by Mesu Andrews
Without warning, an image flashed in Miriam’s mind—Moses and Aaron surrounded by jackals, and the snarling beasts were closing in on them.
“Miriam, are you all right?” Taliah steadied her arm, coaxing Miriam back to the moment.
Miriam assessed their three remaining patients. “Can you finish dressing this wound? The others can wait. I think Moses and Aaron are in danger.”
Taliah nodded. “Of course. Go, Miriam.”
Miriam hurried toward the door as the sound of shouting carried on the evening breeze.
“These stripes on my back are your fault!” a man roared.
“You put a sword in Pharaoh’s hand to kill us!”
Miriam grabbed her walking stick and called for Sattar. The dog bolted from her parents’ room and followed. In the distance, Miriam saw her vision being played out—Aaron and Moses were standing on the path connecting the city of Rameses to Goshen. The jackals closing in were angry Hebrew slaves and overseers.
Her brothers stood a head taller than the large crowd gathered around them. “Listen to us. Please!” Aaron lifted his hands high. “Let us explain.” One of the Judean overseers pushed Moses, but her brother didn’t retaliate.
Miriam hurried on aching legs and prayed she’d arrive before harsh words turned violent. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted.
Several faces turned her way, but most remained focused on Aaron and Moses. “You have made us a stench in Pharaoh’s nostrils with your demand to worship in the wilderness.”
“Who is this Yahweh? What has He ever done for us?” said another.
Miriam arrived at the edge of the growing crowd, and Sattar’s vicious snarl cleared a path for her toward Aaron and Moses. She stood between her towering brothers and saw many of the men and women she’d treated earlier in the day. “I know you’re in pain. I know it feels like Yahweh has failed us.”
A Judean elder jabbed his finger in the air. “Moses and Aaron failed us. I expect nothing from your Hebrew God, Miriam.” Rumbles of agreement surged through the gathering.
“Please, please,” Miriam begged, “listen to me. For years, El Shaddai has interpreted your dreams through me. You know He is real. Now He has disclosed a new name—Yahweh—and has promised to reveal Himself to all of us through mighty acts of His power. After four hundred years of His silence, can we not be patient a little longer?”
Murmurs rippled through the gathering, but no angry dissenters raised their voices. Relieved, Miriam exchanged a hopeful glance with her brothers. “Yahweh told Moses that Pharaoh’s heart is hard and we should expect refusals until he is compelled by Yahweh’s powerful hand. Ramesses has issued unreasonable demands like gathering our own straw before. We must wait patiently for El-Shadd…for Yahweh’s plan to unfold.” How long would it take for God’s new name to take root in her spirit?
“What if we don’t like Yahweh’s plan?” One of the elders stepped to the front of the crowd and pushed his daughter forward, pointing to her arm in a sling, her bruised and swollen face.
Miriam recognized her from this morning. She had not only been beaten but also defiled by a slave driver. This girl would bear lifelong scars. Only truth could offer hope to one so wounded.
“I don’t like Yahweh’s plan either.” Miriam confessed, drawing a collective gasp. “But I choose to trust Him because only He can build a life on which the future fits perfectly.”
Everyone fell silent. Please, Yahweh, let my simple words be enough. One by one, the crowd walked away. Some threw scowls over their shoulders, but at least they weren’t throwing stones. No blood was spilled.
“Thank you, Miriam,” Aaron said, hands trembling as he combed his long beard. “Moses and I heard that the overseers had gone to Pharaoh. We knew they would realize Pharaoh’s edict was a result of our demand to worship in the wilderness. That’s why we waited here on the road to address their fears…”
“Fears?” Miriam shot a blazing stare at Moses but his head was bowed. “It’s more than fears I’ve been bandaging all day. It’s more than fears that ruined that poor girl’s hope of marriage.”
Moses raised his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why did Yahweh send me here? To bring more trouble on these people?” He stalked away, bumping Aaron’s shoulder without apology.
Aaron rolled his eyes and pointed at Moses’s retreating figure. “Behold our great deliverer.” He turned in the opposite direction and marched toward home.
