Parshat Shemot5 min read

God Stayed Close to Moses Through Fire Water and Forty Years

From the burning bush to the sea to Sinai, Shemot Rabbah follows Moses as divine nearness finds him in every crisis and stays through every silence.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Thornbush Where the Shechinah Waited
  2. A Well Held the Future
  3. God Preceded Israel Across the Sea
  4. One Complete Shabbat
  5. Moses Fasted and the Mountain Answered

The Thornbush Where the Shechinah Waited

Moses is tending sheep in the wilderness when a bush catches fire and does not burn down. He turns aside to look. Shemot Rabbah asks a harder question than the text: where does the divine presence rest when the Temple is gone? Where is the Shechinah when the world is suffering and no sacred space stands?

The answer is the bush. Not a throne room. Not a palace. A low shrub in the wilderness, the kind of plant everyone walks past. The Shechinah is present in the smallest, least dignified place, in the suffering itself, burning without being consumed. If Israel is in pain in Egypt, God is not too exalted to be found there. The bush is the proof: holiness can inhabit affliction without being destroyed by it. Moses must learn this before he can lead anyone out of anything.

A Well Held the Future

Moses flees from Egypt after killing the Egyptian taskmaster. He arrives at a well in Midian and finds women being pushed away from it by shepherds. He stands up for the women and draws water for their flocks. He does not know that one of the women is Zipporah, that he will marry her, that her father will become his father-in-law, that the descendants of this meeting will form part of his story for the rest of his life.

Shemot Rabbah slows down at the well because the rabbis believe that the three great figures of Israel, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, all found their wives near water. The well is where futures are made. Moses arrives at his well as a fugitive with blood on his past, and what waits there is not punishment but the beginning of a household. Divine nearness does not only appear at burning bushes. It appears at ordinary water where a stranger does something decent without being asked.

God Preceded Israel Across the Sea

When the sea splits and Israel walks through on dry ground, Shemot Rabbah says God went before them. This is not metaphor. The divine presence led the crossing, entered the water before Israel did, and only when Israel was safely across did the wall of water fall back on the Egyptians. The God who appeared in a lowly bush and waited at a Midianite well also waded into the sea ahead of the people it was rescuing.

Moses sings afterward. The song is not triumphal declaration but a binding: the song cements the covenant between God and Israel across every future generation. Whoever sings it in any generation joins the chorus at the sea. The event becomes eternal through the song, and the song carries the evidence of divine nearness into every mouth that sings it.

One Complete Shabbat

Shemot Rabbah records a tradition: if Israel were to keep one complete, undivided Shabbat, the Messiah would come. The wilderness generation received the manna, which came with its own Shabbat discipline built in. No manna fell on the seventh day. The people had to trust that what they had gathered on the sixth day was enough. They had to stop reaching for more. The Shabbat of the wilderness was not a gift that required nothing of Israel. It was a test of whether they could receive what they had been given without immediately wanting the day's additional portion that was not coming.

Moses Fasted and the Mountain Answered

Moses spent forty days and forty nights on Sinai without eating or drinking. Then another forty. Then a third forty. One hundred twenty days on the mountain, sustained by something other than bread and water. Shemot Rabbah treats this as a form of testimony: the man who had drawn water from wells, who had stood in the sea, who had eaten manna in the wilderness, could also be sustained for months on divine presence alone. The body that had passed through all that water and fire could also pass through a fast that would have killed anyone moving under only human conditions.


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Shemot Rabbah 2:2Shemot Rabbah

Where is God, exactly? Is He up in the heavens, completely removed from our earthly struggles? Or is He still somehow… here?

The book of Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, grapples with this very question. It starts with a seemingly simple phrase – "Moses was herding" – and launches into a profound discussion about God's presence in the world, particularly after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman paints a vivid picture: before the Temple's destruction, the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, resided within its walls, as it says in (Habakkuk 2:20), "God was in His sacred Sanctuary." But with the Temple gone? The Divine Presence, according to Rabbi Shmuel, ascended to the heavens, echoing (Psalms 103:19): "The Lord established His throne in the heavens." A pretty definitive departure. But hold on! Rabbi Elazar throws a wrench in the works. He insists that the Divine Presence never left the Sanctuary! He points to II (Chronicles 7:16): "My eyes and My heart will be there…" and (Psalms 3:5): "He answered me from his sacred mountain." Even in ruins, the Temple retains its sanctity. Cyrus, the Persian king, even acknowledged, "He is the God who is in Jerusalem" (Ezra 1:3), even though it was in ruins!

