5 min read

Miriam Outmaneuvered Pharaoh at the Riverbank

The princess wanted a nurse for the Hebrew infant she pulled from the Nile. Miriam stepped forward and offered to find one, then went and got her mother.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Basket Opens
  2. The Offer at the Riverbank
  3. The Mother Hired to Raise Her Own Son
  4. What the Timbrel Already Knew
  5. The Dreamer

The Basket Opens

Pharaoh's daughter pulled the basket from the Nile and lifted the lid and the child cried. The text says she understood immediately what she was looking at: a Hebrew infant. One of the ones her father had decreed must die. She looked at him crying and made her decision. She would keep him.

That decision lasted about as long as it took her to look for milk. Egyptian women were brought, one after another, and the baby refused all of them. He would not nurse from an Egyptian. Pharaoh's daughter had a Hebrew infant who would not eat and a problem she did not know how to solve, and she was standing on the bank of the Nile with her attendants around her and the child crying in her arms.

Miriam had been watching from a distance. She had positioned herself carefully, far enough not to attract attention, close enough to see everything. She stepped forward.

The Offer at the Riverbank

"Shall I go and get a Hebrew woman to nurse the child for you?" The Legends of the Jews, drawing on the Talmudic tradition in tractate Sotah, records the exchange. The princess said yes. She had a problem. Here was someone offering a solution. She did not ask who this Hebrew girl was or why she happened to be standing near the river at exactly this moment or how she knew where to find a Hebrew wet nurse on short notice.

The audacity of what Miriam had just done cannot be adequately conveyed. She was a Hebrew child, the sister of the infant in the basket, standing inside Egyptian power and offering services to the woman who was about to adopt her brother. She had read the situation perfectly. She had identified the exact need, the exact moment, the exact opening. And she walked through it before anyone could think to close it.

The Mother Hired to Raise Her Own Son

Miriam went and got her mother. Yocheved came to the palace, to Pharaoh's daughter, as a hired wet nurse for a child who was her own son. She was paid Egyptian wages to do what any mother would have given everything to do for free. Moses was returned to his own home, to his own mother's arms, to the first years of his life spent inside the family that had nearly lost him to the Nile.

The tradition is clear about what Yocheved did with those years. She nursed him. She named him. She told him who he was. The childhood Moses spent in a Hebrew home before he was delivered to the palace for his Egyptian education was Miriam's gift. Everything Moses knew about his identity before he became Pharaoh's grandson, he learned in those years. Miriam bought them with a question she had no right to ask and the nerve to ask it anyway.

What the Timbrel Already Knew

The tradition records that the women of Israel went into Egypt carrying timbrels. This detail appears in Ginzberg's collection and is extraordinary: they went into slavery carrying musical instruments. They knew, or their deepest selves knew, that there would be a song on the far side of the suffering, and they brought the instruments for it. Miriam led the song at the sea with a timbrel in her hand. She had carried it into Egypt. She had kept it for the forty years of slavery. She had known, in some prophetic register, that the night would end.

The rabbis preserved this alongside the story of the riverbank because they belonged together. The woman who improvised a way to save Moses at the Nile, who held her position in the reeds until exactly the right moment, was the same woman who refused to enter bondage without bringing the instrument for the song that would come on the far side of it. Miriam's whole life was shaped by a capacity to act inside impossible circumstances with a faith that the circumstances would change.

The Dreamer

The tradition also records that Miriam had seen this coming. Her father Amram, when Pharaoh's decree went out against the Hebrew male infants, decided to separate from his wife. If the children would only be killed, why bring more into the world? Miriam was young, a child herself, and she went to her father and said his decree was worse than Pharaoh's. Pharaoh only targeted the sons. Amram's decision targeted the daughters as well, and the future sons and daughters who would never be born. Amram listened to his daughter. He returned to Yocheved. Moses was born.

