Previously on the chosen people. The cruel pharaoh who enslaved them. Rameses the First had passed. The Israelite scars told the tale of his legacy, a legacy of brutality, conquest, and oppression. His son SETI took his place. Both drank from the same well of hatred and pride as their forebears.
These Hebrews are like rats breeding in the shadows. They already outnumbered, as soldiers who must caught the heroes off before they become unmanageable.
Shifra and Poor kept their heads low and their gaze fixed on the door. The tension in the room was thick as they awaited the pharaoh's words.
When you are on the birth stall and you see a son born to a Hebrew woman, you shall kill him without.
A second thought. If it is a daughter, then the baby shall live. This is the decree of Pharaoh, the image of raw, the Lord of the Nile, the Morning and the evening Star.
We tell him that Hebrew women are stronger than the Egyptians and are giving birth before we have a chance to attend them.
It's only a half life.
The Hebrews continue to multiply and thrive. The whips of Pharaoh wouldn't remove their hope. His cruel decrees wouldn't quell their love. The children lived and grew strong.
Gushan when weep with the whales of mothers, as I tell their sons from their breasts, take every sun under the age of two and cast them into denial.
They're marching towards Goshen. We have to beat them there and warn the others.
She for a turn toward the battalion of soldiers. She steadied her breath and marched toward them. She halted their steps and stretched her arms out. She had no plans to fight. She only needed to buy more time.
Just one.
She for a fell into the dust. The soldiers trembled over her body. On the way to Goshen, Poor was far ahead, desperate to warm the women so the children could be saved.
Do you ever wonder how hope can emerge from the shadows of diss Imagine a world where mother's love defies the decrees of a tyrant, where the cries of an infant echo through the halls of history and shift the course of a nation. As we prepared a journey into the heart of the Exodus narrative let's open our minds to the profound questions. This ancient tale asks, how does faith inspire courage even in the face of impossible odds? What lengths will a parent go to protect their child?
And can the small, seemingly insignificant decisions of an ordinary person actually shape the destiny of an entire people.
PUA's legs burned with every step as she navigated the treacherous path leading to Goshen, the jagged rocks beneath her sandals biting into her souls. The weight of her mission pressed down upon her, heavier than the scorching sun overhead. She had to reach the women before the first wave of soldiers descended upon them. Her breaths came in labored gasps, her legs quivering with exhaustion, but still she pressed on.
When the familiar gates of Goshen loomed before her, she slid into the city, her voice roar and desperate as she shouted her warning to the wind, hid.
Hide your children, quickly, hide the boys.
Who what's happening?
Pair h commanded his menure from every baby boy into the nile.
They're on their way.
Without waiting for a response, she burst into the nearest home, the house of Amram, a man of the tribe of Levi. She found Amram and his wife Jokobed, amidst their daily routines, unaware of the storm that was about to break over. There heads a.
Rum, yokobed, Hide the baby hiding?
Now?
Pooh, what's going on? Take your son and hide now.
Pharaoh's men are coming.
They'll have to get through me.
Don't be a fool a rum. If you confront them, they'll know you're hiding something. Let yukobed, hide. You stay here with Miriam and Aaron and act normal.
Hu.
I have to warn the other said, you're the first home i've come to. I don't have much time.
Jokobed needed no further urging. She slipped out the back door with her baby, her hands trembling as she clutched the precious bundle to her chest. Inside, Amram gathered his older children, Miriam and Aaron, and pulled them in close. His eyes were dark with worry. Stay near me, children, and don't say a word. Poora stepped out into the street once more, her voice rising in a frat to cry that echoed off the mud brick walls. Soon the
entire city of Goshen was alive with chaos. Mothers and fathers scrambled to hide their sons, but the sound of hooves and the rhythmic clatter of armor grew ever nearer, an ominous herald of the doom that approached. When Pharaoh's men arrived, they did so with the violence of a summer storm. The streets that had buzzed with life now ran with the screams of mothers as soldiers tore their
children from their arms. Men who dared to resist were cut down without mercy, their blood mingling with the dust at the soldiers feet.
If you run, you die.
If you fight, your lives and families will die.
This is the will of Pharaoh.
