Meet Jochebed

So I went AWOL last month. I didn’t intend to; real life interfered. My last two kids are graduating in two weeks. One turned 18 in April and the other one hits legal adulthood tomorrow. There was prom, with dresses and hemming and shoes and matching bow ties. My mom’s memory is getting much worse and she frequently thinks I am lying to her. Our youth pastor left rather suddenly and now John and I will be taking eleven teenagers to our denomination’s national youth conference in July.

I also meant to have this up yesterday, but my website was either hacked or was infected by a virus! It’s fixed now, we hope.

It wasn’t all chaotic, though. I did get invited to write another book for Guideposts. I’m going to write about the woman taken in adultery, from John 8. I’ve been researching it these last weeks, and I had no idea how controversial it is! I’ll tell you more about this one as time goes on.

I was also told that Guideposts has pushed the publication date for the first book back to after Thanksgiving. While we wait, I’m delighted to share the first chapter of my first Guideposts book, Jochebed’s story: A Mother’s Sacrifice. Part of it anyway — check back next week for more.

INTRODUCTION

… the name of Amram’s wife was Jochebed, a descendant of Levi, who was born to the Levites in Egypt. To Amram she bore Aaron, Moses and their sister Miriam.
~ Numbers 26:59 ~
Amram married his father’s sister Jochebed, who bore him Aaron and Moses. Amram lived 137 years.

The date of the Exodus is one of the most passionately debated topics in all of biblical history. When did it happen? Who was the pharaoh who ordered the murder of the Hebrew baby boys? Who was the pharaoh who refused to allow the Israelites to leave? And who was the daughter of pharaoh who adopted the infant Moses and raised him as her own?
Scripture gives us none of these names.
There are two generally accepted dates for the Exodus. The early date is approximately 1450 B.C., while the late date is approximately 1250 B.C.
To determine the Pharaoh of the Oppression, we go back eighty years—forty for the years Moses spent in Egypt, and another forty for the years he spent in Midian. For the early date this takes us to Hatshepsut. She had no children and no sisters, so who would be the daughter?
However, eighty years before the late date brings us to 1330 B.C. The famous King Tut ruled from 1327-1336.
Tutankhamun had no daughters who survived birth, but he had six (or seven) sisters, all daughters of the Pharaoh Akhenaten. Four died before he ascended the throne. One had married and was not heard from after Akhenaten’s death. One, his half-sister, became his queen.
That leaves a daughter named Beketaten. Little is known about Beket. Some say she is a daughter of Amenhotep III and Tiye, making her Tut’s aunt. Others say she is a seventh daughter of Akhenaten, with the same mother as Tut—Kiya. For many reasons, this is the theory I find most credible.
It is to this daughter of Pharaoh that Jochebed must entrust the life and soul of baby Moses.

CHAPTER ONE

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah,“When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.”
~ Exodus 1:15-16 ~

Slaves’ village outside Waset, Egypt
Apep, third month of Shemu, the harvest season, 1330 B.C.
The lavender hues of dawn glowed through the single window in Jochebed’s mud-brick house. The end of another restless night. Expecting her third child, she’d been as ill-tempered as a crocodile with her poor husband Amram.
Too big to climb to the roof, where the air was cooler, she’d slept on the packed dirt floor of their tiny house for many weeks. Though she urged him to join the children, Amram stayed with her. She rolled to her left side and faced him, stretching out her hand to caress his face.
He slept so peacefully, as he did every night after an arduous day’s work. She slid her hand down his arm to his hand, coarse and calloused. How could hands so rough and hardened hold her so tenderly?
She hadn’t told him, but this pregnancy had been different. The baby hadn’t moved as much, hadn’t been as active as the others. She hadn’t grown as big. The midwives said it wasn’t serious enough to concern them, but Jochebed worried.
She winced, feeling a slight tightening low and across her abdomen. She rolled onto her back, thinking a change of position might help—then inhaled sharply and drew up her knees when a hard contraction robbed dawn’s peace. She held her breath, waiting for it to pass, and released a slight groan as the births of her other children came to mind.
Amram stirred, his eyes slow to open. A slight smile revealed his lone dimple. “Did you say something, ahuvati?”
The contraction ebbed, and a smile played on her lips. She loved it when he called her ‘my love.’ How she wished she could let him sleep longer, but the birth of their son Aaron was complete in less than a morning. “Amram, send Miriam to get the midwives.”
Her husband was on his feet before his eyes were open, his graying hair skewed in every direction. “Now? Are you all right? When did your pains begin?”
Jochebed accepted his help to stand. “Just send Miriam for the midwives, ahuvi.” She returned his endearment and pecked his cheek with a kiss. “Perhaps you and little Aaron can stay with me until Miriam returns with Puah and Shifra.”
“Of course. Yes.” He reached the mud brick steps at the back of the house in five long strides, climbed to the top, and poked his head through the small, square opening in the ceiling. The sound of his whispers filtered down to her as he talked to their seven-year-old daughter.
Moments later, Miriam’s bare feet hit the steps, a sleepy smile lighting her features. “I’ll be right back, Imma.” She patted Jochebed’s tummy on her way out of the reed-curtained doorway to fetch Puah, the young, single midwife, who lived only three doors away. Shifra lived five houses north and usually needed to care for her husband and four children before attending a birth.
Thankfully, three-year-old Aaron remained asleep while Amram stoked the cook fire and added water to the barley she’d soaked overnight for their morning meal, then placed that pot over the fire.
Another contraction tore through Jochebed, sending her to one knee. She hoped Puah would bring the birthing bricks to her before going to tell Shifra they were needed. The pains were already intense and coming quickly.
Amram knelt beside her and wrapped her shoulders with his strong arm. “Breathe, Kebi. That’s what the midwives say, isn’t it?”
She nodded, releasing the breath she’d been holding, and tried to inhale and exhale in rhythm with her beloved. He was trembling. This was as hard on him as it was on her. “I’ve had two easy births and healthy children, Amram. This one will be the same.” No need now to tell him of her worries. Or mention Benjamin …
He turned away, sniffled, and nodded his agreement. No words meant his emotions were too raw to speak.
El Shaddai, comfort my Amram.

When Jochebed spent her marriageable years caring for her ailing parents, her older brother showed his gratitude by arranging a marriage with his eldest son—Amram. Though she was nearly too old to be considered a bride by most men, Amram had treated her like a precious treasure from the moment he met her. She knew, however, that he was the gift Shaddai had given her, not the other way around.
Another contraction stole her breath, and Amram shot a concerned look her way. She smiled through gritted teeth.
His warm brown eyes infused her with strength, and she let him lead her to their woven-reed sleeping mat. “I’ll sit behind you,” he said, leaning against the wall. “You can lie back on my chest until the midwives bring their birthing contraptions.”
She leaned back, enduring a few more pains, squeezing her husband’s strong hands. He began reciting the sacred, ancient stories, which helped distract them both. Noah’s great flood. Abraham’s calling. Isaac’s love for Rebekah. And Jochebed’s favorite: when the Angel of the Lord wrestled with Father Jacob and renamed him Israel. Amram’s rhythmic voice washed over her, soothing her even when the pains grew more frequent and intense.
Little Miriam rushed through the doorway, tears streaming down rosy cheeks. “Puah is gone. Shifra too.” Her shoulders shook, and she buried her face in her hands. “I tried to find them, but . . . They’re gone. Just gone.”
Behind her, Amram stiffened but said nothing, likely thinking of everything that could go wrong without the midwives’ assistance.
When one in three babies did not survive birth, and half of the remaining children did not make it past their first year, his concern was not misplaced.

Come back for more next week!