Amram, the father of Miryam and Aharon, walked slowly down the path towards his home. The sun had gone and he lifted his face to the cooling evening breeze. His back ached, the muscles of his legs seemed to scream out with weariness. He was hungry, too; he hoped Yochevet had a good meal ready for him. Amram thought about the exhausting day he had just come through, remembering the shouting and cursing of the Egyptian workbosses when they decided the slaves weren't working fast enough. He could still hear, in his mind, the whistle and sweep of the lash as it snaked out and bit into the back of the poor old man working beside him. The redhot anger he had felt then, came surging back now. How he hated these Egyptians! He would love to give back to them some of the treatment they gave his people!
Amram shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Suddenly, he stopped. Carried to his ears on the soft evening breeze, came the unmistakable wail of a newborn baby. His heart leapt. Yochevet! Her time had come! She had said something this morning, as he was leaving. He raced the last few paces to his door. The top half of the door was slightly open; he paused, then quietly opened the lower half and went inside. The sight that met his eyes was beautiful.
The room was shadowed. The faint glow of the lamplight fell on Yochevet. She lay on her cushions, smiling down at the small bundle in her arms. Miryam crouched beside her, still looking faintly worried. Channah and Shifra were moving about, tidying up the room. They all looked up as Amram came in.
Shifra beckoned to him.
"Come, Amram, the LORD God of Avraham*, Yitzchak* and Ya'akov* has blessed you with another fine son. Come, see."
He knelt down by his wife, took her hand and smiled at her. Then he looked down into the tiny, wrinkled face of his new son.
"He looks like Aharon," Yochevet murmured.
"Only better," joked her husband.
"He is a beautiful child," put in Shifra from the background, "I've seen enough of them to know."
Channah let out one of her chuckles.
"More babysitting for Miryam," she laughed.
The infant opened his mouth in another lust yell. Amram looked startled.
"I hope he doesn't do that too often," he said"or we'll have snoopers from the king coming around."
Shifra spoke sharply:
"Here is your evening meal, amram. Let Yochevet rest now. She is tired."
When he came over to the low table and settled himself to eat, she came close to him and lowered her voice.
Amram, the father of Miryam and Aharon, walked slowly down the path towards his home. The sun had gone and he lifted his face to the cooling evening breeze. His back ached, the muscles of his legs seemed to scream out with weariness. He was hungry, too; he hoped Yochevet had a good meal ready for him. Amram thought about the exhausting day he had just come through, remembering the shouting and cursing of the Egyptian workbosses when they decided the slaves weren't working fast enough. He could still hear, in his mind, the whistle and sweep of the lash as it snaked out and bit into the back of the poor old man working beside him. The redhot anger he had felt then, came surging back now. How he hated these Egyptians! He would love to give back to them some of the treatment they gave his people!