Miriam had prophesied before any of this happened. She had told her parents that a son would be born who would save Israel from Egypt. She stood at the river watching the basket because she was watching her prophecy unfold. The steps she took, the positioning, the offer to the princess, the quick walk home to get her mother, were the steps of a person who already knew how the story ended and was doing the work required to get there.

MiriamMosesEgyptWomenRedemptionPharaohProphecy
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From the tradition

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Legends of the Jews 4:59Legends of the Jews

It wasn't just a lucky break; it was a carefully orchestrated act of bravery and quick thinking by his sister, Miriam.

The scene: Pharaoh's daughter, Thermutis (some traditions even call her Bithiah), has just rescued a baby from the Nile. She names him Moses, meaning "drawn from the water." But the baby, naturally, needs a wet nurse. And he refuses to take milk from any of the Egyptian women brought to him.

What's a princess to do?

That's where Miriam steps in. As we find in Legends of the Jews, Miriam casually strolls up to Thermutis, as if she just happened to be passing by and admiring the child. She suggests, ever so subtly, that perhaps a Hebrew woman would have better luck. After all, the baby might just prefer someone from his own nation.

It's a brilliant move. Thermutis, desperate to care for the child, agrees. She tells Miriam to fetch a Hebrew woman.

And here's where Miriam's true genius shines. She doesn't just grab any random woman. She races home, "with winged steps, speeding like a vigorous youth," the verse says. She brings back her own mother – Moses's own mother, Jochebed. But, crucially, no one in the palace knows that this Hebrew woman is actually the baby's mother!

The plan works perfectly. The baby, without hesitation, latches onto Jochebed’s breast and holds on tight. Thermutis, delighted, entrusts the child to Jochebed's care.

And here's the truly amazing part: Thermutis, without even realizing it, utters a prophecy. She tells Jochebed, "Here is what is thine." As Legends of the Jews points out, it's an unconscious divination. She then says, "Nurse the boy henceforth, and I will give thee two silver pieces as thy wages."

So, Jochebed gets to raise her own son, to instill in him the values and traditions of their people, and she gets paid for it!

It's a beautiful story about courage, family, and the power of a well-placed suggestion. Miriam's quick thinking not only saved her brother's life but also ensured that he would be raised knowing his true heritage, setting the stage for his future role as the leader who would deliver the Israelites from slavery. What a evidence of the strength and wisdom of women in our tradition!

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Legends of the Jews, IV. Moses In Egypt, Miriam Rebukes Her Father and Moses Is BornLegends of the Jews

The story of Moses' birth is a powerful evidence of that kind of bravery, laced with faith and a touch of the miraculous.

It all begins with a decree from Pharaoh, ordering the death of all newborn Hebrew boys. A truly horrific situation. Amram, a prominent Israelite, decides to separate from his wife, Jochebed, thinking it's better to prevent births than to have his sons murdered. This decision, though understandable, causes a ripple effect throughout the community. Everyone follows suit, and hope seems to dwindle.

It's Amram’s daughter, Miriam, who steps up with a profound and insightful argument. “Father," she says, "your decree is worse than Pharaoh's!" According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, she points out that Pharaoh only targets the boys, while Amram's decree prevents all future life, girls included. It's a powerful and persuasive critique, highlighting the long-term consequences of despair.

Amram, recognizing the wisdom in her words, brings the matter before the Sanhedrin, the Jewish high court. They agree that he was the one who initiated the separation, so he should be the one to reverse it. And so, in a public display of renewed hope, Amram remarries Jochebed under a wedding canopy. Aaron and Miriam dance, and according to tradition, the angels themselves proclaim, "Let the mother of children be joyful!"

This remarriage isn't just a personal decision; it’s a spark that ignites a wave of hope throughout the Israelite community. Others follow Amram's example, returning to their wives and rekindling the possibility of a future. The text even suggests that Jochebed, despite her age, is rejuvenated, her youth returning as a sign of divine favor.

But pregnancy brings new anxieties. Amram turns to God in prayer, begging for deliverance from the suffering of his people. And in a dream, God reassures him. He promises that the child Jochebed carries will be the very one who will deliver the Hebrews from Egyptian oppression. This child, the dream reveals, will be hidden from those who seek to destroy him, and his memory will be celebrated for generations, even among strangers. His brother will establish a priestly lineage.

