5 min read

God Arrived Leaping Over the Mountains of Merit

The people of Israel in Egypt have almost nothing to their credit. God comes running anyway, vaulting every obstacle, too impatient to wait.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Beloved Running
  2. Why God Had to Leap
  3. Everyone Built the Ark Together
  4. The Season That Could Not Wait

The Beloved Running

Moses stands in front of a crowd of slaves and announces that this month, the month of spring, they are walking out of Egypt. He has told them about a burning bush and a voice inside it. He has told them about staffs and plagues and a sea that will open. The people look around. The brick-pits are right there. The taskmasters are right there. Pharaoh's army is somewhere beyond the horizon. Where is this God?

Moses answers with the image of a man running toward someone he has missed for a very long time.

The tradition preserved that image by laying the Song of Songs next to the Exodus account. The verse from Song of Songs says: the voice of my beloved, look, he comes, leaping on the mountains, bounding over the hills. The lover in the poem is running. He is not processing toward his beloved in royal dignity with a retinue. He is leaping. He is bounding. He is moving the way a person moves when the distance has become intolerable and decorum is a smaller concern than arrival.

The rabbis said: that is God coming to Egypt for Israel.

Why God Had to Leap

The tradition pressed the image and found something uncomfortable inside it. If God was leaping over mountains, the next question was which mountains. The answer came back: the mountains of merit. Israel's merit.

The people in Egypt had been slaves for four hundred years. They had not been observing festivals or studying law. They had not had the opportunity. The rabbis catalogued the record honestly. According to one tradition, the Israelites had almost nothing in the account book of religious achievement when the Exodus began. They had circumcision. They had not abandoned their names, their language, or their manner of dress entirely. That was the list.

By the mathematics of desert people, by any reasonable standard of who deserves a miracle, the numbers did not work. And so God did not walk toward them through the merit. He leaped over it. The metaphor contained its own theology: the Beloved's love was not conditional on the mountain's height.

Everyone Built the Ark Together

The tradition added a third image from the same cluster of readings. The Ark of the Tabernacle, the gold-plated box that would become the center of Israelite worship, was built by everyone. The Torah records a long list of donations, gold and silver and acacia wood and fine linen, all of it brought voluntarily, more than was needed, until Moses had to tell the people to stop.

The rabbis who read those chapters alongside Song of Songs heard the same love story. God had said: make me a sanctuary and I will dwell among you. Not a palace. Not a temple requiring ten years and forced labor. A portable box that a people still learning to walk could carry through the wilderness. The people gave everything they had. They gave too much.

The interior of the Ark was plated with love, the rabbis read, pulling a line from Song of Songs and pressing it flat against the dimensions of the Tabernacle. The construction was not a tax. It was a reciprocal rush, a crowd of people who had just been told that the Beloved wanted to live among them, giving everything in their packs.

The Season That Could Not Wait

The month of spring mattered in this telling. Exodus 13:4 names it: you are going out in the month of Aviv, spring. The tradition read that naming as deliberate. Spring is the season when the land is becoming itself again after a long cold. The orchards are beginning. The grain is beginning. Everything that was locked in is opening.

God did not free Israel in the depth of winter, when the land was gray and the going was hard in a different way. He freed them when the world was leaping. The season and the Beloved running were the same argument in two registers. This was not rescue performed at administrative convenience. This was Someone who could not wait one more month.

ExodusPatriarchsMidrash RabbahSanctuarySong Of Songs
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Shemot Rabbah 15:4Shemot Rabbah

The ancient Rabbis felt that way about the Exodus, the liberation of the Israelites from Egypt. And they found echoes of that feeling in the most unexpected places, even in the Song of Songs.

Shemot Rabbah, a classical collection of Rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, offers a beautiful reading of the verse, "The Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron" (Exodus 6:10). It connects it to the verse from Song of Songs (2:8): "The voice of my beloved! Behold, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills." Imagine Moses announcing to the Israelites that their redemption was at hand: “Today you are leaving, in the month of spring!” (Exodus 13:4). And the people, understandably, ask, "Where is He? Where is God?"

Moses replies, “He is about to arrive!” – like the arrival of a long-awaited lover.

