Miriam (18 page)

Moses said to Pharaoh, “I leave to you the honor of setting the time for me to pray for you and your officials and your people that you and your houses may be rid of the frogs, except for those that remain in the Nile.” “Tomorrow,” Pharaoh said.

—
E
XODUS 8:9–10

E
leazar had spent most of the day watching Prince Kopshef prove his power by producing more frogs and listening to Pharaoh's unimpressed rant about the inadequacy of Egypt's gods to do more than add to the mess. Even Prince Ram, who usually yearned to see his older brother fail, had confided to Eleazar that he wished Kopshef could command the gods and end the plague. But it seemed no god could command Yahweh.

Eleazar sent Hoshea to Goshen with the evening rations while he remained at Prince Ram's side throughout the harrowing day. Eleazar arrived at the long house after Doda was asleep in the main room, and Moses was most likely tucked away in Saba and Savta's room behind the dividing curtain.

He climbed the ladder as quietly as he could. Taliah lay on her side, back turned toward him. Eleazar lay down beside her and watched the moon's progression across the night sky. Sleep had been a miser unwilling to share its peace since Saba and Savta died. When he finally nodded off, he dreamed of frogs crawling from Pharaoh's eyes, nose, and ears and then awakened with a frog on his head. The constant croaking threatened to drive him mad, but at least he and Taliah slept on the rooftop and only dealt with an occasional frog crawling up the ladder. How was that even possible? How was any of this possible?

He rolled to his side and found Taliah's eyes open, watching him. “I'm sorry I disobeyed you and left the long house,” she said. “I was just trying to help.”

Eleazar stared into her dark, round eyes, sparkling in the moonlight. Why talk about things they couldn't change? The damage was done. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, he said nothing and simply took her in his arms.

She molded her body to his, every curve perfectly matched, arms and legs artfully entwined. “I don't like it when you're angry with me. Have you forgiven me?”

Why did she need to hear the words? “I forgive you, Taliah.”

The rooftop cover scraped to the side, and Eleazar was on his feet, cudgel in hand. Hoshea popped his head up, and only then did Eleazar lift his foot and see the frogs he'd stepped on to defend his fortress.

He threw down his cudgel. “What is it, Hoshea? You're early with the rations.”

“All the princes have gathered in the throne hall. Pharaoh has summoned Moses and Aaron to get rid of the frogs.” Even in the waning moonlight, Eleazar saw Hoshea's excitement. “I think this is it, Eleazar. I think Pharaoh's going to let Israel leave Egypt.”

Eleazar quickly donned his tunic and armor, carrying his sandals down the ladder. He realized the error when he stepped from the last rung and frogs squished between his toes. His uncle was already emerging from the other room. Eleazar turned to Hoshea. “Go get my abba. We'll meet you on the way to the palace.”

The women tried to feed them before they left, but Eleazar and Moses grabbed only a loaf of barley bread and a few dried figs to eat as they walked. Eleazar held the curtain aside for Moses, letting him lead the way through the sludge of live and dead frogs. How could there be more than there were last night? And yet they seemed to be multiplying no matter how many were stepped on.

“Is it over then?” Eleazar asked Moses. “If Pharaoh agrees to let the Hebrews worship in the wilderness, I mean.”

Moses seemed deep in thought—or perhaps he was as tired as Eleazar. Surely, no one had slept a wink last night. “I don't think this is the end. When Yahweh speaks of our deliverance, He implies catastrophic displays of His power.” Moses slipped on an especially large bullfrog. He wiped it off his sandal with his staff, disgusted. “Frogs are annoying, not catastrophic.”

Abba Aaron and Hoshea joined them from the adjacent village. Hoshea sidled up to Moses, and Abba lagged behind, still wiping sleep from his eyes. He seemed utterly unaffected by possibilities and asked through a yawn, “If Ramesses summoned all the princes, does this mean he's giving in?”

“No,” Eleazar said, annoyed. Why did everything about his abba irritate him?

Moses exchanged a glance with Eleazar before offering a kinder answer. “I don't think anyone but Yahweh knows what Ramesses will do.”

As the first rays of dawn lit the path before them, the four of them hurried their pace toward the palace complex. Eleazar scanned the landscape of Egypt and saw toads and frogs like an undulating green blanket and wondered aloud, “Will Egypt ever be the same?”

Abba Aaron shot a scornful look at his third-born son. “Why would you care about Egypt when the Israelites could gain our freedom today? This is the day our forefathers have longed for. We could walk into that throne hall…”

Eleazar seethed silently, blocking out Abba's senseless drivel. Had abba heard nothing Moses said? No, he heard only what he wanted to hear.

