by Mesu Andrews
Moses turned to Eleazar. “We have a bigger problem than weapons. Every firstborn in that armory will die tonight unless we get them out of there by twilight.”
Fear coiled around Eleazar’s throat, nearly choking off his words. “Hoshea was Nun’s only son.” He watched the realization settle on Moses’s features. “Hoshea is a firstborn.”
Eleazar scrubbed his face, frustration and dread warring inside. “Ram had the only key to the weapons cabinet, and only Pharaoh and his commander hold keys to the armory gates. No one is escaping that armory unless the Egyptian army helps us tear down the walls or the king or Kopshef opens the gate.”
He stared at Moses, waiting for a brilliant idea, but his uncle walked to the corner where their Passover lamb stood nervously bleating. He knelt down beside it and stroked its muzzle. Eleazar hoped his silent chat with the lamb inspired a miracle. Eleazar looked down at his sleeping wife, thankful she didn’t know Hoshea’s life hung in the balance.
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. Tell me what happened to Taliah.” Abba stood over him, genuine concern etched on his brow.
Eleazar searched for lingering accusation, perhaps some hidden blame, but saw none. Since he and Ima had sent Eleazar to become a military slave, they’d treated him like a barbarian—like a Hittite—thinking his only talent was violence. Any injuries or tragedies of war were Eleazar’s own fault. Even Kadesh. “Kopshef sliced her abdomen, trying to kill her and our child, but Mosi saved them both. That’s why the slaves beat Kopshef, Abba.”
He squeezed Eleazar’s shoulder, and gave a gentle nod. “None of us are safe from Egyptian hatred, son. You did all you could to protect your family, and Yahweh preserved their lives.”
“Houses!” Moses released the lamb and marched toward the others. “Yahweh told us to paint lamb’s blood on the tops and sides of the doorways of our houses, and eat the meal inside.”
Everyone stared at him, perplexed. Doda was the first to speak. “And? How does that help Hoshea and the other firstborns in the armory? They can’t get to their houses.”
“Guardhouses, Miriam. There are buildings at the four corners of the armory where the overnight sentries take turns sleeping. The soldiers could shelter in the guardhouses and paint the doorframes with the lamb’s blood.”
Eleazar stood, meeting his uncle eye to eye. “You’ve obviously taken note of the armory and its contents, so you realize there are no sheep or goats in there, right? And it’s surrounded by Egyptian soldiers. How do we get the meal provisions inside?”
“Aaron will go get Nadab and Abihu.” Moses ran to the window and checked the position of the sun. “Time is running out, but if we spread the word among the elders, we can get their provisions to them and be home by twilight. We need all the elements for the meal taken to the armory—sheep, goats, herbs, and bread. Yahweh will make a way.”
Eleazar pulled both hands through his hair. “What about the Egyptian guards? Blood sacrifice is detestable to them. They never see the offerings inside their temples. Do you think they’ll just watch while we sacrifice lambs and toss them over the walls?”
Moses grinned. “Actually, I’m hoping they’ll help.”
54
Each man is to take a lamb for his family, one for each household. If any household is too small for a whole lamb, they must share one with their nearest neighbor, having taken into account the number of people there are. You are to determine the amount of lamb needed in accordance with what each person will eat.
—EXODUS 12:3–4
A gentle evening breeze lifted a few gray curls off Miriam’s forehead. She leaned against their long house, waiting for the men to return, watching the sun descend behind the western hills. They’d been gone so long.
When the Levite elder had come seeking donations for the armory soldiers, Miriam shared some of their bitter herbs. He’d told her that a few women had set up ovens by the armory walls and were baking bread, tossing over the warm rounds to the soldiers waiting on the other side.
O Yahweh, what a sight! She wished she could help, but Taliah had needed a tender hand this afternoon after waking in pain. Poor dear. The girl would be sore for a few days, but what a miracle that both she and the babe were safe.
Miriam walked to the end of the alley and searched the path toward the city. No Eleazar or Moses. Would they make it home by twilight? Would Yahweh have mercy if they disobeyed a command while helping others obey Him?
