The Lord replied, “Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or dumb? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.”
But still Moses protested, begging God, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.”
Now the voice grew harsh with him. “What about your brother, Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak well. He is already on his way to meet you, and his heart will be glad when he sees you. You shall speak to him and put words in his mouth; I will help both of you speak and will teach you what to do. He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and as if you were God to him. But take this staff in your hand so you can perform miraculous signs with it.”
On hearing these words, Moses was filled with joy. He did not want to anger God by protesting further. God had provided a way for him to carry out His instructions, and he dared not disobey. He knew he had finally found the God he had sought for all of his life.
Moses rose in quiet awe as the voice fell silent and the bush ceased to burn. He felt a rush of cold wind sweeping down the mountain and swirling about him, whipping his robes and stinging his face with sand. But the warmth inside of him from his encounter with God glowed with such intensity, he barely felt the chill of the wind. With confidence now that God was still with him, even though unseen and unheard, Moses slipped his sandals on, turned, and headed back toward his home in Midian.
****
Moses thought Zipporah would be happy to hear the news that he was going back to Egypt, but instead she hurled insults at him.
“You wouldn’t go when I told you to go, but now you’re willing because your god has told you to!” she griped. “I think you just want to get away from me and find a younger woman. That’s why you are going back to Egypt.”
“No,” Moses said patiently, “I am returning because my God has commanded me to. He has work for me to do there.”
“And I suppose your family is so unimportant to your god that he has told you to leave us all behind.” Zipporah’s eyes glared at him with her challenge.
Moses thought for a moment, then said, “There is no reason why you cannot come. We will all leave together in the morning.”
Zipporah bit her lip in anger but did not have a comeback for this unexpected offer from her husband. She whirled on her heel and went off in search of her sons.
****
The next morning, Moses and his family left together for Egypt. Jethro wished him well, saying as they parted, “She’ll get over it, son. And you will do your work there and come back to us a wealthier man.”
“I don’t think so, Jethro,” Moses said quietly. “None of us knows exactly what will happen in Egypt. I hope to see you again someday, and I thank you for your many kindnesses.”
As Jethro watched his son-in-law leave with Zipporah and their two sons, he rubbed his favorite small idol and prayed, “Go with them, and bring them back to me soon!”
Chapter 8
The tribe of Judah had produced no better man than Caleb, the son of Jephunneh. He was a natural-born leader, a fearless man with the strength and courage of a lion. Ordinarily Caleb was a man of basically good nature, but his face was twisted with anger one day as he hurried through the slave camp, his eyes darting right and left. He ignored the greetings of those who spoke to him until he finally caught sight of Joshua, his friend from the tribe of Ephraim. Joshua was the son of Nun, and at twenty-five was younger than Caleb. Even though he came from the tribe of Ephraim, the two were fast friends.
Caleb marched up to where Joshua was engaged in a sword fight with one of the younger men. Joshua was stripped to the waist. His deep chest glistened with sweat and his eyes sparkled as he smashed his opponent’s defense. They were using wooden swords since the Egyptians did not allow the Hebrew slaves to have any weapons, but now Joshua laughed, his white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. “That’s it, Eli. You’re a dead man.”
“Let me try again, Joshua,” the young fellow begged.
“No. That’s enough for now.” Joshua half turned, and he smiled. “Why, Caleb, I didn’t see you.”
“Come with me. We have to talk.”
Joshua was accustomed to Caleb’s abrupt manner of speech. He moved quickly into step with Caleb, and the two made their way through the camp to a place beside the river where they would not be overheard. “What is it, Caleb?”
“It’s Bezalel,” Caleb said shortly.
With a sigh, Joshua shrugged his muscular shoulders. “What’s he done now?”
Ignoring the question, Caleb turned to face Joshua. “Have you seen him?”
Joshua hesitated, for he and Bezalel were close friends.
Caleb noticed this at once. “Don’t try to cover up for him, Joshua,” he warned. “He’s in trouble this time.”
“I haven’t seen him today,” Joshua admitted. “He doesn’t come down here too often.”
Caleb nodded shortly. “If he does, grab him and hold him. Send for me.”
“Why? What’s he done?” Joshua demanded. “He’s not a bad fellow, you know.”
“He’s a spoiled brat! He’d be better off working down in the brickyards,” Caleb stated flatly. His eyes were hard as agates, and he shook his head. “I knew there would be trouble when he went to work in the house of that rich Egyptian.”
“It’s an easy life.” Joshua shrugged. “I don’t blame him for taking it. With a talent like he’s got, it was inevitable.”
Bezalel was the son of Uri, who had been married to Miriam’s best friend, Illa. The boy’s parents had both died years ago, and out of devotion to her friends, Miriam had raised young Bezalel. He had been a difficult youngster to raise, always into trouble of some kind. He had good looks, was highly intelligent, and had a talent for art. Early in his life he had revealed an almost miraculous talent for molding clay into statues. He made caricatures of some of the leaders of the tribe of Levi, and Miriam had been forced to stand between him and the angry leaders. The statues had not been flattering!
