Musa's Courage Against Pharaoh's Might
How Musa's Faith Overcame Tyranny
It was the year the river flooded early. I remember the smell of the clay by the water banks, thick and brown after the skies opened. My name is Yusef. I was a builder's son in the city of Misr—what the people now call Egypt. My father carved the stones for Pharaoh’s palace, and I carried buckets of sand beneath the hot sun.
At that time, Pharaoh ruled over us like he had no god. He made the children of Israel into workers and took their sons away out of fear. He believed his throne might fall, ever since there had been whispers of a boy—one who would grow up to challenge him. That boy was Prophet Musa (peace be upon him).
I was still young when Musa came back to the city. People said he had gone far away after an accident. Some whispered he had seen something in the desert—something only a prophet would see. It was the fire on the Mount of Tur, where Allah ﷻ had spoken to him.
Musa didn’t come with swords or soldiers. He came with words. Words that made even Pharaoh tremble. “Worship none but Allah,” he said. “Let the Children of Israel go free.”
I saw him speak in Pharaoh’s hall. I stood behind the marble columns as a servant, holding a pitcher. The crowd mocked him at first. Pharaoh laughed. But Musa stood firm. I remember his voice—it didn’t shake, even when Pharaoh threatened to kill him.
He threw down his stick, and it turned into a great snake, alive and moving, like something summoned from the earth. People screamed. The magicians who served Pharaoh tried to copy him, throwing down their ropes and staffs. But their tricks were illusions. When Musa’s serpent swallowed theirs, the magicians fell to their knees.
“We believe in the Lord of Musa and Harun,” they said clearly.
Pharaoh was enraged. He called it betrayal. He punished them terribly. But they didn’t beg for their lives. I heard one of them say, “Do what you will... Our Lord will forgive us.”
That’s when I began to believe. Musa wasn’t just a man. He was chosen.
Days later, the sky turned red with punishments from Allah. Frogs filled our kitchens. Blood bubbled in our water jars. Locusts ate the crops. Still, Pharaoh wouldn’t let the Israelites go. Each time Musa asked, Pharaoh lied.
Then one night, it happened. Musa and his people left quietly. Thousands of them, guided by his voice and the promise of Allah. I didn’t go with them—but I followed from afar, hidden behind rocks and brush, my heart pulling me forward.
By the time Pharaoh discovered their escape, it was too late. He gathered his army and stormed after them, thundering across the sand. The Israelites reached the sea. The water was wide and deep, and they were trapped.
I was too far back to hear what Musa said, but I saw him raise his staff. And the sea—it split.
I can still see it now. Walls of water rising like mountains, held apart by nothing. The wind rushed between them, cold and wet. The people crossed, running, weeping, praising their Lord.
Pharaoh followed, but when Musa and his people reached the far side, the sea crashed down on the army behind them.
Silence.
The kind of silence that makes you cry—not out of fear, but out of awe.
I fell to my knees.
We had all seen it. Not a story. Not a dream. But the truth of Allah’s power and mercy.
The Israelites were free. And I understood, in that moment, what true strength was.
It wasn’t an army. It wasn’t a crown.
It was standing firm with Allah, even when all you have is a staff and trust.
Now I tell my children this story so they remember:
Musa stood alone, but he was never alone. Allah ﷻ was with him.
And if we hold tight to truth, even the sea will make way for us.
Musa's Courage Against Pharaoh's Might
How Musa's Faith Overcame Tyranny
It was the year the river flooded early. I remember the smell of the clay by the water banks, thick and brown after the skies opened. My name is Yusef. I was a builder's son in the city of Misr—what the people now call Egypt. My father carved the stones for Pharaoh’s palace, and I carried buckets of sand beneath the hot sun.
At that time, Pharaoh ruled over us like he had no god. He made the children of Israel into workers and took their sons away out of fear. He believed his throne might fall, ever since there had been whispers of a boy—one who would grow up to challenge him. That boy was Prophet Musa (peace be upon him).
I was still young when Musa came back to the city. People said he had gone far away after an accident. Some whispered he had seen something in the desert—something only a prophet would see. It was the fire on the Mount of Tur, where Allah ﷻ had spoken to him.
Musa didn’t come with swords or soldiers. He came with words. Words that made even Pharaoh tremble. “Worship none but Allah,” he said. “Let the Children of Israel go free.”
I saw him speak in Pharaoh’s hall. I stood behind the marble columns as a servant, holding a pitcher. The crowd mocked him at first. Pharaoh laughed. But Musa stood firm. I remember his voice—it didn’t shake, even when Pharaoh threatened to kill him.
He threw down his stick, and it turned into a great snake, alive and moving, like something summoned from the earth. People screamed. The magicians who served Pharaoh tried to copy him, throwing down their ropes and staffs. But their tricks were illusions. When Musa’s serpent swallowed theirs, the magicians fell to their knees.
“We believe in the Lord of Musa and Harun,” they said clearly.
Pharaoh was enraged. He called it betrayal. He punished them terribly. But they didn’t beg for their lives. I heard one of them say, “Do what you will... Our Lord will forgive us.”
That’s when I began to believe. Musa wasn’t just a man. He was chosen.
Days later, the sky turned red with punishments from Allah. Frogs filled our kitchens. Blood bubbled in our water jars. Locusts ate the crops. Still, Pharaoh wouldn’t let the Israelites go. Each time Musa asked, Pharaoh lied.
Then one night, it happened. Musa and his people left quietly. Thousands of them, guided by his voice and the promise of Allah. I didn’t go with them—but I followed from afar, hidden behind rocks and brush, my heart pulling me forward.
By the time Pharaoh discovered their escape, it was too late. He gathered his army and stormed after them, thundering across the sand. The Israelites reached the sea. The water was wide and deep, and they were trapped.
I was too far back to hear what Musa said, but I saw him raise his staff. And the sea—it split.
I can still see it now. Walls of water rising like mountains, held apart by nothing. The wind rushed between them, cold and wet. The people crossed, running, weeping, praising their Lord.
Pharaoh followed, but when Musa and his people reached the far side, the sea crashed down on the army behind them.
Silence.
The kind of silence that makes you cry—not out of fear, but out of awe.
I fell to my knees.
We had all seen it. Not a story. Not a dream. But the truth of Allah’s power and mercy.
The Israelites were free. And I understood, in that moment, what true strength was.
It wasn’t an army. It wasn’t a crown.
It was standing firm with Allah, even when all you have is a staff and trust.
Now I tell my children this story so they remember:
Musa stood alone, but he was never alone. Allah ﷻ was with him.
And if we hold tight to truth, even the sea will make way for us.
