Me 80m am Moses. So I was raised in Egypt’s royal family — yeah, literal palace life. Think gold, servants, political drama, the works. But plot twist: I’m not Egyptian. I’m Hebrew. My people were enslaved, and I was adopted as a baby to avoid being killed under Pharaoh’s whole “no Hebrew boys allowed” law.

I spent years pretending I belonged there, but it never sat right. Then one day I saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew man — and I snapped. Ended up killing him. I panicked, fled into the desert, figured I’d disappear. Start over. I became a shepherd. I got married. I was fine being nobody.

Then... the bush. You know the one. On fire but not burning up. God spoke to me. Told me I had to go back and free my people.

I said no. A lot. I’m not a speaker, I’m not a leader. But eventually I said yes — because someone had to.

So I went back to Egypt. Faced Pharaoh. He laughed in my face. Over and over again. So came the plagues: water turning to blood, frogs, boils, hail, darkness. Each time Pharaoh said no. It wasn’t until the last one — the death of the firstborn — that he let us go.

We left fast. No time for anything to rise, which is why we still eat matzah. But Pharaoh changed his mind. Came after us. We ended up trapped at the sea — and I split it. Don’t ask me how. God did that part. We crossed. Pharaoh’s army didn’t.

Now we’re in the desert. Free, but not settled. It’s hard. People complain. It’s not all miracles. But we’re not slaves anymore.

So yeah. I went from royal kid to exile to leader of a nation — and I’m still figuring it out.