Written as a diary entry the day before the big event.

Dear Diary:

Tomorrow my children begin a great journey. I shall not be going. I am near the end of my days and would not survive. But I shall go with them in spirit, and rejoice in their victories and weep with their defeats. I suspect there will be many of each.

My name has not been recorded like the names of my children. I am glad for I am not a leader like they are. They are both intelligent and spirited and courageous and strong. I am not, but I am very proud of them. I had no idea that their futures would be so exciting when this all began.

My daughter was several years old when my son was born. At the time I carried him, the Pharaoh decreed that all male Hebrew babies should be put to death. When the time came for him to be born, I once again prayed for another girl. The idea of soldiers coming to my home, to slaughter my child in front of me, was disgusting. I had seen it happen to many of my friends and neighbors. Afterwards the women would mourn for a while and then try to move on with their lives. But they could not conceal the shadows that seemed to surround them – the spirits of those lost sons. As I said before, I am not strong and I knew I would never survive.

When my son was born, I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Miriam was entranced by her baby brother and couldn’t stop touching him. I was afraid to let her get too attached because I knew he would not be allowed to live. Miriam surprised me that day with her cunning – she said we could hide the baby from the soldiers. He was very quiet and if we told the soldiers the baby had died… in my weakened state, I agreed and we spent the next 3 months hiding the baby whenever we had visitors. Once we even put him in a grain bin. Eventually, though, I knew it could not continue. Even a quiet baby needs room to run and play – and we could not keep him hidden forever.

Without telling Miriam what I was planning, I began to weave a basket for my son. If there is one skill I possessed in my youth, it was the weaving of strong, hearty baskets. I made the strongest one I could and told Miriam that we were finally going to take the baby out, to go to the river. We went very, very early in the morning so we would not be seen. Before the sun rose, I told Miriam what I intended to do. She cried, she screamed, she beat me with her fists, but I would not be swayed. I loved my son. I loved him enough to die for him, if I could. But then who would raise Miriam? My husband was gone so much…

As the sun rose, I kissed and held my son. I sang him the songs of our people and then I laid him in the basket. Miriam would not look at or speak to me. When the sun was full, I gave the basket a little shove… just a tiny one… and the river’s current began to carry him away. All I could do was pray… “Please, Lord, PLEASE, I have never asked you for one single thing, please take care of my son. Keep him safe and warm. Find a way, for I cannot.” Miriam was furious and refused to leave her brother. I went home without her, knowing she would come home when she was ready.

All that day Miriam ran along the bank, watching the basket. Eventually it landed on the shore, but it was near the Pharaoh’s palace and Miriam dared not go near it. The Pharaoh’s daughter arrived with her handmaidens and they saw the basket. When they opened it, they all gasped and cooed over the baby. It seems that women everywhere cannot resist small babies.

Miriam managed to mix herself in with the crowd and, when the baby began to cry, was bold enough to ask the Pharaoh’s daughter if she should find a wet nurse for the child. MY daughter, speaking to the Pharaoh’s daughter out of turn! She could have had her tongue cut out! But instead, she came running home to get me and I found that my wildest prayer had been answered… my son was alive. Moreover, I would be allowed to see him, to feed him, to whisper to him of his heritage and his people.

He didn’t need a wet nurse forever, but I was allowed to stay close enough to the family to watch him grow. Naturally, I never told anyone that I was his mother. Miriam is considered a prophetess and now, all these years later, the two of them will be leading the Hebrews to the Promised Land. I am not able to make the journey, as I said earlier, but my children will make it for me.

MY children. Miriam and Moses. My name will not be remembered… but theirs will.