Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  A smile mingled with Taliah’s tears. Eleazar brushed her hair from her forehead and gazed at the beautiful daughter of Putiel, his wife, his love. Thank You, Yahweh.

  She reached for his hand and kissed his palm. “Miriam told me about Mosi, Eleazar. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too, but Yahweh honored his sacrifice by saving your life and our son’s.”

  A sparkle returned to her eyes. “I still don’t know why you think it’s a boy.”

  “I’m telling you. An abba knows these things.”

  She laughed out loud and let a genial silence fall between them. “Mosi’s name meant firstborn, didn’t it?”

  Eleazar’s hope soared. It was a Hebrew ima’s right to name her children, and he would be so pleased if she’d give their son Mosi’s name.

  “Firstborn would be meaningful for our son, but it’s not a Hebrew name.”

  Eleazar tried to hide his disappointment. “What name then?”

  “I wondered about the Hebrew word for Nubian, Phinehas. It would still honor Mosi—”

  Eleazar kissed her to show his approval. He’d never been good with words.

  Whistles and jeers erupted from his brothers. Eleazar took off his wristband and threw it at them, and Taliah’s cheeks pinked. The elders in the room laughed and applauded.

  Hur exchanged a furtive glance with Doda, lifting his brows in silent question. She shook her head, expression clouding, and turned away. Whatever Hur’s silent question had been, Doda had said no. What were they up to?

  Hur turned to Abba Aaron. “How does it feel to have your whole family under one roof for tonight’s meal?”

  A loaded question, considering their history. Eleazar held his breath.

  “You should have seen my boys working together, Hur.” Abba’s eyes glistened. “As children they couldn’t work together without bickering, but today was another miracle in Egypt.”

  More laughter, and Eleazar relaxed. “Speaking of more miracles, you should have seen the guards helping us. Yahweh had completely turned their hearts. They helped slaughter more than three hundred lambs and lift them over the gates.”

  “Were any of the guards firstborns?” Hur’s wiry eyebrows shot up with hope. “Did you tell them how to be saved?”

  “A few were firstborns, and many had firstborn sons.” Eleazar placed a possessive hand on Taliah’s rounded belly. “Unfortunately, we heard the same reply from them that I heard from Prince Ram. If Pharaoh saw the blood on their doors, they’d be killed.”

  Ima Elisheba looked at Nadab with that date-syrup sweetness she reserved for only her two eldest. “I don’t know how any parent could forfeit a firstborn.” An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Would tonight’s meal be spoiled by the same hurtful patterns?

  Hur spoke into the void. “When people care more about their lifestyle than the people they love, they are as imprisoned by their desires as we are enslaved by Pharaoh.”

  Ima’s hands stilled on the spit. “We can love people and still enjoy the comfortable lifestyle they provide for us.”

  There it was. Ima’s driving motivation for relationships. She had forced Abba to ignore his parents so she could have finer robes and meat on the table. And she’d kept Nadab and Abihu from marrying to provide for her in old age.

  Eleazar stared at the most selfish woman he knew. “When we leave Egypt, we’ll all give up our comfort and prove how well we love people.”

  Gasping, Ima turned to Abba. “Are you going to let him speak to me that way?”

  “He included us all, Elisheba, and he spoke wisdom. You should consider his words—in silence.” Even Nadab and Abihu covered grins.

  Hur clapped his hands, startling everyone. “Miriam and I have an announcement to make.” Pushing himself to his feet, he held out his hand to Miriam. “We plan to be married—tonight.”

  Moses and Abba Aaron rose to offer their congratulations, but Eleazar looked down at Taliah. “Did you know about this?”

  She fairly glowed with excitement. “No, but isn’t it wonderful?” When he didn’t respond, he got a poke in the stomach. “What’s wrong with you? Go over and congratulate them.”

  “Why can’t they stay friends? They’re too old to be married.” His voice carried in the small space, and silence replaced the jubilant atmosphere. The hurt on Doda Miriam’s face made him ache. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see—”

  “You don’t have to see, boy.” His feisty little doda spoke softly. “Hur can tell you all the practical reasons we need each other to travel through the wilderness, but the truth is, Hur is a part of Yahweh’s new revelation to me. Since that morning I interpreted Pharaoh’s nightmares, I’ve begged the One God to speak to me clearly.” She turned and scanned the room. “All these months, He’s been speaking through Moses, Hur, Taliah—even Sattar—but I’ve still been pounding my fists and begging Him to speak clearly, unable to perceive Him over my own rantings.”

