Miriam (28 page)

Now the
L
ORD
had said to Moses, “I will bring one more plague on Pharaoh and on Egypt. After that, he will let you go from here, and when he does, he will drive you out completely.”

—
E
XODUS 11:1

Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.

—
E
XODUS 3:1

M
iriam's weary body woke to the sound of shuffling feet. Sattar's tail thumped on the dirt floor beside her. Moses was awake. Opening one eye, she saw the azure glow of predawn through their single window. Today was the day. The meeting.

Hoshea stumbled out of the adjoining room, fastening his armor as he hurried past Moses. “I'll give Aaron the message. ‘Meet at the palm tree when the sun clears the eastern hills to determine the final list of elders.' ” Moses nodded, and Hoshea rushed out the door without a bite to eat.

Breathing deeply, Miriam sat up, yawned, and stretched. “Elisheba will shake that boy like a dusty mat if he wakes her now.”

Moses chuckled. “Why do you think I sent Hoshea instead of going myself?”

Taliah stretched and rubbed her rounding middle. “Good morning, Miriam.” Without waiting for a reply, the dear girl folded her linen sheet, rolled up her mat, and immediately started meal preparations. While the rest of them slept with wool blankets during these cold winter nights, Taliah's extra blood flow meant rosy cheeks, a bigger appetite, and a constant sheen of sweat on her brow.

Thankfully, it also meant more energy. She and Miriam had spent most of the past three days visiting every village in Goshen, introducing themselves and encouraging the women to attend the upcoming meeting with their children and husbands. News of Eleazar's safety had stirred Miriam's faith in Yahweh's power to work in men's—and women's—hearts. They would build strong trust by talking with Hebrew women about the meal instructions and let Yahweh guide them into the right moment to ask for Egyptian treasure.

Moses nudged Miriam out of the way to retrieve the kitchen garbage and went about his usual tasks. Israel's deliverer had become quite proficient at emptying waste pots. Miriam grabbed a water jug and started for the river. It was quiet this morning with only four women at the shadoof gathering water. She'd already talked with them about tonight's meeting, so she wished them
shalom
and hurried home, balancing the full jar on her head.

Bowing under the doorway, she lowered the full jug to the floor and looked up to find both Moses and Taliah staring at her. “What?” She scanned the room. Nothing seemed amiss. What could have happened in the short time she'd gone to the river?

Her chest constricted.
Hur.

“Where's Hur?”

Moses stepped forward, hands extended to calm her. “He must have left in the night. I'm surprised Sattar didn't wake you.”

Relief warred with anger. Thankful he wasn't dead, Miriam might kill him for scaring her. “Why would he leave?”

She knew the answer, as did Moses and Taliah. Hur had told Moses about Miriam's marriage refusal, and Miriam had told Taliah. But they'd all been so busy preparing for the meeting, it hadn't been unbearably awkward—except at mealtimes. When they finally settled around the mat to eat a meal, the silence was deafening.

Taliah returned to the hand mill and resumed grinding their morning grain. “He commented to me yesterday that he wasn't ‘comfortable' here anymore and planned to speak to his son about moving in with him.”

“And you didn't think to mention it to me?” Miriam's voice squeaked with barely controlled emotion. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, Taliah. Of course, Hur should live with his family.”

“Hur was living with his family.” Moses's jaw muscle flexed. “You're too stubborn to accept it.”

“Stubborn? I've been extremely flexible considering all the changes I've endured.” She ground her teeth, fighting the words that clawed to get out. “Especially with a God who has changed beyond my recognition.”

Moses's features softened, and he exchanged a glance with Taliah. Both left their chores, and Moses guided her to her mat. “Sit down, Miriam. We must talk.”

“You won't convince me to marry Hur. I—”

“Whether you marry Hur or not is your decision.” Moses sat across from her, quieting her with a stern look from beneath furrowed brows. “We must talk about Yahweh. He does not change, Miriam.”

She looked at Taliah, afraid her continuing questions might rattle the girl's burgeoning faith. Taliah held up her hands. “I won't debate. I'll sit quietly and listen. I promise.” That wasn't Miriam's concern, but Taliah's silence might be helpful.

Moses reached for Miriam's hand and brought it to his lips. “Sister, you're the one who taught me as a child that God is constant, and it's still true. The changes you sense are merely changes in your knowledge of Him, not changes in Yahweh Himself.”

“That may be true,” she said, “but it's not just my knowledge that's changed. My relationship with Him has changed because I don't know how to
feel
about this new knowledge or how to incorporate the new knowledge into my daily living.”

Moses fell silent, staring into the distance. Miriam knew he was listening to the Voice as she'd never heard it—clear, succinct, indisputable words, not vague impressions or images to decipher.