Those who resisted were met with fire. Homes were reduced to ashes. The air became thick with the smell of smoke and the cries of the day eye. Yet, amidst the chaos, hidden in the shadow the sesses of the river bank, his joker bed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waded into the reeds, the water cool
and biting against her skin. She held her infant son close, pressing his small face against her chest to muffle his cries as she sank deeper into the water, Her breath hitched with every step, until only her head and the babies were above the surface.
Please stop, hush, my child. I will protect you.
I will.
But then she heard it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the reeds. Her soldier, with torch and sword in hand, drew near. Through the dense screen of reeds, she could see his silhouette, his figure dark and menacing against the twilight. She held her breath, forcing herself to remain still, though every muscle in her body screamed with the effort. The water around her felt like ice, but she dared not shiver. The soldier moved closer, the glow
of his torch casting eerie shadows on the water. He was near enough for her to reach out and touch, Yet somehow he did not see her her baby, as if sensing the danger, remained silent, as still as death. For a long moment, the soldier lingered, his gaze sweeping over the river bank. Then with a grunt, he turned and left. Jokobed remained submerged, her heart pounding in her ears as the distant screams of her people filled the night.
She waited, scarcely, daring to breathe, until the sounds of the soldiers had faded into the distance, leaving only the crackling of embers and the soft whimpering of mothers who had lost everything. Slowly, Jokobed emerged from the water, her legs numb and unsteady. Beneath her, the baby in her arms was cold and still, but alive. She pressed him close, his small body warming against her own, and began the long,
painful journey back up the hill to her hovel. She crawled through the window at the back of the house, where Amram and the children waited, their faces etched with fear.
Jocobed, I thought they had killed you. Totally safe for a now, mir Please take your brother Arin, please boil some water.
Jokobed placed the baby into Miriam's waiting arms, her own hands shaking uncontrollably. Amram wrapped a blanket around her. Aaron hurriedly brought a cup of hot water to his mother, along with a few warm stones wrapped in cl He pressed them gently against Tove's tiny chest, his young face set with grim determination. Miriam and Aaron held the baby close, the weight of their responsibility heavy on their small shoulders. They both knew this might be the last time they
saw their little brother. Amram's voice was low, almost a growl, as he voiced the fear that gnawed at him.
What do we do when they returned? We were hidden by the reeds. If they return, I can slip into the banks again.
The baby is lucky to still be breathing after being in the water that long.
We can make a basket to protect him from the water. When they return, I can slip in there with him.
I'm not sure what other choice we have.
We can't take him beyond the borders, but taskmasters will notice. Nor can we hide him in here.
Miriam, bring me some bulrushes from the shore. Aaron, bring me pitch from the building sites. Make sure no one's see. Do you understand?
The children nodded and dashed off into the night. Jokobed knew they had little time. The men would return with the dawn, and they had to be ready when the children returned. The family woke together in silence, weaving the basket with trembling hands. They filled the gaps with pitch and bitumen, sealing it against the water. It was their last hope their ark. As the night deepened, Jakobed cradled the baby in her arms, his tiny heartbeat of fragile
rhythm against her own. She whispered to him, her voice tender despite the fear that choked her, This.
Is your vessel of salvation, your ark.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she held him close, her heart breaking with the knowledge that she might soon have to let him go. She did not sleep that night, her ears a june to every sound, every whisper of the wind. When the night grew cold, Amram held her, his arms wrapped around her and the baby, while Aaron and Miriam curled up beside them on the mat. For a brief, fleeting moment, they were a family, But Jokobed knew it would not last. Pharaoh's wrath was relentless, and
it would not be long before it reached them. Dawn broke, but the light was dim and gray, filtered through the ash and dust that hung heavy in the air. Jokobed had finally drifted into a restless sleep when the sound of a woman's shriek shattered the morning stillness. She woke
with a start, clutching toes to her chest. Outside, the scream was abruptly silenced, the sickening sound of a blade slicing through flesh following in its wake, the familiar, dreaded sound of marching feet echoed through the streets.
Wake up, everyone, wake up, they're back. Aaron reinforced the doors quickly.