  She looked intently into Eleazar’s eyes. “We’d like you to pronounce our wedding blessing because you above all people know that sometimes people are stronger together than apart.”

  Panic shot through him like a hot iron. “I don’t know the blessing. I only remember parts of it from Saba Amram—”

  Hur rested a wrinkled hand on Eleazar’s shoulder. “You’ll have the words Yahweh gives you.”

  Doda and Hur looked at him with such hope. How could he refuse? Taliah poked him again. “I’d be honored.” The words escaped him before he could stop them.

  “Gather around the couple.” Moses rallied the troops in the center of the room, forming a snug knot of family support. Eleazar replaced the baskets behind Taliah and left a space in the circle so she could watch.

  Suddenly as nervous as he’d been for his own wedding, Eleazar swallowed hard. “Doda, Hur, take each other’s hand and face me.” He took a deep breath and looked into their rheumy eyes, overwhelmed at all they’d seen during their lifetimes.

  “In the twilight of your lives, Yahweh has melded you into one sword, like Hittite iron—strong and true. Two are better than one for the journey that lies ahead, and you will be a gift to each other.” Hur reached for Doda’s hand and squeezed. Why had Eleazar placed an age limit on love?

  He glanced at Taliah, trying to remember the words Amram and Moses had pronounced on their wedding night. Happy tears streamed down her cheeks, and the words came rushing back. “When Yahweh made woman, the man said of her, ‘You are now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. You are called woman, for you were taken from me.’ Hur, Miriam is now your wife.”

  Hur kissed her cheek. “That is from Yahweh.” He kissed her lips gently, and then held her head and kissed her thoroughly. As the family applauded, Hur looked into his bride’s eyes and said, “That was from me.”

  56

  During the night Pharaoh summoned Moses and Aaron and said, “Up! Leave my people, you and the Israelites! Go, worship the LORD as you have requested. Take your flocks and herds, as you have said, and go. And also bless me.”

  —EXODUS 12:31–32

  Miriam’s wedding had truly been a celebration. Her whole family surrounded her, laughing and chatting as the night grew dark and the stars grew bright. Everyone took a turn spinning the lamb on the spit, the large cook fire nearly baking them all. The pungent aromas of herbs, bread, and lamb ripened their hunger to sweet expectancy.

  Moses went to the window and searched the sky. “The moon is too high to see from the window, which means the plague should be—” A neighbor’s scream pierced the night air, and Moses bowed his head. “Yahweh, pass over us.”

  Every eye turned to Nadab, whose face went pale. Elisheba squeezed his hand and pushed herself to her feet, weeping and moving her lips without a sound. It was the first time Miriam had seen her sister-in-law pray.

  Miriam used Hur’s shoulder to push herself to stand. The others rose to their feet as well, following Yahweh’s commands. More shrieks echoed outside as those in Miriam’s home
donned their sandals and tucked their robes into their belts. The men grabbed their walking sticks, while Miriam and Elisheba hurried to set out the food they’d been waiting to serve.

  Elisheba’s forehead was beaded with sweat. “I don’t know if the lamb is cooked through.”

  An Egyptian mother’s wail tore at Miriam’s heart. She closed her eyes and placed a calming hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Yahweh said we would eat in haste. He knew how much time we’d have to cook the lamb.” Elisheba nodded and began carving the meat onto a platter to cool while Miriam distributed clay cups and plates to everyone. Baskets of bread and bitter herbs filled every space of Miriam’s sleeping mat, used tonight for the family’s meal.

  Miriam pulled out the wineskin Hur contributed. “A gift from my son for our wedding,” Hur announced, emotion clipping his words. “Yahweh, pass over my boy Uri.” Tears blurred Miriam’s vision as she filled everyone’s cup. She squeezed the last drops of wine into Hur’s cup, leaving her own cup empty.

  “Here, beloved, take mine.” Hur reached for her empty cup, but she stilled his hand.