What does it mean, "leaping upon the mountains?" Rabbi Yehuda offers a profound interpretation. The Holy One, blessed be He, says, "If I scrutinize the actions of Israel, they will never be redeemed." Harsh. But sometimes, we fall short. So, where does God look instead? "At their saintly forefathers," says Rabbi Yehuda. As it's stated, "Moreover, I have heard the cry of the children of Israel…and I have remembered my covenant" (Exodus 6:5). The covenant, of course, was made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It's on the merit of these eitanim, these mighty ones, that God redeems them. Thus, "leaping upon the mountains" refers to those forefathers, those "heights," as the prophet Micah (6:2) says: "Hear, O mountains, the Lord’s controversy, and you enduring foundations of the earth." Eitanim, meaning mighty ones, is a term that the Sages used for the patriarchs.

Rabbi Nehemya offers another interpretation: maybe the Israelites don't deserve redemption based on their own merits, but God looks to the elders of the generation. He tells Moses, "Go and gather the elders of Israel" (Exodus 3:16). These elders, too, are the "heights." He cleverly uses the example of Jephthah's daughter in Judges (11:37) who asks to "go down upon the mountains." Was she literally going mountain climbing? No, she was going to show the elders that she was a pure virgin, thus perhaps hoping to avert the tragic fate her father had vowed. So, "leaping upon the mountains" can also mean looking to the wisdom and righteousness of the elders.

Then, Rabbi Elazar presents a different angle. God says, "I arranged for Esau that he would establish kings," referring to the verse in Genesis (36:31): "These are the kings who reigned in the land of Edom." If God allowed Esau’s descendants to continue establishing kings, how would Israel ever survive? So, God supplants them, rendering them chieftains instead, as it's stated (Genesis 36:15): "These are the chieftains of the sons of Esau." In this reading, "leaping upon the mountains" means overcoming the idolatrous nations, the "heights" of idolatry, as seen in Zechariah (6:1): "Behold, four chariots are coming from between two mountains." The chariots representing four idolatrous nations.

So, what do we take away from all this? It's a reminder that redemption, salvation, whatever you want to call it, can come from unexpected places. Sometimes it's the merit of our ancestors, sometimes the wisdom of our elders, and sometimes it's overcoming the obstacles in our path. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a combination of all three. The voice of our beloved is always coming, leaping upon the mountains, if we only know where. And how, to listen.

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Shemot Rabbah 34:2Shemot Rabbah

The answer, according to our Sages, might surprise you.

In Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Exodus, we find a fascinating discussion about the Ark, the Aron, and its significance. It begins with the verse, "They shall take Me a gift" (Exodus 25:2), immediately followed by, "They shall craft an Ark of acacia wood" (Exodus 25:10). The connection? Just as the Torah itself preceded everything, so too, in the building of the Tabernacle, the Ark, the vessel designed to house the Torah, came before all the other sacred objects. light itself preceded all the acts of Creation. As it says, "God said: Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3). Similarly, the Torah, often called light, as it is written, "For the commandment is a lamp, the Torah is light" (Proverbs 6:23), preceded all the other vessels in the Tabernacle. The Ark, then, wasn't just another piece of furniture; it was the embodiment of light, of Torah, of divine wisdom.

Notice the subtle difference in the language used when describing the construction of the Ark versus the other vessels. For everything else, the Torah commands, "you shall craft." But for the Ark, it says, "they shall craft." Why this shift from the singular to the plural?

Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Shalom explains that the Holy One, blessed be He, wanted everyone to be involved in the making of the Ark, so that all would acquire the Torah. What a powerful idea! The Torah shouldn't be the domain of a select few, but rather something that all of us, together, strive to embrace.

Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai takes it a step further. He speaks of three crowns: the crown of kingship, the crown of priesthood, and the crown of Torah (Mishna, Avot 4:13). The table for the showbread represents the crown of kingship, adorned with "a golden crown [zer] all around" (Exodus 25:24). The altar symbolizes the crown of priesthood, similarly adorned with "a golden crown [zer] all around" (Exodus 30:3). And the Ark? It too has "a golden crown [zer]" (Exodus 25:11).