Working with clay had been just the beginning, however. As soon as it was discovered that the young fellow had a talent for making almost anything in silver, gold, and bronze, he had been taken out of the brickyards and was trained by some of the Egyptian metal workers. They valued such things, and less than a year ago, Bezalel, at the age of sixteen, became a highly valued apprentice in the hire of a wealthy Egyptian.
Caleb shook his head. “He would have been better off working down here in the pits.”
“He’s got it pretty easy. And he makes life easy for Miriam and the family. You know he gives most of his earnings to them.”
Caleb gnawed on his lower lip. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, given to quick movements. “He’s too clever and it will get him into trouble.”
“He’ll be all right. He’s just a little wild.”
“You’ve got to talk to him, Joshua. He’ll listen to you.”
“I doubt that.” Joshua grinned dryly. “What has he done?”
“He’s chasing around with Adila.”
“You mean the daughter of old Hezmiah?”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“But she’s betrothed to Laaman.”
“You think that makes any difference to Bezalel?” Caleb demanded.
“I’m sure Bezalel doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just high-spirited, but it’ll make a difference if he has trouble with Laaman. That man’s a beast!”
Caleb shook his head. “He’s driving Miriam crazy. I’d like to break his neck. He’s like his father was, a trifler.”
“You’re right about that!”
Caleb stood in the hot sun, and finally he said grimly, “You’d better go looking for him. If Laaman finds him with his woman, he’ll break his neck.”
“So far he’s had plenty of luck not getting caught,” Joshua said.
“If Laaman catches him,” Caleb said, “he’ll need more than luck!”
****
The marketplace was busy, and Bezalel was pleased with himself. He was walking alongside Adila, and from time to time she would stop and admire something in one of the booths. The young woman was beautiful. She was from the tribe of Dan, the tribe with the worst reputation among all the sons of Jacob. They were easily led into idolatry and had caused a great deal of trouble back in the past. Adila was small but well shaped, with a pair of full lips enhanced by red paint. Her father was one of those Hebrews who had managed to become as well off as a slave can be, and she wore an attractive garment of light green silk.
“Oh, Bezalel, look. Isn’t that precious?”
Bezalel stopped and looked at a small statue Adila was pointing at. It was a figurine of one of the hundreds of Egyptian gods. He studied it for a moment and shrugged. “It’s very poor workmanship. But look—the eyes are made of a precious stone. Do you want it?”
“Oh, I would never buy an idol!” She laughed and turned and leaned against him so that he smelled her perfume. “But look at that ring there. I would love to have that.”
Bezalel turned to the tradesman who was listening to all this and began a lively barter. Finally he bought the ring, and Adila at once stuck out her hand, spreading her fingers. Just as he was slipping the ring on her finger, they heard a harsh voice calling out her name, and the young couple turned. Adila let out a whimper. “It’s Laaman. You’d better run.”
“Run? I’m not running,” Bezalel said with an arrogant shrug. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“But he’s so jealous, Bezalel. He’ll beat you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Laaman approached, and he was a fearful-looking sight. He was half a head taller than other members of his tribe, and his swelling muscles revealed his trade, which was moving the huge blocks of stone for the pharaoh’s massive building projects. He was wearing a band around his head that kept his long black hair out of his face, and his lips were twisted in a snarl. “I told you to stay away from her, Bezalel.”
“We’re just walking through the marketplace,” Bezalel said. “No harm in that.”
“You don’t hear too good.” Moving quickly for such a big man, Laaman stepped forward and swung his huge, knotty fist.
Bezalel did not see it coming until it struck him right over the left eye. He was driven backward, and his world turned to stars. As he fell, he heard Adila crying out, “Laaman, don’t kill him!” Then he felt more blows raining down on him. He struggled to get up, but it was hopeless. A final blow caught him in the temple, and his world turned to utter blackness.
****
When Aaron entered Miriam’s hut, the first thing he did was ask, “How is Bezalel?”
Miriam passed a hand over her face. She looked weary, and lines showed the strain she had been under. “He’s asleep.”
“He’s lucky Laaman didn’t kill him.”
“He’s beaten up badly. I think he may have some broken ribs, and his face is all swollen. He looks awful.”
Aaron marched past Miriam and looked down upon the still form of Bezalel. “He looks like he was hit in the face with a tree.”
“I’m worried about him. I’ve sent for Marneen. She’s good with broken bones.”
Aaron shook his head in disgust. “Some man’s going to kill him for sure if he doesn’t keep his hands off of other men’s women.”
“He doesn’t mean any harm.”
Aaron turned to Miriam and studied her. The two had always been very close. “I’m worried about you, sister. You should never have taken on raising Bezalel. He’s been too much for you.”
“It was something I wanted to do for my friends. I couldn’t let their son be homeless.”
“I know. You’re always taking in strays, but Bezalel hasn’t worked out.”
“He’ll be all right.”
Aaron came closer and looked down at her. “You look tired. You do too much.”
“I’m all right,” she said. “Come. Have a drink of water. It’s cool from the well.”
The two sat down and spoke for a time about the work there was to do. Finally Aaron drained the cup and got up. He stopped before he left and turned and asked, “Do you ever think of Moses?”
