Parshat Shemot5 min read

God Spoke From Thorns Because Israel Was Burning

Moses sees fire in a thornbush that does not consume the branches. Shemot Rabbah hears God choosing to stand inside Israel's suffering before speaking.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Bush Burned and the Branches Did Not Fall
  2. Heaven Felt the Affliction Before Moses Arrived
  3. Job's Suffering Prepared a Place for God's Answer
  4. Three Things Cannot Be Used for Healing
  5. The Tablets Were Written on Both Sides With Miraculous Letters

The Bush Burned and the Branches Did Not Fall

Moses was behind the wilderness, pasturing Jethro's sheep on the far side of the desert, when the mountain appeared at the edge of the ordinary. He turned aside to see why the bush was burning without being consumed. The flame held steady inside the thornbush and the thornbush held steady inside the flame, and neither canceled the other. He turned to look, and the voice came. Shemot Rabbah hears the choice of thornbush as theologically deliberate. God did not call from a cedar. He did not call from a tower or an open sky or a mountaintop unencumbered by thorns. He called from something that catches and holds and sometimes draws blood. Israel was in Egypt. Israel was burning. God spoke from a place that shares Israel's condition. The bush was not consumed because Israel would not be consumed. The fire was not distant because God was not distant. Before any instruction, any mission, any confrontation with Pharaoh, there was this: God standing in the thorns.

Heaven Felt the Affliction Before Moses Arrived

The Midrash digs into Psalm 91:15: I am with him in trouble. God had heard the cries from Egypt and from the crossing of the sea. The sages went further: in all their trouble, He was troubled. This is not legal language or administrative language. It is the language of shared suffering, where the one who governs is not insulated from what the governed endure. The bush burning without consuming is the image of that shared condition. Israel burns in Egypt and does not dissolve, and God is in the burning rather than watching it from outside. When Moses removes his sandals on the holy ground, he is standing in a place where divine grief has been present longer than he has. The holiness of the ground is partly the holiness of sustained mourning, the kind that does not convert itself into distance.

Job's Suffering Prepared a Place for God's Answer

The tradition associated with the view of Rabbi Ishmael, that Job lived in the time of Moses, places Job's suffering alongside the Egyptian bondage in the same generation of divine reckoning. Job asked the hardest questions from inside the whirlwind. Why does the innocent suffer? Where is justice found when the wicked prosper? God answered Job not with an explanation but with a counter-question: where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? The vastness of the answer did not resolve Job's pain. It located his pain inside a creation whose scope he could not fully measure. The burning bush makes the same move. Moses cannot understand why Israel suffers in Egypt. God does not explain the mechanism. God shows him a fire in a thornbush and says: this is where I am while it is happening. The answer to suffering is not always a reason. Sometimes it is a location.

Three Things Cannot Be Used for Healing

Among the traditions preserved in Shemot Rabbah is a ruling about what may not be used as medicine. Three things cannot heal. The Midrash names them in the context of creation's early days, when certain objects or substances were set aside from ordinary use and made into categories that no amount of pain or necessity could make available for remedy. This is a strange boundary to find inside the story of the burning bush, but Shemot Rabbah makes the connection visible: some things exist at a level where human need cannot override what they represent. Fire that does not consume. Ground that is holy. Objects that may not be used for healing regardless of suffering. The wilderness is full of this kind of boundary, where what is forbidden is not forbidden because it is worthless but because it is too charged with another meaning to be reduced to utility.

The Tablets Were Written on Both Sides With Miraculous Letters

When Moses received the two tablets of stone at Sinai, they were written on both sides. The writing was the writing of God, engraved in stone. The Midrash adds the detail that made the letters miraculous: the letters were cut through from one side to the other, and yet the letters that had hollow centers, the samech and the final mem, held their middles in place without any support. In an ordinary stone, cutting a circle out of the center causes it to fall. These letters held. The writing was legible on both sides simultaneously. Some sages read the Hebrew word for engraved, charut, as also meaning freedom, cheyrut. The letters that stood in stone without falling were themselves an image of liberty, the kind that does not depend on external support to remain upright. God had spoken from thorns. God had written in stone. In both cases, the material was common and the result was impossible.

MosesBurning BushAngelsTorahEgypt
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Shemot Rabbah 2:5Shemot Rabbah

“An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire from the midst of the bush. He looked, and behold, the bush burned with fire, but the bush was not consumed” (Exodus 3:2).