  “Please, no. I’ll drink water.” She took her place between him and Taliah. “I drank my cup of joy when I became your wife.”

  Elisheba hurried from where she stood between Nadab and Abihu and retrieved a water pitcher to fill Miriam’s cup. Surprised, but grateful, Miriam nodded her thanks.

  Moses lifted his cup and the others followed. “Yahweh has said, ‘I will bring My people out.’ ”

  They echoed his words, “I will bring My people out.”

  As the men tipped their cups, Miriam noted the dried lamb’s blood still caked around their nails. “Wait, I’ll get a bowl of water to wash our hands.” She hurried to the task and draped a towel over her shoulder, waiting before each person as they dipped their hands in the water and dried them.

  Miriam washed her hands last. Plunging her hands into the water, she thought of the many bloody bowls she’d dipped her hands into—the thousands of wounded slaves she’d tended. Freedom, Yahweh. What will it be like?

  Moses leaned over to retrieve three small loaves of bread from a basket and lifted the middle loaf. “These three signify Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The middle of anything signifies the heart.” He broke the middle loaf into two pieces. “When Abraham was willing to sacrifice Isaac, it broke Isaac’s heart—but both father and son were willing and obedient to follow Yahweh.” Moses let silence massage his message into their souls. “Obedience to Yahweh is seldom an easy path, but it is ultimately the only path to freedom.” He passed the bread around the circle, and each one took a piece, devouring both the bread and its significance.

  Moses lifted his wine cup again. “Yahweh said to Abraham, ‘Your descendants will be strangers in a foreign land for four hundred years, enslaved and mistreated, but I, Yahweh, will free My people.’ ”

  His words sent a shiver down Miriam’s spine, and the cool drink of water chilled her insides. She tasted salty tears as they ran down her cheeks and tried to imagine what tomorrow might be like.

  Moses reached for the bitter herbs from the basket and stuffed several leaves into his mouth. He chewed, grimaced, and everyone chuckled. Miriam and the others followed his lead. The pungent greens typically accompanied a meal, made palatable by sweet fruits or roasted nuts. But when eaten alone, their bitterness couldn’t be diminished, ignored, or masked. The tongue must endure the assault as Israel had borne slavery all these years.

  A father’s cry joined the wailing, and Miriam squeezed her eyes shut. Indeed, the bitterness of slavery had set Israel’s teeth on edge for four hundred years. Yahweh, pass over us. She opened her eyes as Elisheba offered the platter of lamb in one hand and the basket of her honeyed bread in the other. Miriam thanked her for serving and Yahweh for His provision.

  They stood ready to flee, as Yahweh commanded, eating solemnly, listening to the cries outside their door. Earlier this night, they’d celebrated each other, marriage, and freedom, but there would be no laughter or teasing now. Their deliverance was at hand—but at a great price.

  Hur’s arm circled Miriam’s waist and he kissed the top of her head. “Freedom means a new life for us all—wherever Yahweh leads.”

  The reminder of their uncertain path turned every eye to Moses. Did he know where Yahweh would lead? Miriam saw his discomfort but asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Has Yahweh revealed the next step, Brother?”

  Another Egyptian father joined the wailing, and Moses’s eyes slid shut. He sighed before opening his eyes to speak. “Yahweh said Pharaoh would drive us out of Egypt, but how and when still hasn’t been made clear.” The answer did little to reassure them. The wailing seemed louder. More shrieks filled the air. Moses’s countenance remained calm. “Yahweh will protect us through this night.” He raised his wine once more. “Yahweh said, ‘I will redeem My people.’ ”

  Cries of mourning surrounded them. How could they endure it all night? Just then, Miriam remembered a special treasure one of the Egyptian families had given her. She quietly slipped from Hur’s embrace and dug through a basket for the timbrels and found three. She gave one to Elisheba and one to Taliah and kept the last for herself.

  With a single clap, Miriam began the familiar chorus she’d sung since childhood. “El Shaddai, You—” Realizing she’d used the name for God she’d used all her life, she hesitated.

