Signs and Wonders

by Bernard Evslin

  They followed Moses through a pathless wilderness, a great waste of desert and mountain. The sun of an Egyptian April flayed them by day; the night wind racked them with cold. They realized that they were wandering—that Moses had lost his way. They grew sullen and vicious.

  Moses called out to God, “We are lost! Show us the way.” He looked up into the burning blankness of the sky, awaiting an answer. None came.

  “What is your will, O Lord? Must we wander in the wilderness until we perish?”

  The sun’s naked light fell like a hammer on Moses’ upturned face. The sky began to spin. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the sky had darkened, although the sun was still shining. The darkness broke away and became a cloud, a cone-shaped cloud, spinning furiously on its point, funneling down to earth. The mob of Israelites cringed to earth, moaning with fear. The cloud changed shape as it dropped, becoming a great, fleecy ram with upflung head and curling horns, its legs bent as if galloping upon the bright air. The cloud ram floated eastward. Moses followed it, and the people followed him.

  All day long they straggled after the cloud—which changed shape as it went, becoming a bear, a whale, a winged ship, a white camel, but in all its shapes sailing east. Then, at the end of day, its fleece took red fire from the sinking sun. And—most strange—after the sun had gone, the cloud kept burning in the darkness and was a pillar of fire. And Moses kept following it, and the people staggered after him.

  God had come down into the wilderness. He went before His lost children as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. He led them to the shore of the Red Sea, and they camped there.

  In Egypt the Pharaoh was raging because he had been forced to let them go. “Why have I done this?” he cried. “They are my slaves; they belong to me!” His rage swelled until he could bear it no longer, and he gathered his army. He took six hundred brass-wheeled chariots driven by picked warriors and pursued the Hebrews. He followed them through the wilderness with chariots of brass, and horsemen and footsoldiers. They pressed hard on the trail of the Israelites, and they glittered and jangled like a metal dragon.

  Moses waited at the edge of the sea. He waited for the Lord to speak. But waiting was hard. The beach seethed with people. Never was such an encampment seen on earth. The Israelites had no tents. They slept on their wagons, slept on the earth. Moses and Aaron stood on a low hill, overlooking the camp. Aaron said: “Behold our people! Is this a nation chosen by God? It looks like a swarm of maggots when you lift a log.”

  “Pity them,” said Moses. “They hate their past and dread their future.”

  “It is you they hate,” said Aaron, “for leading them out of the safety of bondage. They will turn on you and rend you limb from limb—and me, also.”

  “For shame!” roared Moses. “You who held the serpent staff and threatened the Pharaoh in the name of the Lord, do you doubt His word? Do you dare to doubt? He who made man out of dust can make a mighty nation out of a swarm of maggots.”

  Now the Hebrews heard a clanging and saw a far glitter, and they knew the Egyptians were coming. The elders rushed to Moses, crying, “Behold, they come! They will slay us! Were there not graves enough in Egypt, wonderful tall graves, that you took us to die in the wilderness? It would have been better to stay and serve the Egyptians than to come here and die in our own blood, pierced by lance or sword.”

  “Fear not,” said Moses. “Stand still, and await the salvation of the Lord. He who took you out of Egypt will not deliver you again into the hand of the Egyptian. Stand and wait.”

  He spoke to God, who said: “Do not cry out to me. Speak to Israel. Kindle their spirits with your words, so that they become men instead of slaves. At dawn the chariots will charge. You shall not be frozen with terror; you shall not break and flee. But you shall march toward the Red Sea as if it were dry land. You shall march toward the sea and trust in Him who made the world and placed mountains and seas at His pleasure, whose touch makes mountains tremble and seas divide. Therefore march upon the Red Sea tomorrow, when the chariots charge, and go before your people, holding your staff in your hand. When you come to the sea, raise your staff. And be of good heart, for I march with you.”