Miriam, grab the basket and follow your mother to the shore.
Aaron's small legs dashed to the door. He shimmered a few pieces of wood near the hinges and slid their tools at the doorstep. Jokobed swaddled Tove and wrapped into her chest. She pointed to the basket and shouted to Miriam.
Miriam grabbed that basket and follow me.
Miriam held the basket close and rushed after her mother out the back and toward the coast. Just as they had disappeared from sight, the doors burst open and guard stormed through.
Where's the baby? We heard you've been hiding a boy from Pharaoh.
Amram stepped forward, pulling Aaron close.
This is my only son.
He is well above the age of execution. My only other child is my daughter, who.
Was with her mother visiting her sister.
The general narrowed his eyes the point of his spear, pressing against Amram's throat until a thin line of blood trickled down his chest.
Search them for any signs of a baby.
The soldiers tore through the hovel, overturning every piece of furniture that found. They left as quickly as they had come, moving on to the next home.
Hurry Miriam quickly, now.
Dear Jokobed and Miriam hurried to the shore, their feet slipping on the wet reeds. The baby was nestled in the basket, his tiny face serene despite the danger that surrounded him. Jokobed's hands trembled as she placed the basket into the water, her heart breaking with each breath.
I sweep boy, my child.
I pray that our God will protect you. I fear I can't anymore. I have to believe there's something greater for you, my son.
I have to believe. The sound of soldiers drawing closer urged her on. She looked out over the river, the morning breeze lifting her hair, and sent the basket a drift. The water carried it away, its precious cargo cradled within. She turned to Miriam, her voice cracking with emotion.
Follow him down the shore, Miriam ollow him and see what comes of him.
Miriam moved with quick feet along the shores of the nile, trudging through waste deep marshes and scurrying atop jagged shore stones. She kept her gaze fixed on the basket as it bounced up and down with the water's wakes. In the distance, she saw crocs sunbathing on the shores opposite her, past them, fishermen with large nets and spears. The nile was full of perils, yet the baby passed through all of them. The basket was a vessel of salvation. Although chaos raged
around him, the baby was safe inside. Miriam watched the basket flow into the banks near Pharaoh's palace, where a group of women were bathing in the morning sun. Miriam remained low, watching the basket gently glide over the water, harboring just within reach of the women. One stood among them with servants at attention. Her silk bathing gown was adorned with gold fringed lace and purple trim. She wore an amulet around her neck, the signet of Pharaoh. Miriam's
eyes widened. Her baby brother had just drifted into the arms of the royal family. Certainly she would report him to Pharaoh. At once, Miriam's bottom lip quivered. She thought it would have been more merciful if he had been taken by the crocs. Princess Bitcher ran the water through her fingers and smiled. She turned her cheek to the mild morning sun, welcoming its warmth against the chill of the morning. She breathed in deeply and sighed in satisfaction.
The water is best in the morning, wouldn't you say.
Yes, my lady, crisp and refreshing.
Would you fetch me that cloth and some oil? I shall do my hair to day.
Bitcher drew another breath and submerged herself in the water. She emerged and drew her hair back, laughing as the droplets twinkled in the morning light. Her laughter was cut by the high pitched cries of a baby in the distance.
Do you hear that.
Cling, Yes, my lady, book, it seems to be coming from over there.
Gently flowing down stream toward them was a basket woven from bulrushes.
It's a child.
Princess Bitcher waded toward the bar basket and brought it back to the steps. She looked inside to see a crying baby, face damp, and called, from his long journey down the nisle, what is a child doing here on the nile? Has someone lost him?
No, look at these blankets. This child is a Hebrew. Whoever placed her in this basket was trying to spare him from my father.
I shall alert the guards immediately. You will do no such thing, bitch's voice was commanding the maternal She brought the baby in close and looked him in the eyes. She hushed him to sleep and cradled him close in her arms. She looked forward, scanning the distance for any sign of where the baby came from. She looked down again and placed a finger on the child's nose. He cooled at her touch, and a wave of euphoria came over her.
He should have perished from Gushan to hear, but he didn't. He must be a scene from happy himself. Why else would he drift right here to me? Then you plan to keep him, my lady, Yes, he will be mine, a child from the nile. He will bless my father's dynasty.
