Bringing Miriam Out of the Shadows

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Buried within Scripture are bits and pieces of a story awaiting discovery. It highlights the woman Miriam. To unearth the fragments, assemble them, ponder the gaps and then construct a text requires the play of many methods but the dogmatism of none.¹ This enterprise welcomes all lovers of Scripture who seek to redeem life from patriarchal death.

At the Bank of the River

Hints and guesses begin the search. A text hints, and the reader guesses. The setting is parlous: Egypt, an alien land; the king, a tyrannic ruler; his edict, a death decree. Disobeyed by two midwives who have refused to kill Hebrew sons, the Pharaoh extends his order to all the people: “Every son that is born—into the Nile you shall cast him, but every daughter you shall let live” (Exodus 1:22).^a In Pharaoh’s land, sex determines life and death for Hebrew babies.

Although the royal decree sets the stage for the advent of Moses, the text (Exodus 2:1–10) focuses on three unnamed females.² Like the midwives, they too defy the oppressor. In the first section of the story, narrated discourse permits us to see but not to hear these women (Exodus 2:1–6). Each is independent although connected to another. First appears a married woman identified only as a daughter of Levi. A host of active verbs secures her presence. She conceived and bore a son; she saw how good he was; she hid him until she 016could hide him no longer; she took for him a basket, sealed it, put him in it and placed it at the river’s bank. Her actions move between life and death. In cradle or coffin the living son waits on the waters decreed to drown him. Opposing the daughter of Levi, in artistic symmetry, is the second woman, the daughter of Pharaoh. A multitude of active verbs also establishes her presence. She came to bathe at the river, saw the basket, sent her maid to fetch it, opened it, saw the foreign child, had compassion on him and hailed his identity: “ ‘One of the Hebrew babies is this!’ she said” (Exodus 2:6). The princess, unlike the daughter of Levi, we hear as well as see.

Two women counter each other. One Hebrew, the other Egyptian. One slave, the other free. One common, the other royal. One poor, the other rich. One relinquishing, the other finding. One silent, the other speaking. One is one; the other, the other. Who will bring the twain together?

The answer introduces the third woman. Narrative structure locates her in the middle of the other two women, just as content makes her their mediator. Between the placing and the discovering of the newborn child “stood his sister at a distance to know what would be done to him” (Exodus 2:4). Although she too is a daughter, she is identified as a sister. The designation sister seems old, however, because a preface has already implied that the son is the firstborn. It reports a marriage. “A man from the house of Levi went and took a daughter of Levi” (Exodus 2:1). Immediately follows a birth announcement: “The woman conceived and bore a son” (Exodus 2:2 RSV). These statements effect the elevation of Moses at the expense of his sister. Yet apart from the preface, nothing in the narrative requires that the son be the firstborn. To the contrary, his sister’s appearance shows that he is not. Thus, the siblings begin their lives together in narrative tension.

“And his sister stood at a distance to know what would be done to him” (Exodus 2:4 RSV). References to water surround her. The Hebrew woman has placed her son at the river’s bank (Exodus 2:3), and the Egyptian princess has come down to the river to bathe (Exodus 2:5). From afar, not yet approaching the water itself, the sister waits to know what will happen. Though the narrator’s phrase may suggest a passive watch it foreshadows the opposite. His sister, not the daughter of Levi or the daughter of Pharaoh, will take initiative to shape the destiny of the child.

In the second half of the story the yet unnamed sister moves into closer view. She speaks to Pharaoh’s daughter: “Shall I go and call for you (lach [lahkh, to rhyme with Bach]) a woman nursing from the Hebrews so that she nurses for you (lach) the child?” (Exodus 2:7). By putting the phrase “for you” immediately after the verbs call and nurse, the sister expresses solicitude and offers servitude. She also shapes the future by defining the need of Pharaoh’s daughter to secure a Hebrew nurse. Skillfully crafted, her words propose a perfect arrangement for the one and for the other, thereby bringing the twain together.