“I have two sons.” Moses blurted out the declaration, taking all of them off guard. He looked at Eleazar and then at Aaron. “I wanted to bring them with me to Egypt. In fact, they began the journey with my wife and me from Midian, but Yahweh nearly killed me before Aaron met me in the wilderness.”

Eleazar stopped, sliding on a frog, and looked at his uncle, incredulous. “Why would Yahweh try to kill you? And why are we only now hearing this story?”

“You're hearing this story now because I wish someone had told me how important an abba and son relationship is. It's obvious you and Aaron don't like each other, and I'm telling you both.” He pinned Abba Aaron with a stare. “Your son must be more important than your pride. He must be more important than your duty or your day's labor.” He returned his attention to Eleazar. “And your abba will die someday—as my abba did—and then you can't make amends.”

Moses resumed his march toward the palace, Abba and Hoshea falling in step beside him. Eleazar lagged behind, stinging from the rebuke. “You didn't answer my question. Why did Yahweh try to kill you?” He caught up with the others as Moses began speaking.

“After I fled Egypt and arrived in Midian, Jethro gave me his daughter Zipporah as a wife.” He glanced over at Eleazar. “I was only a few years younger than you when our first son, Gershom, was born. Like you, however, I had little inclination toward the gods, and though Jethro was the high priest of Midian, he never pressured me to circumcise Gershom or our second-born son, Eliezer.” He returned his focus to the frogs and his slippery footing. “Zipporah nagged me to spend more time with my sons, to teach them what I'd learned in Egypt, to make them honorable men. But I was always too busy tending Jethro's flocks and training my herding dogs.”

Moses fell silent for a few steps, regret gathering with the tears on his bottom lashes. No one prodded him to continue, but each of them hung on his next words. “My sons are thirty and thirty-three. They chose to join Zipporah and me when Yahweh commanded me to return to Egypt. On the first night of our encampment, I heard Yahweh's voice like thunder: ‘Say to Pharaoh, “Israel is My firstborn son. Let My son go, so he may worship Me.” But Pharaoh will refuse to let him go; so I will kill his firstborn.' ”

Eleazar grabbed his arm, panicked. “Which of Pharaoh's firstborns? Only Kopshef?”

“I don't know,” Moses said, “but when Yahweh spoke, a flaming spear shot into the ground, barely missing me. Yahweh didn't speak again, but in that moment—I can't explain how—we all understood that I would die with the next fiery spear if
my firstborn
wasn't circumcised immediately.” His chin quaked, and he shoved his thumb and finger against his eyes, struggling for control. Abba Aaron and Hoshea stood awkwardly, shoving frogs aside with their sandals.

Eleazar tried to imagine such a bizarre scene. “Did you do it? Did you circumcise Gershom?”

Moses shook his head. “I couldn't. I couldn't hurt my son to save my life. But Zipporah grabbed a flint knife and cut off Gershom's foreskin. She threw it at my feet and called me a ‘bridegroom of blood,' leaving my firstborn writhing in pain and humiliation.” He wiped his cheeks and set his jaw. “The complete failure I felt as an abba in that moment is what Ramesses will feel when his firstborn die. When I beg Pharaoh to let Israel go, it is with both rage and compassion—rage at his abuses against Israel, compassion that his pride will cost his sons' lives.” He shrugged off Eleazar's hand and stepped toward Aaron, almost nose to nose. “And when I tell you, Aaron, to love your son Eleazar, it is with that same rage and compassion. Love your sons—
all
of your sons—before it is too late.”

Moses turned on his heel and left the three men in awkward silence. Abba Aaron cast a sheepish glance at Eleazar before beginning his march again. Hoshea shrugged and began walking again in silence with Eleazar.

They entered the palace gates, and frogs dropped on their heads from the parapets above. None of them bothered to bathe or don a ceremonial robe to appear before Pharaoh. Any delay seemed unwise in light of the rising number of frogs beneath their feet.

Two Nubian guards opened the massive ebony doors as Eleazar and Hoshea escorted Abba and Moses into Pharaoh's presence. Would Ramesses notice Eleazar's family resemblance? Or would he be too focused on frogs to notice the Levite family traits in Prince Ram's guard?