When he turned to her again, his eyes were full of compassion. “The day I saw the burning bush, I'd led my flock to the far side of the desert and climbed up the only path I knew on Mount Horeb. I had to leave that path to see the bush burning, to speak with Yahweh, and learn His name. I was on uncharted ground.” He chuckled and added, “I've been on uncharted ground ever since. Yahweh said we would come to know Him through His actions, and so we have. We are still learning who He is, if we watch carefully and open our hearts to each revelation He gives.”

“The El Shaddai I knew was powerful. He revealed the future in dreams and visions, and His presence was like fresh-baked dark bread—warm and inviting, never threatening or strange. But Yahweh reveals His power through extraordinary and frightening plagues. What am I to believe about His nature now?”

Moses's expression softened. “He is still warm bread, Miriam, but He has added red meat and calls us to His banqueting table to eat and grow.” He let his hand fall back to his lap. “After Yahweh spoke to me from the burning bush, He led me down the other side of the mountain. I cut a new path through the briars and rocky crags. Did Mount Horeb change because God revealed a new path?”

Miriam rolled her eyes. Of course, a mountain couldn't change, but Miriam hated briars, and she didn't like this new path.

Moses chuckled. “Yahweh is bigger than a mountain, Sister, and we'll never come to the end of His newness.”

“Can I say something?” Taliah was nearly bursting.

Miriam couldn't keep from grinning. “Go ahead.”

“The strange and frightening things that make you question Yahweh are the very things that help me believe.” She reached for Miriam's hand and squeezed. “I don't want a warm-bread god that I can understand. I need a God who hears my hopeless cries at the edge of Goshen when I think my husband is dead. I need a God I can't explain to do the things I know are impossible.”

Tears came unbidden at the untainted wonder in Taliah's countenance. She was utterly enamored with Yahweh. He had revealed Himself at the core of Taliah's identity—her intellect—and she was entirely captivated by this God who was both powerful and personal.

Miriam drew the girl's forehead down for a kiss. “Thank you, my precious Taliah, for reminding me of His wonder.” She released her and used Moses's shoulder to push herself to her feet. “And thank you too. Now, let's get on with our day.”

The abrupt end to their conversation drew raised eyebrows, but Miriam wasn't ready to talk more about Yahweh or Hur with them. All these words and explanations did little to nourish her soul. She needed time alone at her palm tree, quiet moments with her Creator.

But that couldn't happen until after tonight's meeting.

Tell the whole community of Israel that on the tenth day of this month each man is to take a lamb for his family, one for each household….Take care of them until the fourteenth day of the month, when all the members of the community of Israel must slaughter them at twilight. Then they are to take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of the houses where they eat the lambs. That same night they are to eat the meat roasted over the fire, along with bitter herbs, and bread made without yeast.

—
E
XODUS 12:3, 6–8

A
fter nearly a week of sparring, both Mosi and Eleazar were cut, bruised, and scabbed—but still alive. Ram and Kopshef finally tired of the sport, perhaps realizing their two guards had no desire to kill each other. The princes left their personal guardians to work in the armory all day since Pharaoh had abandoned all audiences in his court after the locusts ended Egypt's trade.

No one knew what occupied Prince Kopshef's time, but Prince Ram had brokered a deal with Canaanite traders to replenish Pharaoh's stables with Arabian stallions, his fields with Amorite oxen, and his sheepfolds with the finest Canaanite flocks. The royal granaries would once again teem with barley for beer and emmer wheat for bread—staples of life and health for every Egyptian. Rumors swirled that even melons, grapes, radishes, onions, and cucumbers would once again grace Pharaoh's table at a banquet to celebrate his business-savvy son. Ramesses had given the palace slaves four days to make preparations for a celebration that even the gods would envy.

“The barley and wheat arrive tomorrow.” Mosi twirled his dagger on a wooden plank, deep in thought. “So the bakery and brewery slaves will begin working nonstop again.” He stopped the dagger and looked up at Eleazar. “Do you think it coincidence that the Hebrew meeting is tonight and their workload resumes tomorrow?”

Eleazar chuckled, remembering Moses's words from a few weeks ago.
“I no longer believe in coincidence.”
He pointed at the sinking sun. “It's almost dusk. We should go.”

They walked together across the armory compound, assessing the two sparring matches in progress. Since the Libyan crisis had resolved and Pharaoh was more interested in eating than war, fewer Egyptians trained for battle, which meant less work for the slaves. This allowed the Hebrew slaves to slip away for the meeting, leaving only the Libyans, Nubians, and Syrians trying to look busy.

Eleazar and Mosi arrived at the central forge as the chief iron worker doused a new sword in the cooling bath and steam shot into the air. He pulled the blade from the bath and smiled. “Good timing, Commander.” Then, pointing to a new sword resting on a bench with twenty others, he said, “Try one.”