The royal command, “Go,” is but the desired reply to the sister’s question. To report the sister’s action, the storyteller plays with vocabulary, repeating crucial verbs and introducing new nouns. “Shall I go and call for you a woman nursing …?” the sister has asked, but now “the young woman”—not “his sister”—“went and called” (Exodus 2:8). An independent description has replaced a derivative identity. As the one in charge, “the young woman went and called the 018mother of the baby.” The maternal noun makes explicit the beautiful irony of her proposal. “A woman nursing from the Hebrews” is the child’s own mother. Thus the story comes swiftly to a climax. The daughters meet to work out a plan. Nursed by his natural mother, the child grows to become the adopted son of Pharaoh’s daughter and receives from her the name Moses. If Pharaoh had recognized the power of women, he might well have reversed his decree and had daughters killed rather than sons. But God moves in mysterious ways.

Central to the happy solution is the unnamed Miriam. She enters Scripture obliquely. No lineage, birth announcement or naming-ritual proclaims her advent. Only silence gives her birth. Her first appearance is from afar. She stands “at a distance.” With speech, she moves closer to unite two daughters for the sake of a male child. Having succeeded, she then fades from the story. Model of discretion and timing, the sister negotiates, mediates and leads. She initiates plan that delivers her brother. Humanly speaking, the Exodus story owes its beginning not to Moses but to Miriam and other women.

In the Midst of the Struggle

Yet the body of the story develops with scant recognition of its female origin. Moses, at times assisted by his brother Aaron, dominates the struggle against Pharaoh. The received tradition turns away from the women who began it. In quiet, secret and effective ways, these women, Hebrews and Egyptians, have worked together. By contrast, Moses makes noise, attracts attention and becomes persona non grata to both Hebrews and Egyptians. For many chapters, the text exalts him and ignores his sister. If silence gave birth to Miriam, it also contains her during the bondage and the battle. Patriarchal storytellers have done their work well. They have suppressed the women—yet without total success. Bits and pieces from the buried story surface at the conclusion of the Exodus narrative.

At the Shore of the Sea

These fragments have survived amid jumbled reports about events at the sea. But when the strife is o’er and the battle done, Israel summarizes the victory won:

“So the Lord saved on that day Israel from the hand of the Egyptians.

…

The people feared the Lord and they trusted in the Lord and in Moses, God’s servant.”

Exodus 14:30–31

Here the elevation of Moses increases as he appears in parallelism to the deity. At this point, the Israelites having crossed the sea dry-shod and the Egyptians having drowned, the narrative ends. A poetic section then begins. Moses becomes musical leader of the sons of Israel.

“Then Moses sang—and also the sons of Israel—this song to the Lord” (Exodus 15:1).

An opening stanza sets the tone for a lengthy poem of celebration:

“I will sing to the Lord

Most glorious deity!

Horse and rider

God has hurled into the sea!”

Exodus 15:1

The poem continues by proclaiming the power of God to lead the people, and it culminates with the affirmation, “The Lord will reign for ever” (Exodus 15:18 RSV). Literally and theologically, this litany of triumph climaxes and closes the Exodus story.

How puzzling, then, is the narrative text that follows (Exodus 15:19). In capsule form, it recapitulates the struggle at the sea, thereby returning to the event that preceded the closure. The recapitulation jars. It seems awkward, repetitious and misplaced. An attentive reader begins to suspect tampering with the text, and, as she reads on, the suspicion intensifies. A subsequent unit, ever so small, focuses on Miriam and the women of Israel:

“Then Miriam the prophet, the sister of Aaron, took timbrel in her hand. And all the women went out after her, with timbrels and dances. And Miriam answered them: ‘Sing to the Lord most glorious deity! Horse and rider God has hurled into the sea!’ ”

Exodus 15:21

After Miriam’s brief song, the text moves from sea to wilderness (Exodus 15:22). Thus her words become the definitive ending for the Exodus account. And yet they provoke discussion rather than closure?³

