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Moses Forgot Everything and God Gave It Back as a Gift

Forty days on Sinai, and Moses learned nothing. Each night, whatever he gained by day was gone. Then God gave the Torah as a gift.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Man Who Could Not Hold What He Learned
  2. What God Declared Before Moses Left
  3. Bezalel and the Order of Things
  4. The Princes Who Held Back
  5. Moses Asks for More

The Man Who Could Not Hold What He Learned

Every morning Moses rose on the mountain and received the words. Every night the words left him. Forty days of this, and he had nothing to show for it. He stood before the divine presence and admitted the plain truth: he had been there for forty days and he knew nothing.

Rabbi Abahu, in the Talmud, does not soften this. Moses did not struggle to retain the Torah. He failed completely. And the rabbis, who spent their lives memorizing and transmitting legal arguments across generations, found this failure significant. It meant that Torah given to Moses through ordinary human effort would have remained ordinary. It had to come as a gift, freely given, or it would not come at all.

What God Declared Before Moses Left

The gift was not only the words. Before Moses descended, God revealed something else, something that the rabbis understood as the architecture beneath all the specific commandments. Three declarations: In mercy I created the world. In mercy I guide it. With mercy I will return to Jerusalem.

This was not theology in the abstract. Moses had just watched his own effort prove useless. He had climbed the mountain carrying human capability and come down empty. The declaration was directed precisely at that emptiness. The world had not been built on what anyone earned. It had been built on what God freely extended, and that free extension was older than anything else in creation.

Bezalel and the Order of Things

The same principle played out in the construction of the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary Israel carried through the wilderness. God had told Moses: first make the Ark, then the vessels, then the dwelling. Moses came down and reversed the order in his instructions. Bezalel, the young craftsman chosen to build the sanctuary, heard the reversal and pushed back.

Bezalel asked Moses whether it made sense to build the vessels before there was a house to put them in. Moses stopped. He asked Bezalel how he knew what God had originally said. Bezalel answered: "I worked it out from first principles. You build the dwelling, then you furnish it."

Moses confirmed that Bezalel had, in fact, recovered the original order. The rabbis preserved that account not to embarrass Moses but to demonstrate that the logic of the Tabernacle was the same logic as the gift on the mountain. Understanding had to emerge from within the work itself, not be imposed from outside.

The Princes Who Held Back

When Moses called for donations to build the Tabernacle, the tribal leaders hesitated. The ordinary Israelites brought gold and silver and fine linen, and within days the craftsmen had more than enough. The princes came after, contributing what was left to be contributed. They had held back, waiting to see what would be needed, intending to fill the gap with their own resources.

The strategy was sensible by any practical measure. It was also, in the tradition's telling, a small failure. The princes wanted to be necessary. They wanted their contribution to matter by virtue of supply and demand. They did not want to give freely into abundance. As a result, their names in the Torah's construction account appear with a letter missing, a detail the rabbis noticed and refused to let go unremarked.

Moses Asks for More

After all of this, after the forty days and the forgotten learning and the gift and the mercy declared as a founding principle, Moses still asked to see more. The verse from Deuteronomy preserves his request: "Lord God, you have begun to show your servant your greatness." Begun. Moses was calling the revelation incomplete, not as accusation but as longing.

The rabbis read this not as audacity but as the correct posture toward what had been given. A man who received the Torah as a gift and understood that mercy was the first principle of creation knew that this was a beginning, not an ending. Moses was not diminishing what he had received. He was recognizing that what he had received opened onto something larger than he could hold.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Shemot Rabbah 41:6Shemot Rabbah

Rabbi Abahu tells us that for all forty days Moses spent up on the mountain, he was studying Torah… and forgetting it just as quickly. Can you imagine the frustration? "Master of the universe," Moses pleaded, "I've been up here for forty days and I don't know anything!"

