Parashat Be'Shalach, Exodus 13:17 - 17:16

This week’s portion – Be’Shalach, roughly translated to “when [Pharaoh] sent [the People of Israel] away” – is extremely visual. It tells the story of the first days and weeks of the Exodus – the departing from Egypt – but is written more like a screenplay, a compilation of visual images. Indeed, some of the most dramatic sites ever envisioned (and later attempted to be captured by Cecil B. DeMille’s wonderful “The Ten Commandments”) are reported here in great detail: The parting of the (red) sea, the drowning of all of Pharaoh’s cavalry, the “pillar of cloud” walking in front of the People of Israel in the day, and the “pillar of fire” by night. Not for naught it was said that “what the lowliest of slaves had actually seen by the (red) sea, even Prophet Ezekiel hasn’t seen in his grandest of visions.”

But beyond those amazing visions, the intertwined nature of this week’s portion may best be summed up by the opening lines of the poem “My Father” written by Israel’s national poet, C.N. Bialik:

“Strange were the ways of my life and puzzlement ruled their direction,

Between the gateways of purity and vile their circles have moved as one,

The sacrosanct has intertwined with the profane and the glorious with the loathsome wallowed …”

(my translation, which does not do justice with the sublime original).

Indeed, alongside the most beautiful vision of divine miracles, the Children of Israel are quick to remind us of the mundane, frustrating, and – somewhat unbelievably – faithless lives of this recently-freed nation of slaves. My two short comments today would relate, first, to the notion of “how quickly we forget,” and then – in close relation – to the false question of “the proof of the existence of God.”

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi . . .

Right after God commits these wonderful miracles – the parting of the sea, the drowning of the enemy’s cavalry, etc., etc. – we find the newly-freed nation, not surprisingly, in an abiding mode: “And Israel has seen the wondrous hand which God laid upon Egypt, and the people have seen God, and they believed in God and in Moses his slave.” (Exodus 14:31). To loyal readers of this blog, this classic move – of first showing God’s great powers and then the result of believing in Him – should sound familiar. Indeed, the Father of our Nation, Abraham, was first said to “believe in God” right after God promised him that he would receive all the best in this world (Gen. 15:6). But, God usually doesn’t end there – believing in Him when things are good is easy; what happens when things don’t go so well? (Just ask Job]. God then tests Abraham, asking him to sacrifice his beloved son (Gen. 22:1). Abraham’s belief is not shaken – perhaps even strengthened – by the ordeal. But God also tests Abraham’s descendants, with much less success. The same people who just witnessed some of the greatest miracles ever recorded, are now threatening to soon stone His slave Moses (Ex. 17:4), and are wondering “whether the Lord is present among us or not” (Ex. 17:7).

Indeed, in Latin we learn that “thus passes the glory of the world,” or, in modern English usage, “how quickly we forget.” But why is that? What caused the people to turn their heart away from God so quickly?

Though many answers were offered to this question, I would like to offer one from an area near and dear to me: the great outdoors. Despite the fact that the People of Israel were slaves in Egypt – and thus used to hard labor in the hot desert sun – they were not used to walking in the desert. As you may recall, they were walking the entire first night, and then – without mentioning any break – continued to walk onward for days; but they didn’t have, nor did they see, any clear indication of a water source. Their first Divine test, therefore, was a direct, very concrete one: A fear of dying in the desert of dehydration, or a total belief in God: “And they went three days in the desert and they have not found any water” (Ex. 15:22); “And they were encamped in Rephidim, and there is no water for the People to drink” (Ex. 17:1). Viewed that way, it’s not untenable to assume that very reasonable people – perhaps even among readers of this blog – would turn agnostic in the face of such a test.

But what is also fascinating is not merely the fact of the people’s rapid turn of heart, but rather the content of their grievances. Only a short period has passed since these slaves complained (wonderfully) to Pharaoh about the dismal conditions of their employment: “Straw you failed to provide to your slaves, yet bricks you order us to make! Thus your slaves are being beaten. . .” (Ex. 5:16); only a short time has passed since God himself confesses to Moses that He has “heard the crying of the Children of Israel that are slaving under Egypt” (Ex. 6:5). Yet all of sudden, Egypt seems like Paradise, and these same people complain to Moses: “How we wish we were dead at the hand of God [here in the desert; unlike] in the land of Egypt, where we sat by the pot of meat, where we have eaten bread until we were full – and now you have taken us all out to this desert to starve this entire congregation to death.” (Ex. 17:3). What is happening here? How can their memory be so short?

