5 min read

Moses Climbed Out of a Pit and Walked Toward the Burning Bush

Thirty years before Moses, the tribe of Ephraim left Egypt and died in the wilderness. Moses waited in a pit in Midian until the moment was exactly right.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Tribe That Miscalculated by Thirty Years
  2. Moses in the Pit Before the Bush
  3. The Doubt God Did Not Punish
  4. What Egypt Was Judged For

The Tribe That Miscalculated by Thirty Years

The tribe of Ephraim did not wait for Moses. They left Egypt early, thirty years before the Exodus, carrying weapons and the calculations they had made from Joseph's deathbed promise. Joseph had told his brothers that God would come to redeem them and carry their bones out of Egypt. The sons of Ephraim had counted the years and decided the time was now. They were wrong by thirty years.

They marched out without divine sanction, without the plagues that would have shattered Egypt behind them, without a prophet to lead them. The Philistines met them at the border and killed them all. Their bones lay scattered for decades across the road from Egypt to Canaan. When Israel finally walked out behind Moses, God took them the long way around, through the wilderness, specifically so they would not see the bones of Ephraim's generation. The sight would have broken their nerve before the journey had begun. The Yalkut Shimoni and the Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer both set down the same hard warning: the same act performed at the wrong moment is not courage, it is catastrophe.

Moses in the Pit Before the Bush

Moses did not make the mistake of going early. But he spent years in a pit before he ever reached the burning bush, and the tradition wants this known.

The Legends of the Jews records that after Moses fled Egypt following the killing of the Egyptian taskmaster, he was imprisoned in Midian before Jethro took him in. Some versions place him in a pit or a dungeon for an extended period, fed by the angels, sustained through what looked from the outside like abandonment. The parallel to Joseph is not accidental. The tradition built it deliberately: the great leaders of Israel do not move directly from calling to action. They wait in darkness first. They are sustained through the wait in ways they cannot explain. And then, when the moment is exactly right, the pit opens.

The Doubt God Did Not Punish

Even after the burning bush, even after the ten plagues, even after the sea, Moses doubted. The tradition records a specific moment when God told Moses that the people would be fed in the wilderness, and Moses responded with arithmetic: six hundred thousand men, and you want to feed them? The manna would have to fall daily for months. It was not a small request. Moses's doubt was not faithlessness, it was the particular doubt of a man who had been responsible for feeding people before and knew what it required.

God did not punish this doubt. He answered it. The manna came. The quail came. The water came from the rock. Moses learned, across forty years, that the arithmetic he knew from the human side of the equation was not the only arithmetic in play. This is not a comfortable lesson for a man who preferred to plan things out. Moses was a planner. He picked the seventy elders through a lottery specifically because the planning involved was too politically volatile to do by preference. He sent scouts into Canaan because reconnaissance was prudent. The gap between his habit of mind and the situation he was in never fully closed.

What Egypt Was Judged For

The divine judgment of Egypt was not arbitrary. The tradition is careful about this. Egypt had enslaved Israel, had drowned their sons in the Nile, had broken their bodies with forced labor across generations. The plagues were proportionate, the rabbis argued, not excessive. Each plague addressed a specific Egyptian behavior or belief. The darkness was not random cruelty; it targeted a nation that had kept Israel in moral and spiritual darkness. The death of the firstborn answered the killing of Israel's children.

Moses understood this framework. He had grown up in Pharaoh's court, had been educated in Egyptian power, and had then watched Egypt destroyed from the inside. He did not celebrate. He had lived among those people. But he did not mistake the destruction for injustice either. He had seen what Egypt had done to Israel, and he had seen it from birth.


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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.

Legends of the Jews 1:9Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to The Tribe of Ephraim's Doomed Escape Before Moses.

It involves the tribe of Ephraim, one of the twelve tribes of Israel, and a premature attempt to leave Egypt way before Moses ever came on the scene.

In Legends of the Jews, Louis Ginzberg's masterful compilation of rabbinic lore, the sons of Ephraim just couldn't wait for the promised redemption. Joseph, their ancestor, had made them promise – a solemn oath on his deathbed – that they wouldn't leave Egypt until the true redeemer appeared. He knew something they didn't.