A sudden flash stole her consciousness and placed her in a white linen robe at the edge of a vast sea. An overpowering wave—taller than Ramesses statues—piled up on both sides but didn’t sweep her away. Hur was beside her, holding her hand. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. A kiss from Yahweh. He kissed her lips. A kiss from me.
The vision left her, and she was back on the dusty path in Goshen, trembling. She pressed a hand to her throat and drew a shaky breath. Yearning nearly felled her, and she covered a sob. Yahweh, I love him. I don’t want to, but I love him.
But to realize her need for him now did no good. Hur was in his son’s home—so close and yet twilight was almost upon them. She couldn’t leave Taliah unattended, and if the men didn’t arrive soon, she must sacrifice the lamb herself at twilight. Turning toward home, she was so deep in thought she didn’t hear anyone approach until the voice startled her.
“Shalom, Miriam.” Hur stood a step away with Elisheba at his side.
The pairing was so unlikely, Miriam could only stare. The two had barely spoken in all the years she’d known them. Why were they together now, here?
“Miriam?” Hur’s brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes. Oh, I’m sorry. Shalom.” She noticed the laden baskets on Elisheba’s arms and the wineskin Hur carried. “Are you on your way to share tonight’s meal with someone?”
Hur chuckled, but Elisheba turned to go. “I told you I wouldn’t be welcome.”
He grabbed her arm, soothing. “Miriam didn’t say we weren’t welcome, and you haven’t told her why you wanted to join her household for the meal.” He raised his eyebrows, grinned at Miriam, and waited.
Though considerably flustered, Miriam’s curiosity overruled. “Elisheba wanted to join us?”
“Is it so hard to believe I could care about my grandchild?” Elisheba’s chin quivered as she stared into the distance.
Confused, Miriam looked to Hur for answers, but he lifted a hand, advising her patience.
The silence forced Elisheba to explain. “When Aaron came home to get Nadab and Abihu to help at the armory, he mentioned Taliah’s injury and that she’d nearly lost our grandchild.” She swiped at tears and turned on Miriam. “Only Aaron, the two boys, and I were going to eat the meal together tonight since we hadn’t found anyone to share our lamb with, so I gave our lamb to the armory.”
Compassion chipped away at Miriam’s defenses. Elisheba and her two sons had alienated nearly everyone in their village. Of course, no one wanted to share a meal. Whether she was truly concerned about Taliah was yet to be proven, but at least she acknowledged the babe as her grandchild. “We would be happy to have your household join ours for the meal, Elisheba.”
“You see?” Hur patted Elisheba’s back as a rare grin almost erased her frown lines. “Didn’t I say we’d be welcome?”
“We?” Miriam, eyes wide, couldn’t find more words.
Elisheba shuffled through her baskets. “I brought plenty of bread to feed Nadab and Abihu. They like my recipe. I add a little honey—”
“The elders and I have allotted the wagons for the elderly, sick, and new imas,” Hur interrupted, his light-brown eyes never leaving Miriam. “Taliah will, of course, have a place in one of the lead wagons—either with Aaron and Elisheba or my new wife and I.”
Miriam felt the blood drain from her face. If she spoke, she’d cry, so she nodded and tried to smile. Elisheba filled the silence. “I hadn’t realized you married again. Who’s the lucky bride? Do I know her?”
“Well, I—”
“Please, Elisheba. Go now.”
Miriam covered her mouth, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Hur took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. His eyes penetrated the depths of her soul.
Tears came without permission as Miriam thought of the torturous last few days. “Why didn’t you talk to me at the meeting or come see me after?”
He reached beneath her head covering to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “You’d heard enough from me. You needed time to hear from Yahweh.”
His simple words and gentle touch sent her heart into a gallop. How could she explain the changes she’d felt during his absence? “So much has happened in the last few days, and with every experience, I wanted to share it with you. Yahweh already knew my thoughts and feelings, so when you were gone, I didn’t have anyone to help sort it out.” She shook her head and sighed, frustrated at her inability to express in words what their relationship meant.
