Now I know that I am a wicked woman, overflowing with sin, for I am angry with Elohim.
When I went to the birthing stool to deliver Miryam, the worst of my pains ended after the midwife instructed me to put all my strength into a final push, although I was still weak and sore afterwards. The same happened when I birthed Aharon, but with my youngest child, the pains have only increased with time.
For three years, we had been a happy family…at least as happy as can be expected. Our people are tasked with building cities for Paroh. My nephew Amram, who took me for his wife several years ago, serves the duties of a Levite for our people, but he must also help the taskmasters' craftsmen whenever they ask. So far, he has not been ordered to help construct idols, and for that, we thank Elohaynu.
I wonder what is to become of my children. Will Aharon be forced to learn Kemetian, that he may become a scribe? Even that fate is not the worst that could befall him.
What of Miryam? When she is of age, will we be able to find her a proper husband, or will she be so beauteous that a Kemetian noble orders her to dance for drunken rabble without her garments? Even if she marries a respectable man who worships Elohim and leads his family well, what will happen if she brings forth my grandson?
A recent decree has been issued by Paroh that is the bane of all mothers. If a woman gives birth to a daughter, she is free to rejoice in the new life that enters the world, but if she gives birth to a son, the infant is to be cast into the river. When Paroh noticed that the midwives were refusing his command, he took matters into his own hands. His guards patrol our cities, and if the Hebrew overseers fail to hand over any infant boys, they are beaten, and the guards enter people's homes and drag the babies out by force.
My neighbor's daughter was seized. The baby girl had been wrapped in a blanket, hiding her physical features, so she was mistaken for a boy and cast into the Yeor. She would have drowned if a crocodile hadn't caught her in midair.
Of course, my neighbor had raced after the guards, protesting that her child was female, begging them to move the blanket, but they hear such excuses from every mother, so they paid her no heed. Furthermore, I believe they purposely seize infants of the wrong gender at times, simply to prove their control over us. Who among us could tell Paroh that his guards are not heeding his command exactly as it was given?
The mother shrieked and wailed with grief until she lost consciousness. To this day, her presence of mind has still not been restored. She often talks to herself and plucks blades of grass for no reason, and she can't remember how to do the simplest household chores. Most days, she doesn't even seem to remember her own husband.
My cousin took the opposite approach. When she gave birth to a son, she smothered her baby so he would die in his own home rather than being hurled into the river. I couldn't imagine why she would do such a thing, but when I asked, she simply responded that it must have been the will of Elohim; if He had wanted the baby to live, He would have made it female. Although I disagreed that such slaughter was Elohim's will, I saw that there would be no reasoning with her, so I held my peace.
Years ago, when my body showed signs of carrying new life, I wept with joy to know I would soon meet my firstborn. However, I noticed last year that my body was going through these same changes, and I wept with sorrow. What if I carried a boy?
I tried to distract my troubled mind by losing myself in my household tasks. I baked bread and swept the room and reminded Miryam not to quarrel with Aharon. I made the beds and said my daily prayers and reminded Aharon to share with Miryam.
Worst of all were days when I carried my family's garments to the Yeor. No matter how blue the sky was above the glistening waters, the river always seemed red to me, tainted by the blood of innocent children. I knew it was only my imagination, but I was still uneasy, and I shuddered each time I remembered that if the life inside me were male, he too would die.
Once I was so distracted that I put the entire basket of garments into the water, watching in dismay as it sank. I retrieved the soaked clothing, but it gave me an idea. I covered the basket with pitch, and the next time I did the washing, the basket bobbed just in front of me. On days when the current started to carry it away, I simply placed it among the reeds, and it remained in place.
There was no hiding the bulge in my waist. Other women gave me sympathetic looks and assured me that they would pray for the arrival of a daughter. I knew Paroh's guards were watching me closely, ready to storm my home as soon as they saw signs of lost weight that would indicate that I had given birth.
When my pains came, I screamed in terror as much as in anguish. To my dismay, the midwife was silent for a few moments after my baby entered the world. I understood. She was trying to find a gentle way to tell me the worst possible news: My baby was male.
At that moment, I began to grow angry with Elohim. Why had he allowed me to conceive a son? It was within His power to grant me a daughter or make me unable to bear any more children.
For three months, I lost sleep, rocking my baby when he cried and feeding him throughout the night. I lived for his sweet smiles and his happy gurgles. I held him close, feeling his heart beating against mine as he snuggled into my arms, and I wondered how long he had before his heart was stilled forever.
As I was gathering my family's garments one morning, my sister knocked on the door. I hurriedly opened it before the noise could wake the baby.
"The guards are coming through Goshen today," she hurriedly explained.
I shivered. Where could I possibly hide my baby? In desperation, I frantically looked around the room. Then my eyes fell on the basket in my arms.
Before I could stop myself, I removed my family's garments and placed a soft cushion and a blanket in the basket. My heart pounded so violently that every beat was painful as my trembling hands reached for my infant son. Being careful not to wake him, I gingerly lifted him into my arms and embraced him for what I knew could easily be the final time, gently pressing one last kiss on his brow as he patted my shoulder in his sleep. I touched the palm of his hand so his pudgy fingers would wrap around my thumb.
Pressing my lips firmly together to hide my sobs as tears began streaming down my face, I laid him in the basket. He seemed comfortable enough. I carefully set the lid of the basket in place, hoping he would have enough air. Turning, I saw Miryam watching me.
"Gather the clothing," I instructed, "and follow me to the river."
Judging from the expression on her face, she understood what I was doing, but she said nothing. She simply gathered the garments in her arms.
As I walked to the Yeor, my knees quavered so badly that I could barely support my own weight. Each step was torture. What woman in her right mind would do this to her own child, especially at such a young age? I was a terrible mother!
What if the basket sank? What if it were torn to pieces by crocodiles, and they discovered its contents? What if a Kemetian noticed the basket and opened it?
How long would this torture continue? Would I find him dead within an hour because he got too hot or ran out of air? Even if he did survive, would I have to hide my son in a basket every day until he was past his infancy?
All too soon, I felt the water beneath my feet as I waded into the river. Pressing my hand to my mouth to silence my sobs, I hid the basket in its usual place among the reeds. It looked like a clump of grass or a floating log, barely visible to passersby. Anyone who did see it would dismiss it without a second glance.
"Wait here," I told Miryam. "If you see any Kemetians, pretend you are washing these clothes. I will return when I can, but if anything befalls the basket in the meantime, return home at once and let me know. Look around when you can, as if you are watching birds. If you stare continuously at the reeds, people will know."
"I will do my best," she answered.
Unable to bear the thought of what I was doing, I turned and walked away from my own helpless baby. My anger with Elohim grew with every step.
"Elohai, how would you feel if you had to turn your back on your own son and leave him to die?" I muttered under my breath. "What good could ever come of this?"
Am I not the worst of all women?