How so.
All the newborn sons in Goshen have been thrown into the nile, Yet this boy remained. He is a gift, a symbol of victory.
What will you name him?
His name shall be Moses, because I drew him out of the water.
A Hebrew name, why not an Egyptian one.
He isn't high born, but he is mine. Now it is time to fetch some one who can nurse him.
The princess turned swiftly to see a little girl stumbling out of the reeds and into the water. The girl sprang up and gasped. Some of the guards jumped to action, pointing their spears directly at Miriam. The girl shivered in place with her hands held high.
Where are you spying on me? Slave, No, my lady, not at all.
I was a I.
Spit it out, girl, Do you know this child?
Miriam's eyes widened with panic. She quickly regained control of herself and came up with a lie.
I was gathering bulrushes for the maidens down the way when I heard the baby's cries. I followed the basket until I reached you, My lady, I didn't mean to spy. I just wanted to make sure this baby was all right.
Yet you've trespassed. In the process, guards remove her.
Wait, I heard you say you needed someone to nurse the child. I know someone who could. She's quite respectful you. You wouldn't have to worry about her saying anything.
Very well, bring her to me at once. My guards will.
Go with you.
Miriam held back her smile and bowed her head. She led the guards back to her home, where Jokobed was soaking the floor with her tears. Later, in the echoed halls of Princess Bitcha's palace, Jocobed walked with her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly to still their trembling. When they reached the courtyard, she saw Tove swaddled in silk and
cradled in the princess's arms. It took all her strength not to rush forward and claim him as her own, but she held herself back, forcing herself to remain calm and composed. As the princess turned her gaze upon her.
The girl tells me you can nurse my child until he is weaned.
Jocobed winced at the words the princess had already claimed Tove as hers.
Yes, my lady, I am able to nurse the child. Mine was taken from me, but my milk still flows.
Bitcher nodded, her expression unreadable.
Very well, you shall take my son. I will pay you a fair wage and house you nearby so he doesn't sleep in squalor. You will bring him back to me the moment he is weaned, and no later.
Am I clear, crystal clear, my lady.
My maid servants will be back and forth to attend to the child. They will report back to me with how the baby's growing and if he's taken care of.
Jocobed nodded, her heart aching as Bitcha smiled down at the baby, then handed him to the maid servant, who placed him gently in Jocobed's arms. The moment the baby felt her warmth, he began to squirm, seeking the comfort only a mother could provide. Jocobed bowed deeply, holding her son close as she was escorted to her new quarters. When Moses was weaned, he was returned to Princess Bitcha and raised as a prince of Egypt. He grew up alongside Rameses, the son of Pharaoh Setti, the future ruler
of the land. But despite the opulence of the palace, a shadow hung over Moses, a lingering scent of the Hebrews that clung to him like a second skin. While Rameses embodied the glory of ra, Moses remained a figure suspended between two worlds. He was neither fully Egyptian nor entirely Hebrew, neither slave nor free. He was Moses, the stray Hebrew pup raised in the heart of Pharaoh's court.
