**The Weight of Oppression: A Story of Suffering and Hope**
In the land of Egypt, where the Nile River flowed like a lifeblood through the desert, a great nation had risen to power. The Pharaohs, rulers of this mighty empire, had built towering monuments to their glory, and the land was rich with the spoils of conquest and labor. But beneath the grandeur of Egypt’s golden cities, a shadow was growing—a shadow that would soon darken the lives of a people chosen by God.
Many years had passed since Joseph, the son of Jacob, had saved Egypt from famine and brought his family to dwell in the land of Goshen. The descendants of Israel, once a small clan of shepherds, had multiplied greatly. They were fruitful and increased abundantly, becoming a vast multitude. The fields of Goshen were filled with their flocks, and their children played in the shade of acacia trees. The Lord had blessed them, just as He had promised Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
But as time went on, a new Pharaoh rose to power—a king who did not remember Joseph or the great deeds he had done for Egypt. This Pharaoh looked upon the Israelites with suspicion and fear. “Behold,” he said to his advisors, “the people of the children of Israel are more and mightier than we. If war breaks out, they may join our enemies and fight against us, and then escape from the land.”
Pharaoh’s heart grew hard, and he resolved to deal shrewdly with the Israelites. He summoned his taskmasters and ordered them to oppress the Hebrews with heavy burdens. “Put them to work,” he commanded, “building store cities for our treasures—Pithom and Raamses. Let their labor be harsh and unrelenting. Let them toil under the scorching sun until their strength fails.”
And so, the Israelites were forced into slavery. Taskmasters armed with whips and rods drove them to work from dawn until dusk. They mixed straw with clay to make bricks, their hands raw and blistered. They hauled massive stones to build Pharaoh’s cities, their backs bent under the weight. The once-fertile fields of Goshen now echoed with the cries of the oppressed, and the joy of their children was replaced by the silence of exhaustion.
Yet, despite their suffering, the Israelites continued to multiply. The more they were oppressed, the more they grew in number. This only deepened Pharaoh’s fear and anger. He called for the Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, and commanded them, “When you help the Hebrew women give birth, if the child is a son, kill him. But if it is a daughter, let her live.”
But Shiphrah and Puah feared God more than they feared Pharaoh. They could not bring themselves to commit such an evil act. When Pharaoh demanded an explanation, they replied, “The Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women. They are vigorous and give birth before the midwife arrives.”
God was pleased with the midwives’ faithfulness, and He blessed them with families of their own. But Pharaoh’s heart remained hardened. He issued a new decree, one that would strike terror into the hearts of every Israelite family: “Every son born to the Hebrews must be thrown into the Nile River. Only the daughters may live.”
The Nile, once a source of life and sustenance, now became a symbol of death. Mothers wept as they hid their newborn sons, their hearts torn between hope and despair. Fathers prayed in the darkness, pleading with God to deliver them from this evil. The cries of the oppressed rose to heaven, and the Lord heard their groaning. He remembered His covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and He looked upon the children of Israel with compassion.
In the midst of this darkness, a spark of hope began to flicker. A Levite woman gave birth to a son, and when she saw that he was beautiful, she could not bear to see him killed. For three months, she hid him in her home, but as he grew, his cries became louder, and she knew she could no longer keep him safe. Desperate, she took a basket made of reeds, coated it with tar and pitch to make it waterproof, and placed her baby inside. She carried the basket to the edge of the Nile and set it among the reeds, praying that God would protect her child.
Nearby, the baby’s sister, Miriam, stood watch, her heart pounding with fear and hope. She would not leave her brother’s side, for she knew that his life hung in the balance.
As the sun rose over the Nile, Pharaoh’s daughter came down to the river to bathe. She noticed the basket among the reeds and sent one of her maids to fetch it. When she opened it, she saw the baby boy, crying and helpless. Her heart was moved with pity, and she said, “This is one of the Hebrew children.”
Miriam, seeing her opportunity, approached Pharaoh’s daughter and asked, “Shall I go and find a Hebrew woman to nurse the child for you?”
Pharaoh’s daughter agreed, and Miriam ran to fetch her mother. The baby was returned to his mother’s arms, and she was paid to nurse her own son. When the child grew older, he was brought to Pharaoh’s daughter, who named him Moses, saying, “I drew him out of the water.”
Little did Pharaoh know that this child, rescued from the Nile, would one day become the instrument of God’s deliverance. The cries of the oppressed had reached the ears of the Almighty, and His plan was set in motion. Though the weight of oppression was heavy, the promise of redemption was near. The Lord had not forgotten His people, and His faithfulness would soon shine like a beacon in the darkness.