So, what did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? After those forty days, He gave Moses the Torah as a gift, a matana. This is alluded to in the verse "He gave [vayiten] to Moses" (Exodus 31:18). But wait a minute… Did Moses actually learn the entire Torah in forty days? I mean,

The answer, according to the Rabbis, is no. Instead, the Holy One blessed be He, taught Moses the fundamental principles, the kelalim. That's why it says, "as He concluded [kekhaloto] speaking with him" (Exodus 31:18). He got the gist. The big picture. The core concepts.

Then there were the tablets. "The two tablets of Testimony…" Why two? Shemot Rabbah gives us a beautiful series of correspondences. They correspond to the heavens and the earth, mirroring the cosmos in covenant. They correspond to the bride and groom, representing the sacred union between God and Israel. They correspond to the two attendants, the groomsman and maid of honor, who attend to the bride and groom, witnessing and supporting the covenant. They correspond to this world and the World to Come, hinting at the Torah's relevance to both our present lives and our eternal destiny. A profound mirroring.

Rabbi Ḥanina points out something interesting about the word for tablets, luḥot. It's written without a vav, which could allow it to be read in the singular, as luḥat. What does this subtle difference imply? That neither tablet was larger than the other, suggesting a perfect balance and equality.

And why stone? Why "stone tablets"? One explanation is rather sobering: because most of the punishments in the Torah are by stoning. A constant reminder of the seriousness of the covenant, perhaps.

But there are more comforting explanations too. The tablets are stone due to the merit of Jacob, who is referred to as the "stone of Israel" in (Genesis 49:24). According to this, Jacob is the foundation stone of the Jewish people. The Torah, therefore, rests upon the solid foundation of our ancestor Jacob.

Finally, Shemot Rabbah offers a challenging thought: Anyone who does not render his life like this stone – meaning, anyone who doesn't live a hard, demanding life – will not merit the Torah. This isn't about physical hardship necessarily, but about the inner strength and resilience needed to truly confront the Torah's teachings and integrate them into our lives.

So, the next time you feel overwhelmed by the vastness of knowledge or the challenges of life, remember Moses on Mount Sinai. Remember the gift, the matana, the fundamental principles that can guide us. And remember the stone – the foundation, the resilience, the commitment to a life of meaning.

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Legends of the Jews 4:204Legends of the Jews

Moses standing on Mount Sinai, the air crackling with divine energy. God reveals Himself, not just as the all-powerful Creator, but as something more intimate. He says, "In mercy I created the world; in mercy I guide it; and with mercies I will return to Jerusalem." Beautiful. A promise of compassion woven into the very fabric of existence.

Then comes a curious instruction. "Unto the children of Israel thou shalt say that My mercy upon them is for the sake of the merits of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." Wait a minute… Why bring up the patriarchs? Why the emphasis on their merits?

In Legends of the Jews, compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, He's not afraid to ask the tough questions. He challenges God, asking, "Are there men that transgress after death?" Moses wants to know: can the dead still sin? When God assures him that the dead are beyond transgression, Moses presses further. "Why, then, is it that Thou didst reveal Thyself to me at the first as the God of my father, and now Thou passest him over?" Moses is essentially asking, "Why did you initially present yourself as my father's God, implying a direct lineage of divine favor, but now you're only focusing on the merits of the founding fathers?" It’s a deeply personal question, tinged with a hint of… what? Disappointment? Confusion?

God's answer is strikingly honest. He says, "In the beginning it was My purpose to address thee with flattering words, but now thou hearest the whole and exact truth, I am only the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob."

Ouch.

It’s a bit of a divine mic drop, isn't it? No more flattering words. Just the unvarnished truth. God's mercy, while freely given, is still connected to the legacy of those who came before. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – their actions, their faith, their covenant with God, laid the foundation for everything that followed. It's a reminder that we are all part of a chain, linked to the past and responsible to the future.

So, what does this mean for us today? Perhaps it’s a call to examine our own merits, our own contributions to the unfolding story of faith. It's a reminder that divine favor isn't simply inherited; it's earned, nurtured, and passed on. And maybe, just maybe, it's a lesson in humility, a recognition that even the greatest leaders, like Moses, are ultimately standing on the shoulders of giants.