The answer is well-researched today. Economist and psychologists – mainly Kahnman & Tverski (the former received a Nobel Prize in economics for his research on the subject) – remind us that we prefer what is available to us – even if it is extremely detrimental to us – to something we have no familiarity with. (Oversimplified, this is what they called the “availability heuristics” in their seminal 1973 article published in Science magazine.) Think for a second about your own life: would you prefer the known and familiar – even if you do not particularly like it – or to venture off to a new start, somewhere you have never been before? The quintessential paradigm here is – just like in the Bible – your workplace: Most people complain about their workplace, yet very few leave on their own accord. Is that the “People of Israel” syndrome?

Can you “Prove” that God Exists?

Here I want to make a very short, but crucial point on the great issue of Faith. Many times, ever since the fourth grade, I hear a lot of people tell me: “If you prove to me that God exists, I will then – and only then – believe in God.” Two things are wrong with that claim: First, as we have seen in this week’s portion, “proof of God” has nothing to do with faith: That lowly slave on the sea has seen, in her own eyes, the glory and mighty of God like no one before or since, and yet the People of Israel turned away from God in a heartbeat, as soon as things became difficult in the desert. In contrast – and this is Leibovitz’s point – for many generations Jewish people who have never seen God and never imagine that they would ever see him, died while reciting the Sh’ma rather than convert to another religion. That alone goes to show that the relation between so-called “proof” and the belief in God simply doesn’t exist.

But on a deeper level, the sentence itself – “prove to me X, and then I will believe in X” is simply a non-sequitur. If one chooses to believe in something, than they must relinquish any desire for proof that that thing exists; otherwise, there is no room for belief. By the same token, if something is proven to you, you can’t be said to believe in that thing; rather, you simply know, or aware of its existence. Thus, you can not believe that the table on which I’m writing this blog exists; you simply know it. Similarly, you can’t know that Federer will win the Australian Open on Sunday (against Andy Murray), but you – or I, for that matter – believe in it.

Indeed, belief and proof are mutually exclusive. You either believe in something, or you know it exists. You can stop asking for proof of God, therefore, and simply ask yourself do you believe in Him?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Bo, Exodus 10:1-13-16

This week’s portion, “Bo” (roughly translates into “come to”) offers the incredible story of the Exodus: The tale of how all Children of Israel left Egypt more than 430 years after Israel (Jacob) himself arrived there (Exodus 12:40) in a single night. And what a remarkable story that is. The portion – both very eloquent in style and very rich in data – tells us how more than 600,000 adult males, with their children, families, companions, and much property (Ex. 12:37), suddenly got up and left Egypt. And recall – there were no means of transportation back then: No cars, no trucks, no busses, no airplanes, and no ships (at least not at their disposal). They all left on their own two feet; they all walked away from Egypt. And they prepared well for leaving in a hurry, with divine instructions that may well-resonate even today with every parent who would like their children to leave in a hurry: “And this is how you shall eat [your last meal before departure]: your loins must be girded, your sandals on your feet, and your walking poles at hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly.” (Ex. 12:11)

The text of this week’s portion is one of the classics, containing not only vast portions of the Passover Haggadah (including the famous justification of its very title: “And you shall tell your son [“Ve’hee’ga’de’tah le’vin’cha”] on that day the following: It is for that that the Lord performed for me when I have left Egypt” (Exodus 13:8)), but also selected portions of the constituent She’ma text (Exodus 13:9 (“And this shall serve as a sign on your hand…”), 13:16 (similar)). In short, there is many a good reason to read this portion in full.

Today I would like to make two short remarks, one about collective corporal punishment, and the other about the act of leaving a country in which you were born.

The Tenth Plague

Two weeks ago, at the very beginning of the book of Exodus, we quickly introduced to the new King of Egypt’s most brutal decree: “And the King of Egypt spoke to the Hebrew midwives . . . and said: “When you deliver the Hebrew women, look at the birth stones: if it is a boy, you shall kill him, and if a girl – she would live.” (Exodus 1:15-16). “How unjust,” we may think as we read the text, “what have those little babies done that they deserve meeting their faith in such a horrific way.” The rest of the text, by the way, suggests that the Hebrew midwives never abided by the King’s order, for which they were summoned for a quick “supreme court” hearing with the King (Exodus 1:17-20 – no harm was done to them). Still, the impression of a brutal, arbitrary, and extremely unjust punishment – bore by a vast group for no fault of their own – remains with us as one of the most defining characteristics of the new King.

