Shiphrah waited until Joshua left for work with the men. He would soon be out of earshot and unable to rescue his wife. Most of the women had gathered at the river to wash clothes and visit. With the children’s voices mingling with the river sounds, they likely would not hear if Lili called for help. It was time she paid Lili a long overdue visit—now, while Lili was alone.
She did not knock. She pushed open the door to Lili’s house, stepped inside, closed the door, and braced herself against it. There would be no opportunity for Lili to leave.
In the far corner, Lili sat, head on her knees, rocking back and forth. A ripple of compassion for the woman’s grief caused Shiphrah to hesitate. What she felt compelled to say could destroy any remnant of their friendship—could destroy even the woman herself.
Lili lifted her head. Dully she looked at the intruder. Shiphrah cringed at the depth of despair she saw etched on Lili’s face. Dare she add more pain?
She hardened her resolve before it crumbled into dust. She had chosen this time carefully, her words with prayer. With a deep breath, she began.
“Lili, since the beginning I have loved you and Bedde as sisters. As a child, I wanted to be just like you—so lively, so fun to be with, always knowing what to say. Sometimes I was even a little scared—no, not scared … intimidated by you. I’ve grown up, and I’m not intimidated by you anymore, but I am scared.” Shiphrah paused to search Lili’s eyes. Was she listening? “Not scared of you, but scared for you.”
Lili’s expression did not change.
“Lili, every day I regret what I almost did to Deborah’s baby. It was so wrong, so evil, so selfish. All I thought about was myself, and I almost betrayed the people I love and the God I’ve come to believe is real. I lied to myself about having no choice, and then I believed my own lies.”
Lili’s eyes flickered.
“You didn’t trust me, and I understand why you thought I was part of your baby’s death. As God is my witness, I knew nothing of Pharaoh’s plan. I’m sorry for almost betraying the Lord’s people, Lili. I will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make this right.”
“Shiphrah.”
“Wait, Lili, I’m not through.” Shiphrah held up her hand. “Let me say this, and then I will leave you in peace. If you never speak to me again, so be it, but I must say this.” Shiphrah tugged at her sleeves. “I was wrong, so wrong, but Lili, I admit it and I’m different now.”
Shiphrah’s hands trembled, but her voice remained strong. “Lili, no one can ever fathom the grief you live in without your child. I cannot imagine such agony. In no way do I belittle your sorrow, but you have allowed it to turn you into a selfish woman who cannot acknowledge anyone else’s pain. You are consumed with yourself and the injustices of your life.”
Shiphrah took a deep breath and gripped the sides of her clothes.
“For years you have refused to see the truth and persisted in believing that foolishness about Bedde stealing Amram from you. These grudges you carry are lies. You’re hiding behind a lot of lies.”
Shiphrah leaned forward. “If you want to lie to yourself and blame me for persuading you to wear that wretched amulet, do so, but I will not have you continue to twist Mama Elisheba’s words and let Bedde think her mother had anything to do with idols.”
“Shiphrah.”
“Two more things, and then I’ll hush.” Shiphrah lowered her voice and took a breath to calm herself. “You have lost a child. I have lost a family and a strong leg. Bedde does not know if she’ll ever see her husband again, her mother is dead, and even now she surrenders Moses at the palace. For once, can you see beyond yourself?” Shiphrah felt her energy draining away.
“And Lili, you were partly right. Samuel and I did talk, and the Lord answered yes to my heart’s desire, my secret prayer when Samuel looked beyond Puah’s scars and asked if he could have Puah as his wife. I never told anyone, but she had loved him for years.”
Her shoulders slumped. She had said far more than she intended, yet it needed to be said. “I’m through, Lili. I’ll stay or I’ll go away, whichever you wish.”
“Go.”
Resigned to the inevitable, Shiphrah nodded, accepting Lili’s decision. She was not surprised at Lili’s reaction. She expected it. Leaving her place against the door, she turned to open it.
“Go, and take me with you, Shiphrah. Bedde needs us. I lied about Mama Elisheba and the idol. I need to tell Bedde. I want her to forgive me.”
Jochebed slipped into the darkness. She hesitated and then, refusing to look back, turned away. There was no time for tears or wistful thinking. It was finished. She could never return. Determined to leave with dignity, she straightened her back and forced herself to move forward. Each step demanded she relinquish all rights. Each step required obedience to her master. Each step ripped out another piece of her heart.
The palace guards did not question Jochebed when she passed under the date trees and acacias surrounding the royal gardens with their scent of myrrh. A cat, wearing the jeweled collar of royalty, brushed against her, but she did not stop. If she lingered, all could be lost.
Breezes stirred away the night as Jochebed willed herself to walk methodically, eyes straight ahead, head held high. The dark was lifting, and soon she would be visible in the morning gray, exposed and vulnerable, with no place to hide.
