Exodus

The people had never before seen such waters. They were violent, unlike the Nile. They boiled at their edge, spraying with venom towards the sky. Was this an act of God? Were they possessed or was this their reality, to live in torment, tossed about with the fury of an angry god. My heart beat rapidly, kept within my chest only by the wrappings that held my baby there. Salt and the smell of fish fill the air, so pungent that the smell of his sweet hair is lost in the chaos.

There is an army behind us, but they are not intending to kill my children and I, but those that we are with. An army of men that I once fed in my home. We broke bread together. I thought that meant something once. My heart aches in my chest as the memory of their laughter along with my husband’s fills the cavities where peace once resided. The memory is repulsive to me now. They helped him to deceive me, to betray not only myself, but these innocent children who now grasp hold of me with the intensity of life or death. These men who would die for one another and yet sacrifice the purity, the innocence that I once believed to be my family. Perhaps my husband is with them. How fitting that he should gut me like a fish he’d caught for dinner, and serve me to whores that occupy his hours. I was good to him. These children, innocent, trusting, and he manipulated them, feigned the humble hero as he walked away from their weeping into the arms of one of many.

God of the Israelites, I am here. I have trusted your word, I know that it was from you. The sound was unlike any other, honey to my soul. I stood outside my home and watched the Israelites assemble to leave. Their promised freedom was being realized. I had heard the murmurs, and something stirred within me to believe that the promise was not for the Israelites alone. Standing in the blood stained doorway, I gathered courage. My first born child was spared, as were those of the Israelites, while my neighbors wept for their children. I have trusted and obeyed and here we stand with your people, a raging sea ahead and a merciless army behind. Spare us.

I knew that I would leave Egypt with these slaves, now freed men, women, and children, when the wails went up from house to house and death had passed over our home. While every Egyptian home mourned, my husband was nowhere to be found. Certainly he knew the devastation that fell upon every household, and yet he cared not to see if his own family had been struck. We had adored him without question, justified past indiscretions and lies as a natural result of his demanding work. And with the fear of death of his own child leaving him unmoved, I knew that my husband whom I had vowed allegiance to, was dead.

Sadiki looks up at me, his sweet eyes smile. There is God in him, I see the gift and it gives me courage. I feel his body move against my chest, coming as close as he can; he will be a great man, I sense that even amidst our present chaos. A man who will weep with the broken and turn to defend their cause, a man who will seek what is good and right above temporary pleasures. I kiss his forehead and his toothless smile gives me joy, gives me strength for the journey ahead. How something so fragile, so small, can create such power and courage will remain a mystery. Greatness does not come from the imposing but from the meek. This army will crumble against such power.

I had looked behind only a moment and when I look ahead, there is nothing but land directly ahead of us. The wind is pushing the waters to either side as easily as if it were dust that I was sweeping aside in my home; what was my home. Home is here now, home is across the seabed, home is wherever my heart is, beating with the tenacity of a thousand raging storms willing to break the bonds of deception and pain that entangled the early lives of my dear children. Home is wherever the will to continue on one moment more finds me.

My daughter pulls at me, her small hand reaching for my own, trusting me to lead her into a foreign land where we have no family but ourselves. I ache for the weight she will carry, but I know that only death remains in Egypt. Her sister, stands so strong beside me. Does she know that her life was spared? She is entranced by the sight before us. Where there was once raging waters, is now dry land and the Israelites are crossing. How can this be, but God? I had served my husband with all my heart for years, and with a mustard seed of faith, I obeyed this foreign god and within days he has proven more faithful, more good, than any man I have known. He is worthy. As the wind bites at our faces, we take a step in faith, and join our new family in this exodus.

There is a silence among us. Nobody speaks, no child or animal objects. Inexplicable peace covers us. We should hear the army in the distance, but the wind against the waters is all that guides us. The sound is cleansing. It wipes away any doubtful voices that seek to rise up.

In front of us a man with tattered clothes, in one arm he tenderly holds his small child and the other wraps protectively around his wife as he guides them to the long awaited promised land. His sight is fixed forward, only looking away to see to his wife and encourage her with a smile. The gratitude on her face is more than I can bear as I hear the faint sound of one horse behind me; it is the horse of my husband charging towards us. All of Pharoah's army have disappeared, but this one. His physical strength is his vanity, the arrogance of a man unchallenged. Who would dare to stand against him? His conviction of moral superiority is great and his charm deceiving. He rides against the God of the Israelites, certain of his victory, unflinching in his concern for his own family. I look to the waters on either side of me, and I know that if God wills to save his people, it will be at the cost of the army behind us. My husband will die today, what is left of him.

I allow myself to remember the man who I adored, and the tears are wiped away by the wind, perhaps an act of mercy from God. Sadiki burrows in closer, so reliant on me to comfort and care for him. When our wearied feet reach the shoreline, I know that our past will be gone but for the memories. Today we live as children of the God of the Israelites. Today we are born anew.