This verse from Exodus is so much more than just a pretty image. It's a powerful metaphor, and the Rabbis in Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Exodus, unpack it beautifully.

” The Rabbis interpret this as, "I am asleep from the mitzvot (commandments)," the commandments, "but my heart is awake to perform them." What does that mean? It means even when we feel distant or disconnected, our core connection to the Divine, our intention, remains. And that perfect faith? Rabbi Yannai compares it to twins – when one hurts, the other feels it. So too, the Holy One, blessed be He, said, "I will be with him in trouble" (Psalms 91:15).

It’s a two-way street. When we're in distress, we call out to God. We see it in Egypt: "their cry came up to God" (Exodus 2:23). At the sea: "and the children of Israel cried to the Lord" (Exodus 14:10). And God? Well, "In all their trouble, He was troubled" (Isaiah 63:9). The Holy One, blessed be He, says to Moses, "Don’t you sense that I am suffering just as Israel is suffering? Know that from the place that I am speaking with you, from the thorns, as it were, I am party to their suffering.”: God feels our pain, right there with us in the thick of it.

Now, about that angel. Rabbi Yoḥanan says it's Michael. Rabbi Ḥanina says it's Gabriel. And wherever Michael appears, there's the glory of the Divine Presence. But only Moses saw it. Like Daniel, who said, "I, Daniel, alone, saw the vision" (Daniel 10:7). Why him? Why not everyone?

The fire itself is described as “belabat esh,” a flame of fire. It’s there, says the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), to give Moses courage, lelabevo, so he won’t be afraid when he sees the fires at Sinai. It's also described as being "from two thirds of the bush and above, just as the heart [lev] is placed at two thirds of the person and above." Interesting. A gentile once asked Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korḥa, "Why a bush? What did God see in a bush?" The Rabbi's response is classic: "Had He spoken from a carob tree or a sycamore, would you ask the same?" But he doesn't dismiss the question. He explains, "It is to teach you that there is no place that is vacant of the Divine Presence, even a bush." Even in the most humble, ordinary places, God can be found.

Rabbi Eliezer adds that just as the bush is the lowliest of trees, Israel was lowly in Egypt. So God appeared to them and redeemed them. Rabbi Yosei sees the bush as the harshest of trees, like the harshness of Egyptian slavery. He points to the doubled expression in (Exodus 3:7), "ra’o ra’iti," "I have surely seen," to emphasize God's awareness of their pain. It’s like God is saying, "I know its pains."

Rabbi Yoḥanan offers another perspective: The bush is a fence for a garden, and Israel is a fence for the world. It thrives on water, and Israel thrives on the Torah. It grows in gardens and by rivers, just as Israel exists in this world and the World to Come. And just as the bush produces thorns and roses, Israel has both righteous and wicked.

Rabbi Pinḥas, son of Rabbi Ḥama, compares the bush to Israel's descent into Egypt. No one knew them then, but they emerged with "signs, with wonders, and with war" (Deuteronomy 4:34). Rabbi Yehuda bar Shalom makes a similar point, referencing Abraham's time in Egypt.

Rabbi Naḥman, son of Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman, points out that the bush has five leaves, alluding to the merits of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, and Aaron. He even connects the Hebrew word for bush, hasneh, to the number 120, suggesting Moses' lifespan.

And what about the fire itself? Heavenly fire, they say, generates light but doesn't consume. Earthly fire is red and consumes but doesn't produce light. The burning bush shows Moses that even though the Egyptians might try to destroy Israel, they won't succeed. “Just as the bush burns in fire but is not consumed, so too, the Egyptians will be unable to eradicate Israel.”

The burning bush was a way to get Moses' attention. He was busy shepherding, focused on his work. God showed him this incredible sight so he would turn and see, so He could speak to him. “An angel of the Lord appeared to him,” and Moses didn’t go. Once he stopped working, he went to see, and immediately, “God called to him” (Exodus 3:4).

So, what's the takeaway from all this? Perhaps it's this: even in the midst of our own "burning bush" moments – those times when we feel overwhelmed, consumed, and perhaps a little lost – we are not alone. God is with us, feeling our pain, guiding us, and reminding us that even the lowliest bush can be a source of divine revelation. And just like that bush, we too can endure, we too can find a way to burn brightly without being consumed.