  The Lord stood between the Egyptian army and the Hebrew encampment. He stood there as a pillar of black cloud. The blackness could not be pierced, so the Egyptians could not attack at night and had to wait until the sun rose.

  That night Moses and Aaron spoke to the people and prepared them. Then at the first light the children of Israel roused themselves and marched toward the sea. Moses and Aaron walked before.

  Behind them they heard the rattle of weapons and the terrible wheels of brass and the battle cries of the Egyptians, which were like hawks screaming. Bewildered, terrified, the ragged horde streamed after Moses and Aaron, who walked steadily toward the edge of the sea. Moses stood on the shore and stretched out his staff. An east wind blew, a wind that sheared like a knife and divided the waters. Before the astounded eyes of the Israelites stretched a road, running along the bottom of the sea, running out of sight toward the far shore.

  Moses and Aaron stepped upon the road and the people followed. The waters were a wall on their right hand and on their left. They gazed in wonder at these huge, trembling walls of water that churned with a mighty force within, and wished to tumble back to their place but were restrained by an invisible hand. And they walked along the strip of dry land that divided the waters.

  The Pharaoh had reined up his horse in amazement, and all his army halted. His stallion pawed the sand as he watched the children of Israel marching into the sea. He thought they meant to drown themselves, choosing death by water rather than death by sword. He saw the sea divide and the road appear—and the people march along it between towering walls of water.

  The Pharaoh raised his sword. The army moved in glittering ranks to the edge of the sea. The king sat his horse and looked out on the divided sea. He could not believe what he saw—the strip of dry land between the towering walls of water, and the horde walking that impossible path, vanishing eastward into a great dazzle of morning light. He grew more wrathful as he watched his slaves vanishing, that enormous force of unpaid labor that had built the treasure cities of Pithom and Rameses, and walls and roads and pyramids. He raised his sword again.

  The army surged to the edge of the sea—horsemen and spearmen and brass chariots—and went down into the sea bed. They pressed forward along the dry strip of land between the walls of water. Aha, thought the Pharaoh. The sea that divides for them is divided for me. Where they flee, I pursue. And when I reach them, this sea will run redder still.

  The Egyptians pursued the Hebrews along the sea-bed road. But Moses had stopped and stood waiting, as the rest of his people went forward. He stood there, staff in hand, and watched the Egyptians. They were coming fast. They were charging between the walls of water, horses foaming, swords glittering. They were very close now. But he wanted the entire army to come upon the sea bed, and there were still troops on the beach. He waited. The first chariot was almost upon him now. He heard the snorting of the horses and the deadly chuckle of the hub knives that spun on the axles of the chariot wheels. He saw that the beach was empty. “God be with me,” he said, and raised his staff.

  The east wind fell and the sea returned. In an instant the chariots and the horsemen, the archers and the spearmen, were swallowed up. There was nothing but a third wall of water rearing up before Moses—so close that the end of his staff was wet. But behind him the waters were yet divided and the road remained. He turned and went after his people.

  The Israelites walked upon dry land in the midst of the sea between the walls of water, and passed to the other shore. And of all that mighty army not one Egyptian was left alive. They were all drowned when the waters returned. And the people feared the Lord and believed Moses. Moses and Aaron shouted with joy, and their words became a song:

  I will sing unto the Lord, for He has

  triumphed glorio
usly,

  Horse and rider has He thrown into the

  sea.…

  Miriam, their sister, took a timbrel in her hand and led the women in a wild dance, singing as she danced. Moses sang, also, and the people sang after them:

  The Lord is my strength and song

  And has become my salvation.

  O Lord, you sent your wind

  against the Egyptians

  and the sea covered them.

  They sank like lead in the mighty

  waters.

  Who is like you, O Lord, among their

  gods?

  Who is like you for glory and holiness?

  Who is like you for doing wonders?

  And as they sang and danced, the shackles of fear melted, those invisible chains that had bound their souls and kept them slaves. In the joy of victory they became men and women, never again to be slaves.