Wow, what an incredible story to think the courage it took to place her infant son in that basket, to trust the waters of the Nile more than the safety of her arms. As a mother, I can say that Moses's mother has the kind of faith that moves mountains. I am in awe of how God weaves our smallest ACKs of faith into his eternal plan. The Jewish say
tell an amazing story about Moses's birth. After Pharaoh decreed that all Hebrew male babies would be put to death, Amram and Johreved decided to separate and suggested that all Hebrew couples do the same. After all, what could be the point of marriage if every male child was to be killed? How could they bring babies into this world just to have them murdered. We don't want to bring children in the world to suffer. There was a decree
that all male Hebrew babies would be killed. Well, their daughter Miriam, who was only six years old, actually rebuked them. She said, your decree is worse than Pharaoh's. He is only killing the male babies. You are preventing both male and female babies from being born. Amram and Johrevid took Miriam's words to heart. They reunited, and Moses was born. This is a lesson of faith which was taught to
adults by a young girl. In this faith, this pure childlike faith, that has kept it's this faith, this pure childlike faith, that has kept the Chosen people alive through all of our trials and tribulations. And it's also a lesson to all of us about how important our faith in God is, even when, especially when things seem very dark. This talk of a child's faith reminds me of another
Jewish teaching. What about Moses's name? I'd like to share some fascinating insights that I gained while reading the writings of Rabbi Jonathan Sachs. After he was born, Moses was placed in a basket, He was set afloat on the Nile, and then he was discovered by Pharaoh's daughter. She adopted him and named him Mosha that's Moses and Hebrew, explaining, I have drawn him Mashitiyahu, which is the root of
Moses from the water. This seems straightforward, that she drew him from the water Moshe that that's what it means. But it makes sense and seems straightforward until you really start to think about it. Not only did Pharaoh's daughter defy her father's royal decree to kill every male Hebrew child, but then she gave the Hebrew boy that she saved a distinctly Hebrew name. Here's where it gets fascinating. Moses, in the form Mosa or missus or Messes is an
Egyptian word. It appears in the names of several pharaohs, including thought most and notable Ramses himself. The word simply means child. So imagine this. Years later, two figures, Moses and Ramses stand in stark opposition. Their names are not just names, they're actually declaration. Ramses means child of the Sun god Rah. This man who seems to himself as divine, who builds a temple to proclaim his godliness, stands face to face with Moses. However, Moses is just a child,
no grand identity, no divine claim. It's not the supreme ruler. Moses's name just means child. It just means that he was drawn from the water, and in Egyptian it just means child. And so what we learned from this story, Ramses, the child of the Sun, God ra versus, Moses just a child. That it's not the supreme ruler who mirrors God,
but every person, man, woman, and child. As God says to Moses about Israel, my child, my first born, the greatest ruler, self proclaimed to be a God, Ramses actually stands lower than any child who serves God with a pure heart. Moses was a mere child, but he saved the Israelites and created a story that is still ingrained in all of us today. This story, my friends, is not about one singular hero, Moses. It's saying that each and every one of us is created in the image
of God. Each one of us is one of the chosen people, created for such a time as this. Each one of us is a child, a child of God, and with that we can do anything. Let that sink in every person, every child holds a divine spark of Godliness. This is what's but the Bible apart from other ancient texts of time. Back in the days of Moses, only kings and pharaohs were considered worthy of dignity and respect. Only they alone could hold the title of being created
in the image of God. Only they represented Godliness. While the Bible was the first to suggest that no, not only were people who were in a position of power created in the image of God. All people are made with that rue heloim with the breath of God. And with that breath of God means that we are creating the image of God, and therefore we are worthy of dignity and respect. And that is what still sets the Bible apart today, this Bible that we are still studying
thousands of years later. Together in our modern lives, we face our own nile rivers, situations that seem overwhelming, currents that feel too strong to fight again. Maybe it's a lost job, a broken relationship, or a health crisis. We might find ourselves in that basket, feeling small and exposed, vulnerable and weak. But remember also there God is at work. God is working a story into your life of destiny of what he wants for you. Just as he was with Moses, he is with us and our trials as well.
Just look at how God used Pharaoh's daughter to bring about his plan. Doesn't He often use the most unexpected people and situations to fulfill his purposes. So think about this. Who are the Pharaoh's daughters in your life? Those unlikely sources of support and encouragement that you could surround yourself with. Be open to seeing God's hand in the places that you might not expect. Trust that He is guiding you even when the path seems uncertain. Remember the courage of
Moses's mother and sister. They acted in faith, trusting in God's protection. Maybe you are being called to be that person for someone else, to step out in faith and compassionate, to be part of God's plan for another person who's going through a hard time. The main thing to remember, whether someone who needs help or is giving help, or both of those, is that God is at work, always with us and always blessing us.
You can listen to the Chosen People with Isle Eckstein add free by downloading and subscribing to the prey dot Com app today. This Prey dog comproduction is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Gattina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabaga and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People with Yile Eckstein. Edited by
Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Coltefianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith, written by Bree Rosalie and Aaron Salvato. Special thanks to Bishop Paulinier, Robin van Ettin, kayleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, and the team at International Fellowship
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