Impatience, it seems, runs deep. They ignored Joseph's adjuration and decided to take matters into their own hands. They figured, "Why wait?" And they acted.

Talk about a disaster! This first, failed attempt to leave Egypt, according to the legends, actually led to more oppression for the Israelites. The Egyptians, understandably, tightened the screws, exercising even greater force and vigilance to keep them in their place.

But the tragedy of the Ephraimites didn't end there. Their rebellion was met with fierce resistance, and they suffered a devastating defeat. Thousands perished in battle near the city of Gath.

And here’s where the story takes a particularly grim turn. Their bodies were left unburied on the battlefield for many years. Imagine the dishonor, the shame.

Now, why did God lead the Israelites on such a circuitous route from Egypt to Canaan during the actual Exodus? Why the long way 'round? According to this tradition, it was to spare them from seeing the gruesome remains of the Ephraimites.

The sight of those rotting corpses, a constant reminder of their brethren's failed rebellion, might have been too much for the Israelites to bear. It could have crushed their courage, filled them with dread, and sent them scurrying back to the perceived safety of slavery. The Exodus wasn’t just about leaving Egypt; it was about mental and spiritual liberation, too. It was about building a nation free from the psychological chains of slavery. Seeing the consequences of that earlier failed attempt could have been too much.

So, the long and winding road through the desert? Maybe it wasn't just about testing their faith. Maybe it was also about protecting their hope. Protecting their belief in the possibility of redemption, even in the face of past failures.

It makes you wonder about the detours in our own lives, doesn't it? Maybe some of those unexpected turns are there to protect us from something we're not yet ready to face. Maybe they're giving us the space we need to grow strong enough for the journey ahead.

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Legends of the Jews 4:132Legends of the Jews

Maybe you're facing a challenge that seems insurmountable, a situation where you feel utterly trapped. Well, let me tell you a story about a literal pit and how someone climbed out, not just physically, but into their destiny.

We know him as the great leader, the lawgiver, the man who spoke to God face-to-face. But before all that, there was a pit. A very real pit.

Remember how Moses ended up in Midian? He fled Egypt after, shall we say, an unfortunate incident involving an Egyptian taskmaster. In Midian, he encounters the daughters of Jethro, a priest, and helps them water their flocks. He's invited back to Jethro's home and eventually marries one of his daughters, Zipporah.

Here's where the story gets interesting. According to Ginzberg’s Legends of the Jews, Jethro, being a man of considerable spiritual knowledge, recognizes something special about Moses. But he also wants to test him. And this is where the pit comes in.

Jethro casts Moses into a pit, some say it was a prison cell, others a cistern, but the image remains the same: a dark, confined space. And there Moses languishes for seven long years! Seven years of isolation, of uncertainty, of waiting. Can you imagine the mental fortitude that would require?

Finally, Zipporah speaks up. Jethro asks her, "Thou hast spoken wisely. Dost thou remember his name?" And Zipporah replies, "I remember he called himself Moses the son of Amram." It's a small detail, but it highlights the importance of remembrance, of acknowledging someone's identity even when they're lost or forgotten.

Jethro, satisfied with the test, wastes no time. He opens the pit and calls out, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses answers, "Here am I!"

The moment of reunion is powerful. Jethro draws him out, kisses him, and proclaims, "Blessed be God, who guarded thee for seven years in the pit. I acknowledge that He slayeth and reviveth, that thou art one of the wholly pious, that through thee God will destroy Egypt in time to come, lead His people out of the land, and drown Pharaoh and his whole army in the sea."

Talk about a prophecy! Jethro recognizes that Moses's time in the pit wasn't just a punishment; it was a preparation. He acknowledges God's hand in both the suffering and the salvation. He sees that Moses's destiny is intertwined with the fate of the entire Israelite people.

What does this story tell us? Maybe that even in our darkest moments, even when we feel trapped and forgotten, there's a purpose to our struggles. Maybe that the "pits" in our lives are not just dead ends, but opportunities for growth, for introspection, and for the eventual emergence of our true selves. And maybe, just maybe, there's a Jethro out there, someone who sees our potential even when we can't see it ourselves, ready to pull us out and remind us of who we truly are.

