by Marek Halter
And Yahweh had told Moses what would happen to him when he returned to Pharaoh Thutmose.
“’I know the king of Egypt,’ the voice of Yahweh had said. ‘I know how hard his heart is. He will not let you go unless I force him to do so! Then I will strike Egypt with all my wonders.’”
“I was even more terrified when I heard that,” Moses said. “I gnashed my teeth. ‘They won’t believe me!’ I begged. ‘They won’t listen!’ ‘Throw down the staff you have in your hand!’ the voice said. So I did as I was told—like this.”
And Moses took the staff that everyone knew, the staff he had used to break the head of Houssenek’s son, and threw it to the floor, in front of the handmaids.
The result was pandemonium. There on the ground was no longer a staff, but a snake. And what a snake! It was very long—as long as the height of a man—and black all over. It lifted its head, blinked with its slit eyes, put out its tongue and hissed. They had all leaped to their feet: Zipporah with her baby in her arms, Sefoba, Hobab, Sicheved. Everyone was standing, the women were screaming, the children were shouting. Only Jethro remained seated, laughing with his mouth wide open, his beard shaking with pleasure, while the snake, frightened by all the excitement, coiled like a whip, as if it might be about to strike or to escape.
“Don’t let it get away!” Moses cried. “Don’t let it get away! I have to pick it up by its tail!”
But he was much too weak to stand, and his arm could not reach the snake. Sicheved had the idea of throwing a cushion at the beast, which caused it to retreat with a sinister rustle, and then Moses was finally able to get his hand on it. There was a stunned “Oh,” followed by a breathless silence.
In his hand, Moses was again holding his staff. No snake, just his staff. There were more exclamations, more incredulous cries, as, with a sigh, he put the miraculous staff down by his side. But before they all went back to their places, hearts still pounding, Moses raised his right hand for everyone to see and brought it down violently on his torso.
“Yahweh also made me put my hand in my chest. Believe it or not, it went right inside my body. When I took it out, it was white with leprosy. ‘Put it back in your breast!’ he said to me, and I did. When I took it out again, there was no more leprosy; it was as you see it now. That’s something I can’t repeat, but it’s the truth.”
In the stunned silence that followed, they heard Jethro slapping his thigh. He took Zipporah’s arm and forced her to resume her seat. “Sit down, sit down!” he ordered everyone. “Let Moses tell his story!”
This time, Moses had almost finished.
In response to Moses’ continued reluctance, the wrath of Yahweh had flared up, setting both his beard and his mind aflame and knocking him back against the rocks. “Do as I command you!” Yahweh had thundered. “Take your staff and go to Egypt. You will not be alone. Your brother, Aaron the Levite, will come to meet you! If you need someone to speak, he can certainly speak! I shall be your mouth, and he will be your mouth if you want him, for you will be a god to him!”
Moses sighed, and shook his head. “How the mule brought me here, I don’t know. Any more than I knew I had a brother named Aaron. I’m ashamed I tried so hard to flee Yahweh’s will. I couldn’t help it. You all knew that Horeb was up there, but how was I to know?”
He seized his staff, provoking more cries of terror. His tired face softened by a half smile, he put the staff back on his thighs. He looked in turn at Zipporah and Jethro.
“Now we must get our children ready to set off on the road to Egypt.”
THE days before their departure were so full of activity that nobody had time to think too much about the emotion of the imminent separation. Animals had to be chosen that would form Moses’ and Zipporah’s flock and provide them with milk and meat, be useful for trading, and make it seem that they were simply shepherds to any soldiers of Pharaoh they might meet on the way. The mules and camels had to be loaded with saddlebags full of grain, dates, jars of olives, linen, big gourds of water, and canvas and poles for tents.
Moses was so impatient that Hobab and Sicheved had only two days to make two cane baskets to be strapped to the backs of the camels. Strewn with cushions and covered with thick canopies, they offered good protection against the sun and would provide reasonable comfort for a long journey.
When Hobab showed his handiwork to Zipporah, he tried to convince her that he should go with her. “Moses is still very weak. He doesn’t know the road. What will you do if you meet with brigands?”
“Your place is here,” Zipporah replied. “Our father needs you more than we do. Who will lead his flocks to Edom and Moab if you leave? Stay here, support him, and find yourself a wife!”