Every chair in the gallery of Pharaoh's firstborns was occupied, though the princes and their guards looked as if they'd gotten little sleep. Prince Kopshef stood at Pharaoh's right hand, Prince Ram at his left. Ramesses sat on his throne while slaves fought to keep frogs off the dais. They were losing the battle.

“The crown prince has matched your magic, Hebrew.” Pharaoh's voice echoed in the empty throne hall. “Prince Kopshef also stretched his hand over the waters of Egypt and made frogs come onto dry land.”

Eleazar and Hoshea halted when Ramesses began speaking, but Abba Aaron and Moses continued to the edge of the red carpet. Moses bowed slightly to the crown prince. “Congratulations. You've added more frogs.”

Pharaoh leaned forward. “Pray to Yahweh to take away the frogs.” He slammed his flail on the armrest at the precise moment a frog jumped onto it from the floor.

Eleazar winced as Pharaoh slid the lifeless creature off.
One less frog for Yahweh to take away.

Pharaoh narrowed his eyes, seething. “If your god will take them away, I will let your people leave my city to offer sacrifices.”

A deafening pause was Moses's response, and no one else dared breathe. Finally, he said, “I leave it up to you, Mighty Pharaoh, to determine the time when I will pray for you, your officials, and your people to be rid of the frogs—except for those that remain in the Nile, of course.”

Pharaoh trembled with rage, and Eleazar braced himself for the execution order. No one spoke to Ramesses with such flippancy and lived.

“Tomorrow.” The king spit out the word like a curse. Both Kopshef and Ram leaned down to whisper their protests, but Ramesses silenced them. “Tell your god the Son of Horus declares he should kill the frogs tomorrow.”

Eleazar glimpsed the frustration in his master's features. Why hadn't Pharaoh chosen to have the frogs removed immediately?
Stubborn pride.

“It will be as you say, Ramesses,” Moses said. “Tomorrow the frogs will die, so that you will know that there is no god like Yahweh among your gods.”

Abba Aaron bowed, but Moses simply turned his back and walked toward the yawning ebony doors, escorted by Hoshea. Eleazar again marveled at Moses's nerve and felt convicted. Pharaoh's stubborn pride prolonged a senseless plague just as Eleazar's pride continued to punish Abba for a past no one could change. Could he forgive and try to live at peace? The familiar anger burned in his chest, and he felt heat rising on his neck. He would try to forgive, but it would take more than one tomorrow.

Eleazar took his place behind Prince Ram's empty chair in the gallery of firstborns and glanced at the line of princes perched on their golden chairs. Would their father's pride cost them their lives? What might Eleazar's pride cost him?

Pharaoh summoned Moses and Aaron and said, “Pray to the
L
ORD
to take the frogs away from me and my people, and I will let your people go to offer sacrifices to the
L
ORD
.”

—
E
XODUS 8:8

M
iriam sorted through her baskets of herbs and jars of ointments. Which ones should she take into the wilderness? She could never carry them all. Taliah had rescued the herbs from their frog-laden garden yesterday and carried in the last basketful as the croaking suddenly stopped. Every frog drew its last breath at the same moment, and every slave was given a shovel to start scooping dead frogs. By late last night, frogs were heaped as high as rooftops in Goshen, and Eleazar reported frogs in the city being shoveled from palace windows and piled along paths all the way to the river. But Miriam hadn't needed to see the frogs piled by the palace gates. Yahweh had already shown her in the vision.

Moses suddenly became a hero instead of a villain, and several elders had brought gifts as peace offerings—a goat, a camel, and three geese. Their household had enjoyed fresh camel's milk this morning for the first time since Abba Amram fashioned Nefertiry's wedding necklace thirty-seven years ago.

Miriam stuck her nose in a jar of mint aloe but could barely appreciate the aroma over the stench of decaying frogs. Leaving Egypt was more appealing now that it reeked of decaying fish and frogs, but the thought of leaving Goshen was still bittersweet. Freedom was a concept she could only imagine. What would she do all day without injured slaves to tend? What would the Israelites do without masters to direct them? And who would organize their departure? Miriam hadn't had time to coordinate the elders as she'd promised Moses that day under the palm tree. How would everyone know where to go?

The enormity of change overwhelmed her as she rummaged through her basket of dishes and tossed out a broken clay cup.
“Nothing broken or worn out goes to the Promised Land.”
Moses's command brought a fresh wave of grief. “Abba and Ima yearned their whole lives to see Your promise fulfilled. Why spare me and not them? Am I not as broken and worn out as they were?”