In this passage Miriam receives her name for the first time. She also has a title, “the prophet.” Indeed, she is the first woman in all Israel to bear the title, and she acquires it before her brother Moses. That sibling relationship is not even acknowledged here. Instead, Miriam is called “the sister of Aaron.” Earlier Aaron bore the title prophet (Exodus 7:1), though with the specific meaning of spokesman before Pharaoh. As applied to Miriam, the title remains undefined and its meaning open. Altogether the line “Miriam the prophet, sister of Aaron” introduces 019her in a special way. Music also signals her importance. She “took a timbrel in her hand.” Joining her are all the women with timbrels and dances: The text says that Miriam sang responsively to “them.” Yet, the Hebrew pronoun “them” is masculine, not feminine, gender, yielding an ambiguous referent. Perhaps, under the leadership of Miriam, the ritual involved all the people, though the major participants were women.

The song Miriam chants repeats with variations the first stanza of the long poem (Exodus 15:1–18) earlier attributed to Moses. The repetition suggests that her contribution is derivative and his original. Further, though he can sing an entire song, she can cite, and then not perfectly, only the first stanza. By comparison, her performance seems deficient, as does this entire small unit that awkwardly follows the grand Mosaic ending. As a second closure, it is anticlimactic, no more than an afterthought, a token of the female presence.

Divergent in length, content and emphasis, the two endings work in tension, not in tandem. The Mosaic conclusion so overpowers the Miriamic as to raise the question of why the latter ever survived. Ironically, scholarly answers to this question (and they cannot be accused of a feminist bias!) diminish Moses and highlight Miriam.⁴ They hold that the very retention of a Miriamic ending, in the presence of a Mosaic avalanche, argues both for its antiquity and authority. So tenacious was the tradition about Miriam that later editors could not eliminate it altogether. In fact, once upon an early time, before editors got jobs, the entire Song of the Sea, not just the first stanza, was ascribed to Miriam and the women of Israel. Later, redactors (editors) who were intent upon elevating Moses took the song right out of her mouth and gave it to him—to Moses, the inarticulate one—in company with the sons of Israel. Thus they constructed an ending for the Exodus story that contradicted the older tradition. Unable to squelch the Miriamic 020tradition altogether, the redactors appended it in truncated form (Exodus 15:20–21) to their preferred Mosaic version. So they gave us two endings: their preferred Mosaic version (Exodus 15:1–18) and their truncated version (Exodus 15:20–21) of the original Miriamic conclusion.⁵ To separate these two endings (as well as to introduce the Miriamic section), the redactors placed between them a narrative that recapitulated the struggle at the sea. It reported again the drowning of the Egyptians and the passing of Israel dry-shod (Exodus 15:19). This entire exercise ended up both preserving and destroying the women’s story. It kept Miriam but diminished her importance. And it heightened the apotheosis of Moses.

Though carefully done, the redactional work does not yield perfection. The juxtaposition of endings creates muted tension. By retaining the tension, Scripture provides, even if inadvertently, a critique of itself. While destroying the power of Pharaoh, the Exodus narrative also turns inward to challenge the dominance of Moses. But the challenge is subtle, and in the saga of faith few among the chosen have detected it.

Like the beginning, the ending of the Exodus story belongs to women. They are the alpha and omega, the aleph and taw of deliverance. Providing continuity between the two groups and times is the figure of Miriam. At the bank (s^epat [she-PAHT]) of the river we first meet her (Exodus 2:4); at the shore (s^epat) of the sea we find her again (Exodus 15:20–21). The mediator has become percussionist, lyricist, vocalist, prophet, leader and theologian. In both places, narrated, not direct, discourse reports tension between her and Moses. It advances from sibling references to competing portraits of leadership. Between these narratives of beginning and ending, Moses, along with the men of Israel, has ruled over the Exodus account.