In today’s portion, we learn of a much wider-scale, collective “first-born” punishment scheme – one that actually occurred. To recap, after performing nine of the plagues (which the text insists on calling “marvels” (Ex. 12:10), which also brings back the issue of “ten” discussed last time), Pharaoh still refuses to “let my People go.” Thus, God – through Moses – turns to a measure of last resort: The Plague of Killing All First Born.

Three full chapters (Ex. 11-13) are dedicated to the planning, announcement, preparation for, and then meticulous execution of this drastic measure. It begins with God’s dramatic message to Moses: “One more plague I will bring upon Pharaoh and Egypt, and after that he will send you away…” (Ex. 11:1). And what is that plague? “And every first-born in the land of Egypt shall die, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sits on his throne to the first-born of the slave-woman who is behind the grind stone, and all of the first-born of the cattle. And there shall be a huge cry in the entire land of Egypt, a cry like which has never been, and like which shall never occur.” (Ex. 11:5-6). To eliminate any doubt, and as highly emphasized by the Passover Haggadah, this measure was undertaken by God himself (“And Moses said, so said God: Towards midnight I will go out into the land of Egypt” Ex. 11:4); not by a messenger, not by an angel, and not by a seraph. Rather, God himself implemented this drastic measure, which resulted in “no household in Egypt in which there is no death.” (Ex. 12:30).

Clearly, God’s “last word” was in direct response to Pharaoh’s diabolic scheme. But was that too strong a measure? Faithful readers of this blog know something about the social institute of First Born in those times. Eliminating all first born must have had, therefore, much greater effect than merely the coincidental loss of several men of Egypt. To be sure, Pharaoh’s plan in comparison was even harsher as it targeted all male newborn, not only the first born. Yet Pharaoh’s idea remained just that – an idea, while God’s plan to inflict pain upon the entire nation of Egypt (and their property) was executed in full. Was this too harsh? Recall that most Egyptians had no say in the tough-measure negotiations that took place between Pharaoh and Moses. Yet, they suffered the most, each family losing its first born. The same could be said about the Israelites, who did no harm to Pharaoh and yet were about to lose all their male newborn.

The measure, it should be said, worked well. Pharaoh – who just threatened Moses not to see his face again, “for the day you shall see my face again you shall die” (Ex. 10:28) – now calls Moses and Aharon in the middle of the night (the same night where God killed all first-born) and practically rushes them to “get up and get out of my People.” (Ex. 12:31). And they do. But does the effectiveness of the measure justify its degree? In modern constitutional terms, the question is whether this measure is proportional: could we have reached the same result by a much lesser of a measure? (Note, for instance, that none of the previous nine plagues has inflicted any death on Egypt – though it did inflict much suffering; should that be a consideration in inflicting this one final measure?). According to my dad, the fact that it worked, shows that it was the right measure. ‘The proof is in the pudding’, he says. And my dad is usually right. Is he right this time?

Leaving Your Country

An overlooked aspect of this week’s portion is the fact that this is the first time in history when a mass immigration was recorded. An entire nation, more than million in numbers, is getting up in one night and leaving their homeland of 430 years. What were their thoughts, fears, hesitations? For anyone who has ever left his or her homeland, leaving your country is far from a trivial move. In the States, even leaving your state of birth to “migrate” to one of the larger cities (NY, Chicago, L.A.) is not so simple. How can an entire nation, then, get up and leave?

In stark contrast to the first portion in Exodus, where Moses faced some serious issues of obedience and recognition, here the People of Israel immediately “bow down and kneel” when they hear his instructions. (Exodus 12:28). And while it is true that in the coming weeks we’ll be hearing several times about their grievances (in particular, how Moses separated them from the “pot full of meat” they had in Egypt to bring them into the desert), that night was a night of unity and obedience.