Rabbi Aḥa? He takes it even further, claiming the Divine Presence never moves from the Western Wall. Not even today! He references (Song of Songs 2:9), "Behold, he is standing behind our wall," and (Psalms 11:4), "His eyes behold, His eyelids assess the sons of man." Even if God seems distant, He's always watching, always present.

So, how do we reconcile these seemingly contradictory views? Is God here, there, or everywhere?

Rabbi Yannai offers an insightful analogy: a king with an orchard and a tall tower. The king employs laborers and declares that the diligent will be rewarded, while the indolent will be punished. The king, of course, is the King of Kings. The orchard is the world, given to Israel to observe the Torah. Observe it, and Paradise awaits. Neglect it, and… well, you know. Even if God appears to withdraw His presence, "His eyes behold, His eyelids test the sons of man." He's always watching, always judging.

But it's not just about judgment. It's about testing, refining. As (Psalms 11:5) says, "The Lord will test the righteous." And how does He test us? Through the mundane, the everyday… like sheepherding.

Remember David? God tested him with flocks, and found him a fine shepherd. (Psalms 78:70) tells us, "He took him from the sheepfolds." But what does it mean to be a "fine shepherd?" The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Midrash Rabbah, explains that David would carefully manage his flock, holding back the stronger sheep for the sake of the weaker ones, ensuring each had the right nourishment.

God saw this compassion, this attention to individual needs, and declared: "One who knows how to herd the flocks, each according to its ability, will come and herd My people." Thus, David, the shepherd, became David, the king. "From the suckling ewes He brought him, to herd Jacob His people" (Psalms 78:71).

And then there's Moses. Our Rabbis tell a story of Moses, tending Jethro's flock, when a young kid ran away. Moses pursued it, finding it exhausted and thirsty by a pool of water. Overcome with compassion, Moses carried the kid back on his shoulders. God, witnessing this act of kindness, declared: "You have the compassion to behave with the flocks belonging to flesh and blood in this manner; by your life, you will herd My flock, Israel." And so, "Moses was herding" became the prelude to Moses leading a nation.

So, what's the takeaway? Maybe God isn't always physically present in the way we expect. Maybe the Temple's destruction did create a distance. But the Shemot Rabbah reminds us that God's presence is revealed in the compassion we show, in the way we care for the vulnerable, in the diligence with which we perform even the most ordinary tasks. It’s in those moments that we, like David and Moses, are tested and, hopefully, found worthy to serve. And perhaps, in those moments, we glimpse the Divine, not in some distant heaven, but right here on Earth.

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Shemot Rabbah 1:32Shemot Rabbah

Like a well, for instance. It's more than just a source of water; it’s often a meeting place, a place of destiny. Our sages point this out in Shemot Rabbah, noting how the well is a recurring motif when finding a partner in the stories of our patriarchs. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sees in this a continuation of a pattern established by the patriarchs. Isaac, Jacob, and Moses – all were connected to their wives at a well.

The Midrash reminds us, "Isaac came from going to Be’er laḥai ro’i" (Genesis 24:62). Be’er laḥai ro’i, "the well of the Living One who sees me," was where God appeared to Hagar. It was near this very spring that Isaac met Rebecca, who was returning with Abraham’s servant, Eliezer, and eventually became his wife (Genesis 24:63-67).

Then there's Jacob. "He saw, and behold, there was a well in the field" (Genesis 29:2). It was at that well that Jacob first laid eyes on Rachel (Genesis 29:10-11), the woman he would work fourteen years to marry.

We have Moses. "And he sat alongside the well." The story unfolds: "The priest of Midian had seven daughters; they came and they drew water and filled the troughs to give their father’s flock to drink" (Exodus 2:16).

This brings up an interesting question. The Midrash asks, "But doesn’t the Holy One blessed be He hate idol worship, and yet He provided Moses haven with an idol worshipper?" This is where the story of Yitro, Moses' future father-in-law, takes a fascinating turn.

Our Rabbis teach that Yitro, initially a priest of idol worship, realized the emptiness of his practices. He renounced idolatry and, according to the Midrash, even offered his position to the townspeople. When they rejected him and ostracized him, his daughters were forced to tend the flocks themselves.

"They came and they drew." The Midrash explains that they arrived early because they feared the shepherds. "The shepherds came and drove them away; Moses rose and rescued them and gave their flocks to drink" (Genesis 2:17). But wait, if Yitro was the priest, why were his daughters being driven away?