Within and behind the text conflict mounts. The female voice struggles to be heard; a Miriamic presence counters a Mosaic bias. What began as a cloud the size of a baby’s hand rising out of the River Nile and grew into a man’s hand stretched over the Reed Sea (Exodus 14:21) will in time burst forth in a storm of controversy about authority. To that we now turn.

In the Wilds of the Wilderness

The story moves to the Book of Numbers, which in Hebrew is called b^emidbar (beh-meed-BAHR), “in the wilderness.” Wilderness symbolizes complaint, confusion and conflict. Moving from site to site, the people of Israel murmur, indeed rebel. Their deity replies with ambivalence. Gracious acts mingle with kindled anger. Nothing happens in an orderly way. Entangled in the wilderness, multiple layers of tradition defy source analysis and internal coherence to become much like the chaos they report.⁶ The task of the interpreter is to discern Miriam’s story amid the muddle.

The portrait of Miriam lodges in controversies about leadership, authority and prophecy. Moses is overwhelmed. Caught between the demands of the people and the blazing anger of the Lord, he 021protests. After all, he is not the mother of Israel. God is. “Did I conceive all this people? Did I bring them forth that you should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom as a nurse carries the suckling child …?’ I am not able to carry all this people alone; the burden is too heavy for me,” asserts Moses (Numbers 11:12–14). So he seeks a new kind of leadership, a shared responsibility. At first, the deity appears to consent, ordering him to choose “seventy elders” upon whom some of Moses’ spirit will rest that they too may bear the burden of the people (Numbers 11:16–25). Moses complies, though ironically his choosing the seventy and receiving private revelation yet affirms his unique role: The elders are subordinate to him. Moreover, the entire plan comes to naught. Given some of Moses’ spirit, they prophesy, “but they did so no more,” says the text (Numbers 11:25 RSV). Shared responsibility and shared authority there is not. The leadership of Moses remains supreme.

Another incident pursues the issue. Two men, not of the seventy, begin to prophesy. Rather than partaking of Moses’ spirit, they are independently endowed and thus approach equality with Moses. While some Israelites oppose them, Moses himself welcomes the news: “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put the divine spirit upon them!” (Numbers 11:29). But the matter is far from settled. The elders no longer prophesy; some among the people seek to outlaw the independent prophets; and the deity remains ominously silent.

As the people journey to a new site, the power struggle rages.⁷ Miriam enters the fray, and for the first time she lacks the company of women. Aaron is her companion, yet in a supporting role. Once prophetic and kinship language linked these leaders (both are called prophets and she is identified as his sister); now prophetic and priestly issues unite them. To be sure, nowhere in the received tradition does Miriam, or any other female, hold the title “priest” or perform cultic functions. Nevertheless, a few clues scattered in the Book of Numbers attest to priestly connections for her. They await further attention.

As for Aaron, some traditions proclaim him outright the first priest, even the founder of the priesthood. Altogether the historical picture is exceedingly complex and far from certain. Biblical narratives tantalize us with scant data and mammoth conflict. In the story at hand, Miriam and Aaron join forces against Moses. Miriam leads and Aaron supports her—in rebellion against Moses’ authority.

When she speaks out, a confused text makes difficult the hearing of her words. The two problems, priestly and prophetic, emerge in jumbled fashion.⁸ Narrated discourse reports the first challenge. “And Miriam spoke, and Aaron, against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he married. ‘He married a Cushite woman’ ” (Numbers 12:1). The information and charge appear in media res. We know nothing specific about the matter and can only speculate. Who is this Cushite wife—Zipporah, as Moses’ wife is named elsewhere, or a different woman? Why does the rest of Scripture not mention the Cushite woman? If she is Zipporah, is the issue a priestly struggle based on her own lineage as daughter of Jethro the priest? Whoever the woman, is the attack racist, suggesting opposition to black Cushite skin? Why does the narrator set woman against woman? Is the conflict an ideological resistance to foreign marriages? Are the concepts of cleanliness and uncleanliness being violated by the marriage? Are the priestly credentials of Moses being challenged? Whatever the answers to these questions, the text implicates Miriam in cultic affairs.

