That's the situation Moses found himself in.

In Exodus 3:11, Moses cries out to God, "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should take the children of Israel out of Egypt?" It’s a question loaded with doubt, fear, and perhaps even a little bit of frustration. But what's really behind this question? The ancient rabbis, masters of interpretation, unpack it for us in Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Exodus.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi offers a fascinating analogy. Imagine a king who promises his daughter a province and a gentlewoman as a maidservant when she marries. But instead, he gives her a Kushite maidservant. The son-in-law understandably complains, "Didn't you promise a gentlewoman?"

According to this midrash, Moses is doing something similar with his question. He's reminding God of a previous promise. "Master of the universe," Moses argues, "when Jacob descended to Egypt, didn't you say, 'Anokhi – I – will descend with you into Egypt and Anokhi – I – will also surely bring you up' (Genesis 46:4)? And now you're telling me to go to Pharaoh? It's not me, anokhi, who promised to bring them up!" In essence, Moses is pointing out that God Himself promised to liberate Israel, not through an intermediary. He's saying, "This is your job, not mine!"

But the questioning doesn't stop there. Rabbi Nehorai presents another angle: Moses is overwhelmed by the sheer logistical nightmare of leading the Israelites. "Where will I shelter them from the sun in the summer, and from the cold in the winter?" he asks. "Where will I get food and drink? What about the pregnant women, the new mothers, the children? How will I provide for all their needs?" It's a very human, very practical concern.

The Midrash finds an echo of this sentiment in the Song of Songs (1:7): “Tell me, you whom my soul loves…”. It's a cry for guidance, for assurance that there’s a plan. The answer? God assures Moses that the bread they take from Egypt will sustain them for thirty days. He's essentially saying, "Don't worry about the details, I have a plan in motion."

And there’s yet another layer to Moses’s reluctance. He asks, how can he, a single person, enter a place filled with robbers and murderers, a clear reference to Egypt? Moreover, what merit do the Israelites possess that would enable him to take them out of Egypt? Are they worthy of redemption?

God's response is simple, yet profound: "Because I will be with you" (Exodus 3:12). This isn't just a promise of divine accompaniment; it's a reassurance to someone who is afraid. But God doesn't stop there. He gives Moses a sign: "When you bring the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain." This is Mount Sinai, the place where the Torah will be given.

The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, offers a powerful interpretation of this sign. It suggests that the merit that will allow the Israelites to leave Egypt is the merit of the Torah that they are destined to receive on Mount Sinai. In other words, their future commitment to God's teachings will be the key to their liberation.

Our Rabbis of blessed memory add another layer, noting the repetition of anokhi – I. The first deliverance, the descent into Egypt, was accompanied by anokhi: "I will go down with you to Egypt." And the ultimate redemption, the one yet to come, will also be accompanied by anokhi. As it says in Malachi (3:23), "Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet."

So, what can we take away from Moses’s initial reluctance? It's a reminder that even the greatest leaders grapple with doubt and fear. It's a testament to the power of divine promise and presence. And it's a profound lesson that even when we feel unqualified, unprepared, or simply not "the right person" for the task, we can find strength in the knowledge that we are not alone. And that sometimes, the greatest acts are born not from confidence, but from a humble willingness to step forward, even when we're trembling.