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Moses Asked to See God's Glory After Refusing It at the Bush

At the bush Moses hid his face. Years later he asked to see. God covered the cave with His hand and let him watch glory leave.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Cave on the Mountain
  2. New Stone, Quiet Delivery
  3. Gehazi Ran After the Silver
  4. He Would Not Return from Damascus

At the bush Moses hid his face. He did not want to look at God. The fire was in the wood and the wood was not burning, and he put his hands up anyway and turned his eyes down. He walked out of that conversation with a commission and without the vision he had refused.

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The Cave on the Mountain

Years later, after the first tablets and the calf and the blood of three thousand in the camp, Moses stood in a cleft of rock and asked. "Show me Your glory. Let me see."

God's answer was a ruling. "When I revealed Myself at the bush, you hid your face. You did not want to see. Now you want to. Now I do not want to show you."

God still put him in the cave. The same cave Elijah would later lodge in on Horeb. If there had been an opening the size of a needle's point, the light would have eaten him. Angels heard the request and moved to kill him. They serve night and day and are not shown the glory. A man born of woman had asked to see it.

God's hand covered the mouth of the cave until the Presence had passed. Light pressed against the covering from the other side. Moses stood in the dark with his back to stone and felt the mountain shake as the retinue went by. The angels could not reach him. Then the hand lifted. He did not see a face. He saw the trailing edge, the back of glory, the part that remains when the thing itself has already gone. His face caught the reflection and began to shine.

New Stone, Quiet Delivery

What he could not fully see, Israel had already smashed in the valley. The first tablets were gone at the foot of the mountain. The camp smelled of burnt gold.

"Carve two new tablets," God said, "and come back up."

At the new moon of Elul, Moses had the trumpet sounded through the camp so they would feel his absence, and he stayed until the tenth of Tishri. The first tablets had arrived with thunder and a crowd. The second arrived quietly. God said there is nothing lovelier than quiet humility. The ceremonies had drawn an evil eye onto the first stones, and those stones had broken.

The first tablets were God's work, cut and engraved by the divine hand. The second, Moses carved. He brought the stone. He did the cutting. God wrote the words.

God told him a king's story. A marriage contract written in the king's own hand. The bride caught with a slave. The friend of the bride reminding the king where he had taken her from, a land of slaves, a land of idols. A new contract, signed again. "Fetch Me tables," God said. "I will write what was written on the first." And for offering his life for them, Moses would one day go with Elijah to prepare Israel at the end.

Gehazi Ran After the Silver

The window that opened twice for Israel did not stay open for every disciple.

Elisha's student Gehazi had watched a dead child rise. He had watched Naaman wash in the Jordan seven times and come up clean. When Naaman offered payment and Elisha refused it, Gehazi ran after the Syrian and took the silver anyway.

Elisha called him back and named it. The leprosy of Naaman would cling to Gehazi's family. He walked out of the room white as snow, carrying the disease he had just seen the river wash off another man. His children inherited it. He and his three sons are the four leprous men who later told the king of Israel that the Syrian army had fled.

He Would Not Return from Damascus

Elisha regretted the casting off. Gehazi was a great scholar. After he left he made the golden calves at Beth-el float in the air, and he engraved the Name in their mouths so they spoke the words from Sinai: "I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before Me." People believed the idols because they talked like heaven.

Elisha went to Damascus to bring him back. Gehazi would not come.

"From thyself I have learned," Gehazi said, "that there is no return for him who sins and also makes others sin."

He died without atonement. He is one of the few of Israel with no share in the world to come. Moses had hidden his face and later asked, and God had still covered him in the cave and given Israel a second pair of stones. Gehazi took the silver, taught calves to quote Sinai, and when his teacher walked into a foreign city for him, he would not turn around.

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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Legends of the Jews 2:123Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The answer, as often in Jewish tradition, is layered with meaning. God spoke to Moses face-to-face, more clearly than to any other prophet. Yet, when Moses asks to see God's full glory, the request is denied. Why?

The simple answer, according to God Himself, is a matter of timing. "When I revealed Myself to thee in the burning bush," God says, "thou didst not want to look upon Me; now thou are willing, but I am not." There's a certain irony, isn't there? Moses, initially hesitant, now yearns for the ultimate vision.

There's more to it than just divine scheduling. The Legends of the Jews expands on this, painting a vivid picture of the scene. The cave where Moses hid, the very same one where Elijah later sought refuge on Horeb (Mount Sinai), becomes a focal point.

Even shielded in the cave, Moses wasn't entirely protected. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, the reflection of God's glory was so potent that it made Moses' face shine. It's this radiance that we remember, the visible sign of his connection to the Divine.

But acquiring this distinction wasn’t without peril. The angels, those celestial beings who serve God constantly, were not pleased. "We, who serve Thee night and day, may not see Thy glory," they exclaimed, "and he, who is born of woman, asks to see it!" Can you feel their indignation? They saw Moses’ request as audacious, even blasphemous.

The angels, enraged, prepared to strike down Moses. He was in mortal danger, saved only by God's direct intervention. Legends of the Jews makes it clear: without God's protection, Moses would have been utterly destroyed. Then, amidst this celestial drama, God appeared in the cloud.