Miriam continued her cleaning, tossing the old, keeping the useful.
Keeping the useful.
Her stomach churned as she whispered. “I am no longer Your voice to the people of Israel. You have chosen my brothers as Your messengers. What use am I now, Yahweh?”

Miriam bowed her head, hands stilling on the basket of bandages. “What if I stayed in Egypt?” She peered over her shoulders, left then right, making sure no one heard—of course, no one was nearby. Taliah was teaching the village children. Moses had gone to meet with Aaron about naming more elders. “I could stay,” she said a little louder, the possibility growing in her mind. “The Egyptian peasants accept me. They wouldn't mind—”

“I see you still talk to yourself.” A male voice startled her from behind.

Sattar didn't growl or even move, but Miriam whirled to see an old man standing inside her doorway. His mischievous smile showed several missing teeth, but it was his eyes that took her breath. “Hur?” Surely, she was imagining her old friend.

“Shalom, Miriam. It's good to see you.” He took two long strides and held her hand, warmth radiating from his light-brown eyes.

She stood speechless, mesmerized by a man she hadn't seen in over twenty years. A man once married to her friend Shiphrah. A man who had once captured Miriam's affections—although no one had known.

“Do I have frog entrails on my beard?” He chuckled and released her hand, swiping the long gray hair that reached from his chin to his waist.

“No. No! I'm sorry. I just…when Ramesses sent you to Pithom twenty years ago, after Nefertiry found a cobra in her bed, I thought I'd never see you again.”

He waved away the memory. “That was an unfortunate event. I'm good at my job, but a snake-and-rat man can't guarantee he's cleared all vermin from a palace the size of Ramesses's.” He shrugged. “But a Pharaoh doesn't listen to reason when his queen screams, ‘Cobra!' in the middle of the night.”

Miriam giggled like a maiden and thought how ridiculous she sounded. She cleared her throat and regained composure. “So what brings you back to Rameses?” She felt her cheeks warm. Why was she acting so silly?

“Pharaoh sent a cart for me in the middle of the night. It seems when the frogs died, rats and snakes emerged from every nook and cranny to find alternate food sources.” Miriam shuddered involuntarily, and Hur chuckled again. “That's the reaction of most people to my job, but I've been teasing cobras and killing rats for as long as you've been alive. I'm fairly good at it by now.”

His eyes sparkled with the same life and joy Miriam remembered. “I'm glad you're back. Have you seen your son Uri?”

The sparkle dimmed. “Not yet. Aaron said Uri and my grandson, Bezalel, work with Nadab and Abihu in the metal shop. These plagues have put them behind on a big project, so I'll try not to bother them…” His words trailed off as his eyes scanned the disarray in Miriam's main room. “Are you moving to another long house?”

“No. Haven't you heard? Ramesses released the Israelites to worship in the wilderness.” She saw his expression falter but continued her explanation. “Moses returned from exile as Yahweh's prophet—Yahweh is El Shaddai's new name—and the recent plagues have convinced Ramesses to let Israel travel into the wilderness to worship…” Miriam stopped when Hur began shaking his head.

“It isn't happening, Miriam. I've been crawling around the palace halls since dawn. Pharaoh nearly bit off Prince Ram's head when he asked how to ensure the Hebrews would return from the wilderness.”

“I don't understand. Why would the king be angry about ensuring our return?”

“Pharaoh called Prince Ram an imbecile for believing he'd ever let the Israelites leave Egypt.” Hur's countenance softened. “I'm sorry, Miriam.”

She didn't know what to say or even how to feel. Would Moses be devastated? Or had he expected Ramesses to default on his promise? That day by the palm tree, he'd told her Yahweh promised Pharaoh would
drive
them out of Egypt. Ramesses certainly hadn't come to that point.

“I should go,” Hur said. “I've upset you.”

“No!” Miriam reached for his arm as he turned to leave. “Please don't go.” She felt her cheeks grow warm again. He must think her terribly forward. “Unless you need to get back to the palace.”

“Actually, no. Snakes rest during the heat of the day. I'll return to work at the palace tonight.”

Her heart fluttered erratically, and she reached for her walking stick to steady herself. “Would you eat the midday meal with us?”

Taliah ducked under the doorframe with a full water jar on her head. When she looked up, she was face to face with Hur and nearly dropped the jar.

“Taliah, this is my old friend Hur.” He bowed slightly and helped her lower the jar, while Miriam's nervous chatter continued. “His wife, Shiphrah, was a dear friend who taught me midwifery and herbal skills many years ago. And Hur, this is Taliah.” She pointed at her stiffly as if describing a bowl on a shelf. “She's Jered's granddaughter. You remember Jered—Mered's firstborn son?”