  In the Wilderness

  Now, the shortest route from Egypt to Canaan did not lie across the Red Sea at all. The best road ran northward along the Mediterranean coast to the northeast border of Egypt—through the land of the Philistines, who held the seacoast of Canaan. But Moses knew he could not follow this road. It was the great highway for caravans, studded with Egyptian fortresses and custom posts. And even if they could pass through the Egyptian troops, who would be hunting for their runaway slaves, they would have to cross the land of the Philistines, guarded by the walled harbor cities of Gath and Ashkelon and Ashdot, and patrolled by Philistine horsemen.

  So the best route was barred to Moses, and he knew that he would have to lead his people through the wilderness where he had once been a fugitive—that vast, barren plain in whose highlands the Midianites dwelt, where his father-in-law, Jethro, still dwelt. Through the land of the Midianites he would have to go, and through the mountain passes of Sinai, past Horeb, where he had first heard the word of God, going eastward through that terrible wilderness, passing to the south of Canaan; then into the Syrian hills, where those who survived the journey could cross the Jordan and go into the promised land.

  Now, as they stood on the far shore of the Red Sea, a great wasteland spread before them—desert and mountain, sand and rock, little water, few trees. And the long journey began, a journey that was to last forty years.

  They did follow a road, one of the oldest in the world, a road that was a thousand years old when Abraham was born. Less a road than a path, it had been worn into the earth by the feet of slaves, trudging from the Nile to the Sinai mountains, where they had been forced to labor in the mines, digging copper out of the earth, gouging lumps of turquoise and amethyst from the rocks, and dragging the heavy loads on sand sleds to the Nile.

  The day’s march was the distance between water holes, where they might drink and fill their goatskin bags, and where the cattle could crop the grass that grew only near water. Then Moses led his people eastward into the wilderness. For two days they found no water. By the third day they had drunk the last drop from their goatskin bags. Still they found no water. The desert sun knelt low, scorching them. They burned with thirst.

  “O Lord,” said Moses, “we die of thirst. Lead us to a river or to a spring.”

  He walked on. He saw a glimmer in the distance. He did not cry out. For heat waves dance and shimmer in the desert, cruelly deceiving the sight of those who thirst. The people had been fooled before by such mirages, and each time they had viciously abused Moses and Aaron, as though the brothers had flung the mirage in their path to keep them on the move. Moses said nothing, but walked on. Now he could not only see the glimmer of water but smell its coolness, and see the grass growing at its edge. It was no mirage, but a small river.

  With a great cry, the people rushed forward in a jostling mob. They knelt upon the bank, thrusting their heads into the water, drinking in great gulps. Moses saw one man stagger away, clutching his belly, retching. Everyone was retching, spewing out the water, screaming. Some tore out handfuls of grass and ate it. Moses scooped up some water and drank. It was bitter; it was foul. It could not be swallowed. He spat it out.

  He saw people crouching on the grass in front of him, glaring up at him, like beasts ready to spring. He backed off. He joined Aaron, who had not drunk, and they stepped behind a screen of rocks.

  “They will kill us,” said Aaron. “They will kill us and drink our blood.”

  Moses raised his arms to the sky. “How have I sinned, O Lord?” he cried. “You have led us to a river, but its waters are bitter and we can not drink.”

  The sky spoke: “Cut down a tree.”

  “No tree grows here,” said Moses.

  “A tree grows. Cut it down.”

  There, in the space between the rocks, stood a tree where no tree had been. Moses cut it down.

  “Cast it upon the waters,” said the Lord.

  Moses bore the tree to the river and threw it in. The people watched sullenly. A man shouted, “Now throw yourself in. Drown yourself, old fool, or we shall slay you here on the banks of this bitter river.”

  Moses reached down and scooped up a handful of water. He tasted it. He cried out with joy and knelt at the riverbank and plunged his head in. The water was sweet and cool. “Drink!” he cried. “The Lord has provided!”

