar whispered in her ear, “Why isn’t Hur standing with Doda?”
She released him, then cautioned him with a finger pressed to her lips and a sheepish glance at Doda. Leaning close, she whispered, “The immediate reason is because Hur is a newly appointed elder. The other reason is your doda refused his marriage proposal.”
“His what?” Eleazar said too loud, earning more growls from neighboring Hebrews. He pulled Taliah close and spoke against her head covering. “Of course, she refused. They’re too old to marry.” His wife elbowed him and issued the first stern look since their reunion. He hugged her to his side. Oh, how he loved her!
Abba Aaron bounced his hands on the night air, and a throbbing silence fell over the crowd. Moses lifted his voice over the whole community of Israel. “Yahweh has declared seventy elders to serve you. They stand in the waste piles today, symbolic of their calling. We will serve Yahweh as elders above you, but we’re mired in life with you, so we will never lord over you.”
Eleazar looked over his shoulder at the vast sea of Israelites behind them. From this vantage on the waste pile, God’s people stretched out into Goshen like branches of the Nile. The reality struck him. Israel’s deliverance was at hand.
“Yahweh will bring one final plague against Egypt,” Moses continued. “Because Israel is Yahweh’s firstborn and Pharaoh has refused to release us from his cruel bondage, Yahweh will strike down every firstborn son in Egypt, both man and beast.”
A nervous flutter spread through the crowd.
“When, Moses?” a man in the crowd shouted. “When will the plague begin?” Others in the crowd began shouting questions, and panic started to ripple through the masses.
“Will the plague strike Egyptians in Goshen?”
Taliah looked over her shoulder and then turned to Miriam in a panic. “That was Masud’s father. He believes in Yahweh, Miriam, but as only one god among all Egypt’s deities.”
Eleazar knew Masud and his siblings held a special place in Taliah’s heart because they were her first three students, and their parents had been the first to trust her with t
heir children. How many others believed Yahweh was one of many gods? He looked at Mosi, standing under Doda’s protective wing. What did he believe about Yahweh?
Moses tried to shout, but the crowd only grew more agitated.
Abba Aaron stepped closer to the edge of the plateau. “People of Goshen,” he shouted, lifting his hands again. “Hear me! Hear me!” The crowd settled, and fell silent as he began, “My brother, Moses, will tell you all we know about the details of our deliverance, but you must be ready to leave Egypt at a moment’s notice, for when the plague of firstborns sweeps through Egypt, Pharaoh will not simply release us. He will drive us out of Egypt, and there will be no time for planning.”
Moses stepped forward again. “Today is the tenth day of Israel’s first calendar month. When you return to your homes, those of you who have been able to replenish your flocks from the market, choose a male yearling lamb or kid without defect. Care for it in your homes until the fourteenth day, when at twilight you will slaughter the beloved creature and smear its blood on the sides and tops of the doorframes with hyssop branches. That same night, you will eat its meat roasted over the fire—all of it. If your family numbers less than fourteen, invite another family, who may not own a yearling, to eat the sacred meal with you. None of the meat is to be left until morning. If any meat is left until morning, you must burn it.
“Eat the meat with bitter herbs and bread without yeast. You will eat it standing, with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. We must eat in haste. It is the night when Yahweh goes through the land to strike down the Egyptians. He will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway. He will not permit the destroyer to enter your houses and strike you down but will pass over Israel’s firstborn. But in Egypt every firstborn male will die.”
Not a sound could be heard. Eleazar held his breath as questions whirred in his mind. Where would he spend this Passover night? A quick count of people in Doda’s household assured him there would be enough meat for Mosi to join them if he chose to. But what about the foreigners? Moses had promised to give instruction for the foreigners to be sav—
“Because the meal preparations fall to our women, the prophetess Miriam and our niece will visit your villages to give instruction to the women on the various ingredients and cooking instructions. For those foreigners who live among us and wish to be grafted into Yahweh’s people, any male eight days old or older must be circumcised.”
Murmurs rippled through the gathering at the severe condition. Moses lifted his hands for silence, and the people stilled. “It is a sign of the covenant Yahweh made with Abraham generations ago, a covenant that we—this generation—will see fulfilled as we receive Abraham’s promise and take possession of the Promised Land. We learn to obey Yahweh’s commands now so we can enjoy His promise forever.”
Silence again, and Moses let it speak to those who would listen. After several heartbeats, he raised his voice again. “When Pharaoh releases us, your newly appointed elders will spread the word through your tribes. Until then, Yahweh commands all men and women who count themselves among His people to ask your Egyptian neighbors and masters for articles of silver, gold, and clothing to aid us on our journey.”
The Egyptians in the crowd erupted.
“Haven’t we already been plundered?” Masud’s father shouted. Several others shouted and shook their fists at Moses, but he raised his voice over the few dissenters.
“Yes. Egypt has been plundered. But those within the sound of my voice have a chance at new life.” Without another word, Moses and Abba Aaron turned and began their descent down the rocky plateau.
Eleazar stood silently, listening, observing, as the people of Israel began to worship the Lord—quietly, reverently, bowing down where they stood.