He tipped up her chin. “You will be bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. When the others return, one of them can pronounce the wedding blessing, and we’ll have the rest of our lives to share our thoughts and feelings.” Hur leaned down for a kiss, and Miriam tilted her head back, receiving it willingly. For the first time in her life, she belonged to another. A man who loved her. A man Yahweh had chosen as her special gift.
Hur brushed her cheek. “We need to prepare the lamb. It’s almost twilight.”
She nodded, and they leaned on each other as they walked back to the long house. When Hur pushed aside the curtain, Miriam entered and was pleased to see Elisheba helping Taliah drink a cup of herb tea.
Taliah perked up when she saw Hur. “Welcome home.” Miriam glanced over her shoulder and thought she saw a faint blush on his cheeks. Taliah strained to see around them, her countenance falling when the curtain closed behind them.
Miriam knelt beside her. “Eleazar will be home soon, dear.” She glanced up at Hur. “Did you see them at the armory?”
“I didn’t go to the armory. Moses asked me to remain in Goshen and reassign families to share meals since we sent so many lambs to the armory. I’m sure they’ll be back any time.” Hur glanced out the window again. “It’s twilight…” He looked at the lamb now lying beside Taliah. “We must paint the doorframe.”
Taliah dug her fingers into the lamb’s thick wool and bowed her head. Miriam knew she was crying. Elisheba wasn’t as subtle. “Why did Moses say to care for the lambs in the house for four days? They grow tame and become so dear to us.”
“I believe that’s the point, Elisheba.” Miriam picked up the lead rope. “A sacrifice is only a sacrifice if it costs us something.”
Miriam reached for a bowl, and Hur retrieved Moses’s dagger from the private chamber. Miriam called over her shoulder as she led the lamb outside. “Elisheba, light the lamps. Get the cook fire and spit ready. We’ll bring in the lamb after we paint the doorframe.”
When she and Hur stepped outside, she handed him the lead rope. “This is my household. I must sacrifice the lamb.”
Hur kissed her forehead. “For a few more hours that’s true.” He gave her the dagger.
Their single row of long houses was lined with others performing the same grizzly task. Men crouched over bleating lambs—and then the bleating stopped. Hur bent on one knee and held their yearling securely against him. He looked at her with so much compassion.
Miriam swiped at stubborn tears and exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve delivered half the babies in Goshen and seen too much death, but I’ve never deliberately taken a life.”
Hur positioned the bowl under the lamb’s neck and then placed his hand over Miriam’s on the dagger. “Make the cut all the way across. Swift and deep. It’s the most merciful way.”
Without further thought, she slashed the knife and turned her eyes away, letting her tears fall. Only a few moments passed, and she felt Hur’s hand on her shoulder. “It’s over.”
Timidly, Miriam turned her head. The bowl was full of sticky red blood, and the lamb lay lifeless on the ground. How gracious, Yahweh, that the death of one should save the lives of many. Still, her tears fell for the little creature. She leaned down to kiss its soft black muzzle, and whispered through a tight throat, “Thank you.”
55
Take a bunch of hyssop, dip it into the blood in the basin and put some of the blood on the top and on both sides of the doorframe. None of you shall go out of the door of your house until morning.
—EXODUS 12:22
Covered in lamb’s blood, Eleazar walked between Nadab and Abihu toward Goshen. Ithamar walked in front of them, flanked by Abba and Moses. They would reach Doda’s by twilight but barely.
“How many lambs do you think we slaughtered?” Abihu trudged along the path, exaggerating his fatigue.
“Three hundred twenty-one.” Ithamar beamed, just waiting to be asked. “That should be enough to feed the thousands of soldiers—”
“Of course, the scribe would know.” Eleazar taunted his favorite brother, nudging him in the back.
Nadab tried to lift his arm but halted his trembling limb midway. “I think my arms are too tired to lift food to my mouth.”
“Here, Nadab dearest,” Abihu squeaked in a feminine voice, “I’ll chew your meat for you if you’re too tired.”
Nadab growled, laughing, and reached over Eleazar to shove the second born. “Ima can’t help herself. I’m too handsome to resist.”
