#yeah me queue

originally posted in 2017 [x].

Throughout The Prince of Egypt there are many effective, and affective, parallels to “Deliver Us.”  While watching the movie the other night, I was struck all over again by this one:

[A few other angles are pretty similar, but I think this is the most obvious/direct.]

Soon after Moses recognizes the “River Lullaby,” he runs away, tracing parts of the path that his family took, with him in tow, about eighteen years earlier.

It’s interesting, especially when the scenes are placed side-by-side, to watch Moses the prince dash across the exact same place.  The parallel really makes me feel (recall, reflect on) the peril of the family’s flight through Goshen, and Yocheved’s effort to preserve her son’s life.  It helps emphasize something that has always impressed me about the well scene: how this initial meeting drags the siblings’ memories forward — we see in their interactions/dialogue the impact of their individual experiences of the morning they were separated — but also throws them all back to that time.  Painfully, past becomes present… becomes past……

When Miriam sings their mother’s lullaby, Moses stops, and Aaron turns, and the frantic tension between the three of them just kind of shifts.

And for a brief moment, they are united, finally, for the first time in the entire scene.  Around the song, around Miriam, around their mother.  Their positions remind me of this:

[Also, Moses... leaves a lot — at the end of the prologue, at end of the well scene, after he accidentally kills the guard.]

I’ve always thought of Miriam as the guardian of the lullaby: the way it passes from Yocheved to her, the way she takes their mother’s place.  With the song and her full memory of that day, she’s a guide, a maternal figure, to both Aaron and Moses.  (Related to that: Aaron may not trust Moses in the beginning, but I believe he trusts Miriam fairly implicitly.  I want to write more about this later.)

The two scenes above display his easygoing nature and mischievous bent.  His goal is much the same: to lighten the mood, and get Rameses and Tzipporah’s sister to laugh.  The difference in his action is interesting, though.  As amusing as it is to watch him drop what is essentially a water balloon on Hotep and Huy, there’s something far more enjoyable about the way he turns the joke on himself.  Something humbler, and more mindful.

This feeling is echoed in (at least) another pair of scenes.  During the banquet, Moses is quite willing to humiliate Tzipporah.  There’s nothing cute about what he does.  He lets her fall for a laugh, at her expense, and because he can.

However, in Midian, he doesn’t let go of the rope.  Instead, he pulls it, helping his community build shelter in the desert.

It’s good to see this arrogant and thoughtless young man change for the better.  Moses learns to “join the dance.”

originally posted in 2017 [x].

Are you listening?

Adult adoptees are bombarded with questions about adoption.  We are expected to provide our insights and emotional labor for free, then often dismissed and minimized for not further perpetuating the fairytale adoption narrative.

Stop and listen.  Then go and do better.”

first drafted nov. 2016, edited mostly aug. 2017, finished/posted sept. 28, 2017.  a not-quite drabble; partly an attempt to work out how, in the film's canon, miriam would have followed moses in the basket.  a family's complex emotions upon experiencing a heavy loss.  notes under the cut.

Yocheved and Aaron do not go home that morning, not right away.

Instead, they watch Miriam disappear into the rushes, and they wait; Yocheved holding her son tightly in prayerful silence, occasionally combing her fingers through his unruly hair.

Their uneasiness is shared: One child, one sibling, has gone, and behind him, another.  Before departing, Miriam had exchanged a look with Yocheved, who had inclined her head.

They wait for Miriam to come back.  Forever passes before she returns.  When she does, she pushes through the reeds, and folds, exhausted and muddy, to the ground beside her family.  Her eyes are bright, brows knit.

“He is safe!”

Upon hearing these words, Yocheved loosens her grasp on Aaron, but keeps an arm looped around him, and she reaches forward to gather her daughter into a full embrace.  She gives a cry and then cries, Miriam alongside her.  Yet, they’re smiling, too.  Caught edgeways in this hug, Aaron hesitates, concerned, unsure himself whether to mirror their tears or their smiles.  He knows that Miriam is here, though, even if their brother can’t be, and so he throws his arms around his mother first and then around his sister, resting a cheek against her shoulder.  She twists to the side to hug him, pressing her lips to the top of his head.  She says again, “He’s safe.”

An Analysis of Sibling Dynamics, Character Growth

originally posted in 2017 [x].

Miriam’s line (gif 1, left) reveals that she believes Moses cares about their freedom, despite not having returned.  It’s implied that Aaron doesn’t believe or trust this, because Moses hasn’t returned (and I can imagine his and Miriam’s conversations and arguments over the years).  He doesn’t think Moses cares.  And here, Moses is confirming Aaron’s doubts.  He’s dismissing Miriam’s earnestness.  He laughs off the idea: “Why would I care about that?”  He rolls his eyes.  Miriam’s hands and shoulders drop (gif 2, left; though it’s difficult to see, due to the text).  And as she replies, she realizes with painful clarity that he was never told who he is — he doesn’t know them.  He doesn’t know that he’s family.  She’s crestfallen.

This sets up Aaron’s confrontation with Moses, in which he asks (gifs 1 and 2, right), “In fact, Moses, when did you start caring about slaves?  Was it when you found out that you were one of us?”  He’s hurt, and angry.  (And he’s right.)  It’s one of the reasons why I wrote in this analysis that the siblings’ first reunion by the well can’t have provided closure for him.  After all, he was told, reminded, to have faith in Moses — to have faith that he’d return, and that he cared about them.  Moses’ plainspoken lack of concern must have put a crack in any hope Aaron held, creating more confusion and mistrust.  Of course, it hurt Miriam too.  She was the one who believed wholeheartedly in Moses; she expected the queen to tell him who he is, that he’d grow up with this knowledge.