Far from finding Zipporah’s words amusing, Hobab became annoyed. “Sicheved can take my place here; he knows as much as I do. And Jethro will be happy to know I’m with you!”
But still Zipporah refused, gently but firmly. “We fear nothing, Hobab. Moses’ god is protecting him. Do you think he’s sending him to Pharoah only to let him perish on the way?”
Reluctantly, Hobab bowed to his sister’s wishes: after all, the road to Egypt was no longer so unsafe since caravans of Akkadian merchants had started using it. But he sought out good guides to go with them, and had little difficulty in finding four young shepherds from among those who had followed Moses in previous winters.
Meanwhile, Murti and a half-dozen other handmaids came to see Zipporah. “Let us go with you. We’ll be your handmaids. We’ll take care of your sons. Moses will soon be a king, you’ll need handmaids.”
“Go and ask my father Jethro,” Zipporah replied with a laugh. “It’s he who’ll decide.”
Jethro granted them everything they wanted without even listening to them. Handmaids wanting to follow Zipporah were the last thing on his mind. For the first time in his long existence, he was at a loss for words, unable to express the immense joy he felt inside him. He made Moses repeat over and over, for him alone, the words the voice had spoken. And, each time, he would clap his hands and kiss Moses, his old body vibrant with jubilation.
“He’s come back to us! The Everlasting hasn’t forgotten our covenant. His wrath is no longer upon us. Yahweh is again reaching out his hand to the sons of Abraham!”
But it was not long before his joy was tinged with sorrow. The day before departure, it suddenly came home to him that Zipporah was leaving. She would no longer serve him his morning meals, would no longer be by his side for the offerings, would no longer listen patiently to his endless learned chatter. All that day, he remained by her side, following her everywhere as she busied herself with the final preparations, watching her as if trying to imprint her face on his brain. His lips were frozen in a smile, but his beard shook and his eyes looked too bright. He kept wanting to touch her, and he would put his hand on her arm, or brush against her shoulder or the back of her neck. Once, like a young man, he seized her by the waist. Zipporah took hold of his fingers and kissed them with infinite tenderness.
“We’ll meet again, Father. We’ll meet again, I know. Your days will be tranquil now and at last you’ll be able to become a very old man.”
Jethro’s childlike laughter echoed through the courtyard. “May Yahweh hear your words, may the Everlasting listen to you!” he exclaimed, happily rolling the words in his mouth.
At dawn on the day of departure, as she was breast-feeding Eliezer, two hands closed over Zipporah’s eyes. She had no difficulty recognizing their cool scent. “Sefoba!”
Sefoba sat down beside her and covered the child and Zipporah’s legs with a magnificent blanket on which colored stripes were interwoven with subtly drawn motifs.
“It’s beautiful,” Zipporah breathed, taking Eliezer off her breast so that she could feel the cloth.
The child screamed, and Sefoba happily took him and pressed him to her tear-dampened cheek. At this contact, Eliezer, surprised, fell silent.
Zipporah had spread out the blanket and was now able to clea
rly see the design that glittered in the morning light against a dark background. “The tree of life!”
“Do you remember that beautiful fabric that Reba gave Orma?” Sefoba asked, cradling Eliezer. “The one she tore the day after Moses arrived?”
Zipporah nodded, stroking with her fingertips the purple-and-gold birds, the ocher flowers, the indigo butterflies perching on the thin branches.
“I kept it for you under my bed,” Sefoba sniffled, overcome with emotion. “I always knew that one day my Cushite sister would go away and leave me on my own.”
For a long time, while the noise of the animals being formed into a caravan increased outside, Zipporah and Sefoba held each other in an embrace, into which they drew Eliezer and Gershom.
At last, everything was ready, and the caravan prepared to leave Jethro’s domain. Moses was in one of the baskets, Zipporah and her children in the other. The whole household bade them a last farewell with much singing and shouting and the sound of flutes and drums. They headed off across the great dusty plain. The baskets disappeared last, swaying in rhythm to the steps of the camels, their canopies fluttering in the wind from the sea, a wind that seemed to spread over the whole of Midian a calm such as nobody had known for a very long time.
