Bekhor, the first Son

Bruriah ran along the empty streets as she heard singing coming from most of the houses. She had fallen asleep behind a stack of hay because she was tired from all the work she had been forced to do for her Egyptian mistress. So, she thought to hide away for a while, but then she fell asleep until sunset. The night was falling fast, the last feeble rays of the sun dipping into the vast Nile River. Bruriah made her way through the simple Israeli housing structures when she saw a doorpost stained with blood.

She remembered how the Medianite foreigner, Moses, had been bringing them lots of problems because of his magic staff. In front of Pharaoh, his staff had turned into a large cobra, and when the magicians performed similar magic, his serpent staff swallowed theirs. He spoke about being sent by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

She secretly wondered where this powerful God had been when, many years ago, her people had their baby sons taken from them and slaughtered. She wondered where the I AM God had been when she worked all day in the sun and was treated a little better than a camel.

“With all these plagues going around, I guess my God is finally here,” she smiled to herself.

She approached a doorpost and saw thick fresh blood smeared at the top and then along the sides.

“The blood of a lamb,” she whispered. She looked at her arm and realised that a few drops had fallen onto her robe and hand. She tried to rub it off, but it only made a mess, as it stained her skin and robe. Suddenly, she fell backwards against the door. Her vision blurred to black, so she blinked, and after a moment, she saw the poorly lit street again.

Feeling a little lighter, she began to make her way home. She walked faster, but it felt as if she were floating through the air. She saw a black cat and became mesmerised by it, she made the wrong turn and followed the cat back to the camp entrance. Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence of the night. It was coming from a house near her camp, an Egyptian-style dwelling. Overcome by curiosity, Bruriah ran toward the house. She heard the scream again and rushed to the back, where a window was open. Peering inside, she saw a little boy lying on his bed, cradled in his mother’s arms. He looked pale and struggled to breathe.

“Stay with me, my son,” the mother cried.

The boy, however, seemed to be looking not at his mother, but at a tall, imposing figure standing behind her. The man was dressed in unusual robes—very white, with a gold anklet on his arm. His skin was a light ebony, much like Bruriah’s, and his hair was a large, well-arranged afro.

“Why have you come to take me?” the little boy said, though his lips did not move.

“There can only be one firstborn,” the huge man replied.

“I have done nothing wrong,” she heard the boy cry, but his lips were closed. Bruriah began to panic. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was happening.

“Your blood,” the man said, “the same blood that runs through your veins, has done wrong.”

Suddenly, Bruriah heard the sounds of voices loudly filling the room. It seemed the boy also heard them because his eyes opened wide in shock. He began to gasp as the terrifying words grew louder.

“I am the sun god; no one is above me,” said one.

“Atum, take this offering, signed with my blood and the blood of my descendants,” another cried.

And finally, a voice cried out, “The Egyptians have murdered our sons. O God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, hear the cry of their blood, crying out to You, as the blood of Abel cried for justice.”

“I have been sent by the LORD our God, who is jealous, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Him,” the huge man said. “You do not have what it takes to purify yourself, and that is why I have entered your house.”

The woman kept shouting at her son, and Bruriah wondered why she was pretending not to hear the conversation between the man and her son.

The huge man suddenly raised a massive sword above the child. Bruriah screamed, and the man looked up at her, but the woman continued cradling her son. Bruriah stared at the man, afraid that she had been seen. His eyes were brown, with a spark of something in them. At first, his gaze was friendly, but then his eyes lit up like fire. With a slash of his sword, he struck the boy.

Amazingly, the boy remained unharmed. There was no blood, no dismemberment. He simply held his breath, his widened eyes threatening to pop out of his head. His pale, dry lips began to turn blue, and his left arm twitched for a moment.

"My son, breathe. Please, breathe," his mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

The little boy's lips parted, and he let out his last breath. With it came his naked spirit form, which appeared confused and unaware of its surroundings. The spirit looked at the woman but showed no signs of recognising her. Then it looked at the huge man, immediately recognised him, and happily tugged on his hand.

"Malakh ha-Mavet, where are we?" the boy asked.

Bruriah's jaw dropped in shock.

"I came to take you from the earth; you're going to rest for a while," the huge man replied with a smile. "Go and wait for me," he gently commanded.

The boy’s spirit floated through the air and disappeared into the wall.

The man, Malakh ha-Mavet, began to approach Bruriah, and she stood frozen, unable to move. He, too, floated in the air, his robes billowing gently in an invisible breeze.

“Bekhira,” he snarled at her, his eyes still burning with fury as he raised his sword to strike.

She felt a searing sensation in her arm. When she looked at it, drops and smears of blood began to thicken and spread, growing upwards from her arm to engulf her entire body. She felt the blood’s warm embrace, and when she tried to scream, the sound got stuck in her throat as another voice spoke through her.

“I am the blood of the lamb. I speak of better things.”

“You are being reckless by leaving your body to come to me. Return now!” he shouted angrily. Bruriah’s ears nearly burst from the force of his voice. She blacked out once more.

“Bruriah, Bruriah,” she heard people calling her name. She slowly opened her eyes and realised she was in Mrs. Aliza’s home.

It took a moment for her to recognise her neighbours’ faces.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We found you passed out by our door. Are you okay?” they asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered, remembering the strange things she had seen.

“Stay in our house for the night,” they told her. “The angel of death has begun his work.”

"Thank you, I'm sorry I got in late,"

"Better late than never Bruriah," Mrs Aliza said with a smile.

The night grew especially cold as the people finished the last of their meal, a boiled lamb with unleavened bread. They sang songs to God and prayed in the way their ancestors had taught them. Secretly, they wondered what new thing tomorrow would bring. Would Pharaoh let them go, or would he remain as stubborn as before? The moon hung in the sky, full and reddish from afar, casting a bleeding light. The harmattan winds blew through the streets of Egypt, carrying with them the distant screams from Egyptian homes, filled with pain, loss, and regret.