Mosi grabbed a hilt, tossed it hand to hand, and then brought the new sword down hard on top of a wooden whipping post. The sword cut the wood like a warm knife through fat.

The Hittite sneered. “Oh, how I wish it was an Egyptian head.”

Ignoring the comment, Eleazar pointed to the other swords on the bench. “Can I trust them all, or will some crack like an eggshell—as did your battle-axes?”

The Hittite metal workers exchanged uneasy gazes, and their spokesman cleared his throat. “Every sword is true, Commander. You have our promise and our loyalty.” He pounded his fist against his breast piece—over his heart—prompting the Hittites near him to signal the same allegiance.

Eleazar returned the gesture and eyed Mosi, coaxing him to do the same. The Hittites knew their commander was up to something when the Nubian showed them respect.

Eleazar leaned in close to the chief Hittite. “Can I trust you to cover for the Nubian and me? We'll be gone for the length of the evening meal. If our princes should return unexpectedly, tell them we've gone to the stables to prepare their new Arabian stallions that arrived this morning.”

The Hittite smiled, revealing missing and rotted teeth. “What do we get in return for our help?”

Mosi patted his shoulder. “The opportunity to be circumcised, my friend.”

The remark won a ribald laugh from the Hittite, assuring Eleazar and Mosi of his cooperation. They hurried through the gate, talking loudly about the new Arabian stallions Prince Ram had secured from traders to replace the horses killed in the plagues. Jogging at a steady pace, they cleared the first rise. Once out of the armory's clear view, they abandoned their course, backtracking toward Goshen. Staying low, they crossed ruined fields and hid behind mounds of burned carcasses until they reached the cover of long houses and peasant huts.

Weaving through a sea of people, Eleazar hurried through Abba Aaron's village first since they'd come in from the north. Hebrews and Egyptians lined up in the alleyways between long houses, shoulder to shoulder, on their way toward dead-man's land. Most of them moved aside when they saw Eleazar and Mosi in full-dress armor.

“There they are.” Eleazar pointed to the edge of the plateau where Moses and Abba Aaron stood above them. When they reached the main road that connected the villages to the city, he noticed many of the Hebrew leaders standing in the waste piles directly below the plateau.

“Why are the people standing in the refuse, my friend?” Mosi curled his nose.

Eleazar had no answer. Then he saw Doda, Hur, Taliah, and Hoshea among them and was determined to find out. “I don't know, but that's where we're going.”

Shouldering his way through the crowd, Eleazar had no time for pleasantries. Abba Aaron had raised his hands for silence, and the rumble of the people stilled.

Eleazar and Mosi began climbing the slippery, smelly waste pile at the base of dead-man's land. The stench was overpowering. Finally reaching Doda, Eleazar tapped her shoulder. She turned and slipped in the sludge. He steadied his doda, but his eyes caressed Taliah, who looked back at him with joy welling on her lashes.

Doda released him. “Go, go hug your wife.” She waved him away and noticed Mosi. “Well, here you are. Moses said you'd be joining us, boy. Welcome.” She reached for Mosi's hand, pulling him toward her and startling the Nubian with her waste-pile hospitality.

Taliah was trembling as she threw her arms around Eleazar's neck, clinging like she'd never let go. Hoshea slapped his shoulder. “Welcome, Commander,” he said, beaming.

Several around them began shushing. “We're trying to hear Moses.” Hur, ankle-deep at the pinnacle of the sludge three rows ahead of them, turned to greet Eleazar.

Still holding his wife, Eleazar whispered in her ear, “Why isn't Hur standing with Doda?”

She released him, then cautioned him with a finger pressed to her lips and a sheepish glance at Doda. Leaning close, she whispered, “The immediate reason is because Hur is a newly appointed elder. The other reason is your doda refused his marriage proposal.”

“His what?” Eleazar said too loud, earning more growls from neighboring Hebrews. He pulled Taliah close and spoke against her head covering. “Of course, she refused. They're too old to marry.” His wife elbowed him and issued the first stern look since their reunion. He hugged her to his side. Oh, how he loved her!

Abba Aaron bounced his hands on the night air, and a throbbing silence fell over the crowd. Moses lifted his voice over the whole community of Israel. “Yahweh has declared seventy elders to serve you. They stand in the waste piles today, symbolic of their calling. We will serve Yahweh as elders above you, but we're mired in life with you, so we will never lord over you.”

Eleazar looked over his shoulder at the vast sea of Israelites behind them. From this vantage on the waste pile, God's people stretched out into Goshen like branches of the Nile. The reality struck him. Israel's deliverance was at hand.

“Yahweh will bring one final plague against Egypt,” Moses continued. “Because Israel is Yahweh's firstborn and Pharaoh has refused to release us from his cruel bondage, Yahweh will strike down every firstborn son in Egypt, both man and beast.”

A nervous flutter spread through the crowd.