But why is the word zer, crown, written in a way that it could also be read as zar, estranged? The Rabbis explain that if a person merits the Torah, it becomes a crown, a source of honor and connection. But if not, it can become something distant, alienating.

And finally, we find yet another linguistic nuance: "you shall craft for it" is used for the other vessels, while "you shall craft upon it" is used for the Ark. This, we are taught, is to show that the crown of Torah is superior to all the others. As Shemot Rabbah concludes, if a person acquires Torah, it is as though he has acquired everything.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that the Torah isn't just an ancient text, but a living source of wisdom and guidance. It's an invitation to participate, to engage, to make it our own. And maybe, just maybe, by embracing the Torah, we can transform ourselves from being estranged (zar) to becoming crowned (zer).

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Shemot Rabbah 15:21Shemot Rabbah

The ancient rabbis certainly did! And they painted a vibrant picture, filled with light, healing, and unimaginable peace.

Our starting point is a fascinating passage from Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus. It begins with the verse, "This month shall be for you" (Exodus 12:2), and then quotes (Isaiah 42:9): "Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare."

Isn't there that famous verse in Ecclesiastes (1:9) that says, "What has been is what will be"? So, what's truly new about the future?

The rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) propose ten incredible changes that God will introduce in the world to come. Get ready, because they're pretty.

First, the world will be illuminated by God's own light! (Isaiah 60:19) tells us, "The sun will no longer be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, for the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory." But how can we even gaze upon such divine radiance? The Midrash explains that God will amplify the sun's light forty-ninefold! It builds from (Isaiah 30:26), "The light of the moon will be like the light of the sun, and the light of the sun will be seven times brighter." The midrash understands this to mean that if the moon's light increases sevenfold to equal the sun, and the sun is already seven times brighter, then the sun's light becomes 7x7, or 49 times brighter than before. And even the sick will be healed by the sun's rays, as (Malachi 3:20) promises, "But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its rays."

Next, healing spring water will flow from Jerusalem, curing all diseases. (Ezekiel 47:9) says, "Every living creature that swarms will live wherever the river flows." Imagine, a river of healing flowing through the heart of the world!

And that's not all. Trees will bear fruit every single month, and eating from them will bring healing, according to (Ezekiel 47:12): "Along the bank of the river, on this side and that, trees of every kind shall grow… their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.”

The fourth change? All ruined cities will be rebuilt, never to be desolate again. Even Sodom and Gomorrah, those infamous cities of sin, will be restored, as (Ezekiel 16:55) states, "Your sisters, Sodom and her daughters, will return to their former state." A truly fresh start for everyone.

Jerusalem itself will be rebuilt with precious sapphire stones, so radiant that they shine like the sun. (Isaiah 54:11) promises, "I will set your stones in fair colors," and (Isaiah 54:12) adds, "I will make your windows of rubies." Nations will be drawn to its light, as (Isaiah 60:3) foretells, "Nations will come to your light."

Then comes a vision of universal peace. "The cow and the bear will graze; their young will lie down together," as (Isaiah 11:7) describes.

And not just among animals! God will make a covenant with all creatures – beasts, birds, and creeping things – alongside all of Israel. (Hosea 2:20) says, "In that day I will make a covenant for them with the beasts of the field, the birds of the sky, and the crawling things of the ground."

The eighth change is the end of sorrow. "The sound of weeping and crying will be heard in it no more," says (Isaiah 65:19).

Death itself will be vanquished! (Isaiah 25:8) proclaims, "He will swallow up death forever. The Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will remove from all the earth."

Finally, all sighing, groaning, and despair will vanish, replaced by everlasting joy. "Those the Lord has rescued will return and enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads," we read in (Isaiah 35:10).

Wow. Just imagine a world without pain, without death, without sorrow. It's a powerful vision, isn't it?

This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just a list of future events. It's a evidence of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, we can hold onto the belief that a better world is possible. It's an invitation to participate in bringing that world closer, one act of kindness, one moment of healing, at a time. And perhaps, that's the most "new" thing of all: our renewed commitment to building a brighter future, together.

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