Miriam watched her departing brothers and turned her anger on the One who could receive it without offense. So these are the men You’ve chosen to deliver Israel? At the first sign of trouble they run and hide. With fists on her hips, she tapped her toe in the dust, fuming. Aaron would go home to Elisheba and get an ear full of criticism, but at least he had someone.
Though shadows lengthened and darkness loomed, she could see Moses headed in the direction of the private place she’d taken him to yesterday morning. “Come Sattar. Your first master needs our help tonight.”
The dog nuzzled her hand, remaining close as she followed at a distance, keeping Moses in sight. As expected, he veered from the path leading to the city and walked along the narrow dike toward her palm tree.
The evening breeze cooled Miriam’s temper, and she watched Moses settle himself under the palm. He hadn’t seen her yet. He faced the Nile, his back against the palm. He drew up his knees, and laid his forehead on them—as agile as the little boy she remembered. Thunder rumbled in the sky.
Odd. No lightning preceded it. Before Miriam could ponder further, Moses raised his head and shouted, “Ever since I went to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he’s brought trouble on Your people, and You’ve done nothing to rescue them. Nothing!”
Miriam’s breath caught. Was Moses shouting at Yahweh? And the thunder. Could it have been Yah—
A tremendous rumble shook the ground beneath her feet, and Miriam fell to her knees, face in the dust. Sattar yelped and cowered beside her. The thunder lessened to a gentle roll, and Miriam lifted her head to see Moses’s face tilted toward heaven, eyes closed, expression pained. Was God speaking to him? Did it hurt?
She wanted to go sit with him, comfort him, ask him a million questions, but she remembered his account of the burning bush. “Holy ground,” God had said to Moses. Should she take off her sandals? Was her little palm tree holy ground now?
Just as suddenly as the rumble began, silence robbed the air of every sound, and Miriam heard only her own heart pounding in her ears. Sattar lifted his head, alert in the void of noise. Afraid to move, hesitant to breathe, Miriam waited.
Moses looked back, not startled but aware. “It’s all right, Miriam. You can sit with me—if you’re willing.”
He sounded defeated. She shouldn’t have chastised him after he’d already faced the elders’ anger. Pushing herself to her feet with the walking stick, she approached her brother under the palm and nudged his shoulder until he looked up at her. “I once told Aaron that it was both a blessing and burden to be included in God’s counsel. I do not envy your burden, Brother.”
He looked at her, surprised. “Did you hear Yahweh’s voice?”
She settled on the ground beside him and leaned against him. “I heard His voice thunder but no words. Can you tell me what He said?”
Moses remained focused on the Nile. “He wants me to assure the Hebrews that He will free them from Egypt’s bondage and that He will give them the land He promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. But it’s more than that, Miriam.” He looked at her then, his brows knit together like the stubborn Prince Mehy of his youth. “Yahweh speaks of Israel as if we are His family, precious in His sight. On my journey from Midian, He called Israel His firstborn. A moment ago, He promised to take Israel to Himself—as if we were His bride. These are words of love, Miriam. I don’t understand—”
“Yes, Moses, yes!” Miriam’s heart leapt at his words. “It is love, and this is the El Shaddai I’ve known. He took me to Himself—like a bride—and has been my fami
ly, my everything, all these years.” She gasped, wonder blooming like a rose in her soul. “He wants every Israelite to know Him as I have known Him? Truly?” It’s what she’d been telling people all day, but had she really known it? Believed it?
Rather than the wonder she felt, only frustration showed on Moses’s features. “How could a loving God let His people suffer four hundred years of injustice and continue to let them suffer now?”
For the first time, Miriam set aside her own offense and imagined the heartbreak of her Shaddai. “The bigger question is how could an all-powerful God let His people choose not to love Him? He lets us choose and then live with the consequences. He could force our obedience and impose His will, but instead He patiently treats us like wayward children. Only a God-sized love could restrain His power.”