Cited only once, the problem of the Cushite wife yields quickly to a prophetic matter. If the cultic purity of Moses can be criticized, then his supreme authority can be disputed. Unlike the first, this second challenge occurs in direct discourse. Miriam and Aaron ask:

“Has the Lord spoken only through Moses?

Has the Lord not also spoken through us?”

Numbers 12:2a–b

For Miriam the prophetic task centers not upon a single male (Moses) but embraces diverse voices, female and male. Her questions seem to harmonize with Moses’ own wish that “all the Lord’s people were prophets” (Numbers 11:29 RSV). But Miriam makes clear what Moses’ words did not: that “all the Lord’s people” includes women. After all, as “the prophet,” she has already spoken for God at the sea, even though the Mosaic bias would drown her voice there. So now in the wilderness she seeks an equal sharing of prophetic leadership. Hers is a commanding word, and the “Lord hears it” (Numbers 12:2c).

Alas, the price the of speaking out is severe. Breaking ominous silence, the Lord summons Moses, Aaron and Miriam to come forth (Numbers 12:4). In this context, the ordering of their names hints at the diminution of Miriam. The deity addresses her and Aaron; the divine explanation comes with the power of poetry and the exclusivity of grammatical gender. It speaks to the prophetic issue but not the priestly.⁹

“Hear now my words:

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If there be a prophet among you,

In a vision to him I make myself known;

In a dream I speak with him.

Not so (with) my servant Moses

In all my household he (alone) is faithful.

Mouth to mouth I speak with him.

In clarity and not in riddles;

The form of the Lord he beholds.”

Numbers 12:6–8

The divine speech requires little commentary. It answers the issue of leadership and authority by declaring a hierarchy of prophecy. Moses stands peerless at the top. While not denying a prophetic role to Miriam, it undercuts her in gender and point of view. It also undermines Moses’ wish for egalitarian prophecy. As if the declaration were not itself sufficient, the deity rebuffs Aaron and Miriam: “Why then were you not afraid to speak against my servant Moses?” (Numbers 12:8 RSV). Though Moses may attack God, even accuse the deity of oppression unto death (Numbers 11:11–15), God decrees that no one may attack Moses. Concluding with an intimidating question, the Lord speaks to Miriam for the first and only time. She has no opportunity to reply. Instead, to the crushing power of the divine words the narrator adds a seething conclusion: “And the nostril of the Lord burned against them and God left” (Numbers 12:9). While the mouth of the Lord glorifies Moses, the nose attacks Aaron and Miriam. This divinity is made of stern stuff.

Yet the kindled anger of the divine does not treat its targets equally. Instead it separates Miriam from Aaron to make her the true antagonist. When the divine anger departs, we behold Miriam alone stricken with scales like snow (Numbers 12:9–10). Red hot anger becomes a cold white disease. A searing emotion produces a scarred body. The punishment relates to the priestly issue of the Cushite wife. She who opposed Moses because of his marriage to the black woman stands condemned in diseased white. By the irony of the implied contrast, the text would seem to set female against female, native against foreigner, white against black, power against powerlessness. But these opposites merge as the irony folds in upon itself. If the Cushite woman stands outside a system of ritual purity, Miriam belongs with her. She too has become an outcast, a rejected woman without voice or power. While her prophetic authority has only been limited, making her no different from any other prophet save Moses, her cultic connections have been irreparably severed. Yet no such punishment has visited Aaron. The male is spared; the female sacrificed.