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Book of Jubilees 48:19Book of Jubilees

The familiar version gives us the broad strokes: slavery in Egypt, Moses leading his people to freedom, the parting of the Red Sea. But sometimes, the details get lost in the grandeur. The Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text considered preserved in Ethiopian manuscript tradition, offers a unique perspective on these very details.

It fills in gaps, elaborates on events, and sometimes, it offers a slightly different angle on familiar narratives. Think of it like a director's cut of a beloved movie, giving you more insight into the story you thought you already knew.

Jubilees 48 focuses on the pivotal moment of liberation. It’s a powerful, almost cinematic moment.

"And I stood between the Egyptians and Israel," it says, referring to God, "and we delivered Israel out of his hand, and out of the hand of his people."

Imagine that scene: God, acting as both protector and liberator, intervening directly in human affairs. The text emphasizes the active role God played, not just in freeing the Israelites, but in standing between them and their oppressors. It's a vivid image of divine intervention.

The narrative continues, "and the Lord brought them through the midst of the sea as if it were dry land."

This isn't just a miracle; it's a complete reversal of the natural order. The sea, a symbol of chaos and untamed power, becomes a path to salvation. And what happens to the Egyptians?

"And all the peoples whom he brought to pursue after Israel, the Lord our God cast them into the midst of the sea, into the depths of the abyss beneath the children of Israel."

A chilling detail, isn't it? The pursuers become the pursued, swallowed by the very waters that saved the Israelites. But the Book of Jubilees doesn’t stop there. It adds a layer of poetic justice that's both unsettling and thought-provoking.

"even as the people of Egypt had cast their children into the river."

Remember Pharaoh's decree? The one ordering the drowning of newborn Israelite boys in the Nile? Jubilees draws a direct parallel, a quid pro quo of divine retribution. What they did to the Israelites, now happens to them.

Then comes the staggering number: "He took vengeance on 1,000,000 of them, and one thousand strong and energetic men were destroyed on account of one suckling of the children of thy people which they had thrown into the river."

A million lives. The text seems to be saying that the destruction of the Egyptian army was, in a way, a balancing of the scales, a response to the immense cruelty inflicted upon the Israelite children. One thousand of the strongest Egyptian soldiers are said to have perished for every single Israelite infant drowned.

Now, let's be honest, this is a tough passage. The sheer scale of destruction is hard to reconcile. Is this a literal accounting? A symbolic representation of divine justice? Or a cautionary tale about the consequences of oppression?

Perhaps the Book of Jubilees isn't just about recounting history, but about confronting the complexities of justice, revenge, and the enduring power of memory. It invites us to consider the true cost of freedom and the long shadow cast by acts of cruelty. It's a reminder that even in the most triumphant stories, there are echoes of tragedy and profound moral questions that linger long after the sea has closed.

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Legends of the Jews 4:58Legends of the Jews

After the incredible event of the Golden Calf, when Moses, in his blazing anger, shattered the first set of tablets, we read in Legends of the Jews that Moses demonstrated just how powerful the righteous are. He took bundles of wool, placed them on the divine fire – the very fire that symbolized God's wrath – and it went out! Then, he challenged the people: repent, and the fire will stay extinguished. Refuse, and it will consume you. A pretty clear choice. But, as we soon see, even that wasn't enough to keep them on the straight and narrow.

Not long after this dramatic display, the Israelites started grumbling again. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, it was "the mixed multitude" – those who had joined them on their journey out of Egypt – who instigated the rebellion. They whined, "Who will give us meat to eat? We remember the fish we ate freely in Egypt, the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic! But now our throats are parched; there is nothing at all but this manna before our eyes!"

manna. This is the miraculous food that God provided in the desert. The word itself, man hu, literally means "What is it?" because that's what the Israelites exclaimed when they first saw it (Exodus 16:15).

Here's the thing: this complaining was, largely a pretext. A convenient excuse to distance themselves from God. Ginzberg goes on to explain that they had plenty of livestock – enough to satisfy their cravings for meat if they truly desired it.

And the manna itself? It was said to taste like anything you wished! Imagine that – a food that could transform into your favorite dish with a mere thought. All they had to do was desire a certain flavor, and the manna would taste exactly like it.