Mosi knelt beside him but simply watched the others, seeming intrigued but unsure how to participate. Eleazar knelt too, bowing his head in silence, listening as those around him raised their voices to the God he was only beginning to know. Yahweh, if You hear me, know that I will serve You, but I still fear Your vast silence, Your great unknown. Was it enough to serve and obey though uncertainties still lingered? He almost laughed, realizing he’d served Egyptian masters who never gave explanations. Why not serve an all-knowing, all-powerful God?
As the crowd began to disperse, Mosi and Eleazar rose from their knees, and Mosi leaned over to whisper, “Does your uncle really expect Ram to open the weapons cabinets for a nation of slaves?”
Eleazar closed his eyes, silent for a moment. “My uncle expects Yahweh to do another miracle.”
“And there is only one God who could do it.” Mosi held up one finger.
Doda patted his arm. “That’s right, dear. One God alone.” She grabbed his strong arm and started following him down the mountain of sludge. “Why don’t you escort me home?”
“I would be honored.”
Hoshea fell in step behind them.
Eleazar had planned to return to the palace without going to Doda’s. Extending their visit would only make the good-bye harder. “We’ll wait at the long house only until Moses returns.”
“You’re going back tonight?” Taliah’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes swimming in tears. Eleazar’s heart seized.
“We’ll go ahead,” Doda called over her shoulder. “You two catch up.”
Eleazar placed his hands on his wife’s rounding belly, but she nudged them away, not violently, but intentionally. “I thought you’d come home to stay, like Hoshea.”
He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes, those deep, dark pools that sparked with life and passion. “Someday soon I will come home, but it won’t be to a slave’s long house in Egypt. We will have a home where our son is free.”
“Our son?” She lifted a brow in challenge.
He brushed her ear with his lips. “An abba knows these things.”
“Don’t leave.” Her arms circled his waist, squeezing as if he were a lifeline. “Stay with me.”
He laid his cheek atop her head and held her. People dispersing from the meeting walked around them, but it didn’t matter. Eleazar and Taliah stood in the waste pile until they were alone in the darkness and rats began their evening feast. The first furry brush across Taliah’s ankle released her grip. “Oh! Let’s go!”
Eleazar swept her into his arms and carried her down the slippery mess. Resting her head against his shoulder, Taliah held on tighter when they reached the path. “I take it you’re comfortable?” he asked.
She giggled and nodded.
Fine with him. She felt good in his arms. When they reached Doda’s long house, he didn’t want to go in. “I wish we could have our own home now.” He bent to kiss her, tasting the sweetness of love that had endured pain and survived.
He set her feet on the ground, and she kissed him again. Leaving tonight wouldn’t be easy. “Taliah, I’ll be here for the Passover meal. I don’t know what lies between here and there, but I promise—I’ll see you on the night of our deliverance.”
48
“All these officials of yours will come to me, bowing down before me and saying, ‘Go, you and all the people who follow you!’ After that I will leave.” Then Moses, hot with anger, left Pharaoh.
—EXODUS 11:8
Ram’s business deal with the Canaanite traders had changed the palace from a tomb to a temple. After three days of nonstop preparations, the throne hall had been transformed into a grand feasting room. Pharaoh, the crown prince, and Prince Ram sat on the elevated dais, while Pharaoh’s guards, Eleazar, and Mosi stood behind their respective royals, overlooking the festivities.
Scented wax cones perched on every noble head, dripping a heady aroma into the elaborate wigs of the noblemen and their ladies. A cacophony of sound filled the air as musicians beat drums for scantily clad dancers and jugglers sang ribald songs to entertain Pharaoh’s honored guests. Huge platters of roast goose, wild boar, and tender antelope were
served with a steady stream of imported wine. The new grain stores were lavishly served in the forms of bread and beer—the customary double portions doled out to the firstborn of every household. Liberal helpings of imported fruits and vegetables were added to Egypt’s only remaining food supplies: cheeses, dried fruits, and nuts.
The atmosphere was bright and cheerful, but Prince Kopshef sat brooding over his third pitcher of the strongest dark beer in Egypt. He’d been moping all night at Pharaoh’s blatant praise of Ram. Pharaoh’s first and second firstborns seemed doomed to a life of rivalry. Eleazar felt the gnawing betrayal of knowing their rivalry would be short lived.
Tomorrow night at twilight, households in Goshen would sacrifice a yearling from their flocks and save their firstborns—and every Egyptian household would mourn and wail. Eleazar shivered, scanning the table to his right where all the firstborn sons of Pharaoh sat, their guards positioned behind them. How many guards were firstborns like Mosi, and would die with their masters? Eleazar shifted his attention to the nobles. How many of them would join their firstborn sons in death? And the male slaves serving the heavy meat platters—two Libyans and three Assyrians—would they die because they hadn’t been at the meeting and didn’t know of Yahweh’s deliverance? Surely, Yahweh would find a way to offer deliverance to those He knew would choose to follow.
“I’d like to propose a contest.” Prince Kopshef raised his voice and stood on unsteady legs, swaying such that Mosi had to steady him. “Tomorrow at dawn. A hunt. My brother Ram leads a team of noblemen, and I lead a second team. Whoever kills the most antelopes, wins.”
“Wins what?” Pharaoh asked, noticeably perturbed.