IT happened after four days on the road. The camels had been relieved of their saddlebags and the shepherds were pitching the tents. As was now his custom, Moses went off to erect an altar of stones to Yahweh, as Jethro had taught him. By the time he returned, the sun was very low, the shadows were long, and the light blinding. It seemed to Zipporah that there was something strange about the way he was walking, and she stood up to see better.
“Moses!” she cried.
At that moment, he stumbled and went down on one knee. If he had not been holding his staff, he would have fallen. He stood up again and resumed his unsteady walk. Zipporah ran to him and put her arms around him to stop him collapsing.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
He did not reply. His harsh breathing, his pale face, his closed eyes, his drawn lips—everything reminded Zipporah of the way he had been when he had come down from the mountain. The young shepherds came to her aid and together they laid Moses in the tent. Zipporah called for water and linen and put his head on her knees.
As she was cooling his brow, Moses opened his eyes. When he saw her bending over him, he grimaced. “Yahweh is taking my breath from me,” he whispered. “My chest is burning.”
He moaned and pressed his hands on his torso as if he wanted to tear out his lungs. Zipporah tore off the collar of his tunic in a single move. She stifled a cry. The wounds, which for several days had been no more than light, barely visible scars, were now spread, scarlet and swollen, over Moses’ torso.
“Am I still in sin?” he groaned. “But what sin?”
Zipporah was so terrified, she could not think clearly. She stroked Moses’ face. “No, there is no sin, not now. I’ll bandage your wounds.”
She called for the oils and unguents that the old handmaids had wisely packed in leather bags before their departure. Moses grasped her hand. “How can we go to Egypt,” he asked, gathering all his strength, “if Yahweh takes my life?”
Zipporah felt anger and fear well up inside her. “No, it cannot be!” she cried. “Yahweh has returned to bring goodness and justice. He cannot want you to die.”
For a moment, Moses lay there with his mouth wide open, like an asphyxiated animal. Then breath returned to him. He gave a grimace that might have been a smile. “Yahweh can do whatever he wishes,” he rasped.
“No!” Zipporah protested again. “I know he wants you alive to see Pharaoh! What good would Moses’ death be to him now?”
She wanted to rise and beg the God of Moses, but the words she had spoken to Hobab came back to her: “The Everlasting is protecting him. Do you think He’s sending him to Pharoah only to let him perish on the way?”
“Nothing has yet been accomplished,” she said out loud. “It cannot be. I know you must live.”
But why did some of Horeb’s anger remain in Yahweh? She had to think carefully, look beyond the pain and the wounds. What had the two of them done wrong?
Oh, if only her father Jethro were here!
Moses shivered. “Yahweh punishes injustice,” he moaned in a barely audible, almost delirious voice. “He’s trying to remind us of his covenant.”
Zipporah opened her eyes wide. “The covenant!” she cried, tears of joy mixing with her tears of terror. “Moses, remember what the Everlasting said: ‘This will be the sign of my covenant between you and me.’”
But Moses no longer had the strength to listen and understand. Zipporah rushed out of the tent. “Eliezer!” she shouted at the terrified handmaids. “Bring me my son Eliezer! And a flint, the thinnest and sharpest you can find.”
Barely able to breathe, Moses opened his eyes when she returned, her son clasped in her arms.
“Pour mint and rosemary oil in this bowl!” she ordered. “Murti, go and fetch me a flat stone. And you, bring boiling water, there’s some on the fire, I saw it. The flint needs to be dipped in it. And linen, bring more linen, there isn’t enough!”
As she spoke, she took the swaddling clothes off the child. Eliezer’s cries worried Moses even more than his own pain. “What are you doing?” he moaned. “What are you doing?”
While the handmaids bustled around her, Zipporah placed Eliezer’s naked little body on the flat stone, by Moses’ side.
“What are you doing?” Moses panted.
Zipporah showed him the cutting edge of the flint and tenderly pinched Eliezer’s tiny member. “Your God said to Abraham: ‘You will be circumcised as a sign of the covenant between me and you. From generation to generation every child must be circumcised when he is eight days old. My covenant will be in your flesh, an everlasting covenant between me and you.’ Your son Eliezer is more than eight days old today, and neither you nor my father has circumcised him. The Everlasting has called you so that the covenant between your people and him may be reborn. But how can that be if your son does not bear the sign of it according to his will?”