Miriam, too, has a prophetic dream. She sees a man in fine linen who tells her that the child born to her parents will be cast into the water, but through him, the waters will become dry, and he will lead Israel to salvation. These dreams, layered one upon another, build an atmosphere of anticipation and divine purpose.

Jochebed's pregnancy is unlike any other. She feels no pain, and at the moment of birth, the house is filled with a radiant light, brighter than the sun and moon. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, pious women were not included in the curse pronounced upon Eve, decreeing sorrow in conception and in childbearing. Even more remarkably, the infant, not yet a day old, begins to walk and speak, refusing his mother's milk as if he were already an adult.

Jochebed conceives Moses six months after conception instead of nine. For three months, they manage to hide the baby, despite the constant watch of Egyptian bailiffs. Imagine the fear, the tension, the constant vigilance! But eventually, Amram, fearing discovery and death for both himself and his son, makes the agonizing decision to place the child's fate in God's hands. He trusts that Divine Providence will protect the boy and fulfill the promise he received in his dream.

And so, the stage is set for one of the most iconic moments in Jewish history: the placing of baby Moses in a basket and setting him adrift on the Nile. But that, as they say, is a story for another time.

What strikes me most about this part of the Moses narrative is the interplay of human action and divine intervention. Amram and Jochebed make difficult choices, driven by fear and hope. Miriam speaks truth to power. And God responds, not by magically solving everything, but by offering guidance, reassurance, and a promise of a brighter future. It reminds us that even in the darkest of times, faith, courage, and a willingness to act can pave the way for miracles.

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Legends of the Jews 1:71Legends of the Jews

What would your reaction be? Awestruck silence? Jubilant shouts?

Well, according to the legends, the Israelites had their answer ready and waiting at the Red Sea.

After the men finished singing their song of praise – a powerful anthem celebrating God's victory – the women, led by Miriam the prophetess, took center stage. Can you picture it? A sea of women, voices rising in harmony, accompanied by music and dancing. It’s a scene of pure, unadulterated joy.

Here's the truly fascinating part: they were prepared. The text in Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, tells us that the Israelites had already provided themselves with timbrels (small hand drums) and flutes. They had these instruments ready and waiting! Why? Because they had perfect faith that God would perform miracles. They knew, deep in their hearts, that something extraordinary was about to happen.

It's an incredible detail, isn't it? It speaks to the unwavering belief of the Israelites, their absolute conviction that God would deliver them. They weren't just hoping for a miracle; they were expecting it. And they were ready to celebrate it with music and dance.

Then, Miriam, her voice ringing out, led the women in their song: "Let us sing unto the Lord, for strength and sublimity are His; He lords it over the lordly, and He resents presumption. He hurled Pharaoh's horses and chariots into the sea, and drowned them, because wicked Pharaoh in his presumption pursued God's people, Israel."

It's more than just a song of praise. It's a declaration of faith, a recognition of God's power, and a condemnation of Pharaoh's arrogance. It's a reminder that even the mightiest rulers are nothing compared to the divine.

So, what can we learn from this ancient scene? Perhaps it's the importance of faith, of believing in the impossible. Or maybe it's the power of music and dance to express our deepest emotions, our joy, our gratitude. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder to always be prepared for the miraculous. You never know when you might need a timbrel.

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Midrash Tehillim 149:2Midrash Tehillim

The mystics did, and they connected it directly to the Divine. how do we respond to new beginnings? With joy, with song, with dance! And according to the Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, this mirrors something profound about our relationship with God.

The prophet Isaiah (43:18-21) tells us, "Do not remember the former things… Behold, I am doing a new thing… This people I have formed for Myself." The Holy One, blessed be He, says, in effect, "Just as I create these new things, so too should you sing a new song to Me." It's a call to renewal, to celebrate the ever-present possibility of something fresh and beautiful emerging in our lives.

