It seems even Moses, the great lawgiver himself, felt that way at one point. Let's dive into a fascinating passage from Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, and see how Moses argued his case.
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, quoting Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai, tells us something remarkable: At Sinai, when God delivered the Ten Commandments, He gave Moses an opening for a response. God began with, "I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2). Notice the subtle nuance there – the word "your," in Hebrew, is Elohekha, the singular form.
Now, fast forward to the devastating episode of the Golden Calf. The Israelites, impatient and fearful, melted down their gold and fashioned an idol. Moses, heartbroken and angry, pleads with God to forgive them. But God, initially, isn't having it. “Is it possible,” He asks, in essence, “that justice won’t be served? They violated the very first commandment!”
This is where Moses, the ultimate advocate, steps up with a bold argument. He says, "Master of the Universe, back at Sinai, You said Elohekha – ‘I am the Lord your God’ – using the singular form. You didn't say Eloheikhem, the plural, 'I am the Lord your God' [to all of you]. You addressed me! Did You say it to them directly? Did I violate the precept?"
Wow. Think about the implications of that for a second. Moses is arguing that the initial commandment was given to him personally, not to the entire nation collectively. Therefore, the nation shouldn't be held responsible for breaking a commandment they never directly received!
It's a pretty audacious argument, right? Did it work?
Well, Rabbi Shemaya of Sikhnin, quoting Rabbi Levi, explains that the Torah later reiterates the phrase in the plural: "I am the Lord your God [Eloheikhem]" (Leviticus 19:2). And similarly, regarding all the mitzvot, the commandments, God uses the plural form Elokeikhem. He doesn't repeat the singular Elohekha.
So, what does this all mean? Was Moses’s argument successful in the long run? Perhaps. The shift to the plural form in later commandments suggests a broader covenant, one that includes the entire community. Maybe Moses’s plea, his daring reminder of the initial singular address, prompted a re-evaluation, a broadening of the divine-human relationship.
As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, Moses's intercession is often portrayed as pivotal in averting God's wrath. This passage from Shemot Rabbah gives us a glimpse into the theological reasoning behind that portrayal.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we hold individuals accountable for the actions of a group? How often do we need to clarify who exactly a promise or a command is directed toward? And what can we learn from Moses's bold advocacy, his willingness to challenge even the Divine, in the pursuit of justice and understanding?