Miriam has become leprous, not with the raw flesh of uncleanliness but with dead flesh, aftermath of the all-consuming disease.¹⁰ Divine anger has run its course on Miriam. Turning toward her (Numbers 12:10), Aaron beseeches Moses, rather than the Lord, not to “hold against us the sin that we were foolish and that we sinned” (Numbers 12:11–12). In spite of efforts to disassociate this priest from the woman, Aaron pleads on her behalf:¹¹

“Let her not be as one dead, of whom the flesh is half consumed when it comes out of its mother’s womb” (Numbers 12:12).

While repulsive, the imagery is also poignant, recalling metaphors used by Moses when he implored the deity to be a responsible mother to the children of her womb. Those reflections led Moses to propose death for himself unless God changed. Now Aaron unites birth and death in describing the horror God has inflicted upon Miriam.

Long ago at Sinai the pillar of cloud would descend and stand at the door of the tent (Exodus 33:10f), and Moses would enter to speak with God. When Moses came out, the skin of his face shone (Exodus 34:29ff).^b The people were afraid, but they came near. Moses incarnated the divine glory. Now in the Wilderness the pillar of cloud descends again and stands at the door of the tent. Aaron and Miriam come forward to hear God speak. When the deity departs, Miriam’s skin is scaled like snow and her flesh half-consumed. She is separated from the people. Miriam incarnates the divine anger.

So Aaron seeks a miracle: the restoration of Miriam to her pre-leprous condition. After all, such a miracle has once been visited upon the hand of Moses, (Exodus 4:6–7), though in a different context. By appealing now to Moses, Aaron bows to his supremacy in the hierarchy. Moses complies with Aaron’s request: “O God, please, heal her now!” (Numbers 12:13). Whatever tensions exist between Miriamic and Mosaic points of view, they have not destroyed sibling affection. Having once been saved through his sister, Moses petitions here to save her from living death. In a cryptic reply that perhaps tempers but does not remove the punishment, the Lord confines her outside the camp for seven days. That period of time verifies her cleanliness but does not restore her to wholeness. Miriam remains a marked woman, indeed, a warning for 023generations to come: “Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam on the way as you came forth out of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 24:9 RSV).

The vendetta continues unto her death. By silences and juxtapositions the tale unfolds. From her punishment on, Miriam never speaks nor is she spoken to. In fact, for a time, she vanishes from the wilderness narrative. Then, just preceding her obituary comes a lengthy section of ritual prescriptions (Numbers 19:1–22).¹² Its content as well as placement indicts Miriam. The first prescription concerns preparation of a special water for impurity. To the burning of a cow the priest adds “cedarwood, hyssop and scarlet” (Numbers 19:6). Though this text fails to specify the meaning of the three ingredients, we know from Leviticus (14:4) that they are used in the cleansing of a leper—truly a reminder of Miriam’s punishment. At the appropriate time, running water is added to the mixture. Its use awaits a second prescription that pertains to those who become unclean through contact with the dead (Numbers 19:11–13). Seven days are required for their purification, the same time period needed for the cleansing of a leper. In addition, this ritual involves sprinkling the unclean with the water for impurity.

Immediately following the two prescriptions, the one alluding to leprosy and the other emphasizing the uncleanliness of the dead, comes the announcement of Miriam’s death.

‘And the people of Israel, the whole community, came into the wilderness of Zin [Tseen] in the first month, and the people stayed in Kadesh; and Miriam died there and was buried there” (Numbers 20:1 [RSV]).

No ordinary obituary is this but rather the culmination of the vendetta against Miriam.¹³ If reasons for the attack are difficult to discern, the threat that she represented to the cultic establishment is abundantly evident. And that threat testifies to her prominence, power and prestige in early Israel. So important was this woman that detractors tabooed her to death, seeking to bury her forever in disgrace.