Moses nodded, but the crimson creeping up his neck testified to his dissent. They sat in silence watching the shadows lengthen. A heavy sigh escaped her brother’s lips before he spoke. “Was that innocent girl a wayward child, the one ruined by the slave driver today? What about the hundreds who have died since I returned to Egypt? Were they all wayward—”
“I don’t know,” Miriam interrupted. “I don’t know all the answers, Moses. I know only that I felt a rush of hope to think that others might realize El Shaddai’s love as I’ve known it all these years.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Not since fellowship with God was broken in the Garden of Eden has Yahweh revealed His secret name—but He told it to you, Brother, and He’s promised to reveal Himself to the whole nation of Israel. We can accuse Him or trust Him. It’s a choice each of us must make for ourselves.”
They sat in silence, watching the river teem with life. Finally, when Miriam’s back ached from leaning too long, she sat up and focused on her brother. “I must apologize to you for my harsh words back in the village.” He started to protest, but Miriam lifted her hand to silence him. “When I doubted you, I doubted God at work through you. I must ask you both for forgiveness.”
Sattar growled, interrupting the tender moment. Miriam scooted closer to Moses and scanned the tall grass around them. “You know, we’re too close to the Nile and too far from the city to be safe here in the dark.”
Moses whistled and signaled to Sattar with his hand. The dog responded immediately, sniffing around the low-lying bushes and shoreline.
Miriam, thoroughly impressed, tried to lighten the mood. “He checks for danger? You’ll have to teach me those signals.”
Moses offered only a satisfied smile in reply. Sattar finished his inspection and returned to the tree. Moses scratched behind the dog’s ears, his smile slowly fading. “I want my dog back.”
Miriam’s heart fell to her toes. She’d never intended to steal Sattar, but the dog had helped fill the emptiness of God’s silence. “I want my God back.”
Moses’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t answer. Miriam glimpsed his sadness before he began plucking the stray blades of grass between them. “I wish we could all go back…before…everything…”
Her brother was beaten. She sensed it. But he couldn’t give up. He needed to understand his importance to the people—even if they didn’t yet realize it. “El-Shadd—Yahweh speaks to me in pictures—dreams and visions that give me an inkling of what might happen, and then He gives me a sense of understanding.” She turned to Moses, waiting for him to meet her gaze. “I was important to the Israelites because those dreams and visions gave them a sense of scope and wonder. That’s not what they need now.”
“But you’re still import—”
“Yahweh speaks to you with words, Moses, not pictures. He tells you exactly what will happen and when. Don’t you see?” A sense of resolve settled over her. “God is God, and He decides how He will speak and to whom. We must all be ready to acknowledge Him in whatever ways He reveals Himself.”
Moses focused on the rising moon shimmering across the Nile. “I know only the Yahweh of miracles and the Voice from the fiery bush or thunderclap. So when I see Him do nothing—as has been the case in the past few days—it’s hard to trust Him.”
Miriam raised one eyebrow like a chastising big sister. “I agree. It’s frustrating enough to shout at Him, right?”
“It did no good.”
“Did He say anything else?”
“He told me what’s next.” He looked at her then. “Aaron and I are to return to Pharaoh’s throne hall in the morning.”
Miriam’s blood ran cold. “Are you sure you heard Him correctly? Eleazar said Ramesses is very angry. He might kill you both if you return.”
Moses closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. “I know. I told Yahweh it was fruitless. If the Israelites won’t listen to me, why would Pharaoh listen to my faltering speech?”
She shoved him, barely budging her muscle-bound brother. “Stop it. Your stuttering has nothing to do with it. You said yourself that Pharaoh won’t let the Hebrews go until he’s seen God’s mighty acts of judgment.”
He lifted his head and turned a weary face her direction. “Aaron and I go to Pharaoh tomorrow. Yahweh said I’ll be like God to Pharaoh and Aaron will be like my prophet. Ramesses will demand a miracle, and Aaron will throw down my staff as he did that night on the plateau. But—as you said—Ramesses won’t be convinced to let us go. Who knows how long it will take, Miriam, but Yahweh said Pharaoh will ultimately drive Israel from Egypt.” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “Aaron and I can’t do this without your help. I saw how the elders listened to you. You must help us prepare the leaders and organize the tribes.”