  Moses grinned and lifted his wine cup to her. “Yahweh will make us His treasured possession. He said, ‘I will take you as My very own people.’ ” Moses drank and lifted his deep, baritone voice, beginning the chorus again with God’s most intimate name. “Yahweh, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”

  Everyone joined in, the women clapping their timbrels and singing in the presence of Yahweh while He moved through the land judging the Egyptians and their gods. Occasionally, they’d stop, eat more bread, herbs, and meat until the wailing overcame them. Then they’d lift their voices and timbrels in song again, losing all sense of time. Miriam closed her eyes as she sang, allowing the music to lift her into Yahweh’s presence. Her Yahweh. Israel’s Yahweh.

  Suddenly, Taliah shushed the group. “I think I hear horses coming.” Wide eyed, everyone stilled, waiting.

  Moments later, the clanging of a chariot harness drew near, and a loud voice shouted over the mourning, “Pharaoh Ramesses summons Moses and Aaron. Show yourselves!” Repeatedly, the crier shouted the message as the chariot rolled down the first alley of Goshen’s long houses.

  Moses hurried through the curtained doorway. “I am Moses.” He ducked back inside the long house, baiting them.

  Miriam snuggled close to Hur, while Eleazar laid Taliah against the wall behind him and covered her with a blanket.

  An Egyptian prince sliced the curtain with his sword. “My father summons you to—” He nearly stumbled over his tongue when he saw Eleazar. “What are you…” Rattled, he paused, trying to gather his wits. The poor boy’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and his bald head was exposed. He hadn’t even taken time to don his wig. He wasn’t much older than Hoshea. Settling his gaze on Miriam’s brothers, he barked, “Are you Moses and Aaron?”

  Moses nodded. “And which son are you?”

  The question seemed to unsettle him further. “I am Prince Khaemwaset, second born of Isetneferet.” His cheeks quaked, and he pointed an accusing finger at Eleazar. “My brother Ram is dead because you let his wound fester.”

  Eleazar stepped toward him. “Is that what Pharaoh told you, Khaem?”

  “Yes, and it’s true.” The prince stepped back and lifted his sword.

  Moses lifted both hands, trying to settle the boy. “Did your father lie about all the firstborn deaths in Egypt? Surely, you realize Ram’s death wasn’t a result of Eleazar’s negligence—but Yahweh’s wrath.”

  Like a caged beast, Khaem glanced from one Hebrew to another. “Pharaoh says the double portions of Canaanite grain given to firstborns must have been taint
ed.”

  Miriam could stand it no longer. “Psshh, that’s nonsense!” She waved her hand and stepped around Eleazar. “You are a grown man and can think for yourself, young Khaem. Check your slaves, your livestock. I’m sure the firstborns are dead, and they ate no Canaanite grain.”

  Grinding his teeth, he spoke with barely controlled rage. “I need only check my newborn son’s crib, woman. He ate no grain either.” He lifted his hand to strike her but hesitated, growled, and stormed out.

  Moses spoke quickly. “Eleazar will escort Aaron and me to the palace. Nadab must stay inside the house to be safe, but Hur, Abihu, and Ithamar must get word to the elders. Our deliverance is at hand. Israel should be ready to depart by sunrise. We mustn’t give Pharaoh a chance to change his mind again.”

  57

  Moses gave Hoshea son of Nun the name Joshua.

  —NUMBERS 13:16

  The journey to Pharaoh’s palace was torture. Prince Khaem drove his chariot in front of the three Hebrews, kicking up dirt and sand in their faces, while his three guards followed behind them, pressing their pace beyond what Abba Aaron could manage.

  Finally, they arrived at the palace, Eleazar nearly carrying Abba Aaron, who was panting from the harried journey. Prince Khaem led them directly to the throne hall, his sandals clapping on the marble tiles. The moment the grand ebony doors opened, Pharaoh’s fury erupted.

  “Dead! How could you take every firstborn from me?” He slammed his flail on the armrest and stood to await their arrival at the dais. “You’ve taken my strength, my life, my legacy!” Pharaoh may have publicly blamed firstborn deaths on tainted grain, but he knew the true source of Egypt’s mourning.

  Prince Khaem mounted the dais and took his new place at Ramesses’s right shoulder. Two new Nubians guarded Pharaoh—evidently his previous guards had been firstborns. Standing utterly still, their eyes darted from the Hebrews to the sky as if expecting an attack from above.