So why sing with joy? Because, as it says in Psalms (104:31), "Let God rejoice in His works." We see God and rejoice, revealing ourselves to the Divine. And in turn, God sees us, reveals Himself, and rejoices! "I will rejoice in Jerusalem and delight in My people," says God in Isaiah (65:19). It’s a reciprocal relationship of joy, a divine dance of mutual delight.

This idea of a divine dance… where do we see it? Well, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) points us to the Exodus from Egypt. Remember when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea and were finally free? "Let them praise His name with dancing," says Micah (7:15), "as in the days of your exodus from the land of Egypt." We remember the story from Exodus (15:20) of Miriam the prophetess, leading all the women in dance and song, tambourines ringing out in joyous celebration. It wasn't just relief; it was a profound recognition of God's presence and intervention in their lives.

The Midrash Tehillim connects this very human, visceral reaction of joy and dance to something deeply spiritual. It suggests that our joy is not only a response to God's actions but also a way of connecting with the Divine, of participating in this cosmic dance of creation and renewal.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "new song" are we being called to sing today? What joy can we express that will connect us more deeply to the Divine and to each other? Perhaps it’s time to pick up our own tambourines, metaphorically speaking, and join the dance.

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Shemot Rabbah 1:25Shemot Rabbah

The Torah tells us, "His sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter: ‘Shall I go and call you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?’" (Exodus 2:7). But why specifically "from the Hebrew women?" Was there something wrong with Egyptian wet nurses? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) poses this very question.

It's not a simple matter of religious law, because as the Talmud (Avoda Zara 26a) clarifies, Jewish law distinguishes between who can nurse whom. A Jewish woman isn't supposed to nurse a non-Jewish child, but the reverse is permitted, especially on Jewish-owned property.

So, what was Miriam's angle?

The Midrash offers a stunning explanation. the verse says, Pharaoh’s daughter had already presented baby Moses to all the Egyptian women, but he refused to nurse from any of them! Why? Here's where it gets truly wondrous. The Holy One, blessed be He, declared that the mouth destined to speak with Him should not imbibe anything impure. As (Isaiah 28:9) states, knowledge is given to those "weaned from milk, detached from breasts.” To whom will God teach knowledge? To those who are pure from the start.

The Midrash offers an alternative: God foresaw that Moses would speak directly with Him. Imagine the Egyptians later boasting, "I nursed the very man who speaks with the Divine Spirit!" To prevent such a claim, Moses miraculously refused their milk. It’s a powerful image – Moses, even as an infant, already set apart for his sacred destiny.

Then there's the moment Pharaoh's daughter tells Miriam, "Go." (Exodus 2:8) simply states, "The girl [alma] went." But the Midrash sees more. Why call her alma, which usually refers to a young woman? It’s because, the text says, she went with alacrity – with eagerness and speed. Rabbi Shmuel adds another layer: she was guarded in her words, careful not to reveal that she was the child's sister or that she was calling his own mother.

And what about Pharaoh's daughter's words: "Take this child and nurse him for me, and I will give you your wages" (Exodus 2:9)? The Midrash observes that when she says "Take [heilikhi]," she's actually prophesying! Rabbi Ḥama bar Rabbi Ḥanina cleverly interprets heilikhi as two words: Hei likhi, meaning "this is yours." Unknowingly, she's declaring that Moses ultimately belongs to his mother.

The Midrash continues, "It is not enough for the righteous that their lost items are returned to them; they also receive a reward." Moses' mother not only got her son back, but she was also paid to care for him! At that moment, the Midrash says, God gave her a partial reward for sustaining children. It's a beautiful illustration of divine justice and the recognition of righteous deeds.

Isn't it amazing how a seemingly simple verse can hold so much depth? This passage from Shemot Rabbah reveals the interplay of divine providence, familial love, and the extraordinary destiny of Moses, all woven together in his earliest days. It reminds us to look deeper, to listen more closely, and to recognize the hidden miracles that surround us every day.

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