Last night we attended a seder meal for the first night of Passover with friends in our community. It was a beautiful, if a bit chaotic, evening. The meal went on for hours as we moved through all the symbolic foods and wine, shared in the story of the Exodus, relaxed with our friends, and indulged in a celebratory meal. As the Exodus story was read, I got stuck on the part where Jochebed, Moses’ mom, placed the infant Moses in a basket in the river to spare his life from the Egyptians. She let him float away to an uncertain future, but away from certain death if she held on to him.
Earlier in the day I sat with a 19 year old woman as she wrestled bitterly with the decision to make an adoption plan for her newborn son. We met on Friday at the hospital the day after “Jonah” was born. “Ashleigh’s” boyfriend had called us to initiate the adoption plan. Ashleigh decided that she would take Jonah home for one night and then we would meet her at their house to complete the surrender documents. I doubted we would hear from her again and questioned how much her boyfriend was driving this process. But she did call us, and Monday afternoon we met at her home to sign the documents relinquishing her rights and then take the child.
It was a humble apartment - one bed, no other furniture, and no food in the kitchen of which to speak. Ashleigh and her boyfriend lived there with Asheligh’s one year old son. As far as most of our clients go, you might say they were lucky. They both have jobs, she receives foods stamps and WIC, they have a car, they have family to help with child care. But when you’re a Waffle House waitress, the future is not very certain. Or maybe it is certain, you are certain to struggle. Ashleigh wanted more for her sons. Despite the boyfriend’s seeming involvement in her and her children’s lives, she told a different story. She couldn’t count on him to be there. He would take off for days and leave them without transportation. The money from his supposed 3 jobs never seemed to make it home. He told me he had no history with drugs or alcohol, but only after a long silence and a diverted glance that let me know the truth was more complex.
As we always do, we tried to help Ashleigh explore all her options for parenting this child. We believe in preserving that biological bond if at all possible. Yet even though open adoption carries no guarantees, she chose for him an uncertain yet hope filled life rather than the certainty of struggle she knew in her life. She signed the papers through tear streaked eyes, then she handed Jonah to us and quickly walked away. As I strapped him snuggly into his car seat, my heart broke for her and for him but also marveled in the sheer strength and courage I had just witnessed.
At dinner last night, it occurred to me that Moses is not the hero of the Exodus story. He is one among many, and many of them are women. Women like Ashleigh and Jochbed who made the agonizing decision to let their children go in order to preserve their lives. Women like the midwives who bravely refused to follow Pharoah’s orders to kill all the male Hebrew children. All of the Hebrew women who carried their pregnancies, brought life into this world, and fought with all they could to preserve that life in the face of great oppression.