“Every day of my life.”
“We’ll never see him again. You should forget him.”
Miriam shook her head and looked directly into Aaron’s eyes. “God saved him from death for a purpose. If Mother and I had not put him in that basket, he would have been dead.” She reached up and put her hand on Aaron’s chest. “He’ll come back one day, brother, and then we’ll see the Redemption!”
Aaron stared at his sister, then reached down, patted her shoulder awkwardly, and left the hut. Miriam walked back to where Bezalel lay sleeping. She began praying for the young man, who was the only son she would ever have. He was of the tribe of Judah. She was of the tribe of Levi. But he was her son in everything but blood. She leaned over, put her hand on his dark, curly hair, and prayed, “O Almighty God, put your hand on my son, heal and protect him.”
Bezalel’s twisted, swollen features twitched slightly, and he muttered a few words but did not awaken. Miriam knelt down beside him and took his hand in hers. She kissed it and held it against her cheek. “Please do something, Lord. Take care of my son,” she whispered softly to the God she had never seen.
Chapter 9
A sharp pain struck Bezalel in the side, bringing him out of a fitful sleep. He gave an involuntary grunt and put his arms around his middle as if to protect himself. Opening his eyes, he saw that the dawn had just begun to break, sending gray streaks of light in through the small window to his right. Cautiously he took a deep breath but found that this was more painful than he had anticipated.
“He must have broken some of my ribs.” He whispered the words and tried to sit up, but he could not stand the pain this caused. He lay back on his bed, a thin pad on the dirt floor of the tiny hut he shared with Miriam. From the outside came the sounds of the camp beginning to stir—chickens clucking, dogs barking, cattle lowing, and muted voices babbling as the Hebrews awoke and began their busy lives.
Realizing there was nothing to get up for anyway, Bezalel lay on his back and bitterly reviewed the circumstances that had earned him a beating. “I should have known better than to fool with that woman. Everyone told me so, but I was too stubborn to listen.”
It was a rare admission of guilt and one that he would never have made publicly. Young Bezalel was a proud young man and with some reason. His grandfather was Hur, the leader of the tribe of Judah for many years. This gave Bezalel some honor among his tribesman, despite the fact that his father, Uri, had been a rather worthless individual. He had been handsome, to be sure, but not a father to be proud of. Bezalel had received his good looks from his father: a wealth of curly black hair, lustrous, dark eyes, widely spaced and well shaped, with eyelashes any woman would have been attracted to. He had a sensuous mouth that was full and wide, and he had not been cooked by the blazing sun of Egypt as had most of his childhood companions. He could thank his artistic talents for this, for he had been pulled out of the terrible labor of making bricks and placed in the home of one of the wealthiest Egyptians, who had put him under the tutelage of the best teachers, intending to make a prize slave out of him.
Once more Bezalel made an effort to sit up, and this time he succeeded, gasping for breath with each small movement. He heard Miriam moving about outside, no doubt preparing food for him at the fire, and he dreaded seeing her. He felt guilty for the trouble he had brought to her and did not want to listen to the inevitable scolding he would receive. He would have risen and left, but that was out of the question in his present condition.
Miriam appeared at the doorway; then her face drew into a tight mask and her lips pressed tightly together. She came to stand over him and said without preamble, “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“Please don’t start on me, Mother. I don’t feel up
to it.”
“Well, I should think not! Bezalel, you should have better sense. When are you ever going to grow up?”
“Could I have something to eat and some water, please?”
Miriam glared at him but shrugged her shoulders and moved across to where the drinking water was stored in a jar. She poured him a cupful, came back, and handed it to him. Stooping down, she watched him, her eyes intent. When he finished drinking noisily, she took the cup and said, “Son, don’t you know you’re breaking my heart?”
Every time Miriam called Bezalel “son,” it touched him. She had been his mother’s best friend and had been like an aunt to him while his mother was alive. He was only eight years old when his mother died, and his father had died earlier, so Miriam had taken him into her little hut and raised him as her own. She had never married, so it was just the two of them, and Bezalel knew she had poured herself into him as his real mother would have done had she lived. Trying to think of some reasonable answer to her question, he realized there was none. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said. “I was a fool.”
“Well, everyone knows that,” Miriam snapped, “but why were you a fool? There are plenty of fine young girls looking for a husband, but you have to chase out after a harlot like that one. Sometimes I think you don’t have any sense at all!”
Bezalel dropped his head, unable to meet her eyes. He listened, knowing there was no logical explanation he could give her, for he had indeed been a fool. He was relieved when she finally got up and said, “I’ve fixed you something to eat.”
Bezalel sat there wondering how long he would be unable to get up and pursue his normal activities. “I’ll have to send word to my master that I’ve been hurt.”
“He’s probably already heard it,” Miriam said as she brought him a bowl of stew.
“He wouldn’t be interested in the affairs of slaves, Mother.” Rishef, the wealthy Egyptian who had taken Bezalel into his service, took no thought for his servants’ private lives—indeed he was unaware that they had any. He would be angry, however, if Bezalel did not come to work. “Could you get word to him, Mother?”
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