An entire book was written about kingdoms and war, our people and their struggles, and all I got was a line: “his mother's name was Jerusha, the daughter of Zadok.”

A lifetime condensed into two derivative titles, mother and daughter. I was a person you know. And I accomplished things that no one will ever know about, because the men wrote the chapters, relegating the women to the basement of history, our mouths gagged and our voices muffled. 

Esther and Ruth were the lucky ones. They both got small chapters to tell their stories. The world got to know their names. In truth though, it was a small consolation price for their mighty feats.

The rest of us, not so much. 

Miriam, a powerful leader, prophetess, and goddess supreme, only got a few mentions scattered here and there. One about her watching baby Moses, another about her leading the women in dance, as though all she did was babysit her brother and dance. What a farce!

She deserved to be written across the scrolls and parchments of history! She deserved to have songs written about her! Songs that should be sung by women and men across millennia! SHE DID ALL THE HARD WORK FOR CHRIST'S SAKE (excuse my language).

She was a fantastic strategist. She was the pillar upon which Moses rested. If not for her strong, bold, uncompromising presence, Moses couldn’t have accomplished any of the things he did. But of course, all the glory went to him, and the other men.  

Okay, back to me. You’re probably wondering why I've decided to speak up at this moment in time, after so many centuries, complaining about women’s roles, and the depictions or lack there of, but most especially my role in history?

Well, dear reader, history does repeat itself now, doesn't it?