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Shemot Rabbah 3:2Shemot Rabbah

Our story begins in (Exodus 3:7): “The Lord said: I have seen My people’s affliction that is in Egypt, and I have heard their outcry because of their taskmasters, as I know their pain.” But the Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, doesn't let us stop there. It dives deeper, exploring what it truly means for God to "know their pain."

The midrash, the interpretive tradition, cleverly connects this verse to (ob 11:11): “For He knows vain men [metei shav].” Now, metei shav can be understood in a few ways. One interpretation suggests that God knows those who "die" to perform vanity, those who perish chasing empty pursuits. Another, even more poignant reading, suggests that God knows those who are destined to perform vanity and be killed for it. As (Isaiah 3:25) says, "Your men [metayikh] will fall by the sword.”

Here's the twist: the same verse in Job also says, "He sees iniquity but does not consider it." How can God know the future, know the pain and suffering to come, and yet still act? The Shemot Rabbah uses the story of Hagar and Ishmael to illustrate this point.

When Hagar and her son were cast out into the desert and ran out of water, she cried out to God, questioning His earlier promise to multiply her descendants. According to Rabbi Berekhya, she even reproached Heaven. The angels, Rabbi Simon tells us, even argued against saving Ishmael, pointing out that he would be the ancestor of people who would cause the Israelites to die of thirst. They argued, shouldn’t the well be saved for the six hundred thousand Israelites destined to proclaim “This is my God and I will glorify Him!”? ((Exodus 15:2)).

But God's response is profound: "Now, is he righteous or wicked?" He declares, "I only judge a person at his time." Even though God knows what Ishmael's descendants will do in the future, He judges him based on his present actions. He sees the potential for iniquity but doesn't "consider" it in this moment.

Similarly, when God says, "I have seen [ra’o ra’iti]" the affliction of the Israelites in Egypt, the doubled expression is significant. It doesn’t just say ra’iti – “I have seen,” but rather, ra’o ra’iti – implying a deeper, twofold vision. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: ‘You see one sight but I see two sights. You see them arriving at Sinai and receiving My Torah, and I see them receiving My Torah, that is ra’o; [but I also see] ra’iti, that is the sight of the deed of the calf, as it is stated; “I have seen [ra’iti] this people” ((Exodus 32:9)).

God sees them receiving the Torah at Sinai, but He also sees the future sin of the Golden Calf. He sees their potential for greatness, but also their potential for failure. The midrash even imagines God descending in His tatramoli, his chariot drawn by four animals, and the Israelites removing one of them – a bull – to create the idol.

Yet, despite knowing this future transgression, God doesn't refrain from delivering them. He judges them in the present, not based on what they are destined to do. Even though, as the midrash interprets, "As I know their pain" refers to how much they are destined to pain God in the wilderness, as stated in (Psalms 78:40): “How often did they defy Him in the wilderness, and aggrieve Him in the wasteland,” He will not refrain from delivering them.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman even tells us that Otniel ben Kenaz argued before God, reminding Him of His promise to Moses: whether the Israelites do His will or not, He will deliver them, as it is stated: “The spirit of the Lord was upon him, and he judged Israel” ((Judges 3:10)).

So what does this all mean for us? It means that even when we are destined to stumble, even when our future actions might cause pain, there is still hope for redemption. God sees our potential for both good and evil, but He judges us in the present, offering us the chance to choose righteousness.

It's a powerful reminder that we are not defined by our future mistakes, but by the choices we make today. And even when we do falter, God's promise of deliverance remains. Knowing our pain doesn't stop Him from acting on our behalf. It's a message of hope, resilience, and the enduring power of divine grace.

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Shemot Rabbah 16:2Shemot Rabbah

The verse "Draw, and take for yourselves lambs" (Exodus 12:21) might seem straightforward, but the Rabbis saw layers of meaning. They connect it to the verse "With stillness and pleasantness you will be saved" (Isaiah 30:15). This connection leads to a fascinating discussion about when healing becomes forbidden.

The passage starts with a general principle: we can heal ourselves with almost anything. except for three things: idol worship, forbidden sexual relations, and bloodshed. Strong words!

Bloodshed is fairly straightforward. If someone says, "Kill someone, and you'll be healed," the answer is a resounding no. The Torah is clear: "One who sheds the blood of a man, his blood will be shed by man" (Genesis 9:6). Asks the Rabbis, how can healing come from an act that itself demands punishment?

