The Mekhilta brings one more example to illustrate its principle about biblical language. (Ezekiel 43:2) describes the return of God's glory to the Temple: "And the glory of the God of Israel came by way of the East, His voice like the voice of many waters." The prophet Ezekiel compares God's voice to the roar of a massive flood — the overwhelming, thunderous sound of waters crashing together.
And once again, the Mekhilta asks its pointed question: who gave the waters their power and strength? Is it not God Himself? If God created the oceans, the rivers, and every body of water on earth, why are we using His own creation as a metaphor for Him? The comparison seems backwards — like describing a master craftsman by pointing to one of his tools.
The answer is the same principle the Mekhilta has now established through three consecutive examples — the lime kiln at Sinai, the lion's roar in Amos, and now the many waters in Ezekiel: "We use the epithet of His creations to help the ear by what it is accustomed to hearing."
The human ear has heard rushing waters. It has heard lions roar. It has heard the crackle of a kiln. These are the most powerful sounds in human experience, and Scripture presses them into service as approximations of the divine voice. They are not adequate. They are not meant to be. They are the best that human language can offer, and the Torah uses them with full awareness of their limitation.
By repeating this teaching three times — kiln, lion, waters — the Mekhilta establishes it as a foundational principle of how to read Scripture. Every physical comparison applied to God is a concession. Every metaphor is a mercy. God meets human understanding halfway, speaking in images drawn from the world He created so that His creatures can begin to grasp what lies beyond all images.