That’s the kind of feeling that propelled Moses into his destiny.
Let's dive into the book of Exodus, specifically Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of Exodus. It all starts with a simple verse: “It was in those days, Moses grew and went out to his brethren, and he saw their burdens; he saw an Egyptian man beating a Hebrew man of his brethren" (Exodus 2:11).
Shemot Rabbah unpacks this verse, revealing layers of meaning. "Moses grew..." How old was he exactly? Some say twenty, others forty. But the text immediately clarifies: it's not just about physical growth. “Moses grew." Doesn’t everyone grow? Rather, it is telling you that he grew in an atypical manner. It was a growth of spirit, of empathy, of understanding his people's suffering.
The text emphasizes that Moses went out to his brethren not just once, but twice. “And went out to his brethren,” this righteous one went out twice...and the Holy One blessed be He wrote them one after another; “he went out on the second day” (Exodus 2:13), these are two. Each visit deepened his connection, intensified his awareness of their plight. It wasn't a casual observation.
What did Moses see when he saw "their burdens?" According to Shemot Rabbah, it was visceral. "He would see their burdens and cry and say: ‘Woe is me over you; would that I could die for you. There is no labor more arduous than labor with mortar.’ He would shoulder [the burdens] and help each and every one of them." He didn't just witness their suffering; he felt it himself. He yearned to alleviate it, even to the point of wishing to take their place.
Rabbi Elazar son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili elaborates further. He saw a large burden on a small man and a small burden on a large man; the burden of a man on a woman and the burden of a woman on a man; the burden of an elderly man on a lad and the burden of a lad on an elderly man. It wasn’t just the physical weight of the work, but the injustice of it all. The system was broken, and Moses's heart broke with it. He would leave his royal guard and would arrange their burdens, feigning as though he was helping Pharaoh. Imagine the scene: a prince, raised in luxury, secretly easing the suffering of slaves, under the guise of serving their oppressor.
And this, the text suggests, is what caught God's attention. The Holy One blessed be He said: ‘You left your affairs and went to observe the Israelite’s suffering, and you treated them in a brotherly manner; I will leave the upper and lower worlds to speak with you.’ Because Moses turned his attention to the suffering of others, God turned to him. That is what is written: “The Lord saw that he had turned to see” (Exodus 3:4); the Holy One blessed be He saw that he turned from his affairs to see their burdens; therefore, “God called to him from the midst of the bush” (ibid.).
It’s a powerful reminder, isn't it? That our actions, our empathy, our willingness to see and alleviate the suffering of others, can open us to something greater. It suggests that true leadership, true greatness, begins not with power or privilege, but with a profound sense of compassion. And perhaps, just perhaps, that's the kind of growth that truly matters.