Miriam felt every day of her eighty-six years in that moment—every wrinkle, every ache, and every sleepless night. But when Moses had fled Egypt forty years ago, he had no faith in any god. Yahweh had changed him in the wilderness, and though he seemed as conflicted as she—one moment distraught, the next impassioned—it was obvious he truly believed Yahweh would deliver Israel.
Did she?
The magnitude of God’s promise dawned in her spirit. Leaving Egypt meant more than simply embracing freedom. Israel would leave behind everything they’d ever known, everything familiar.
She nodded quickly before she lost her nerve. “Tell me how I can help.”
20
So Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and did just as the LORD commanded. Aaron threw his staff down in front of Pharaoh and his officials, and it became a snake. Pharaoh then summoned wise men and sorcerers, and the Egyptian magicians also did the same things by their secret arts.
—EXODUS 7:10–11
“Let’s keep testing the new battle-axes.” Prince Ram reached for a new ax head, inspected its edge for sharpness, and then handed it to one of Eleazar’s men to be attached to a shaft. Eleazar reached for an ax head as well, but the prince stayed his hand. “I think you’ll spar with a wooden sword today. Let’s test your mettle.”
Eleazar bowed. “As you wish, my prince.” His heart pounded like a battle drum. Was Ram using their sparring session to vent his anger on all Hebrews, or had the prince discovered Eleazar’s association with Abba Aaron and Moses?
The men had returned to the throne hall this morning, repeating Yahweh’s demand that the Hebrews be released to worship Him in the wilderness. To Eleazar’s surprise and relief, Ramesses hadn’t killed them on sight. Instead, he’d challenged them to prove Yahweh’s power with a miracle. Abba Aaron threw down his staff, and Eleazar expected a snake like he’d seen on the plateau, but the serpent that slithered sideways on the marble floor was twice the size and astonishingly quick.
Pharaoh raised his sandaled feet off the floor and tucked them under him on the throne. He called to the crowd, summoning his counselors and chief sorcerers and magicians. Each nobleman stepped forward with a smirk on his face, and assistants handed each one a multicolored rod. The snake trick was rudimentary, performed by street magicians in every city market. By pinching the nerve in the nape of the serpent’s neck, the snake became rigid, appearing to be a finely decorated staff. Five
magicians threw down their rods, and five slithering snakes came to life, hissing and writhing across the gleaming marble.
The circle around the serpents widened, while Pharaoh, feet still tucked safely beneath him, raised a single brow. “It would seem your god needs a new trick to gain our respect—”
Moses’s serpent reared to the height of a jackal and in a single swish! devoured all five of the magicians’ writhing rods. Women screamed. Men shuddered. Eleazar’s knees felt like water. Pharaoh himself chirped like a hoopoe.
Abba Aaron merely reached for his serpent’s tail, and the staff stiffened again. Moses nodded to Ramesses, and the two Hebrews retreated nobly through the double ebony doors. Pharaoh had adjourned court immediately.
“Choose your wooden sword wisely, Eleazar.” Prince Ram grabbed his assembled battle-ax from the slave boy. “You’ll reap my foul humor for all Hebrews today.”
Eleazar breathed a sigh of relief. The prince was angry at Eleazar’s race, not his parentage. “I’m ready to face your wrath, my prince.” Eleazar chose the wooden sword with the longest blade to match the reach of the prince’s thrusting ax. He took several swings and tossed the wooden sword from hand to hand, measuring its weight. He’d need to be quick and accurate to block Ram’s fury.
The prince led him into the sparring arena where six other pairs had already begun midday bouts. Each pair fought within a circle of combat drawn in the dust, and Eleazar noted the prince walking toward the lone empty circle in the arena. Before Eleazar stepped inside it, Prince Ram turned and swung the ax. Eleazar ducked and diverted the shaft with his wooden sword, issuing a disapproving glare at his master. Ram never cheated. What was he thinking?
The prince returned his glare. “A soldier must be ready for unexpected battles, Eleazar.” The fighting began in earnest. Swing, thrust, parry, jab—Prince Ram came at him relentlessly.
Eleazar defended every attack as Putiel had taught him. A royal guard must provide competition and training but never harm the prince’s person or pride.