Now think for a moment of yourself and all the people you have ever known (and many you haven't). Would it be easier to leave your country with all of them, beginning a long journey to a country unknown? Or would you rather do it on your own? The answer, I think, informs us of this amazingly unified answer by the Children of Israel.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Va'e'ra, Exodus 6:2-9:35

This week’s portion – the second in the Book of Exodus – tells the story of seven of the Ten Plagues inflicted by God on Egypt and its King Pharaoh. In essence, Moses asks Pharaoh to “let my People go,” but Pharaoh refuses. In response, God (through Moses) inflicts ten horrible plagues on Egypt. Each of the seven – Blood, Frogs, Lice, Wild Beasts, Pestilence, Boils, and Hail – is described in great detail in the portion, including its warning, its occurrence, and its horrific effect on life in Egypt. Yet throughout this remarkable display of divine power, King Pharaoh remains steadfast in his reluctance to let the People of Israel go. We are to wait until next week in order to see what finally broke this stonehearted King’s will.

I would like to make three short remarks on the portion.

Moses & Dr. King

Today we mark Martin Luther King’s Day. It is interesting to compare the leadership style of Moses – who was one of Dr. King’s favorite Biblical figures (in his last speech, for example, Dr. King invoked the image of Moses’ last day, http://www.mlkonline.net/video-martin-luther-king-last-speech.html) – and that of Dr. King himself. Both leaders represented an oppressed minority, who (at one point or another) were used as slaves. Both were men of God. Both never hesitated to invoke God both in their speeches to their people and in their negotiations with the oppressing-class’ leaders. Yet one used God to advocate a sophisticated form of non-violent resistance, while the other used God in order to inflict horrific harm (the Plagues) on the oppressing class. Which one was “right”?

One thought experiment in this respect is to assume that Dr. King had the ability to perform the same miracles as Moses had. Would Dr. King actually inflict plagues on White America in the 1960s in order to “let his people go?” If so, would he be remembered (and celebrated) in the same way as he is today? Conversely, during his time, would Moses be so successful in letting his People go without inflicting such serious harm on Pharaoh and his people? If so, what does that tell us on non-violent resistance? Is it always the best path to choose? [Some loyal readers of this blog complained recently that I don’t provide enough answers to the questions I raise. I apologize, for this is again true for today’s post. Admittedly, I don’t have any answers – these are merely thought experiments.]

Ten Plagues? Ten Commandments?

Every year in Passover, when we read the Haggadah, we mention the Ten Plagues. Similarly, every kid knows (or supposed to know) about the Ten Commandments. Yet the biblical text itself never mentions the number “ten” – or any number at all, for that matter. The text simply goes through the description – of the Plagues or the Commandment – and later generations divided them accordingly. But the text’s silence on the exact number can also be telling. With the Plagues, we see very clearly that the first seven are separated from the last three in terms of portions. Clearly, if the number “ten” was so important, the portions were arranged differently. Second, and more importantly, the “Plagues’ are not disconnected from their background. Thus, just before inflicting the Plagues, we learn about the marvel of turning Aharon’s rod into a serpent (Exodus 7:8-13). While not very persuasive to Pharaoh as a mean to “let my People go,” it plays an important role in helping us to understand the background to God’s later decision to inflict serious harm upon Egypt. The text thus may be telling us that we can’t read the Plagues without referring first to the non-violent measures that Moses attempted to take. [The situation with the Ten Commandments is even more complicated; the lack of orderly division between the first “three commandments” led to endless debates about the exact scope and content of each, which last through today. I will elaborate on that when we arrive – in about three weeks – to the commandments portion.] Thus, the next time someone mentions the Ten Plagues to you, you may surprise them by answering: “True, but they tried some non-violent measures first!”

From Their God to Ours

There is a very interesting order to the Ten Plagues. In terms of physical description, the Plagues seem to move from the Earth to the Heavens: first blood appears on the River Nile, then Frogs leap from that same river into people’s homes, then the “ashes of the earth” produces lice, and so on and so forth until the Hail comes from the heavens. (Next week we will be reading about the great wind that first brings the Locusts unto Egypt, then blows it away; about the Darkness from the heavens that covered all of Egypt for several days; and finally, on the killing of every first born in Egypt.)

But in a deeper sense, the Plagues also represent the move from the Egyptian god to our own God. It should be remembered that the relationship between the Lord and His Chosen People were nascent at that point. It was important to show them, too – and not only Pharaoh – who is the real boss. Accordingly, the Plagues move from the Nile – the symbol of all Egyptian gods (Pharaoh, the King-God, is often described as “standing on the Nile”), and also the Egyptian only source of life -- to the transcendental surroundings of the heavens, from which the most serious Plagues are inflicted.