Forbidden sexual relations is where things get interesting. The Rabbis draw a parallel between the laws of the nazirite (a person who takes a vow of abstinence, detailed in (Numbers 6:1-2)1) and the sota (a woman suspected of adultery, (Numbers 5:11-3)1). It seems like an odd pairing. But stay with me.

The nazirite vows to abstain from wine. The Holy One, blessed be He, essentially tells him, "Don't even think about pushing the boundaries. No grapes! No grape juice! Stay far away from temptation." The text in Shemot Rabbah equates a woman to a grapevine, referencing the verse, "Your wife is like a fruitful vine" (Psalms 128:3). The lesson? Just as the nazirite must avoid even the slightest contact with wine, so too must a person avoid any inappropriate contact with a woman who is not his wife. As Solomon warns in (Proverbs 6:27-29), "Can a man stoke fire in his bosom and his garments not be burned?...so one who goes in to his neighbor's wife; anyone who touches her will not be absolved." To touch a woman who is not your wife, we are warned, brings death. Given this, how could such a relationship bring healing?

Finally, there's idol worship. This is perhaps the most forcefully condemned. If someone is sick and told to worship an idol for healing, it's absolutely forbidden. Why? Because "One who sacrifices to gods shall be destroyed, except to the Lord alone" (Exodus 22:19). Better to die from the illness than to commit an act that leads to destruction! It's not just the act of worship itself that's prohibited, but also using anything associated with idolatry. Don't take anything from idols, don't use a tree worshipped as an idol as an amulet, as "Nothing of the banned items shall cleave to your hand" (Deuteronomy 13:18).

The text then quotes the prophet Jeremiah extensively (Jeremiah 10:2-16), contrasting the emptiness and powerlessness of idols with the living God, the "Maker of all things". Over and over, Jeremiah emphasizes the futility of idols, their inability to do good or evil. "Do not fear them, for they cannot do evil, neither is it in them to do good" (Jeremiah 10:5). How can something so empty, so powerless, possibly bring healing?

The Rabbis use the example of the Israelites in Egypt. They were worshipping idols, and God told Moses that they wouldn't be redeemed until they abandoned those idols. That's why God commands, "Draw, and take for yourselves" (Exodus 12:21), draw away from idol worship, and take the lambs to sacrifice, thereby rejecting the gods of Egypt. Only then, "With stillness and pleasantness you will be saved" (Isaiah 30:15).

So, what's the takeaway here? This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just about ancient laws and rituals. It's about the boundaries of morality, about the dangers of seeking healing at any cost. It forces us to ask: What are we willing to sacrifice for health? What lines are we unwilling to cross? And can true healing ever come from a source that is itself impure or destructive? It is something to consider.

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Shemot Rabbah 21:5Shemot Rabbah

Jewish tradition recognizes that very tension within us, and even within the relationship between God and Israel.

Shemot Rabbah, a classic midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) collection that explores the Book of Exodus, explores this complexity using a beautiful and unexpected metaphor: the dove.

"My dove in the cleft of the rock," says the verse in Song of Songs (2:14). But why "my dove"? Why not just "a dove"?

Rabbi Yochanan offers a striking interpretation: God calls Israel "My dove" because, like a dove, they are innocent and obedient… to God. But the story doesn’t end there. The midrash contrasts this dove-like submission to God with a fierce resistance against idolaters. As it says in Hosea (7:11), "Ephraim is like a foolish dove, with no understanding." According to this, God says that toward Him, Israel is like that foolish dove – doing and obeying everything. Idolaters try to undermine Jewish practices, questioning the value of Shabbat (the Sabbath) or circumcision. In response, the Israelites become "as tough as beasts," like Judah a lion (Genesis 49:9), Benjamin a wolf (Genesis 49:27), or Dan a serpent (Genesis 49:17). They stand firm against those who seek to dismantle their traditions. But towards God? They are like that innocent dove, obeying every decree. The people believed (Exodus 4:31), and they proclaimed "Everything the Lord has spoken we will do and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7).

It’s a fascinating duality: unwavering strength against external pressures, and devoted obedience to the Divine.

The midrash then shifts to a vivid scene from the Exodus story itself: the moment when Pharaoh's army is bearing down on the Israelites at the edge of the Red Sea. "Pharaoh drew near and the children of Israel lifted up their eyes and, behold, Egypt was traveling after them, and they were very frightened; the children of Israel cried out to the Lord" (Exodus 14:10).

Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat points out a subtle detail: the verse doesn't say the Egyptians "were traveling" after them, but "was traveling." He explains that when the Israelites looked up, they saw not just the physical army, but also the angel of Egypt, whose very name was Egypt, floating in the air. According to Jewish tradition, every nation has a corresponding angel. God doesn’t bring down a nation until He first brings down its angel. We see this with Nebuchadnezzar, whose angel was named Kal, as Rabbi Yehoshua bar Avin tells us, citing Daniel (4:28). And so, before the Egyptians were drowned in the sea, their angel had to be vanquished. "And the Lord tossed Egypt in the midst of the sea" (Exodus 14:27) refers to the angel of Egypt.

But there's another layer to this dramatic moment. Rabbi Berekhya suggests that Pharaoh's approach, his drawing near (hikriv), actually drew Israel nearer to repentance. Can you imagine? The very threat of annihilation spurred them to turn to God. It was more effective than a hundred fasts and prayers! In their desperation, they cried out, "The children of Israel cried out to the Lord" (Exodus 14:10).

The Israelites, trapped between the sea, the enemy, and the wilderness, felt utterly cornered. Rabbi Yirmeya ben Elazar explains that when (Exodus 14:3) says "The wilderness has closed in (sagar) on them," the word sagar refers to beasts. He bases this on the verse "My God has sent His angel, and shut (usagar) the lions' mouths" (Daniel 6:23).

Why did God put them in such a dire situation? Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi offers a powerful parable. Imagine a king who rescues a princess from highwaymen. Later, he wants to marry her, but she won't speak to him. So, what does the king do? He arranges for the highwaymen to threaten her again, knowing she will cry out to him. When she does, he says, "This is what I desired, to hear your voice!"

Similarly, the midrash explains, God longed to hear Israel's voice. He had heard their cries in Egypt, and He yearned to hear them again. So, He incited Pharaoh to pursue them, prompting their desperate plea. God’s response? "My dove in the cleft of the rock…sound me your voice" (Song of Songs 2:14). Not just a voice, but your voice – the voice I heard in Egypt.

And in the end, when Moses prays, God tells him, "Why are you standing and praying? The prayer of My children preceded your prayer, as it is stated: 'Why are you crying out to Me?'” The people's genuine, heartfelt cry came first.

This midrash reminds us that our relationship with the Divine is not always simple. It involves both strength and vulnerability, obedience and resistance. And sometimes, it's in our most desperate moments, when we feel trapped and alone, that we find our voice and connect with God in the deepest way. What does it mean to you to find strength in vulnerability?

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Shemot Rabbah 41:7Shemot Rabbah

Our tradition teaches that the Torah isn't just a book; it's a blueprint for creation, a manifestation of God's very being. And the luchot, the tablets upon which the Ten Commandments were inscribed, hold a profound secret.

“The tablets were the work of God and the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets,” (Exodus 32:16). It sounds straightforward.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi shares a powerful image: he says that every single day, a Divine Voice rings out from Mount Horev – the very place where the Torah was given! – lamenting that people aren't engaging with Torah. Why the urgency? Because, as it says, “The tablets were the work of God.” The message? Ignoring Torah is, in a way, ignoring God. God's "occupation," so to speak, is Torah itself. (Matnot Kehuna; see Tanḥuma, Ki Tisa 16). And what about that word "engraved" – ḥarut in Hebrew? The Rabbis play with this word in a beautiful way. Rabbi Yehuda suggests we read it not as ḥarut, “engraved,” but as ḥerut – freedom. Freedom from what, you ask? Rabbi Nehemya says it's freedom from the angel of death! The Rabbis expand on this, saying it's freedom from suffering itself.

Rabbi Elazar son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili takes it even further. He says that if the angel of death dared to complain to God that he was created without purpose, God would respond that he has dominion over every nation except the Jewish people, because they have been granted freedom through the Torah. That’s a powerful statement about the power and protection inherent in living a life connected to Torah.

But, as we know, the story of the tablets is intertwined with one of the most painful episodes in our history: the Golden Calf. The Torah tells us, "The people saw that Moses tarried in descending from the mountain…" (Exodus 32:1).

What does it mean that Moses "tarried?" Well, the Rabbis in Shemot Rabbah tell us that the people became impatient. Moses had promised to return in forty days with the Torah. But six hours into the fortieth day, he still hadn't come down. Six hours! And panic set in.