From Here and There

But detractors do not have the final word. Miriam emerges through fragments embedded in the very Scripture that would condemn her. The first fragment appears in the Exodus and wilderness traditions. From the start Miriam works on behalf of the people. Her role in delivering one of them, Moses, expands to leadership of all Israel at the sea. Thus a certain poignancy attends the closing narration of the leprosy account: She has been excluded from the camp for seven days. And “the people did not set out on the march till Miriam was brought in again” (Numbers 12:15 RSV). No matter that the Lord had decreed the supreme leadership of Moses; no matter that the divine anger had already shown its power against the will of the people; no matter that the white-scaled Miriam stands before them as proof of divine indictment and continuing intimidation; no matter. “The people did not set out on the march till Miriam was brought back again.” Those whom she served do not forsake her in her time of tribulation. They wait. Never do they assail her, as on various occasions they attack Aaron, Moses and God. And their allegiance survives unto her death. Three references in Numbers 20:1—“the people of Israel,” “the whole community” and “the people”—emphasize their presence when she died and was buried in Kadesh. The steadfast devotion of the people to Miriam indicates a story different from the regnant one.

The symbol of water also supports Miriam. First seen at a distance, she soon moves to the river’s bank. In a triumphal appearance she sings at the shore of the Reed Sea. No life-giving waters emerge, however, when in the wilderness authorities conspire to punish her. Leprous flesh bespeaks arid land. In the ritual prescriptions (Numbers 19:1–22) preceding her obituary, the symbol reappears with ambivalence. “The water for impurity” mediates between cleanliness and “uncleanliness. Miriam dies, becoming thereby unclean. Yet at her death no water for impurity is invoked. Instead, the wells in the desert dry up. In Kadesh “Miriam died and was buried there. Now there was no water for the community” (Numbers 20:1–2). Nature’s response to Miriam’s death is immediate and severe. It mourns, and the community suffers. Miriam, protector of her brother at the river’s bank and leader in the victory at the sea, symbolized life. How appropriate, then, that waters of life should reverence her death. Like the people of Israel, nature honors Miriam.

After Miriam’s burial, the lack of water introduces a long narrative (Numbers 20:2–29) critical of Moses and Aaron.¹⁴ In structure, it balances the ritual prescriptions (Numbers 19:1–22) preceding her obituary. In effect, the narrative critical of Moses and Aaron counters the vendetta against her. If the ritual prescriptions implicitly demean Miriam, the account subsequent to her obituary explicity debases Moses and Aaron. Once again the people attack their leaders because of overwhelming miseries. The two men appeal to God, who instructs them to secure water from a 025rock (Numbers 20:6–13). Though they are successful, the deity is so displeased that God decrees neither man shall lead the people into the land.¹⁵ Miriam’s death has initiated their demise. And soon thereafter, when the congregation has journeyed from Kadesh to Mt. Hor, Aaron dies. In time, Moses will follow. If Miriam never reached the Promised Land, neither did her brothers. Indeed, efforts to discredit her have backfired in the censure of them. Juxtaposition of texts dramatizes the point. After the death of Miriam, the wells in the desert dry up, the people rebel again, God censures Moses and Aaron, Aaron dies, and the days of Moses are numbered. However much the detractors of Miriam have tried, they do not control the story. There are more interpretations than are dreamed of in their hermeneutics.

Beyond the Exodus and wilderness accounts, fragments of a pro-Miriamic tradition surface still later in the Hebrew Scriptures. If the priesthood has repudiated Miriam forever, prophecy reclaims her. In fact, it states boldly what others worked hard to deny: that in early Israel Miriam belonged to a trinity of leadership. She was the equal of Moses and Aaron. Thus the prophetic deity speaks in Micah 6:4 (RSV):

“For I brought you up from the land of Egypt

and redeemed you from the house of bondage;

and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.”

Here prophecy acknowledges the full legitimacy of Miriam, its own ancestor, who was designated “the prophet” even before Moses. The recognition undercuts a hierarchy of authority with a male at the top.