With a steady, confident hand, as if she had been doing this all her life, Zipporah dipped the flint in the herb-scented oil and brought it down on her son’s foreskin. The cry that Eliezer gave was not much louder than those he was already making.
Without waiting, she picked up her son and raised him above Moses. “Lord Yahweh, God of Abraham, God of Isaac and Jacob, God of Moses! Oh Lord Yahweh, listen to Eliezer’s cries. Your covenant is in his flesh, an everlasting covenant. Look, Lord Yahweh, Moses’ son, his second son, has been circumcised according to your law. Oh Lord Yahweh, listen to the voice of Moses’ wife, Zipporah. I am only what I am, but receive my son, the son of Moses, among your people. Lord Yahweh, may the blood of Eliezer, may the cut foreskin of Moses’ son, wipe out Moses’ sin. You need him, and I need him. I who am his wife by the blood of Eliezer. Oh Lord Yahweh, I am your servant and, although my skin is black, I am your people.”
When she had finished, there was a curious silence that surprised them all, until they realized that Eliezer had stopped crying.
Then Moses’ breathing was heard, as violent as a gust of wind. It was as if life, in all its strength, were entering his chest.
Zipporah put Eliezer down near Moses’ face. Moses’ eyes were shut, and he was taking large gulps of air. She pressed Eliezer’s face to his father’s cheek. For a brief moment, they breathed together. The child again let out a cry, then another. Zipporah smiled. Murti and another handmaid, who was very young, burst out laughing. Zipporah held out Eliezer to them. “Quick,” she said.
They hurried off with him, to coat his wound with balm and wrap him in linen.
Zipporah’s fingers and palm were red with blood. She lifted Moses’ tunic, took hold of Moses’ member as she had taken hold of her son’s, and smeared it with her son’s blood. Moses sat up, his chest rising and falling as his breath came faster now.<
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Zipporah did not give him time to ask any questions. “We have not spoken our marriage vows, either,” she murmured, continuing her bloody caress. “But, as I promised you, today is our wedding day. May the Everlasting see us and bless us, my beloved husband. You are the man I want, the man I have chosen. You are the husband of my dream, the man who saves me and carries me off, the man I have always wanted, the man I have waited for without knowing his face. Oh Moses, you are the man you must be, and tonight will be our wedding night. I, Zipporah the Cushite, a stranger in every land, am from this moment on your bride of blood. The sin is no more. Gershom and Eliezer have a father and a mother. I am your bride of blood, oh my beloved husband.”
Moses smiled and, with great effort, held out his arms to her. Zipporah fell into them, lay down by him, kissed his wounded chest, and put her mouth on his until their breath was one.
WHEN night fell, Zipporah saw, in the lamplight, that Moses’ wounds had disappeared just as miraculously as they had appeared. She caressed him and kissed his chest greedily, but he did not wake or even make a noise. She laughed and fell asleep beside him, as exhausted as he was.
In the middle of the night, Moses woke her with his caresses. He had become Moses again, his desire reborn. “Oh my bride!” he whispered, hoarse with passion. “My bride of blood who gives me life over and over again. Wake up, this is our wedding night.” He kissed her breasts and belly and thighs. “You are my garden, my myrrh and honey, my nightly tonic, my black dove. Oh Zipporah, you are my love and the words that save me.”
Their nuptial hour lasted until dawn.
PART THREE
The Outcast Wife
Miriam and Aaron
These were happy days Zipporah was living through, days such as she had been dreaming of for a long time. She was on her way to Egypt by the side of her beloved husband, and it was no longer a dream that was impelling her onward, but her impatience to do what needed to be done in the land of Pharaoh. What did the monotony of the days matter, the endless swaying of the camels that made you feel seasick, the burning sun, the frozen nights? Each morning, when she looked at the grim plains stretching before her, she saw, rising on the horizon, the greatness of the mission Yahweh had entrusted to her husband. She had only to put her hand on Moses’ wrist or chest or the back of his neck to be overwhelmed with joy. She had only to see her husband with her sons, or hear him moaning with pleasure in her arms, to be quite sure that he was like no other man. That everything about him, body and soul, represented hope.