Thus, by moving from “their” god to “ours,” the Plagues signal both to the Egyptians and to the Israelites where they should always look for salvation – not down at the river, but up at the heavens.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat She'mot, Exodus 1:1 - 6:1

Parashat Sh’mot – the first portion of the second book – is one of the most famous of the entire Chumash. Indeed, its content is well-known to almost every Jewish person around the world. This is so not because it contains one of the key stories of the entire canon (the rise to power of Moshe, the most significant person in all of Judaism); rather, it is famous because a major part of it (as well as of next week’s portion) were “imported” into the Passover Hagada, a text read by many Jewish families each and every year come spring. Thus, even a non-frequent (biblical) flyer may experience a déjà-vu when reading this portion for the first time.

A Well-Known Portion

In addition to Hagada reading flash-backs, this week’s portion is no doubt a trip down memory lane to anyone who ever attended Sunday school here (or mandatory Bible classes in Israeli elementary school). For example, the wonderful story of little Moshe in the wicker basket – how he was first saved, then raised by Pharaoh’s daughter (despite her father’s decree to kill all Hebrew male babies (Exodus 2:2-10)). It also includes the famous story of Moshe standing before the burning bush, and the bush does not burn up (Exodus 3:2-3); God ordering Moshe to “Remove your shoes from your feet, as the place you are stepping upon is holy ground” (Id); Moshe arguing with God, claiming he’s not fit to become the leader of all Hebrews (on which I will talk shortly); Moshe and his brother Aharon standing before King Pharaoh and demanding “Let My People Go!” (Exodus 5:1); and many other “best-of” stories.

Obviously, I cannot discuss all of these great stories today. What I would like to do is to reiterate the ’classical‘ narrative of Moshe’s rise to power and then juxtapose this classic narrative with a more up-to-date, political-science version of the story which purports to, but stops short of, replacing God with Machiavelli.

Before I begin, a word on the title of the portion – and the book – we are reading today. The text begins with “And these are the names (Sh’mot) of …” and therefore, as usual, the portion and the book are named in Hebrew “sh’mot” – Names – following the first meaningful word in the text. The English editors however, chose a more subject-matter-oriented title, and named the portion and the book “Exodus” – which I consider unfortunate. What they missed is a very deep discussion of the actual names – and one name in particular – of the Jewish God, And that text is truly unique, though incredibly complicated either to explain or translate (you can find it in Exodus 3:14-15). None of it is even hinted on the English version. Accordingly, from now on, consider referring to this portion (and the book) by its real name – The Book of Names.

Moshe’s Rise to Power: The Classic Version

As every elementary-school student is Israel knows well, Moshe – the only true “slave of God,” – was never interested in the great honor bestowed upon him by God, namely leading the People of Israel out of Egypt (or at all, for that matter).

In fact, Moshe was never made of “leader material” (at least not in the way we consider the term today). Rather, Moshe was, a peaceful goat-herder, minding his own business. He could not be less interested in global politics: “And Moshe, tending to the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midyan, drove the flock into the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.” (Ex. 3:1-2). To his great amazement, an Angel of God – and then God Himself, no less – appear before him and instruct him of his new destiny as the leader of (what would later become) the Chosen People. Moshe protests – a sign of a true leader – and argues with God (in their first encounter ever, mind you): “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and free Israelites from Egypt?” (Ex. 3:11). God assures him that things will be fine, but Moshe is not convinced: “They [the people of Israel] would not believe me; they would not listen to me, as they will argue: ‘God has never shown Himself to you.’” (Ex. 4:1). God solves that problem as well, equipping Moshe with a set of miracles that can convince even the most doubtful of heretics. Still, Moshe is not convinced: “Please, I swear to You oh God, I have never been a man of many words . . . I am both slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (Ex. 4:10). God then allows Moshe to “outsource” the speech function to his brother Aharon, and now even Moshe, the great skeptic, is finally convinced.

All this argument, we learn, comes to show us one thing: True leaders are not power-hungry; they are not “running” for office – in fact, they are running from office; they are selected by God, usually “behind the flock” (just like David, many years later), and are not even aware of their future career until God himself tells them. End of story. End of lesson.

Is there another way to look at that same story?