The Shemot Rabbah explains that because Yitro had rejected idolatry, the townspeople treated his daughters as outcasts, much like a divorced woman. "He drove out the man" (Genesis 3:24) – just as humanity was banished from Eden, Yitro's daughters were being banished from the community.

"Moses rose and rescued them." The Midrash emphasizes that Moses wasn't just helping; he was enacting justice. He saw an injustice and acted. Rabbi Yoḥanan, in the name of Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, even suggests the shepherds' intentions were sexually inappropriate, aligning with the verse "The betrothed young woman screamed, and there was no one to rescue her" (Deuteronomy 22:27). Alternatively, some Rabbis say that the shepherds actually cast them into the water and Moses saved them. Vayoshian, the text notes, is an expression of saving from water.

Moses not only rescued them but also "gave their flocks to drink," mirroring Jacob's actions for Rachel. When the daughters returned home early, their father, Reuel (another name for Yitro, meaning "companion to God"), questioned them. "Why were you quick to come today?" (Exodus 2:18).

"They said: An Egyptian man saved us from the shepherds and also drew water for us and gave the flock to drink" (Exodus 2:19). But was Moses really an Egyptian? The Midrash offers a clever interpretation: either he was dressed as an Egyptian, or the daughters were speaking metaphorically. Just as someone bitten by a snake might inadvertently save another while seeking relief, Moses' past actions (killing the Egyptian) led him to this encounter.

"He said to his daughters: Where is he? Why did you leave the man? Call him so that he will eat bread" (Exodus 2:20). Yitro recognized something special in Moses. According to the Midrash, he saw a connection to the patriarchs, those who found blessing at the well. He also hoped that Moses might marry one of his daughters, as "eating bread" can be a euphemism for marriage, like in (Genesis 39:6).

And so, Tzipora, meaning "bird," ran after Moses and brought him back. The Midrash adds that she was named Tzipora because she purified the house like a bird – a reference to the bird's role in purifying a house afflicted with leprosy (Leviticus 14:48-53).

What can we glean from this interplay of a story? It seems the well is more than just a place to quench thirst. It is a place of encounter, a place of destiny, a place where righteous action can change the course of history. And sometimes, the most unexpected places, even those associated with the pain of exile and rejection, can become the very place where redemption begins.

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Shemot Rabbah 20:4Shemot Rabbah

The verse

Here's the twist. God says, "I wrote in the Torah: ‘You shall let the mother go, and take the young for yourself’ (Deuteronomy 22:7)." This refers to the mitzvah, the commandment, of sending away the mother bird before taking her eggs or chicks. It's a law rooted in compassion, a reminder to temper our desires with empathy, even for the smallest creatures.

So, what's the connection?

God continues, pointing out Pharaoh's hypocrisy. "…and you let the fathers go but you had cast the sons into the Nile." Pharaoh pretended to "let go," but his cruelty was selective, targeting the innocent male children for death. The familiar story is this: in Exodus – the terrible decree to drown the baby boys.

The implication is devastating. Pharaoh's actions were a perversion of God's law, a cruel mockery of true compassion. And what is the consequence?

God declares, "I, too, will cast you into the sea and eliminate you, as it is stated: ‘He tossed Pharaoh and his army into the sea’ (Psalms 136:15)." Justice, measure for measure. Pharaoh's watery decree would be his own undoing.

But the story doesn't end there. There's a beautiful twist of redemption. God adds, "…but I will take your daughter and I will bequeath her the Garden of Eden."

Wait, Pharaoh's daughter?

Yes! Remember who saved Moses from the Nile? It was Pharaoh's own daughter (Exodus 2:5–6). She defied her father's wicked decree and acted with compassion, embodying the very quality Pharaoh lacked.

And according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), her reward is immense: a place in the Garden of Eden, Gan Eden, the ultimate paradise.

So, what are we left with? A powerful message about the interconnectedness of our actions, the importance of genuine compassion, and the unexpected ways in which redemption can emerge even from the darkest of circumstances. God's justice is tempered with mercy, and even within the story of oppression, there is a spark of hope and a promise of ultimate reward for those who choose kindness. It reminds us that even in the face of immense evil, individual acts of goodness can have profound and eternal consequences.

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Shemot Rabbah 23:5Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah turns to Moses Sings and the Bond Between God and Israel Endures.