All three brothers groaned, but the banter soothed years of pain. Working beside his abba and brothers had filled Eleazar with joy though the occasion was anything but happy. The purpose and selflessness with which they came together had filled an emptiness he had clung to so long.
Doda’s long house came into view too soon, and the group of men grew quiet. Though they were closest kin, Abba Aaron and his brothers would walk on to another village when Moses and Eleazar turned down the alleyway to rejoin Doda and Taliah. Perhaps things could be different when they left Egypt.
Rounding the corner, Eleazar saw Doda and Hur bent over the lamb, and he felt a twinge of guilt that Doda had to take a life. It would affect her deeply. Pressed by the time, he reached for Abba’s shoulder to begin the good-byes. “I’m sure we’ll see each other as soon as Pharaoh summons—”
“Wait!” Doda shouted. “Elisheba is here. You’re all invited to eat with us.”
She waved them toward her, and Abba slapped Eleazar on the back. “We need not say good-bye after all.” The sparkle in his eyes assured Eleazar he’d felt the same dread at parting.
Covered in blood from head to toe, they must have been a horrendous sight, but the six of them strode toward Doda like victors.
Ima Elisheba shot through the curtain, wagging her finger. “I thought you’d never get here. Can’t you see the sunset from the armory? I don’t know why you insist on trying my patien—”
Abba Aaron pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry we worried you, but we’re home now. We’ll hear no more about it.” She grumbled about his blood-stained robe, but he silenced her with a single finger pressed against her lips.
“How’s my Taliah?” Eleazar ached to go inside, but he knew there was work to be done.
“Go check on your wife.” Moses nudged him toward the door and gave Nadab the blood-soaked hyssop branch he’d brought from the armory. “Your brothers and I will take care of skinning the lamb and painting the doorframe.”
Anxious to see his wife, Eleazar needed no coaxing. He hurried through the curtain and saw Taliah propped against some baskets and blankets. She’d regained a little color.
Her countenance lit when she saw him. “You made it.”
Before he took a step, he realized he was still covered in blood, but there was no time to bathe in the river. Eyeing a large jar of water, he grabbed it, careful no
t to slosh any, and kissed Taliah’s forehead on his way to the adjoining room. “I’ll be back when I can hold you in my arms.”
Within a few moments, everyone was safely inside, and the lamb was roasting on the spit. Abba, Moses, and Eleazar’s brothers washed their hands and arms in the adjoining room—the best they could do without a bath. Perhaps there’d be time tomorrow before leaving Egypt to enjoy one more bath in the Nile.
Eleazar nestled down behind his wife, propping her against him instead of the lumpy baskets. She settled into him, her warmth the essence of home. The small room was crowded and filled with noise—family noise. Ima Elisheba and Doda Miriam argued over who would mix the bread dough, while Abba and Eleazar’s brothers began a game of chance with rocks and sticks. Moses and Hur leaned against the wall with Sattar huddled between them. Ten family members would share a lamb that could feed up to fourteen, but because seven hungry men hadn’t eaten much all day, they probably wouldn’t have leftovers to burn in the morning.
Eleazar’s stomach growled, and Taliah reached up to brush his cheek. “Miriam said the lamb wouldn’t be fully cooked until midnight—about the time the deaths begin. Were you able to talk with Hoshea at all, explain that he needed to get at least all the firstborns inside the guardhouses?”
“We didn’t need to explain much. His passion for Yahweh has made him quite a leader among the captive soldiers. Even Ru, the chief Hittite, shows him respect and has committed to circumcision before this evening’s meal.”
“You’re proud of him, aren’t you?”
Eleazar’s throat tightened. How could he describe his awe at Yahweh’s far-reaching plans? Since Kopshef had killed Hoshea’s abba at Kadesh, Eleazar and Putiel had taken responsibility for the boy’s training—Eleazar for his military skills and Putiel for his faith. “It’s you who should be proud, Taliah. Your abba taught Hoshea of Yahweh. It’s Putiel’s legacy that will save many lives tonight.”