The Rabbis say that the "accuser" – the yetzer hara, the evil inclination – seized the opportunity. The people saw Moses suspended between heaven and earth, and they lost faith. In their fear, they turned to Aaron, demanding a new god.

Ḥur, a righteous man, tried to reason with them, reminding them of the miracles God had performed. But they wouldn't listen. In fact, they killed him. When Aaron saw what happened to Ḥur, he realized he was in danger. He knew he had to buy time.

So, he agreed to build an altar. He told them he needed to do it himself, to ensure it was done properly. His real intention? To delay them until Moses returned. But, alas, Moses didn't come back soon enough. The next day, the people rose early and, as the prophet Zephaniah laments, "corrupted all their exploits" (Zephaniah 3:7).

"The people sat to eat and drink, and they rose to revel" (Exodus 32:6) – in idol worship. The Rabbis point out a pattern: whenever we find the word "sitting" (yeshiva) in the Torah, it often precedes a mishap. Think of the generation of the Dispersion, who "settled" (vayeshvu) in Shinar and then tried to build the Tower of Babel. Or the brothers who "sat" (vayeshvu) to eat bread and ended up selling Joseph into slavery. Or when Israel "settled" (vayeshev) in Shittim and succumbed to licentiousness. In each case, sitting, settling, became a prelude to disaster.

Here, too, "sitting" leads to idol worship. God, seeing what was happening, tells Moses, "Descend!" (Exodus 32:7). But Moses faces another obstacle: angels of destruction! He's afraid to descend. the verse says, “For I was in dread due to the wrath and the fury” (Deuteronomy 9:19).

In desperation, Moses grabs hold of the Divine throne. God protects him with a cloud. But God insists that Moses must descend, telling him it's a demotion. Why? Because, God says, "Your people…have acted corruptly" (Exodus 32:7).

But Moses isn't having it. He pleads with God, "Now You are calling them my people; they are only Your people." He reminds God to "Relent from Your enflamed wrath and reconsider the evil for Your people" (Exodus 32:12).

Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai teaches that Moses wouldn't stop praying until God once again called them His people. Only then did God "reconsider the evil that He had spoken of doing to His people" (Exodus 32:14).

Finally, God offers a glimmer of hope: "In this world, because the evil inclination is in them, they craft idols. But in the future, I will uproot the evil inclination from within them and I will grant them a heart of flesh," just as it says in Ezekiel: "I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh" (Ezekiel 36:26).

So, what can we take away from this story? It’s a reminder of the constant struggle between our higher and lower selves, between connection and disconnection. It emphasizes the power of Torah as a source of freedom and protection. And it offers a hopeful vision of a future where we are finally freed from the impulses that lead us astray, a future where we all have a heart of flesh, ready to embrace the Divine.

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 169:10Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

Another interpretation: "in a flame of fire" [belabbat esh], for the heart [lev] is set in two parts. Why from within the thornbush and not from within another tree? The Holy One, blessed be He, says, "I am with him in trouble" (Psalms 91:15); they are placed in bondage, and shall I reveal Myself from within another tree? Therefore from within the thornbush, which is wholly full of thorns.

"And Moses said: I will turn aside now and see" (Exodus 3:3). Rabbi Yohanan said: Moses took three steps. Resh Lakish said: He did not step, but only craned his neck. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: You troubled yourself to see; by your life, I shall reveal Myself to you. At once, "And God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said: Moses, Moses, and he said: Here am I." The Holy One, blessed be He, said: You said "Here am I"; by your life, so too will I, "Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and He will say: Here am I" (Isaiah 58:9).

"And he came to the mountain of God, unto Horeb", for from there [from Horeb] those who bear swords [charavot] became liable, such as the murderer, the adulterer, and the adulteress.

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Midrash Aggadah, Exodus 3:2Midrash Aggadah

"From within the bush." [Why from within the bush] and not from within another tree? The Holy One, blessed be He, said: I proclaimed concerning Myself, "I am with him in trouble" (Psalms 91:15), and they are set in bondage, so I reveal Myself from within the bush, which is all thorns and in a narrow place; as it were, I reveal Myself from within the thorns.

"And the bush was not consumed." From here they said that the fire of above raises shoots and scorches but does not consume, and it is black; while the fire of below does not raise shoots, and it consumes but does not scorch, and it is red. Therefore: "And he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire" etc.

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