” Rabbi Levi offers a powerful image: Usually, a bride is adorned and perfumed before being led to the wedding canopy. But God didn't do that with Israel. Instead, God says, "With me from Lebanon, my bride… from the mortar and the bricks [levenim] I have taken you, and I have rendered you a bride.” God chose Israel not in their glory, but in their hardship, in the very depths of their slavery in Egypt.

Why "Lebanon" twice? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) connects "Lebanon" to the Temple, which was also called Lebanon. It suggests that God is saying, "With Me you have been exiled from the Temple that is called Lebanon." But it doesn't stop there. The repetition hints at a future redemption, a return with God from exile. The Holy One says, "With Me you will return," echoing the initial call.

So, where does God go when Israel is exiled? Does God abandon them? Absolutely not! The text brings several verses to prove the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, accompanies Israel into exile. (Isaiah 43:14) says, “Because of you I sent to Babylon.” We also see Ezekiel receiving prophecy in Babylon (Ezekiel 1:3) and Daniel by the Tigris River (Daniel 10:4). Even (Leviticus 26:44) assures us that God will not forsake Israel, even in the land of their enemies. It's a constant reassurance: "I am the Lord their God." This is a profound statement about God's unwavering commitment.

The Midrash continues, linking this idea of exile and return to other kingdoms also called “Lebanon,” like Assyria (Ezekiel 31:3). It even quotes (Micah 2:13): “The one who breaches goes before them…and their king passed before them and God is at their head.” It’s a powerful image of God leading the people out of exile.

Then comes the verse, "Look from the top of Amana" (Song of Songs 4:8). Rabbi Yusta says Amana is a mountain marking the border of Israel. Rabbi Elazar ben Rabbi Yosei adds that when the exiles reach Amana on their return, they will sing! That's why it says, "Look from the top of Amana.” It's a place of hope, a place of future rejoicing.

But why will Israel sing? What makes them worthy of this future redemption? The answer, according to Rabbi Nehemya, is emuna – faith. Israel merited to sing at the sea because "The people believed" (Exodus 4:31) and "They believed in the Lord" (Exodus 14:31). But Rabbi Shimon bar Abba takes it even further. He connects it all the way back to Abraham, the original believer. As (Genesis 15:6) says, "He believed in God." This faith, this emuna, is the foundation upon which Israel's redemption is built.

The Midrash cleverly interprets "Look [tashuri] from the top [rosh] of Amana" to mean: "You will sing [tashiri] due to the leader [rosh] of those who had faith [emuna]," namely, Abraham. It's all connected: The exile, the redemption, the song, and the enduring faith of Abraham.

So, what does this all mean for us? It's a reminder that even in our darkest moments, when we feel like we’re stuck in the "mortar and bricks" of our own lives, we are not alone. God is with us, just as God was with Israel in Egypt, in Babylon, and in every exile throughout history. And just as Israel sang at the Sea of Reeds, and will sing again upon their return, we too can find our voice, our song of hope and faith, even in the midst of our struggles. Because, ultimately, our story is part of that grand, epic love story between God and humanity.

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Shemot Rabbah 25:12Shemot Rabbah

Rabbi Levi makes a staggering claim in Shemot Rabbah: a single, perfectly observed Shabbat (the Sabbath) could bring about the Messiah.

He says, “If Israel observes Shabbat properly, even one day, the son of David will come.” Why? Because, according to him, Shabbat is equivalent to all the mitzvot, all the commandments. It's a pretty powerful idea, isn't it?

It makes you wonder, what is it about Shabbat, this day of rest, that holds such immense power?

Rabbi Yochanan takes it even further. He imagines God saying to Israel, essentially, "I've set a time for the end to come, and it will, eventually. But if you repent, even for one day, I'll bring it before that appointed time." He then quotes (Psalms 95:7), "Today, would you only heed His voice." The implication is clear: that "today" could be Shabbat.

Rabbi Elazar bar Avina backs this up, saying we can find this idea – that Shabbat is equal to all the commandments – throughout the Torah, the Prophets, and the Writings.

He points to (Exodus 16:28), where God asks Moses, "Until when do you refuse to observe My commandments…See that the Lord has given you the Shabbat." In (Ezekiel 20:13), it says the house of Israel defied God and didn't follow his statutes, and immediately follows with "They desecrated My Shabbats." And in (Nehemiah 9:13-14), we read about God giving upright ordinances and laws, and then informing them of His holy Shabbat. See the pattern?

The text goes on to say that God considers observing Shabbat as observing all the mitzvot. And conversely, desecrating it is like desecrating them all. Strong words. (Isaiah 56:2) echoes this, praising "who keeps the Shabbat from its desecration and prevents his hand from performing any evil."

