The story of Moses begins with an act of unimaginable cruelty. Pharaoh, fearing the growing number of Israelites, issued a horrifying decree: "Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live" (Exodus 1:22).
In the face of such terror, a Levite man and woman, undeterred, married. She conceived and bore a son, and when she saw "how beautiful he was," she hid him for three months (Exodus 2:1-2). Can you imagine the fear, the desperation, the fierce love that fueled that secrecy?
But hiding a baby is impossible forever. So, driven by a mother's love and perhaps a spark of hope, she crafted an ark – a tevah, the same word used for Noah's ark. She "got a wicker basket for him and caulked it with bitumen and pitch" (Exodus 2:3). Imagine her hands, carefully sealing the basket, making it watertight, a tiny vessel of hope against a sea of despair. She placed her son inside and set him afloat among the reeds by the bank of the Nile.
And then, the unbearable: she entrusted her daughter, Miriam, to watch from a distance, "to learn what would befall him" (Exodus 2:4). What must have gone through Miriam's mind as she stood guard, a silent sentinel of hope and fear?
Fate, or perhaps divine providence, intervened. "The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the Nile" (Exodus 2:5). Can you picture the scene? The princess, attended by her maidens, discovers the basket hidden among the reeds. She sends her slave girl to fetch it. When she opened it, she "saw that it was a child, a boy crying" (Exodus 2:6).
And here's where the story takes a breathtaking turn. "She took pity on it and said, 'This must be a Hebrew child'" (Exodus 2:6). Compassion, in the heart of the oppressor's daughter. It's a powerful moment.
Miriam, ever watchful, seizes the opportunity. "Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?" (Exodus 2:7) she asks. And Pharaoh's daughter, incredibly, answers, "Yes" (Exodus 2:8). So Miriam runs and calls the child's mother. Imagine that reunion, that secret, joyful reunion.
Pharaoh's daughter, unknowingly, hires Moses' own mother to nurse him! "Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will pay your wages" (Exodus 2:9). The woman took the child and nursed him. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter, who made him her son.
"She named him Moses, explaining, 'I drew him out of the water'" (Exodus 2:10). The name itself, Moshe, is inextricably linked to his rescue, to his being drawn from the water.
As Joseph Campbell points out in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, the birth of a hero is often extraordinary. Moses' story certainly fits that mold. His mother's courageous act, placing him in the ark, the princess's unexpected compassion, the clever intervention of Miriam – all of it points to a destiny far greater than anyone could have imagined. He was saved from death by water to one day part it.
It's a story of resilience, of hope against all odds, and of the enduring power of a mother's love. It makes you wonder: what hidden potential lies dormant, waiting to be drawn out of the water?