If only she could reach the sanctuary of the trees. She could not see them from the winding streets, but she knew that beyond the towering gates a scattering of palms framed the desert. She was almost there, almost safe. Again, the guards did not challenge Jochebed as she passed them and left the royal city.
She moved without seeing, without thinking—only feeling. She had compelled her feet to walk away but could not numb her heart to the awful knowledge she would never again see her son, not for one single moment.
Not for one minute would she feel his hands patting her face. Not for one minute would he fall asleep in her arms, his breath warm against her cheek. Not for one minute would she hear his infectious laughter.
Another woman would wipe away his tears, hear his childhood confidences, touch her child as if she’d birthed him. Moment by moment, his memory of her would fade and he would call another by that most precious name, Mother.
There was not much time. Jochebed stumbled from shadow to shadow, hiding among the shelter of the trees, desperate to be as far away from the palace as possible.
At last she could force herself no farther and crumpled under the weight of sorrow. Legs shaking, Jochebed fell on her knees and retched, gasping for breath, her heart aching so badly she covered it with both hands to ease its pain.
Throat raw, head throbbing, Jochebed curled into a knot and groaned without words for the loss of her son and what could never be, for injustice and what might have been. She had lost so much. Would it ever stop?
She did not know how she continued to breathe. Not knowing if she’d ever have the strength to move again, she wanted nothing more than to sink beneath the sand, disappearing forever. Releasing the final shred of tattered hope, Jochebed moaned in anguish, no longer caring if the voids inside of her caved inward and killed her.
And then, like a cool breeze slipping around each palm branch, an unexpected calm wove itself through her shattered soul and wrapped each shard with its gentleness. She lay still, almost afraid to move, soaking up its comfort, a parched land welcoming river waters into its barrenness.
Wrongs were not righted. They hurt. But something—no, Someone—began to smooth a healing balm into the depths of her turmoil and soothe and still her.
The intensity of her pain eased—as slowly as the sun unmistakably, imperceptibly melts a shadow. Hiccuping slightly, her spirit bruised, she rested in its tenderness. A sweetness, like jasmine-scented breezes, surrounded her, and Jochebed began to breathe evenly.
Opening her cramped fists, she thought of Moses’s hands—such big hands for a little boy. Would they be hands that hurt or hands that helped? She would never know the choices he’d make in his life.
All she’d known to do had been done. She had given him everything within her power to give. She was left with two children and two choices—to live or linger in the past.
True, she had lost what no mother ever should. Those scars defined her, and she’d forever wish it were different, but she had been given much.
Jochebed had known love. Although Amram might never return—there were no other messages from him—they had shared love. She had received a second chance with a lost child. And most of all, the Lord had guided her. He had guided her through her mother. He would guide her children.
The early morning breeze carried the sounds of the palace even this far away, and she knew it was time to move on … in more than one way. She could huddle safely in memories of the past or turn to the uncertain future, could step out of fear and speak hope, stretch out of her comfort into others’ despair. Jochebed smiled as she rubbed tears from her eyes, almost hearing Mama saying, “Come on now, you can do it. I know you can.”
Rubbing her swollen eyes and breathing in the chilly air, Jochebed looked up. She cringed. Two veiled figures moved rapidly toward her. Staggering to her feet, she stared hard before recognizing them in the dim light. Lili. Shiphrah.
Without thinking, Jochebed stepped back, hoping the shadows concealed her. This newfound peace was too fragile, too precious to risk disruption.
If only … Was it an ache or a prayer surfacing?
If only it was possible to start over, go to the beginning—before bricks of hurt built impenetrable walls, before misunderstandings scabbed into scars, before the hot winds of khamsin erased all traces of friendship.
They had seen her. She could tell by the unfaltering way they approached. Was it time to stop running, time to face the fear? With one deep breath, Jochebed stepped forward.
She could hardly believe her eyes. Lili and Shiphrah grabbed each other’s hands and circled her with their arms. No one spoke in this moment too sacred for words—a moment of healing and wholeness, of acceptance given and received, a moment of commitment and rebirth.
The three women stood, arms entwined, drawing and receiving comfort from each other. And then, as if it were the beginning, as if they were one, they turned and began the long journey home.
When they were almost out of eyesight of the town, Jochebed stopped and looked back to the palace where she had left her son. Two single strands remained like slender reeds tying him to his people forever: the stories of the Almighty One—Elohim—God of the Hebrews—her God, his God; and her prayers.
Shiphrah squeezed her hand. “The Lord has a plan, Bedde.”
She nodded. “This seems so wrong, but…”
The women stood silently, waiting for Jochebed to continue.
“While it is yet dark, God is at work.”
“And,” Lili whispered, “God keeps His promises.”