As the first woman to be called “the prophet,” Miriam represents a class of females in Israel about whom we know little. From Exodus beyond Exile, their erratic and infrequent presence hints at a lost history. In the 12th century B.C. Deborah arises to judge Israel, lead in battle and sing a song of triumph (Judges 4–5). In the eighth, the unnamed woman of Isaiah gives birth to a prophetic oracle (Isaiah 8:3). In the seventh, Huldah validates the book of the law to initiate a canon of Scripture (2 Kings 22:14–20). And in the fifth, Noadiah opposes Nehemiah during the restoration (Nehemiah 6:14). Each of these prophets witnesses to a heritage rooted in Miriam. If Moses be the archetype of the male prophetic tradition, Miriam leads the female.

Yet another allusion to her is tucked away in the prophecy of Jeremiah.¹⁶ Envisioning the restoration of defeated Israel after the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem, Jeremiah evokes the vocabulary of the Exodus to portray an era of grace and joy. The deity addresses the people as female:

“Again I will build you, and you will be

built, O virgin Israel!

Again you will adorn yourself with timbrels,

and will go forth in the dance of the merrymakers.”

Jeremiah 31:4

The imagery may be read in two directions. It recalls Miriam at the Reed Sea, and it forecasts her restoration. Returned to her rightful place, she along with other females will again lead with timbrels and dancing. She participates in the eschatological vision of Hebrew prophecy.

Miriam also animates the musical life of Israel. If Jubal be its mythical father (Genesis 4:21), she is its historical mother. She inaugurates a procession of women who move throughout Scripture, singing and dancing in sorrow and joy. In the days of the Judges, the unsuspecting daughter of Jephthah “comes out to meet him with timbrels and dances” (Judges 11:34). Later, the virgin daughters of Shiloh “come out to dance in the dances” (Judges 21:21 RSV). In the days 034of the Monarchy, when warriors return victorious from battle, “the women come out of all the cities singing and dancing … with timbrels, songs of joy and instruments of music. And the women sing to one another as they make merry” (1 Samuel 18:6–7; cf. 1 Samuel 21:11, 29:5). From these narrative texts the musical legacy of Miriam passes into liturgical traditions. Though rejected by the priesthood, this woman nevertheless resounds in the cultic experience of the people. A psalm describes a parade entering the temple with

“the singers in front, the minstrels last,

between them maidens playing timbrels.”

Psalm 68:25 (RSV)

Another psalm, based on Exodus and wilderness memories, echoes Miriam:

“Raise a song, sound the timbrel.”

Psalm 81:2 (RSV)

Similarly, a third proclaims:

“Let Israel praise God’s name with dancing,

making melody with timbrel and lyre.”

Psalm 149:3–4

And in the grand finale of the Psalter, where everything that breathes is called upon to praise God, the woman Miriam breathes in the line:

“Praise the Lord with timbrel and dance!”

Psalm 150:4

Buried within Scripture are bits and pieces of a story awaiting discovery. Unearthing the fragments and assembling them, we have crafted a mosaic for Miriam. Stepping back to view the whole, we see a story beginning at the bank of the river, moving to the shore of the sea, continuing in the wilds of the wilderness, disappearing in the new land and recovering there through prophecy and song. From overlays of patriarchy, Miriam’s true portrait begins to emerge. Lo, the fragments that the builders have rejected have become tesserae in a mosaic of salvation. Let all women and men who have eyes to behold this mosaic join Miriam in singing an updated version of her song of deliverance:

“Sing to the Lord, most glorious deity!

Patriarchy and its horsemen God has

hurled into the sea.”

This article is adapted from a forthcoming larger study with full annotation. Publication data are not yet available.

Buried within Scripture are bits and pieces of a story awaiting discovery. It highlights the woman Miriam. To unearth the fragments, assemble them, ponder the gaps and then construct a text requires the play of many methods but the dogmatism of none.1 This enterprise welcomes all lovers of Scripture who seek to redeem life from patriarchal death. At the Bank of the River Hints and guesses begin the search. A text hints, and the reader guesses. The setting is parlous: Egypt, an alien land; the king, a tyrannic ruler; his edict, a death decree. Disobeyed by two midwives who […]