And there's more! According to (Isaiah 58:13-14), when you truly observe Shabbat, you can "delight in the Lord," and He will grant you the desires of your heart. As (Psalms 37:4) says, "Delight in the Lord, and He will grant you the desires of your heart."

Finally, it states that the reward for observing Shabbat isn't just in this world. Everything we "eat," everything we gain in this life, is just the profits. The principal, the real reward, is reserved for the World to Come, the Olam Ha'Ba. As (Isaiah 58:14) promises, "I will feed you the inheritance of Jacob your forefather, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken."

So, what does this all mean? Is it really as simple as keeping one Shabbat perfectly to usher in the Messianic age? Maybe not simple, but perhaps profound. It suggests that within this one day, within this act of rest and reflection, lies the potential for immense spiritual transformation, for ourselves and for the world. It invites us to consider: what would it mean to truly keep Shabbat? And what kind of world could we create if we all did?

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Shemot Rabbah 47:7Shemot Rabbah

What did he eat? Did he even sleep? to what Shemot Rabbah, a classical collection of Rabbinic homilies on the Book of Exodus, tells us.

The verse from (Exodus 34:27), "The Lord said to Moses: Write for yourself these matters," is our launching point. It’s connected to a verse in (Psalms 119:71), "It is good for me that I was afflicted, so I might learn Your statutes." According to the Etz Yosef commentary, the affliction refers to the 120 days Moses fasted on Mount Sinai. That's forty days before descending with the first tablets, forty days interceding after the Golden Calf incident, and forty days before descending with the second set. All that time, he was studying Torah!

What fueled him? Shemot Rabbah offers a few intriguing answers. One idea is that Moses was sustained by the "aura of the Divine Presence," drawing on (Nehemiah 9:6): "And You sustain them all." It's a beautiful image, picturing Moses drawing sustenance directly from God's radiant energy.

Another answer? The Torah itself! The text quotes (Ezekiel 3:1), 3, where the prophet is told to eat a scroll: "Son of man, eat what you find, [eat this scroll]…I ate it." Why? Because, as (Psalms 19:11) says, the Torah is "sweeter than honey and the nectar of ripe fruit." Think of it: Moses was nourished by the very wisdom he was receiving, a spiritual feast. It was the "bread of Torah," as (Proverbs 9:5) puts it: "Come, partake of my bread."

But what about sleep? Did Moses ever doze off? Shemot Rabbah uses a wonderful analogy. Imagine a king who loves his treasurer and gives him a limited time to collect gold from the royal treasury. Overjoyed, the treasurer forgets about food, drink, and sleep, driven only by the desire to gather as much treasure as possible. But eventually, fatigue sets in. He thinks, "If I sleep, I'll lose this opportunity!"

Moses, too, was in a similar situation. He was so engrossed in learning the Torah, realizing the limited time he had, that he forgot to eat, drink, and sleep. He feared that if he slept, he would lose precious learning time.

So, what was the reward for this dedication? God says, "You afflicted yourself; by your life, you will not lose. On the first tablets there were only the Ten Commandments. Now that you afflicted yourself, I will give you halakhot (Jewish laws), midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary) (interpretive stories), and aggadot (anecdotal teachings)." That’s why God commanded Moses to "write for yourself these matters" (Exodus 34:27).

Wait a minute... If the script was "the script of God" (Exodus 32:16) and God inscribed the tablets "like the first inscription" (Deuteronomy 10:4), why tell Moses to write for himself? Here’s the key: God was instructing Moses to write down the Torah, Prophets, and Writings, but the halakhot, midrashim, aggadot, and Talmud would be passed down orally.

This distinction highlights the importance of both the written and the oral traditions in Judaism. The written Torah provides the foundation, while the oral tradition enriches and expands upon it, offering layers of interpretation and understanding.

Realizing this profound gift, Moses exclaims, "It is good for me that I was afflicted" (Psalms 119:71); "The Torah of Your mouth is better for me [than thousands of gold and silver pieces]" (Psalms 119:72). In other words, the effort, the sacrifice, the "affliction" was worth it, because it led to a deeper, richer understanding of God's word.

It makes you wonder: What "afflictions" in our own lives might actually be opportunities in disguise, leading us to a greater appreciation for the wisdom and guidance that surrounds us? Perhaps, like Moses, we too can find sweetness even in moments of hardship, discovering that the greatest treasures are often earned through dedication and perseverance.

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