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Legends of the Jews 3:87Legends of the Jews

The princes of the tribes in the story of building the Mishkan (Tabernacle) knew that feeling all too well.

In Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, when Moses called for donations to erect the sanctuary, these princes held back. they were a bit miffed that Moses hadn't specifically asked them for help. Their plan? To wait and see what the people gave, then swoop in and make up any shortfall, ensuring everyone knew that the Tabernacle couldn’t have been completed without them. A little prideful, perhaps?

The people, in their eagerness and devotion, provided everything that was needed! Imagine the princes’ surprise. When they finally brought their contributions, it was… too late. All they could do was provide the jewels for the high priest’s robes. They missed the main event.

On the day of the dedication, they tried to make amends. They consulted the tribe of Issachar, known for their wisdom and erudition, and decided to bring wagons for transporting the Tabernacle. These weren't just any guys off the street,. These princes were respected leaders. They'd held positions of authority even back in Egypt, facing the wrath of the Egyptians themselves! They stood by Moses during the census. They were invested. They now offered six covered wagons, fully equipped and painted blue – the color of the sky – along with twelve oxen to pull them.

Now, these numbers weren't arbitrary. The six wagons corresponded to all sorts of important things: the six days of creation, the six matriarchs (Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Leah, Bilhah, and Zilpah), the six laws specifically for the king, the six orders of the Mishnah (the first major written collection of Jewish oral traditions), and even the six heavens! The twelve oxen, likewise, represented the twelve constellations and the twelve tribes of Israel. Symbolic. Moses, initially, wasn’t sure about accepting the gift. But God not only told him to accept it but also to address the princes kindly and thank them for their generosity. Moses, ever the humble leader, even worried that the Shekhinah (divine presence) had left him and would now rest upon the princes, assuming they must have received a direct divine communication.

But God reassured Moses, "If it had been a direct command from Me, then I should have ordered thee to tell them, but they did this on their own initiative, which indeed meets with My wish."

Moses accepted the gifts, though still with some trepidation. What if a wagon broke down? What if an ox died? Would that tribe then be seen as somehow… deficient? But God promised that no such accident would occur. In fact, a great miracle happened! The animals lived forever, never aging or getting sick, and the wagons endured for all eternity. Talk about a divine seal of approval!

What can we take away from this story? Maybe it's about the importance of seizing opportunities when they arise. Or perhaps it's a reminder that even when we miss the boat, so to speak, there's always a chance to contribute in other meaningful ways. Or maybe it's just a beautiful tale of divine grace, showing that even actions motivated by a little bit of pride can still be redeemed and used for good. The story reminds us that intention matters, but so does action, even if it's a little late.

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Legends of the Jews 3:7Legends of the Jews

He was the master craftsman chosen to bring the Tabernacle to life. A true artist, filled "with the spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills" (Exodus 31:3). But was he just a really good technician? Or something more?

The story goes that God gave Moses very specific instructions: First, build the Tabernacle itself, that sacred space. Then, create the Aron HaKodesh, the Holy Ark, to house the Ten Commandments. And finally, craft all the furnishings that would fill the Tabernacle (Exodus 25-31).

Moses, being Moses, decided to test Bezalel. You know, just to make sure God picked the right person. So, he tells Bezalel to do things in reverse order. "First," Moses says, "build the Ark. Then make the furnishings. And then build the Tabernacle itself."

Being Bezalel in that moment. Would you just blindly follow orders?

Bezalel doesn't. He challenges Moses! He says, "Moses, our teacher, that's not how it works! People build the house before they fill it with furniture. What am I supposed to do with all these sacred objects if there's no Tabernacle to put them in?" for a second. It wasn't just about following instructions. Bezalel understood the logic of creation, the natural order of things. He grasped the underlying principle.

Moses, of course, is thrilled. He realizes Bezalel isn't just a craftsman; he's a true partner in creation. He immediately admits, "You're right! That's exactly how God commanded. Were you perhaps 'in the shadow of God' (b'tzel El, a play on Bezalel's name), that you knew this?" (as the story is told in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, based on various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources).

