We find ourselves in Egypt, where the Israelites are suffering under harsh oppression. One particularly cruel Egyptian taskmaster has not only abused his power, but has committed a grave offense against a Hebrew man named Shelomith. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this Egyptian had slipped out of Shelomith's chamber, suggesting a terrible act of betrayal and abuse of power.
Just at that moment, Shelomith's husband, Dathan, returned home. The Egyptian, knowing his crime would be discovered, turned his wrath on Dathan. He forced him to work with brutal intensity, beating him relentlessly, intending to kill him. Can you picture the scene? The dust, the sweat, the cries of pain…
Then, Moses appears.
Young Moses, sensitive to the plight of his people, happened to be visiting the work site. Dathan, desperate, rushed to him, pouring out his grievances, detailing the Egyptian's cruelty and injustice. Moses, filled with righteous anger – an anger fueled, the text tells us, by the Ruach Hakodesh, the holy spirit – confronts the Egyptian.
"Not enough that thou hast dishonored this man's wife," Moses cries, "thou aimest to kill him, too?" His words are a thunderclap, a challenge to the Egyptian's wickedness.
But Moses doesn't stop there. He turns to God, and here's where the story takes on another layer of depth. He questions God, almost daring to hold Him accountable. "What will become of Thy promise to Abraham, that his posterity shall be as numerous as the stars, if his children are given over to death? And what will become of the revelation on Sinai, if the children of Israel are exterminated?"
Think about the weight of those questions. Moses isn't just concerned with Dathan's immediate suffering; he’s questioning the very foundation of God's covenant with the Jewish people. He's asking: if injustice and death prevail, what becomes of the promises made to our ancestors? What becomes of the future revelation that is meant to happen at Sinai?
It's a powerful moment, a testament to Moses's burgeoning leadership and his deep connection to his people and to God. He's not just a witness to suffering; he's an advocate, a challenger, a man wrestling with the divine plan. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, how often we, too, should be challenging injustice, even daring to question the silence when we see wrong being done? What promises are we holding God to in our own lives, and in the world around us?