What does all this mean? Perhaps it’s about the limitations of human perception. We, mortal beings, can only glimpse fragments of the divine reality. Maybe it's about earning spiritual insight. Moses' shining face wasn’t just a gift; it was evidence of his dedication, his willingness to stand in the presence of the unknowable, even at great personal risk. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, true connection to the divine is not about seeing everything, but about experiencing what we can with humility and awe.

So, the next time you think about Moses on Mount Sinai, remember the burning bush, the hidden cave, and the furious angels. Remember that even the greatest prophets could only perceive a fraction of God's glory. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

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Legends of the Jews 2:129Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The story of the second set of tablets, the Luchot, is a powerful reminder of divine patience and the enduring bond between God and the Jewish people.

It all starts with the aftermath of the Golden Calf. The familiar story is this: Moses is up on Mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments, and the Israelites, impatient and fearful, build a golden idol and worship it. When Moses comes down, he’s understandably furious and shatters the original tablets.

The story doesn't end there. According to Legends of the Jews, at the start of the month of Elul, Moses sounded a trumpet throughout the Israelite camp. This wasn't just a random blast; it was an announcement. He was going back up Mount Sinai for another forty days. The trumpet served as a reminder, a sort of alarm clock, for the people, signaling his absence and the gravity of the situation. He remained there until the tenth day of Tishrei – Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement – when he finally returned with the second set of tablets, delivering them to Israel.

Here's where it gets really interesting. The giving of the first tablets was a huge spectacle. Thunder, lightning, the whole shebang. But the giving of the second tablets was… different. Quieter. Legends of the Jews tells us that God Himself said, "There is nothing lovelier than quiet humility." The grand ceremonies surrounding the first set, apparently, had attracted the "evil eye," leading to their destruction. for a second. Sometimes, the biggest displays aren't necessarily the most effective or even the best.

There's another key difference between the two sets of tablets. The first were the work of God alone, while the second… well, Moses had to hew them himself. It's like God was saying, "Okay, you want a second chance? You’re going to have to put in some work this time."

The narrative continues with a powerful parable, reminiscent of those found in the Midrash Rabbah. God, it says, dealt with Israel like a king whose marriage contract he himself had written. But one day, he finds his wife being a little too friendly with a slave, and, furious, he throws her out. Then, someone who gave the bride away steps in and says, "Hey, remember where you found her? She was raised among slaves!" The king, appeased, says, "Okay, fine. Get a scribe to draw up a new contract, and I’ll sign it myself."

That’s how it was with Israel and God. When Moses offered the excuse that Israel came "out of a land of idolaters," God essentially replied: "You want Me to forgive them? Fine, but bring Me the tablets, and I'll rewrite the covenant.”

But there’s a reward in this, too! According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, God promises Moses that, because he offered his life for the people, he would, in the future, be sent alongside Elijah the Prophet to prepare Israel for final redemption. Imagine, Moses and Elijah, side by side, ushering in the Messianic Age!

So, what does this all mean? The story of the second tablets isn't just about a do-over. It’s about the enduring relationship between God and Israel. It's about humility, forgiveness, and the importance of putting in the work to repair what's broken. And maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder that even after we mess up, sometimes spectacularly, we can still earn a second chance.

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Legends of the Jews 8:14Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The story of Elisha and his disciple Gehazi is a potent reminder. Elisha, a prophet of great stature, had taken Gehazi under his wing. But Gehazi, alas, was deeply flawed. Despite his faults, Elisha felt a pang of regret for casting him out. He knew Gehazi was a great scholar of the Law. After leaving the prophet, Gehazi descended into a life of sin.

These weren't just little sins,. This was a full-blown rebellion! According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Gehazi used his knowledge for truly terrible purposes. ) to make the golden calves at Beth-el float in the air. The deception?

The effect was devastating. People, swayed by this illusion, began to believe in the divinity of these idols. But Gehazi didn’t stop there. He engraved the Shem HaMeforash, the great and awful Name of God, on their mouths!

The Zohar tells us of the immense power held within God's name, and here it was, being misused in the most blasphemous way imaginable. As a result, these idols could speak, uttering the very words God had proclaimed from Sinai: "I am the Lord thy God…Thou shalt have no other gods before Me."

Elisha, witnessing the damage, was heartbroken. He felt responsible, perhaps. Driven by a desire to right this wrong, he traveled to Damascus to bring Gehazi back to the path of righteousness. He wanted to perform teshuvah (repentance), repentance, the chance for reconciliation.

But Gehazi remained impenitent. His response is chilling: "From thyself I have learned that there is no return for him who not only sins himself, but also induces others to sin." It's a harsh statement, a reflection on the severity of leading others astray. Was he blaming Elisha? Perhaps. Was he acknowledging the enormity of his own actions? Undoubtedly.

Gehazi died without atoning for his transgressions. And his fate? According to tradition, he is one of the few Jews who have no share in Paradise. A stark warning.

The consequences of Gehazi's actions rippled outwards. His children inherited his leprosy, a physical manifestation of his spiritual impurity. He and his three sons are identified as the four leprous men who informed the king of Israel of the Syrian army's hasty retreat, as told in the Book of Kings (2 Kings 7:3). Even in this, there is a grim irony: men afflicted by disease unwittingly bring salvation to the kingdom.

What are we to make of this story? It is a reminder that knowledge without wisdom is a dangerous thing. It's a lesson about the awesome responsibility we bear for the influence we have on others. And perhaps, most profoundly, it is a meditation on the limits of forgiveness, and the enduring consequences of our choices.

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