“Oh, you sweet girl.” Hur grabbed Taliah's hands and kissed them. “Mered and Bithiah were special friends indeed, and your Saba Jered was like a big brother to my son Uri.”

Taken off guard, Taliah chuckled and patted his blue-veined hands. “Well, it's very nice to meet you, Hur. I'm anxious to hear more about your friendship with Miriam.” She turned to Miriam with wide eyes and a knowing grin.

“I hope to soon have more stories to tell about Miriam.” Hur's eyes lingered too long on Miriam, causing heat to rise from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

Taliah stood behind him, pointing furiously and mouthing, “He likes you.”

Flustered, Miriam rattled off the first thing that entered her mind. “So you'll stay for the meal then?”

Moses walked through the door and heard the invitation. Brow furrowed, he inspected the stranger, but his countenance brightened the moment he recognized his long-ago servant. “Hur, you old snake charmer, it's good to see you.”

Hur bowed at the waist. “Welcome home, Master Mehy. I heard you had returned.”

Moses's delight dimmed but only slightly. “My name is Moses, my friend, and I'm a simple shepherd from Midian. I would be honored to take a meal with you and get to know more about the man who used to taunt cobras in my villa and kill rats in my granaries.”

Hur smiled at Miriam over his shoulder as Moses led him through the dividing curtain into the other room. Sattar followed the men, leaving the women to prepare the meal. Hur was as kind as she remembered, and he'd retained the mischief that made him so endearing. The fact that he and Moses had fond memories of each other sent warmth coursing through her.

Taliah brought the large water jug closer and started teasing. “I've never seen you blush, Miriam. Hur must be very special indeed.”

Miriam ignored the comment, busying herself instead with clearing a spot on the floor for their small dinner mat. She was thankful the girl hadn't made the connection between Hur and Miriam's confession of girlhood affection a few weeks ago. It would never do for Hur to discover she'd once loved him. The thought of it made her cheeks flame again. She reached for their wooden plates. They'd use Eleazar's plate for Hur.

Taliah began grinding grain with the hand mill. She looked up from her task, brows knit. “Where has Hur been all these years, and what brought him back to Goshen?”

“Ramesses sent Hur to Pithom as punishment after finding a cobra in Nefertiry's bed. Hur's wife, Shiphrah, died here in Goshen shortly after he left.”

“How sad.” Taliah was silent for several heartbeats, grinding the barley, then suddenly gasped, eyes as round as the wooden plates on the mat. “It's him, isn't it?”

“It's who, dear?” Miriam knew what she meant but needed time to form a vague reply.

“He's the one you told me about—the one you loved when you were a girl, but your friend married him, and they were happy, and then no one else could ever meet your needs like El Shaddai.” She pointed at the dividing curtain. “It's Hur!”

“Shh!” Miriam was near panic. “Keep your voice down. Yes, but that was a long time ago.”

“Well it's obvious he came back to Goshen to marry you.”

“No, dear. Hur is the best ratter and snake killer in Egypt, and Ramesses brought him back from Pithom to clear the palace. That's why he's in Goshen.”

Taliah stopped grinding grain, her expression void of silly teasing. “What if your God brought him back to you?”

Miriam waved away the comment. “Shaddai is not in the habit of matchmaking, dear. Hur and I are longtime friends. We have a shared past, and old people like to talk about old things. That's all.”

Taliah shrugged and emptied the fresh-ground barley flour into a bowl. “Shaddai may not be a matchmaker, but Yahweh might just surprise you.”

Miriam grabbed a cucumber to chop and chose to ignore the girl's comment, but she couldn't ignore the flutter in her belly.

She'd just heard that Pharaoh reneged on his promise to release Israel, and all she could think about was an old friend who had returned from Pithom. It was ridiculous…but true.

Yahweh, what's happening to me? Am I going mad?
Surely, it was the grief of losing Abba and Ima. The tremendous strain of Moses's return and the plagues. The uncertainty of God's silence. Whatever was troubling her, she was tired of it. She needed to refocus her priorities.

“Taliah, I've heard on good authority that Pharaoh changed his mind and won't let us leave Egypt.”

Disappointment shadowed the girl's face, but she didn't seem overly surprised. “Eleazar told me last night that I shouldn't bother packing our things.” She added water to the barley flour, mixed it into a ball, and started kneading. “I think if your God delivers us, we'll know when it's time to pack.”