“When, Moses?” a man in the crowd shouted. “When will the plague begin?” Others in the crowd began shouting questions, and panic started to ripple through the masses.

“Will the plague strike Egyptians in Goshen?”

Taliah looked over her shoulder and then turned to Miriam in a panic. “That was Masud's father. He believes in Yahweh, Miriam, but as only one god among all Egypt's deities.”

Eleazar knew Masud and his siblings held a special place in Taliah's heart because they were her first three students, and their parents had been the first to trust her with their children. How many others believed Yahweh was one of many gods? He looked at Mosi, standing under Doda's protective wing. What did he believe about Yahweh?

Moses tried to shout, but the crowd only grew more agitated.

Abba Aaron stepped closer to the edge of the plateau. “People of Goshen,” he shouted, lifting his hands again. “Hear me! Hear me!” The crowd settled, and fell silent as he began, “My brother, Moses, will tell you all we know about the details of our deliverance, but you must be ready to leave Egypt at a moment's notice, for when the plague of firstborns sweeps through Egypt, Pharaoh will not simply release us. He will
drive
us out of Egypt, and there will be no time for planning.”

Moses stepped forward again. “Today is the tenth day of Israel's first calendar month. When you return to your homes, those of you who have been able to replenish your flocks from the market, choose a male yearling lamb or kid without defect. Care for it in your homes until the fourteenth day, when at twilight you will slaughter the beloved creature and smear its blood on the sides and tops of the doorframes with hyssop branches. That same night, you will eat its meat roasted over the fire—all of it. If your family numbers less than fourteen, invite another family, who may not own a yearling, to eat the sacred meal with you. None of the meat is to be left until morning. If any meat is left until morning, you must burn it.

“Eat the meat with bitter herbs and bread without yeast. You will eat it standing, with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. We must eat in haste. It is the night when Yahweh goes through the land to strike down the Egyptians. He will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway. He will not permit the destroyer to enter your houses and strike you down but will pass over Israel's firstborn. But in Egypt every firstborn male will die.”

Not a sound could be heard. Eleazar held his breath as questions whirred in his mind. Where would he spend this
Passover
night? A quick count of people in Doda's household assured him there would be enough meat for Mosi to join them if he chose to. But what about the foreigners? Moses had promised to give instruction for the foreigners to be sav—

“Because the meal preparations fall to our women, the prophetess Miriam and our niece will visit your villages to give instruction to the women on the various ingredients and cooking instructions. For those foreigners who live among us and wish to be grafted into Yahweh's people, any male eight days old or older must be circumcised.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathering at the severe condition. Moses lifted his hands for silence, and the people stilled. “It is a sign of the covenant Yahweh made with Abraham generations ago, a covenant that we—this generation—will see fulfilled as we receive Abraham's promise and take possession of the Promised Land. We learn to obey Yahweh's commands now so we can enjoy His promise forever.”

Silence again, and Moses let it speak to those who would listen. After several heartbeats, he raised his voice again. “When Pharaoh releases us, your newly appointed elders will spread the word through your tribes. Until then, Yahweh commands all men and women who count themselves among His people to ask your Egyptian neighbors and masters for articles of silver, gold, and clothing to aid us on our journey.”

The Egyptians in the crowd erupted.

“Haven't we already been plundered?” Masud's father shouted. Several others shouted and shook their fists at Moses, but he raised his voice over the few dissenters.

“Yes. Egypt has been plundered. But those within the sound of my voice have a chance at new life.” Without another word, Moses and Abba Aaron turned and began their descent down the rocky plateau.

Eleazar stood silently, listening, observing, as the people of Israel began to worship the Lord—quietly, reverently, bowing down where they stood.

Mosi knelt beside him but simply watched the others, seeming intrigued but unsure how to participate. Eleazar knelt too, bowing his head in silence, listening as those around him raised their voices to the God he was only beginning to know.
Yahweh, if You hear me, know that I will serve You, but I still fear Your vast silence, Your great unknown.
Was it enough to serve and obey though uncertainties still lingered? He almost laughed, realizing he'd served Egyptian masters who never gave explanations. Why not serve an all-knowing, all-powerful God?

As the crowd began to disperse, Mosi and Eleazar rose from their knees, and Mosi leaned over to whisper, “Does your uncle really expect Ram to open the weapons cabinets for a nation of slaves?”

Eleazar closed his eyes, silent for a moment. “My uncle expects Yahweh to do another miracle.”

“And there is only one God who could do it.” Mosi held up one finger.

Doda patted his arm. “That's right, dear. One God alone.” She grabbed his strong arm and started following him down the mountain of sludge. “Why don't you escort me home?”

“I would be honored.”

Hoshea fell in step behind them.

Eleazar had planned to return to the palace without going to Doda's. Extending their visit would only make the good-bye harder. “We'll wait at the long house only until Moses returns.”