frames lay on the ground that formed hundreds of rectangles. Workers poured the mud into each of the molds and leveled off the top smoothly. The mud soon firmed up, and then the frame could be carefully lifted off to reveal new bricks, which would bake in the sun. The number of rows times the number of bricks in each row was carefully counted, and represented the total day’s work for Miriam’s village. At sunset, the Egyptian overseer would come over and note the final tally. If the number was not high enough, harsh words and penalties would be shouted.
“Pharaoh already has a huge palace. I would like to do some building on my own house,” one Hebrew worker said to another.
“How many children does he have?” another Hebrew asked. “He is said to have numerous princesses and princes. You can see them playing in the gardens. One princess even collects wounded animals and has a sort of menagerie,” someone added.
“His heart is as dead as those mummies they bury, all dried out. He certainly doesn’t care about our homes and children,” the Hebrews complained among themselves. “How can we keep building for him when he treats us like mere animals?”
The climate was cooler in the eastern edge of the Nile delta where Pharaoh was adding rooms to his already magnificent summer residence. When the new bricks were hard as stone, they were carried to the building site. As the walls grew higher, many columns and brightly painted murals were added to the building. Some of the Hebrew slaves were skilled in special techniques for crafting tiles and monuments. All of the workers for this project lived in a village especially built for them, just out of view of the palace, because after all, Pharaoh did not want the Hebrews as close neighbors. He only valued their hard labor.
Finally, the sun dipped behind the bluffs in the west and the work day came to an end. Miriam straightened her back and stretched her hands, which were callused from the carrying. She spied her brother, Aaron, in the distance. They reconnected with their parents and prepared for the short walk back to their village.
The weary family members greeted each other with a hug, “Miriam and Aaron, another day is safely over, how are you?” Their mother, Jochebed asked as she hugged her children together. They moved to gather their water flasks and bags that held their meager lunches from under a shrub, where they had hidden them at noon, the last time they saw each other.
“How good it will be to get home,” their father Amram said while throwing a bag over his back. “Praise to the God of Abraham, let’s get back.” His steps toward the village were interrupted by a shout from the worksite.
“We can’t go yet, the bosses have to talk to us,” an uncle called in their direction.
“This is never good news, what can it be now,” Jochebed groaned.
The workers gathered around an Egyptian governor who shouted at them.
“You Hebrews are becoming too strong,” the Egyptian governor said. He stood on a stone block that towered over the sweat-soaked workers. “We will cut you down to size. You are foreigners here; you are meant to be slaves, and slaves you will remain. Recently you have become proud. Frankly, we Egyptians were getting a little fearful of you. Things always seem to go well with you. Your god blesses you, but that will stop; we are greater. Our Pharaoh is greater than your god. The old government favored you, but now things are changing. We will see to that. Starting now, life will become much harder for you. Before you worked your short hours, now the workdays will be longer with fewer days off. From now on, it will be harder for you to survive; one way or another, your numbers will decrease.”
The Hebrew slaves stood motionless in their fatigue, scarcely believing their ears. Only a gentle evening breeze stirred through the work site, slightly drying the sweat on their brows.
The mood was subdued as the family walked home. “How can they expect us to do more?” the children asked.
“How long will the God of our ancestors remain silent?” Amram asked. “What do they mean we will become fewer in number? Our father, Abraham was promised we Hebrews would become a great nation and as numerous as the stars.”
“Doesn’t he see our suffering?” Jochebed answered. “Will he ever send relief? Why do we only have questions and never any answers?”
Good News Becomes Bad
Their clay brick house was located in a crowded village. The houses were closely packed together, side-by-side, with common walls separating the families of construction workers. This village had been quickly built several years back when construction on this palace was started. Most evenings and nights were hot, so the families slept under a canopy on the roof. Conversation carried easily along the roofs and through the opened windows between the neighbors, so the workers talked in hushed tones. The elders, who told us stories of Hebrew history, recalled that Joseph and his descendants first settled in the lush green area of the Nile delta in a city called Rameses where their flocks had good grazing for many generations. When new Egyptian rulers no longer remembered the promises made to Joseph, the Hebrews lost their freedom. Now they had to work as slaves and were forced to move close to the building sites and live in hastily built houses. But these flimsy structures had become permanent homes. Miriam could not remember the place where she was born. Her parents often said that they were blessed to be together as a family. Sometimes the men had to leave their families for long periods of time to go to another construction site.
One day, Miriam returned to her house after fetching water for their household. In the oppressive noonday heat, the crowded village was strangely quiet. Babies did not seem to cry anymore and neighborhood conversation had become much less trusting. Her mother was drying her eyes in her father’s rough work tunic, and he had draped his arms across her shoulders. Miriam felt awkward when she interrupted their embrace.
“Don‘t go away, we have something important to tell you,” they reassured Miriam when she started to back out of the room. “A baby will soon be born in our family.” Miriam’s first reaction was to shout out with excitement, but her shriek of joy was stifled when her mother hugged her close. She was puzzled when her parents so quickly hushed her up.
“But why can’t I shout out with joy about another child?” Miriam pleaded.
“The Egyptians are planning still more burdens for us to bear. This is a dreadful time to have a newborn baby in Egypt,” her parents whispered to her. “Life for the Hebrews is hard enough without an infant. If the baby is a girl, she might survive, but if it is a boy . . .” They were unable to finish the sentence. Her mother held back a sob.
“If it is a boy . . . what did they mean by this?” Miriam puzzled over her parents’ remark. The only children in their family were her brother, Aaron, and she. They were close together in age and almost past childhood.
Miriam and Aaron later discussed the situation between themselves.
“A baby in the family would be fun. Most of the Hebrew families are much larger than ours,” Aaron said. They considered their family as contented as Hebrews could be in Egypt, considering the misery of their surroundings.
“Well, how did this happen? If our parents know it is dangerous to get a baby at this time, can’t they delay it coming?” Aaron asked Miriam. His slightly older sister always had answers to tough questions.
“Aaron, do I have to explain everything to you?” Miriam snapped back. She sighed to herself. It must have happened at the time of a spring festival. Now it was late summer; the baby would be born in the hardest time of the year, the winter. In addition, her mother was not young anymore and worn out from all the work.
Their