  The people rushed to the river and drank and filled their waterskins. The cattle cropped grass. Moses named the river Marah, meaning “bitter.”

  They struck deeper into the wilderness. They managed to find enough water, but there was little grass. The cattle began to die. The dead animals were butchered, but the meat spoiled in the heat. By the end of a month the herds were gone, the sheep and the goats and the cattle, and there was no meat. They baked unleavened bread, flat sheets of it on the rocks, using no fire; the sun was hot enough to bake it. They ate bread and dried lentils.

  Then the grain was gone. There was nothing. They ate goatskin bags. Moses and Aaron feared to move among them now, for the people howled with rage when the brothers passed. “You took us out of Egypt, where we had plenty to eat,” cried one of the elders. “We sat by the fleshpots in Egypt; we filled our bellies with meat and bread. Now you have brought us into this wilderness to kill us with hunger.”

  The brothers walked alone. “Why do they not learn?” said Aaron. “They have seen the Lord deliver them from bondage. They have seen the waters divide before them and fall back upon their enemies. They have seen Him sweeten the bitter waters. Still they do not trust Him. How many wonders must be performed?”

  “Four hundred years of slavery have done this to them,” said Moses. “To survive, a slave must blind himself. He must deafen himself, cut off his capacity to understand. He must ignore all evidence of how the world is, because his world is unbearable.”

  “They have been taken out of bondage,” said Aaron.

  “Now they are like limbs unbound after tight bandaging,” said Moses. “The blood rushes in, swelling dry veins, and it is agony. Their freedom is agony still. They have no faith, no endurance. Perhaps this terrible journey is God’s way of teaching us to be men.”

  “Perhaps,” said Aaron.

  Moses left his brother and went into the desert, for the Lord spoke most clearly to him when he was alone. As he went, he watched a flight of birds across the sky, flying north in a vast migration. The Egyptian soothsayers believed that each flight of birds was a thought crossing the mind of their falcon god, and they studied bird flight to predict events. They also cut open doves to examine their entrails for clues to the future.

  “I am no Egyptian,” said Moses to the sky. “I cannot read your intention in bird flight or bird gut or the casting of lots. I’m all Hebrew now, and must question you until I am answered. Why do you starve us, God?”

  The Lord answered: “Behold, I will rain food from heaven. You shall have flesh to eat in the evening; in the morning, bread.”

  Moses went back and called the people together. “Tonight you eat,” he said.

  “What is there to eat?” they shrieked.

>   “The Lord will provide.” A malicious whisper hissed from elder to elder.

  Moses said: “Your murmurings are not against me, but against the Lord. But He will prove Himself again. He will rain food from heaven.”

  The crowd was silent. He could feel their need and their anger beating about him like waves. He went to his tent.

  That evening the elders came rushing to his tent. “We are lost!” they cried. “The sky is falling!”

  Moses went out. Dark things were drifting down. “They are quail coming down to rest,” said Moses. “The Lord has sent them. Go take them for your pot.”

  “Catch quail by hand? They will fly away.”

  “Behold!” said Moses. He went toward the enormous covey of quail. He walked among them. They sat there, motionless. He reached down and seized two of them and strode back, a quail in each hand.

  “Gather the birds,” he said. “Take what the Lord has provided.”

  The quail did not fly away when the people went out to get them. That night they roasted the birds, and ate.

  The next morning, after the dew had risen, there on the ground lay small white things, glistening like hoarfrost. It was not hoarfrost. Its fragrance was like newbaked bread, but sweeter. “Manna … manna …” the people cried. This means “What is it?”

  Moses said: “This is the bread the Lord has given you. Gather it up and eat.”

  When Moses led them from that place they had enough food for many weeks.

  They wandered in the wilderness, and the way was long. They had drunk all their water and they found no more. They spoke against Moses, saying, “Give us water that we may drink.”