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You would probably call me a murderess. I don't care. I had to do what I did. Sometimes it is difficult to know the difference between right and wrong. I am an Israelite mother and slave living under Pharaoh in Egypt. I am here with all my other countrymen. I am the mother of a Hebrew baby boy. (Bows) We are in bondage in the land of Goshen in Egypt and we have a miserable life. We have our God and our basic identity as a separate Hebrew people. But, sometimes, I wonder if the God of our people has forgotten all about us. If we do have a God, then how can our life be so terribly miserable? There is not one of us who has a good life at all. Our people originally came here with our ancestor Jacob because they were starving in the land of Canaan. At that time, Pharaoh had been kind and generous to the Israelite people. Now, we are starving again and Pharaoh is cruel and heartless. We have to do every type of labor. We make bricks for him, we build his sacred temples and we work in his fields. We do everything for him. No matter how hard we have worked, or how much we have accomplished for him, he gets more and more harsh in his treatment of us. Lately, he instructed the midwives to kill our baby boys when they are born.

I had one daughter, Miriam, and then I had another child, a healthy, beautiful boy. As best I could, I hid him from everyone so no harm would come to him, but at about 3 months of age, I could do it no longer. I knew one of Pharaoh's men would take him and kill him immediately. It is unusual how brutal people can be when they are told to be, or when it is their job. I don't understand how anyone could kill a tiny baby, no matter whose it was, but that was the case here in Egypt. Out of the papyrus growing in the Nile River, I made a good, sturdy basket. Of course, I knew how to do it well. We have so very little as slaves, but papyrus is free for anyone. I have made many baskets for my family. We use them in our home for every purpose. This basket would be for my baby as a tiny boat, or coffin, depending on what happened to him. I made it well with tar and pitch so it was waterproof. Carefully, I told Miriam what I was doing. I made sure she understood the situation well.

I set the baby out alone in his tiny boat into the Nile River. Miriam watched it as best she could. I wanted to die when I did it, but I didn't know what other choice I had. I want you to understand that. If I waited any longer, the baby would be found out. Maybe he would die in the river; I didn't know. I felt then that I was killing the child and myself at the same time. Soon, however, the daughter of Pharaoh came down to the river to bathe. She saw the basket floating in the river and told her maid to get it. You can imagine her surprise when she opened it and found a baby inside. She took pity on him and knew that it was a Hebrew child who was supposed to be killed. Miriam, still watching very cautiously from a distance, went over to Pharaoh's daughter and inquired if she should get a Hebrew woman to nurse the child. I was brought to Pharaoh's court and paid for my duties. Of course, I pretended I had never seen the child before. Then, I pretended I was just an obscure woman and it was a job like any other. I was as cold and emotionless as though I were baking bricks for Pharaoh. I had to be. I think you understand.

It was Pharaoh's daughter who named the boy Moses. He became her son, and not mine, and I made sure she never found out who I was. To be sure, I tried to find out as much as possible about Moses through the years. She delighted in the boy. I had no choice but to give the boy up to her. He was raised in Pharaoh's court. He received the best that Pharaoh could give him, the best education, the best of luxuries, relationships and the best of life that Pharaoh knew. I knew that the boy was well, as I and the rest of my people continued to slave under intolerable circumstances. Even if he had continued to live with me, life is very cheap and he might easily have died young while on a dangerous construction project or from some other injury. But during all this time of difficulty, I continued to wonder about our God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of the universe and the God who supposedly cares about us. Where is he? Why has he not taken us out of bondage? I did not have the chance to know my son, Moses. I always hoped that his life would be much better than mine and that I did not make a mistake sending him out in his little boat. I could not visit him after I stopped nursing. Have you ever heard of him? Do you have any idea what kind of life he had or what became of him? I always wanted to know. I wondered if he would become an Egyptian instead of being a God-fearing Hebrew. I still believe in our God, in spite of our pain and suffering. I have heard he is a God of miracles. But tell me about my son. Have you ever heard of Moses? Did he ever have the chance to learn of our God? I wish I could have known more about the son I was forced to give up. He never knew me. (Leaves slowly)