Exodus 1:15-21 — The Hebrew midwives Shiphrah and Puah who defied Pharaoh’s order to kill newborn boys.
We knew the sound of first breath—
that sharp cry that splits silence
and announces another soul
has fought its way into light.
For years we had answered the call,
rushing through Hebrew doorways
where women labored and prayed,
our hands steady, our voices calm.
We knew the weight of new life,
slippery and warm and crying,
how a mother’s face transforms
when she sees what love has made.
Then Pharaoh summoned us.
Two Hebrew midwives
called before the throne
of the man who owned our world.
His voice was cold as marble:
“When you help Hebrew women give birth,
if it is a boy, kill him.
If it is a girl, let her live.”
We stood there, hearing our life’s work
twisted into weapon.
Our hands—trained to save—
commanded now to destroy.
We walked home in silence,
each carrying the same question:
How do you kill a baby
with hands that brought him life?
Puah found me at dawn.
“We can’t,” she whispered.
“We can’t.”
And I knew she was right.
When the next call came—
a Hebrew woman in labor—
we looked at each other
and made our choice.
The baby was a boy.
Strong lungs, healthy cry,
ten fingers, ten toes,
everything perfect.
We placed him in his mother’s arms
and said nothing of Pharaoh’s order.
Some commands are too evil
to deserve obedience.
Birth after birth, boy after boy,
we delivered them whole and breathing.
Each one a small rebellion,
each one a victory over death.
When Pharaoh called us back,
his eyes narrow with suspicion,
we had our answer ready:
“Hebrew women are vigorous.
They give birth quickly,
before we can arrive.
By the time we get there,
the babies are already born.”
It wasn’t entirely true.
But sometimes deception serves truth
better than honesty serves evil.
We kept delivering babies.
We kept saving lives.
We kept choosing to fear God
more than we feared a king.
Did we know that one of those boys
we helped into the world
would grow up to lead our people
out of slavery?
We only knew this:
Life is sacred.
Babies are innocent.
Our hands were made to heal.
We were just midwives,
just women with skillful hands.
But sometimes the smallest acts
of courage change the world.
In our palms we held the future.
In our defiance, we delivered hope.
And every Hebrew boy who lived
carried our resistance in his breath.
Be First to Comment