Second Touch (19 page)

the tribe of Israel. Zipporah was my wife, yet she was outside the covenant of circumcision that Adonai had made with Avraham. “Point taken. Yes. I never thought about it. The great lawgiver marrying outside the Law. Must have presented a problem since you were sent to lead the twelve tribes of Israel.” Yes. Indeed. And eventually a difficulty even in my own family. For now, this is a story about my failure. Yes. My failure to ¬understand the enormity of Yahweh’s love for all mankind. My failure to ¬understand the importance of Yahweh’s provision for our salvation. This is a story that tells what the covenant of circumcision says about Messiah and His love for us. My wife ¬understood, though I did not. When Adonai first appeared to me, I gave Him several reasons I could not return to Egypt and lead anybody anywhere. Who would believe me? What proof could I offer? I was not a good speaker. And besides, there were men in Egypt who wanted me dead. At last Adonai answered even my final objection. Yahweh said to me in Midian, “Go! Return to Egypt, for all the men who wanted to kill you are dead!”24 At last I had no excuses to stay away from ¬everything I had run from in my life. I took my wife and sons, put them on a donkey, and started back to Egypt. I took the staff Adonai put in my hand. And Adonai said to me, “When you return to Egypt, see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders I have given you power to do. But I will harden his heart so that he will not let the people go. Then say to Pharaoh, ‘This is what Adonai says: “Israel is my firstborn son, and I told you, let my son go so he may worship me!” But you refused to let him go! See! I will kill your firstborn son!’ ” I was also sent to bring the Hebrew slaves the good news that the blood of a sacrificial lamb daubed on the doorpost of ¬every Hebrew home would be a sign of Adonai’s protection over that family. When the Angel of Death saw the blood on the doorpost, he would pass over that house and spare the firstborn children of Israel. Redemption was near for Israel! For all who placed themselves ¬under the protection of the blood of the lamb! The word I was sent to deliver to Pharaoh troubled me greatly. Who was I to say such a thing to anyone? Who was I to demand that the Hebrew slaves be allowed to go out and worship Adonai? How could I lead when I had so neglected to follow the commands of the Almighty? I found a new reason to doubt myself. I looked at my own family. My wife, the mother of my children, was an outsider. A Cushite. Zipporah had a good heart. She respected me and was in awe of the One who had appeared to me. But Zipporah was no Jew! I had never explained to her about the blood covenant of circumcision between Avraham and Adonai, nor had I circumcised our own sons. In the culture of Midian, circumcision was merely a legal and civil transaction: a rite performed by the father-in-law upon the bridegroom before the daughter was given in marriage. The blood of the bridegroom’s foreskin sealed the ketubah, the marriage contract. Henceforth forever the

world knew that the bridegroom had made a covenant with the father of the bride to keep her and care for her as his wife. By shedding his blood, the bridegroom took her ¬under his protection. By this sacrifice the bridegroom pledged that even to death and the spilling of his own blood he would care for her. After such pledge any objections to the union were forever silenced. This was the custom in Midian. But it had no connection with the covenant Adonai made with Avraham. So Zipporah and my children were outsiders. They were not Jews. They were unclean. I was certain Pharaoh would use this fact against me with my own people when my failure came to light. After all, I had neglected to perform the first commandment Adonai gave to Avraham and his descendants. After Adonai had showered eternal blessings upon Avraham, Adonai declared that “any uncircumcised male shall be cut off from his people; he has broken My covenant.”25 I admit this decree was on my mind as I set out for Egypt with my family. On the way, we stopped at a caravansary for the night. We were sleeping there in the straw. The four of us: me and Zipporah, our boys between us. Little Gershon tucked ¬under my arm as always. He was my firstborn. My beloved son. I went to sleep, troubled by all I had neglected in the raising of my own children, in the teaching of my dear wife. Suddenly I was aware of the presence of Adonai standing over us. And this time it was not ¬only me, but Zipporah, who knew that He was with us. She gasped, sat up, then bowed her face to Him. He did not speak to us, and yet in my mind I heard again what I was sent by Adonai to proclaim: “I told you, let my son go that he may worship me! But you refused to let him go. See! I will kill your firstborn son!” Suddenly I knew Adonai was speaking not ¬only to Pharaoh but to me, because I had also disobeyed Adonai’s command! Pharaoh’s sin against Adonai was a deliberate hardness of heart. My sin against the Lord was ignoring the precepts plainly stated by the Almighty! Because of my neglect, my sons could not go out with Israel to worship Adonai! By my neglect to obey Yahweh’s word my children were cut off from their kin! The Lord was speaking to me when He said, “I will kill your firstborn!” I do not know what Zipporah heard in that whisper, but suddenly she cried out! She stared in horror at little Gershon, who had gone white as lamb’s wool. His breathing became shallow. His lips tinged with blue. “No!” She snatched up our little boy and held him to her. “Not Gershon! No! No! Don’t take him from me!” In that moment I ¬understood the grief that would come upon all of Egypt. In a flash I saw all the firstborn children . . . all . . . laid out for burial! I heard the lament of ¬every mother and father outside the covenant, who would, by neglect and unbelief, fail to place their children ¬under the protection and provision of the blood of the ¬Pass¬over lamb! And that grief, that unbearable loss, would begin with my own beloved firstborn son! I did not know what to do. What to say. How could I plead for the life of

my own son when I was about to pronounce doom on all the households of Egypt? But Zipporah! Ah! My little sparrow! There’s a mountain of strength and sharp wit in her name! She dug through her pack and took out a flint knife. She held it up before Adonai and cried, “He is my firstborn! My dearest boy!” With one quick stroke of the blade she circumcised the child. Gershon was too far gone to even cry out. His breath had ceased. He was slipping from us. Then Zipporah took the blood of the circumcision and daubed it on him.26 Listen now and ¬understand! The words used in Torah for applying the blood are the same used to describe the way the Hebrew slaves in Egypt placed the blood of the sacrificial lamb upon the doorposts of their houses! This was the same sign given to the Angel of Death that they were ¬under Yahweh’s protection. Zipporah’s actions, therefore, were a clear prophecy about the future of Egypt. I, like Pharaoh, had defied the command of El Olam, the Eternal One. My little sparrow was like the Hebrew slaves, faithful to obey the word of Adonai. After Zipporah had placed the blood upon our dying son, my wife whispered to Adonai, “Surely you are to me the bridegroom of blood!” Adonai replied to her pledge with a nod. My last objection to returning to Egypt had been vanquished. Zipporah was not an outsider. She had done what I failed to do. I was ashamed of my sin of neglect. Gershon gasped. Breathed. Whimpered as life and awareness flowed back into him. The presence of Adonai receded from us and once again we were alone in the little room. Zipporah took our son in her arms. Kissed his tears away. Laughed and cried. The life of her firstborn was redeemed. I asked Zipporah later what she had heard when Adonai had come. And why she had thought to do such a thing. She said, “There is no covenant stronger than circumcision, whereby the bridegroom’s blood is shed for the sake of the bride . . . his pledge of ¬everlasting faithfulness. This is what circumcision means. I have made Adonai, your God, my bridegroom! I have sealed the contract with the blood of a covenant. This silences any objection to my belonging to your people. I have pledged my life and the lives of my children to your Yahweh by the blood of my firstborn son. By this I am no longer outside. Our sons are no longer outside. We belong to Him just as you do. And I heard Him say that one day He would give His firstborn Son to save all who believe in Him.” There is a saying. You know it. “If a man’s wife be short, he should bend low so she can whisper advice in his ear.” Yes. I should have bent low to listen to her sooner. Everything in Torah means something. Every detail. This story about Zipporah is often read and misinterpreted. But she taught me something I would not have fully realized without her: that Messiah makes provision for those who believe they are outside the boundaries of His love. For all the

nations and peoples of the world. Father Avraham, a man, circumcised his firstborn son and thus, by faith, the covenant between his descendants and Adonai was sealed. Zipporah. Gentile. Woman. Wife of Mosheh the lawgiver. She circumcised her firstborn son and thus, by faith, opened the door for many nations to enter into Yahweh’s covenant of blessing and redemption. This was the promise Adonai gave Abraham through the picture of circumcision: that in a future time not ¬only Avraham and his descendants, but all the nations of the earth will be blessed through this covenant. Zipporah was the first convert to fully ¬understand its significance. When she saw Adonai face-to-face, her obedience and faith in Adonai’s mercy were far greater than mine. I was the lawgiver, yet the commandment of Adonai, which I transgressed by neglect, brought death to my son. The Law brings death because no one, not even the lawgiver, ¬ever kept ¬every law. In the end all we can do is ask God for His mercy. Act on that mercy. Hold to it. Claim it as my little sparrow did! Then His grace pours out life to us freely, abundantly. Very soon now, in the city of Yerushalayim, the blood of Messiah, our heavenly Bridegroom, will be shed to redeem His people, His bride. This is the price He is willing to pay. Messiah’s blood daubed upon our souls will be our seal that we are His beloved—forever. It is the seal to the ketubah, the marriage contract of our salvation. And He will be our Yahweh, and we will be His people for all eternity. All objection to our union with Him will be silenced forever. He will guide us, protect us, love us, free us from sin, and redeem us from the curse of death and sorrow. Yet Messiah is not ¬only the Bridegroom-Redeemer of Israel but the Redeemer of people from all nations who will call upon His name for salvation! Many who are outside Yahweh’s covenant will be saved by The Light. By faith they will claim the blood of Messiah’s sacrifice for themselves. Adonai promises to take in all who ask Him for refuge. Believe it! Peniel considered this new twist on an old tale. The rabbis had never thought much of Mosheh’s wife. She was, after all, an outsider in their eyes. Peniel had never ¬understood before. He asked, “You mean the covenant is not ¬only for sons of Avraham, Yitz’chak, and Ya’acov?” Mosheh replied, By the One, The Light, the Messiah, all the nations of the world will be blessed. “Does that mean lepers? untouchables? sinners? people whose lives are so far outside they think they ¬can’t ¬ever be saved?” For Yahweh so loved the world He gave His ¬only Son that all who call upon His name will be saved. All, yes! And all who call upon His name will be saved.27 “All?” Yes. That’s it. Mosheh’s words echoed and faded as he vanished. “But when? When will this be? We’re looking for him now! So much suffering to set right! My friends! This leper! We all need his touch! Will Messiah die and leave us here, still seeking him? Still needing his touch?”

There was no reply. Peniel felt the wind brush past him. He opened his eyes and looked around. The leper slept soundly, snoring, on the ledge. Peniel glanced outside as the rain slowed to a stop. On the heap of rubble lay a lead rope where the donkey had been tethered.

The Khamseen wind howled from the east. Deborah labored to give birth inside the cave. Would Deborah die tonight? The feeble light of the oil lamp flickered, casting enormous shadows against the rough walls. Midwife laid her ear against Deborah’s stomach. The old woman, her countenance all sores and distortion, urged life to come forth. “Yes. Yes. Come on then, little one. Light is waiting. Life is . . . waiting!” “So . . . tired . . .” Deborah’s eyes rolled back in her head. Once she was pretty. But at twenty-nine, she was wasted by tsara’at and now further by the struggle to bring this baby into the world. “I know, love. You’re tired. But hold on. Baby’s moved low. He’s trying to come into the light. Yes. Yes. Hold on, love! You can do it!” “Another one . . . here ¬comes . . .” Deborah’s breath caught with a grunt as the muscles closed around her abdomen like strong fingers. Lily grimaced as pain washed over her friend. She held her breath, counted to forty, and prayed. Oh! ¬I’m praying again, Breath of Life! Oh! Help! Help her! Oh! Have mercy! See how she suffers! The vise released its hold on Deborah. Lily exhaled and cradled Baruch in her arms. Midwife hovered over his mother. What more could Lily do to help? Pray feebly. Comfort Baruch. But what if Deborah died? The old woman issued a command, not allowing Deborah to quit the fight. “You can do this, Deborah. You will do it! We’re near the end now!” Deborah, bathed in sweat, shook her head from side to side as she rubbed her stomach. “So tired.” “Don’t give up!” Midwife commanded. “Where . . . is . . . Jekuthiel?” Deborah’s voice was tinged with panic as yet another strong contraction gripped her. The Midwife exchanged a look with Lily. “Breathe!” Midwife soothed. “Come on, now! Let it . . .” Deborah gritted her teeth, tried to ride it out. She gasped and blurted, “Jekuthiel!” Baruch buried his face against Lily and cried, “My mama! Mama! Is Mama going to die?” “No. No.” Lily attempted to comfort him. “Just . . . just . . .” Midwife threw Lily a stern look. Yes. Maybe Deborah will die. “Come on. Don’t give up, Deborah!”

Lily needed to escape! She is my family! Except for Cantor, Lily had no one left but Deborah! Deborah had taken her in, consoled her! What would Lily do if Deborah died now? “Should I take Baruch outside? Should I? Yes. Yes. I’ll take him outside. We’ll wait outside.” A single nod from the old woman dismissed Lily and Baruch. Yes. It would be better, if Deborah were to fly away, that Baruch not witness it. The moon was setting in the west. Windswept pillars of thunderclouds built up over the distant mountains, where lightning forked and split. Lily and the boy sheltered in the lee of the great boulder, and she held her palms over Baruch’s ears to shield him from the sound of his mother’s agony. Lily listened for the soft heavenly whisper she had often heard when she was very small. It had been such a long time since she had heard the Voice. How she had hoped that tonight she would hear it once more! I am praying again, Indifferent One! Some answer, please! Some explanation! But tonight the Voice was not in the wind. The little boy heard his mother cry out in spite of the gale, in spite of Lily’s efforts to protect him. “Is Mama dying?” The child huddled closer to Lily. Lily did not reply at first. Baruch had seen so much. Known too many partings in his life. Then Baruch demanded, quietly, patiently, “Will Mama die, Lily?” “No. Not tonight. Mama won’t die . . . tonight. She’s working hard. Bringing a new life into the world tonight. It’s a good thing. Good, Baruch,” Lily replied, though she was not certain of the outcome. “Mama hurts,” the boy said. “A baby. A brother or sister for you. Would you like that?” “But where is Papa?” “Gone Outside to fetch help.” Lily held Baruch close, stroked his hair. Little Baruch showed signs of the sickness that had claimed the older brother. The same sickness that would soon carry away his mother and that had perhaps killed his father. Baruch would have been a beautiful child if he was not tsara. Dark hair like his papa, liquid brown eyes like his mother. His presence in the camp was a gift to those who had lost ¬everything. Baruch was among the youngest Inside. He was cherished by all. Spoiled. A surrogate child for those who had left sons and daughters Outside. Now Baruch’s tiny fingers were disintegrating, the bones consumed. His ears, face, and nose were covered in ulcers. He felt no pain, but tsara’at had attacked his lungs. It was ¬only a matter of time. He would not survive another winter. Everyone knew it. “I want Papa.” Baruch was frightened. “Where is he, Lily? Why did he leave?” “He’ll be back.” “Jekuthiel!” Deborah’s cry rang out loudly.