This little story, packed with meaning, found in several sources, including Midrash Tanchuma, isn't just about the construction of the Tabernacle. It's about the nature of true wisdom. It's about understanding the divine plan, not just executing it.

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Are we just following instructions in our own lives, or are we striving to truly understand the bigger picture? Are we building the house before we fill it with furniture?

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Devarim Rabbah 2:7Devarim Rabbah

Our story revolves around a verse from Deuteronomy (3:24): "Lord God, You have begun to show Your servant Your greatness and Your mighty hand, for what god is in the heavens or on the earth who can act in accordance with Your actions and according to Your mighty deeds." This verse becomes the launching pad for a deeper exploration of Moses' yearning to enter the Land of Israel.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korḥa makes a striking comparison: In two instances, Moses tries to emulate Abraham, but unlike Abraham, Moses doesn't quite achieve the same results. What exactly does that mean?: When God calls to Abraham, Abraham responds with "Hineni" (Genesis 22:1) – "I am here!" But what does that “I am here” signify? According to the Midrash, Abraham is saying, "I am here for priesthood, I am here for kingship." And remarkably, he merits both! We see this reflected in (Psalms 110:4), "The Lord has taken an oath, and He will not renounce it; you are a priest forever by My decree, like Malkitzedek" – Malkitzedek, of course, being a priest as we see in (Genesis 14:18). And the kingship? (Genesis 14:17) alludes to it, suggesting that the kings of the region elected Abraham as their king (Bereshit Rabba 42:5).

Moses, too, tries this approach. When God calls to him, Moses answers, "Hineni" (Exodus 3:4). He, too, offers himself for priesthood and kingship. But the response? A firm, "Do not glorify yourself before a king, and do not stand in the place of the great" (Proverbs 25:6). The text quotes "Do not approach [tikrav] here [halom]" (Exodus 3:5), further emphasizing that Moses is not destined for the priesthood, as "The stranger who approaches [hakarev] shall be put to death" (Numbers 3:10). And the kingship? That's not for him either, as David later uses the term halom in reference to kingship (II (Samuel 7:1)8).

So, what’s the difference? Why does Abraham succeed where Moses doesn't?

The Midrash draws another parallel, this time between Abraham's plea for children and Moses' plea to enter the Land. Abraham asks, "Lord God, what will You give to me?" (Genesis 15:2). Rabbi Levi explains that Abraham is essentially saying, "If through din (justice) I deserve children, grant them to me. If not, grant them to me through rachamim (mercy)." Remember that in Jewish thought, the name "God" often represents the attribute of justice, while "Lord" signifies mercy. God responds, "As you live, you deserve them," promising him an heir (Genesis 15:4).

Moses echoes this sentiment. He pleads, "Lord God, You have begun" – meaning, if through justice I deserve to enter the Land of Israel, let me enter. If not, let me enter through mercy. But the answer is a resounding, "Do not glorify yourself before a king… As you will not cross this Jordan" (Deuteronomy 3:27).

Now, here's where things get interesting. When Moses realizes the gravity of the situation, he begins speaking "harsh words." What does that mean? It means he intensifies his prayers, arguing with God, pushing back with all his might. We'll explore the specifics of that forceful prayer in the next section of Devarim Rabbah.

What can we learn from this? Perhaps it's that even the greatest among us, like Moses, face limitations. Perhaps it's that God's plan is sometimes beyond our understanding. Or maybe, just maybe, it's that even in the face of disappointment, we are called to persevere, to challenge, and to pray with all our heart, even if the answer isn't what we hoped for.

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Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa 12:1Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Ki Tisa

[(Exodus 31:18:) "And when He had finished speaking with him, He gave unto Moses."] Rabbi Abbahu said: All forty days that Moses spent on high, he would learn Torah and forget it. Moses said to Him: "Master of the Universe, here I have forty days, and I do not know a single thing!" What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? When he had completed forty days, He gave him the Torah as a gift. "And He gave unto Moses."

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