Moshe’s Rise to Power: An Alternative View

Moshe’s image, as reflected by the text, is extremely interesting – both personally and in the biblical context. From a textual standpoint, we find many a clue that Moshe is like no other figure before him, and destined for greatness by way of mentioning many of the great persons that preceeded him. For example, when he is born, we are not told the name of his father (unprecedented in the text), or of the fact that he has a brother (Aharon) and a sister (Miriam) (see Ex. 2:1); thus Moshe enters this world as a “stand-alone” person – no family, no ties, no roots. We then learn that he was hidden – not in a wicker basket – but actually in an “arc” (King James Version got it right this time) – a direct reference to Noah, the first righteous man. Then we learn that Moshe is a Hebrew raised by and walking among Egyptian royalty, like another gigantic Hebrew figure, Joseph. Moshe then finds a wife in a manner strikingly similar to that of Jacob (impressing the bride-to-be by hydrating her flock) – another reference to one of most important figures in the biblical text, Finally, we learn that immediately after he was persuaded by God to lead the Israelites, “Moshe took his wife and sons and mounted them on the donkey and went back to the land of Egypt [where God ordered him to go]” – no doubt a reference to Abraham and his donkey, in the early morning hours of the Akeida.

But Moshe is also destined to greatness on his own accord, rather than by textual references. He is raised as an aristocrat at a time when his People are slaves and humiliated around the nation. He is not a part of their lives, but occasionally – we can assume – he would look out the window of his sheltered palace and view his brothers and sisters suffer.

Our first encounter with the adult Moshe is striking: “Some time after that, when Moshe has grown up, he went out to his brethren and witnessed their hard-labor. And he saw an Egyptian man attacking a Hebrew man, one of his own. And he looked around, and, after seeing that no man was there, hit the Egyptian man and buried him in the sand.” [Ex. 2:11-12]. This is truly an amazing story: Despite his aloof background – and perhaps because of it – Moshe does not merely protest the injustice he witnesses; rather, he pro-actively interrupts the situation, and without a warning or inquiry kills the Egyptian aggressor. Not exactly the act of a shy goat-herder.

The next day, Moshe goes out again. No longer shall he reside permanently at his distant palace. This time Moshe encounters two Hebrew men fighting. He turns to the aggressor, and – while not striking him – demands to know: “Why are you striking your brethren?” The answer shocks and dismays Moshe for years to come: “And [the aggressor] said: Who made you a minister and a judge upon us? Do you plan to kill me, as you have the Egyptian?” (Ex. 2:12). Thus, Moshe realizes that the source of his authority is key to any future leadership position.

It is against this background that we may now re-examine the famous encounter (and debate) with God. Recall that back then -- when there were no CNN, internet, or twitter -- political power was earned primarily by family ties, or by an act of performing a miracle – like Joseph “interpreting” the dream of Pharaoh. Moshe, obviously, had to choose the latter. So here is how the story begins:

There is a miracle. A bush is burning, but it is not consumed. Then God speaks: He invokes the three fathers: Avraham, Izaac, and Jacob – the “founding fathers.” Indeed, just as today Supreme Court Justices and Congressmen alike often invoke the (American) Founding Fathers as a source of legitimacy for their opinion, Moshe, back then, required a similar “big name” to rely on. And while today such source of legitimacy sounds self-evident, almost trivial, recall that at that time, these figures did not mean much to most Hebrew slaves: They never seen them, and I doubt many of them even heard of them. Still, Moshe is in desperate need for a legitimating source to his claim to power, and the Fathers are as good as any.

Then Moshe asks “Who am I [to do all that]” – invoking almost the exact same text of the Hebrew slave who refused to abide by his command. Here, again, Moshe is required to show to his (future) People that he is well aware of his questionable legitimacy as a leader, and wants to address this head on. Again, God invokes the Founding Fathers, and this is the message Moshe delivers later to his audience.

The next issue, Moshe’s speech impediment, is also a classic. While many view it as another sign of Moshe’s humility, a different reading emerges if we consider Moshe, with his very sharp organizational skills realizing that dividing the position of CEO and spokeperson could benefit them both. Today, every leader would agree with that notion, even the most eloquent of them (just ask Robert Gibbs)..

In short, Moshe’s first encounter with God, other than its classic reading, may also provide us with some interesting lessons about leadership, legitimacy, and using the text wisely.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron