Miriam (35 page)

The Israelites journeyed from Rameses to Sukkoth….Many other people went up with them, and also large droves of livestock, both flocks and herds. With the dough the Israelites had brought from Egypt, they baked loaves of unleavened bread. The dough was without yeast because they had been driven out of Egypt and did not have time to prepare food for themselves.

—
E
XODUS 12:37–39

W
aiting for official word of their deliverance was excruciating, but the required patience grew less painful when families found musical instruments among their treasures and began singing to Yahweh. As sounds of praise echoed in Goshen's villages, Egypt's wailing ebbed. The night wore on. The praise endured.

When Eleazar and Aaron finally returned home, the household celebrated loudly enough to alert their whole village that Yahweh had kept His promise. By the time Moses returned to Goshen near daybreak, he found Hebrew men wearing spears and bows across their backs as they tethered baskets and bedrolls to donkeys and oxen. Children draped in gold and silver jewelry chased sheep and goats down the alleyways between long houses. Tired imas dressed in Egypt's finest linen kneaded bread dough without yeast—timbrels and drums strapped to their backs.

“Why are you making bread?” Moses shouted at Miriam when he found her kneading like the others.

“It's what women do when we're nervous.” She pushed to her feet, clapping excess flour from her hands. “You'll be happy about it when your stomach growls at midday. It's not like Yahweh will drop bread from the sky.”

The call to march had come, and kneading troughs—with bread dough still inside—were wrapped in fine linen and tossed on strong Hebrew shoulders.

Miriam sat beside Hur on the wooden bench of an ox-drawn cart as the sun peeked over the eastern hills. Taliah lay snuggled in the cart on a cloud of blankets with eight elderly caretakers to tend to her. Aaron and Elisheba's cart pulled up beside them, carrying the precious cargo of their ancestor Joseph's bones. Miriam had feared there might be bloodshed when the Hebrews broke into Joseph's elegant mastaba on palace grounds to retrieve his mummified remains, but Eleazar assured her, “The Egyptians will give us anything as long as we leave quickly.”

Hur reached for her hand. “Look to the east, Miriam. It's the last time we'll see a sunrise in Goshen.”

She scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. Married. She was
married.

A warm breeze lifted her sheer linen head covering. She didn't consider whether it was Yahweh's breath or simply the wind. She knew now that Yahweh could speak in any way He liked. She need only lean into the people He placed in her life to hear Him clearly.

“Prophetess, prophetess!” A little voice called up from beside her cart. She thrilled at the sight of Haji, younger brother of Masud and Tuya. “You're wearing a lot of gold!”

Touching the heavy jewelry on her neck and wrists, she unlatched an ankle bracelet and tossed it to the boy. “Give this to your mother.” All three children walked past the cart with their parents. The boys and their father were in pain but joyful. They'd searched out Taliah at the front of Israel's procession to deliver the happy news that they'd obeyed Yahweh's commands and now believed in the One God.

Miriam scanned the sea of faces behind them. So many—some familiar, some foreign—stretched through the streets of Rameses, ready to embark on uncharted freedom.

Moses used Miriam's cart as a ladder to climb the pedestal of Ramesses's statue. He raised his staff above his head and shouted on the morning breeze, “Remember this moment—this day—and tell your children and their children that Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, brought you out of Egypt with a mighty hand.” Thousands cheered, sending a rumble through the foundations of Egypt itself. Eleazar and Joshua helped Moses climb down—the man who was once Egypt's prince had become Israel's deliverer.

Miriam raised her voice with the others. What a joyous day. Glancing at Aaron and Elisheba in the cart beside them, she saw even Elisheba laughing. Was the old ox losing her sharp horns? Never. Miriam laughed all the more.

Joshua mounted the black stallion he'd been given by a happy-to-be-alive, second-born Egyptian soldier. Eleazar led the two oxen pulling Miriam's cart, and Nadab led his parents' oxen and cart.

Miriam watched as they passed the Egyptians lining the streets. Most were silent. Some wept. One soldier cried out, “Canaan is northeast. You're already lost.” A few joined the mocking.

Troubled, Miriam shouted to Eleazar, “Does Moses know where he's going?”

Eleazar cast a wry grin at her, and Hur patted her leg. “Yahweh is leading us, not Moses. We will do well to remember that in the coming days.”

When they stopped for a midday respite, her questioning became a bit more subtle as she asked her husband questions quietly. “Eleazar spoke of the Way of Horus when he marched to Canaan. Why aren't we taking that well-traveled highway?”

Hur brushed a stray hair from her eyes and offered her the last bites of his bread. “Moses said the Way of Horus was a shorter route to Canaan, but it's traveled by many merchants and patrolled by foreign armies.”

“But we have weapons,” Miriam said. “Yahweh is with us.”

“Our men may be armed for battle, but they'll run back to Egypt like whimpering children if we face war now. Most of our men aren't trained, and until now Yahweh has fought and won our battles for us. We're learning to know Him, but we have no idea who we are as a nation.”

The second part of their day was longer and harsher. The sun cooked both men and beasts, and their meager supplies ran low before they reached the first encampment.

“Sukkoth is over that rise,” Moses said. “There's water for the animals, and we're out of Egypt's grasp.” Joshua sent his messengers down the flanks of the procession, spreading the message to the nation. A cheer rose from behind them, giving hope to finish strong.

When they crested the rise, Miriam saw what looked like paradise after the dry plain they'd traveled that day. A wadi flowed through softly rolling hills with a few patches of grass and clustered palm trees. Dozens of shoddy tents were already set up there, but she resolved to keep her questions to herself.

Miriam squeezed Hur's arm, letting the reality of the moment settle in. “Our first night of freedom.”

He bounced his eyebrows. “Our first night as husband and wife.”

Miriam swatted his arm, her cheeks warming. They were too old for such nonsense. Surely, he didn't think…

He pulled her into a tender kiss. Her body responded, deepening her blush and speeding her heartbeat. When he looked into her eyes, she saw the man she'd loved since she was a girl.

“You'll always belong to Yahweh,” he said, “but He shared you with me, and we'll honor Him every day we're together.”

Those already camped at Sukkoth came out of their tents to see the mass of people descending on their quiet camp. Moses approached a few, embracing them like long-lost friends. Perhaps his years as son-in-law to a Midianite chieftain had prepared him in more ways than Miriam realized. Yahweh wasted no experience, no matter how seemingly insignificant.

The weary Hebrews made camp, the women baking more of the bread dough they'd kneaded before dawn. Small cook fires littered the countryside as far as the eye could see. Aaron and his family joined Miriam's household while Sattar nestled beside her, exhausted from his busy day of herding sheep, playing with children, and keeping watch over an entire nation. Taliah lay in Eleazar's arms, sore from the jostling, but refusing to complain. No one spoke, weariness claiming them all. Freedom, they were all discovering, was hard work.

The night was utterly still when Moses left their fire, climbed a nearby rock, and let his voice carry on the wind. “Commemorate this day, the day you came out of Egypt, because the Lord brought you out of it with a mighty hand. When the Lord brings you into the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Hivites, and Jebusites, you are to observe a special ceremony in this month, on this day each year: For seven days, we will eat bread made without yeast and on the seventh day we'll hold a festival to the Lord. On that day tell your children, ‘We do this because of what the Lord did for us when He delivered us from Egypt.' ”

One man shouted, “We will!” Others took up the chorus, and the nation rose to their feet and shouted as one, “We will! We will! We will!”

Moses returned to their family circle amid the chorus of commitment, looking as weary as Miriam felt. “I'm not sure we have enough grain for seven days of bread, brother.”

He grinned at her. “We'll have enough.”

Of course, they would. Why must she always question? Exhaustion swept over Miriam in a wave, and she leaned against Hur. “I'm tired.”

Eleazar was on his feet immediately, helping both Miriam and Hur to stand. “I've prepared your wedding tent,” he said with a wink.

She swatted him. “Stop that!” Her cheeks flamed as Hur placed his hand at the small of her back, gently guiding her to the tent made of sticks, linen sheets, and palm branches.

Sattar followed, but Hur stopped him at the tent flap. “You sleep outside tonight.” The dog sat at the entrance and watched Miriam crawl into the small space. She rolled onto their sleeping mat and felt the warmth of Hur's body beside her.

“Come,” he said. “Lie in my arms so we can stay warm.”

She obeyed without a word, trembling like a maiden. Who had ever heard of an eighty-six-year-old virgin?

Hur kissed her hair and whispered softly, “Yahweh created man and woman to delight in one another. On the night you rest in my arms without trembling, we'll explore those delights.”

Pharaoh will think, “The Israelites are wandering around the land in confusion, hemmed in by the desert.” And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and he will pursue them. But I will gain glory for myself through Pharaoh and all his army, and the Egyptians will know that I am the
L
ORD
.

—
E
XODUS 14:3–4

O
n the seventh morning of Israel's freedom, Miriam sat beneath the canopy, watching children playing in the sand. Yahweh had sent a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night to lead them off the well-traveled paths into uncharted wasteland, through a valley until they reached the sea at Pi Hahiroth.

Miriam hummed a wordless tune and tapped gently on the timbrel that had become a comforting friend. She, Elisheba, and Taliah had prepared their food earlier in the day—fish over the coals, nuts, dates, figs, and plenty of flat rounds of the unleavened bread they'd eaten since leaving Egypt. Tonight, Miriam would mix a little flour with warm water and honey to begin a new start of leavening for their family. Yes, a new start.

“Why are you smiling, Miriam?” Taliah reclined against a rock, hands beneath her belly as though to lift some of the weight of it.

“I'm thinking of all the new things we'll see on our way to Canaan.” She pointed at the families splashing in the water. “They're swimming with dolphins and sea cows, animals I never knew existed until a few days ago.”

Taliah perked up. “The children said the dolphins are friendly. Masud grabbed one of their thick fins and rode it through the water.”

“They would also make a tasty meal.” Nadab ducked his head, anticipating his sister-in-law's ire. Taliah threw Eleazar's cudgel at him.

Usually quiet Ithamar had joined their camp and jumped into the fray. “Sea-cow hides make the best tent covers.” A pregnant pause emphasized his mischievous grin. “They're water repellant.”

“Oohh!” The women groused at the thought of the fascinating creatures used for such common purposes.

The ruckus roused Hur, who'd been napping beside Miriam. He let out a horrendous snort, smacked his lips, and nestled his head in her lap. She brushed his hair off his forehead, listening to the soft snoring that had become as soothing as the splashing of waves. The tenderness he'd shown in their private moments was beyond a young girl's dreams and an old woman's hopes.

“Pharaoh's fury will ignite again when he realizes we left Egypt for more than a few days' worship,” Moses said, eyes scanning the horizon.

Eleazar's heart squeezed in his chest. “Do you really think he'll pursue us after all the devastation?”

“He'll pursue us.” Moses sighed and combed his fingers through his silver hair.

Behind the camp, their soldiers trained with Ru and the other captains Joshua had appointed. Good men, all of them, but not skilled enough to defend against Egypt's army. The whole camp would be wiped out if Yahweh didn't protect them. “It makes no sense to wait for an army that would annihilate us.”

“It may seem that we're trapped,” Moses said with a raised brow. “But Yahweh told me last night that we're to camp here, near Pi Hahiroth. If Yahweh says stay, we stay. We obey Him in everything, or we wander as a people alone. It doesn't seem like much of a choice to me.”

Eleazar turned his back while he searched the seaside camp for his wife, a way to calm himself. Taliah's wound had healed well without festering, and she was even walking a bit now. Another reason to trust Yahweh, right?

A hand on his shoulder stopped his musing and turned him around. “There.” Moses said.

Eleazar shielded his eyes from the blazing sun and followed the direction of Moses's pointing finger. Chariots. Hundreds of chariots. With Ramesses's chariot leading.

Without waiting for directives from Moses, he ran to the shoreline, calling for Joshua, Aaron, and Hur. By the time they returned, a cloud of dust rose in the distance.

Their flurry roused the attention of others, throwing the camp into chaos.

“Why did you bring us into the desert to die?” A man shouted at Moses. Women wailed and children cried. Fear crawled through the tribes like a living thing, devouring the already slippery hope to which they clung.

“We shouldn't have left Egypt,” one woman cried.

They saw the first glint of iron weapons as a seemingly endless line of chariots snaked through the mountain foothills. Horsemen followed the chariots.

Screams grew louder. Panic rose. People ran. But where could they go? They were hemmed in by mountains all around, the sea at their backs. Some collapsed where they stood, weeping.

Eleazar scanned the terrified faces. Where was Doda? Finally, he spotted her among the crowd. Standing—just standing—terror etched on her features. He'd seen her discouraged and even grief-stricken but never terrified.

He ran toward her, and she shouted as he approached, “What did Yahweh say to Moses? What must we do?”

Without answering, he hurried Doda back to their family's campsite amid the people's hysteria. “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt,” one man shouted, “that Moses brought us to the desert to die? Didn't we say to him in Egypt, ‘Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians'?”

Eleazar peered over his shoulder and saw Moses drop to his knees and fall face down in the sand as he reached the shore. Doda must have seen it too. She covered a sob and fell into Hur's arms as they reached the tent, hiding her face against his chest. Taliah rushed into Eleazar's arms, trembling—or was it Eleazar's fear that shook them both?

Miriam heard Joshua shouting orders to his men. Hittites, Nubians, Libyans, and Hebrews—right flank, archers, and other military talk. She couldn't grasp the commands, but any defense was futile. Did he think slaves could resist the most powerful army in the world?

Moses leapt to his feet—sand still clinging to his forehead and beard—and ran back toward the panicked Israelites. His countenance had completely changed. “Hur, look.” Miriam pointed at her brother. “He's heard from Yahweh.”

Running into the middle of the chaos, Moses waved his staff and shouted, “Don't be afraid. Stand firm. Stand firm!” Jumping and bellowing, he gained their attention by the absolute certainty of his manner and the absurdity of his gestures. “Stand firm and you will see the deliverance Yahweh will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again.”

The crowd's hysteria became quiet weeping.

“Yahweh will fight for us,” Moses cried. “We need only be still.”

With a magnificent
Whoosh!
the pillar of cloud—in which some swore they'd seen the angel of God—suddenly swirled overhead, transforming into the fiery pillar that warmed their desert nights. The fiery pillar surged and expanded, creating an impenetrable barrier at the mountain pass, protecting the entrance to their camp from the advancing Egyptians.

The light and heat drove many Hebrews to their knees, their weeping turned to wonder, their wonder to praise. The enormity of God's majesty roared in fiery glory, and His firstborn Israel responded with a roar of worship, shaking the ground. As one, the nation lifted hands and voices, basking in the protective shelter of the One True God.

Yahweh blew a warm east wind, like a sigh of pleasure. Miriam lifted her face to the breeze and felt it intensify, the breath of God growing stronger.

Within moments, the gusting wind nearly toppled her.

Miriam searched for Moses. He stood at the edge of the Sea of Reeds with his staff extended over the water. The mighty wind whipped the water into the air, forming a strange sort of tunnel at her brother's feet. The tunnel exposed a patch of earth, and the wind kept blowing.

Israel scattered, rushing back to their campsites to batten down their tents and belongings. Miriam, too, scurried to grab rounds of unleavened bread as their meal skittered across the beach.

“Leave it!” Hur shouted, laughing. “We'll bake more on the other side.”

Miriam hurried back to their campsite. “What do you mean, on the other side?”

He directed her to look back to the shoreline. Moses stood with his hands raised to heaven, worshiping. The wind had now formed a narrow alley, almost two camel-lengths long and one camel-length wide, driving the water into walls on each side.

“Unbelievable,” Miriam said, pinching her husband's arm.

“Ouch! Why did you do that?” He rubbed the tender spot.

“It's not a dream if we experience it together.” She grinned.

Others began to point and gawk in silent wonder as the alley between walls of water began to widen. The wind blew violently, remarkably, precisely. Miriam closed her eyes, letting herself feel the wind, Yahweh's touch—like an impassioned Lover, determined to rescue His people. She reached for her timbrel, shook it in lifted hands, and raised her voice in song—her highest praise.

“Yahweh, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Before the mountains were born or You brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting You are God.”