I don’t fault Moses for not knowing where he came from.  That lies (ha…) with his adoptive parent(s).  The erasure of his identity, the fact that he’s Hebrew, are related, important layers.  However, separate from these things, part of Moses’ personal arc is learning to care.  Facing his ignorance and conceit.  Unlearning the mindset he and Rameses were raised with, that there’s nothing wrong with owning slaves.  He needed to grow up, he needed to learn.  He needed to acknowledge how he hurt his biological siblings.  (“You shall be punished” is not an empty warning.)

When Aaron confronts him, Moses is able to demonstrate that he’s grown: He admits that he “did not see because [he] did not wish to see,” and it’s a far cry from the eye-roll he gives years ago.  His honest expression of remorse is sympathetic and satisfying at the same time.  I’m really glad that he apologizes to Miriam directly — that the movie doesn’t forget to include this — for twisting her arm and throwing her to the ground.  For injuring her, for disappointing her.  I’m really glad he recognizes that he caused Aaron pain, and that he steps up for him, too.

In the movie commentary, the directors say that in order to keep Moses alive as a character — to keep him from stagnating — his relationships not only with Rameses but with Miriam and Aaron were crucial.  (As always) I think the well scene and mud pit scene are solid, rich examples of the latter.  It’s not just about Moses’ growth, either.  I love the way the two scenes infuse Miriam and Aaron with life, allowing them their own stories and their own ways of interacting with their brother.

Last edited: 7/20/17

originally posted in 2017 [x].

I’ll never be able to reconcile the fact that the man who becomes Moses’ father is the same person who had ordered his death.

I think about Miriam’s words during the well scene — “Ask the man that you call ‘father’!” — in response to Moses wanting to know who their mother had to save his life from.  It’s things like this that disturb me:  They’re the ones who become his family.  They say they love him, call him their son, or brother.  Yet, in the same breath, they consider his people “only slaves,” not people at all.  …Something is amiss.  They should have done so much more.

Moses has a family before he is adopted (actually, this is true for all adoptees — none of us drop from the sky), and his arrival in the basket coincides with the genocide occurring that morning.  Does Tuya ever stop and think about how and why this baby suddenly appears?  Does she ever think about his mother?  His family?  Does she (and yes, I’m personifying her as though she were a real adoptive mother) think of Yocheved as merely the one who “gave” her this blessing, and not as a mother who would have kept him, had it not been for Pharaoh’s murderous edict?  (But then Moses would have grown up in slavery?  …Well, who created that condition in the first place?)  And do any of them once think about the babies who died, or about the families who lost their sons?

The movie portrays Tuya’s belief that the gods brought Moses, and I once read a post regarding how this is connected to Ancient Egyptian faith, especially since it was the river that bore him.  I feel this reflects great research on the part of the filmmakers.  It’s respectfully done; it provides context, gives insight into culture, and makes Tuya a rounded character with her own perspective.  But what else?  I don’t think that this belief makes her/their actions right, or just.  It certainly doesn’t change or erase the fact that Moses is the survivor of a genocide that they instrumented.  Moreover, Moses obviously cares and questions it all once he learns how he came to be their son.  …and they, his adoptive family, never do.  What’s even more: For him to continue to be counted as family, in their eyes, he must remain compliant, and silent about an inalienable part of himself.  Forget and be content.

Is it a culture clash?  Film synopses describe the conflict between Moses and Rameses as one over tradition and responsibility.  To paraphrase a sentence from The Prince of Egypt: The Movie Scrapbook, will Rameses choose his brother, or his honor?  Fate, it says, pushes them onto opposite sides.  It makes me think.  What is the movie trying to say?  What is it trying to spark, in terms of discussion?

…It’s about tradition?  That makes me think about the demands Seti places on Rameses.  The pressure to uphold traditions is very relatable, and sympathetic, as is the fear of being the “weak link.”  So many stories center clashes between generations, tensions between duty and personal goals.  However, the traditions that Rameses defends, and sees nothing wrong with, involve slavery.  His kingdom’s economy and way of life, the monuments he seeks to build, depend on the subjugation of others.  It’s not a tradition worth protecting.  When I watch Egypt fall to ruins and more children die, when I watch Rameses lay his son’s body on that dais, I feel frustrated.  I keep playing all these counter-arguments in my head, but they don’t ease my frustration with Rameses.  I still view these as things he could have prevented, and that he was too myopic from the start to ever consider Moses’ perspective, much less the value of others’ lives.  His own ego and refusal to end an inhumane practice were more important to him than even his people and son.

And, when I think about some of the last words he says to Moses:

My father had the right idea about how to deal with your people.  And I think it’s time I finished the job.

…I cannot reconcile the fact that the man who has been Moses’ brother is the same person who espouses what their father did: the very order that threatened Moses’ life, and ended the lives of many infants, all those years ago.

The biological family reminds me / affirms to me…

that when it comes to surrendering a child, the line between choice and coercion is not always clear;

that loss and separation are inherent parts of adoption (adoption does not occur without them);

that memories and the past are important;

that adoption has many, many intersections;

that emotions like anger, uncertainty, hope, fear, (mis)trust are all valid, and often exist, confusingly, at the same time;

that reunion isn’t simple or easy;

…and neither is searching or waiting;

that reunion can represent justice, especially in the wake of an unethical separation/adoption;

that reunion is not an endpoint, but a beginning;

that first families are valuable;

that I didn’t expect I’d fall so bone-deep in love, that they’d come to mean so much to me.