However, according to Legends of the Jews, the manna never tasted like those five vegetables they mentioned – cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic. But, the text suggests, they should have been grateful! These vegetables were considered unhealthy. God was, in effect, protecting them!

It seems like they just couldn't win. The manna displeased them precisely because it didn't contain flavors that were bad for them. And, they also complained that it stayed in their bodies – "Can there be a human being that takes food without excreting it?" they asked.

God had gifted them this "food of the angels," food that dissolved completely, nourishing them without any waste. It was a sign of distinction, a constant miracle. As Legends of the Jews points out, after Moses died, the last of the manna fell, and they ate it for forty days, refusing to eat anything else until it was completely gone. Clearly, it tasted pretty good!

Yet, while it was abundant, all they could do was complain about seeing the same thing day after day.

It really makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we focus on what we don't have, even when we're surrounded by blessings? How often do we fail to appreciate the miracles in our own lives, big and small? The story of the manna is a powerful reminder to look around and recognize the good, even when it comes in unexpected forms. Perhaps, especially when it comes in unexpected forms.

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Sifrei Bamidbar 95:1Sifrei Bamidbar

Sifrei Bamidbar turns to Moses Doubts God Can Feed Six Hundred Thousand.

Specifically, "Six hundred thousand foot soldiers, and You say, 'I will give them meat, and they will eat a whole month!'" It's a moment of utter frustration.

The Sifrei Bamidbar, an ancient rabbinic commentary on the Book of Numbers, dives deep into this verse. It presents a fascinating debate between two prominent rabbis, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, regarding its interpretation.

Rabbi Akiva, known for his straightforward approach, interprets Moses's words plainly: "If flocks and herds are slaughtered for them, will it be sufficient for them?" (Numbers 11:22). Even if God provided all the world's livestock, would it truly satisfy them?

But Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai takes it a step further. He offers two interpretations of his own, which he believes are even more insightful. His first interpretation suggests the people weren’t really hungry for meat. They were simply looking for an excuse to abandon God. The Sifrei Bamidbar reminds us that during the Exodus from Egypt, as we find in (Exodus 12:38), a "great mixture" of people, including livestock, accompanied the Israelites. And we later read in (Numbers 32:1) that the tribes of Reuben and Gad possessed "very great herds." So, was it truly a lack of meat that fueled their complaints? Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai suggests not. According to him, even if God gave them all the flocks and herds in the world, they would still grumble.

He extends this logic to fish. “If all the fish of the sea are gathered for them, will it be sufficient for them?” (Numbers 11:22). The commentary reminds us of the well of Miriam, which, according to tradition, miraculously provided water and fish in abundance. So, again, was it a genuine need, or a manufactured grievance? He emphasizes that they sought a pretext to abandon the Lord.

But Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai doesn't stop there. He offers a second, even more poignant interpretation. He suggests that God showed Moses a glimpse of the calamities that awaited the Israelites. Overwhelmed, Moses questioned the wisdom of fulfilling their desires only to have them suffer the consequences. He uses powerful metaphors: "Is it right that You give them and kill them? Does one tell an ass, 'Take a kor of wheat and we will cut off your head?'" (A kor was a large unit of measure). In other words, why grant a wish that leads to destruction?

God's response is equally striking. He challenges Moses's faith, asking, "Will the hand of the Lord be found wanting?" (Numbers 11:23). He then tells Moses that the people will not heed him.

The narrative continues, with Moses relaying God's message to the people, including that very question: "Will the hand of the Lord be found wanting?" And their response? They essentially accuse God of weakness, quoting (Psalms 78:20): "True, He struck a rock and water flowed…but can He also give bread? Can He supply food for His people?" Their skepticism is palpable. They see Moses’s attempt to appease them as a compromise, an admission that God lacks the power to grant their full request.

What does this all mean? It seems to point to the complex relationship between divine provision, human desire, and faith. Were the Israelites truly in need, or were they testing the limits of God's generosity? And perhaps more importantly, were they, in their constant complaining, setting themselves up for failure?

The story reminds us that even in the face of miracles, human nature can be fickle. Gratitude can be fleeting. And sometimes, what we think we want might not be what we truly need. Perhaps the real miracle isn’t the provision itself, but the ability to recognize it, appreciate it, and trust in the source from which it comes.

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