It’s a question that’s intrigued Jewish thinkers for centuries. How did he know when a day had passed, when night had fallen, without the usual cues?
The answer, as we find in Shemot Rabbah (a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Exodus), is both practical and profound. "He was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights," the Torah tells us (Exodus 24:18). But how could Moses distinguish between day and night when in God's presence?
The key lies in understanding that, according to Jewish mystical thought, there is no night "On High," in the realm of the divine. As it says in Psalms 139:12, "Even darkness does not darken for You. The night, as day, illuminates. Darkness and light are the same." So, if day and night are indistinguishable to God, how could Moses, in God's presence, tell the difference?
The Rabbis, with their characteristic ingenuity, find the answer in two seemingly contradictory verses. In Deuteronomy 10:10, Moses says, "I stood on the mountain like the first days." Yet in Deuteronomy 9:9, he says, "I sat on the mountain." So, did he stand, or did he sit?
The Rabbis explain that both are true! When God was speaking with Moses, he stood. That was his signal that it was daytime – a time of active reception of divine wisdom. But when God finished speaking and instructed Moses to review what he had learned, Moses would sit. That was his signal that it was "night" – a time for internalizing and understanding what he had received. In this way, according to Shemot Rabbah, we reconcile the two verses: "I stood on the mountain" and "I sat on the mountain." : God’s presence was constant, but the mode of interaction shifted. When God spoke, it was "day." When God instructed Moses to study, it was "night." Day and night were demarcated not by the sun and moon, but by the rhythm of divine communication and human contemplation.
Shemot Rabbah then draws a parallel to King David's words in Psalms 19:3: "Day to day gives utterance; night to night renders understanding." Just as Moses received and then internalized, so too does each day bring new revelations, and each night offers the chance to understand them deeply.
It's a beautiful image, isn't it? That even in the most extraordinary circumstances, time is still marked by cycles of reception and reflection, of action and contemplation. Perhaps that's a model for our own lives. How can we create that balance of "day" and "night" in our own spiritual journeys, constantly learning and then pausing to truly understand?