In this context, we can perhaps understand why, at first, he refused to serve as God’s messenger. It took God seven days to convince him, says a Midrash. Moses refused, advancing all kinds of arguments: Why me? Why not an angel? Or my older brother Aaron? I am a poor speaker; also I am married and I have children; my father-in-law will object. And furthermore, what am I supposed to tell the Jews when they start asking me questions, so many questions? What shall I say? And what shall I tell the Pharaoh when he begins to ask me questions? Clearly Moses had no wish to return to his brothers, no wish to reopen a wound that had still not healed.

Yet in the end he gave in. God always wins. The last word is always His, as was the first.

Also, consider the setting: the flaming bush in the immensity of the desert; the all-pervasive solitude, the anxiety, the Voice both distant and close, insisting, probing, throbbing, burning. How could any human being, even Moses, resist that Voice indefinitely? And so Moses gathered his family, bid his in-laws farewell and set out on his return journey, albeit with noticeable lack of enthusiasm. That very night he stopped to sleep at an inn. Why not rest the night? And thus postpone the moment when he would meet once more those brothers he had expected never to see again? And what if by some chance he were to happen on his informer? At this point Moses would undoubtedly have preferred to die. That was why he did not resist the mysterious assault by an angel. His wife Tzipora saved him; her quick move to circumcise their son was meant to remind both God and Moses of the covenant: Moses could not die, must not die, not yet. Israel needed him—and so did God—and Israel could not, must not, die.

We can find what ensued in the Book of Exodus. Event followed event at a feverish pace. Leaving the calm of the desert, Moses plunged into the whirlpool of history. In Egypt he witnessed and lets us witness the disintegration of an empire. Everything is falling apart and at dizzying speed. The participants in the drama are carried away by passions and unknown currents. The text becomes breathless, driven by an irresistible force. An epic poem with a thousand fragments joined in light. Everything is described in an intense, precise manner: the mood of the people, the fear of the slaves, the empty arrogance of the rulers, the calls to insurrection, the reverberations among the powerful as well as among the oppressed. What to do, what not to do? The first doubts on both sides, the first disagreements. Accept the challenge or submit. Tergiversations in the wretched huts as well as in the palaces darkened by malediction. What to do? What to say? Whom to follow? How was one to discern the signal of redemption, the sense of history?

At first Moses and his brother Aaron were alone, without allies or companions. Moses saw that his skepticism was justified: the slaves wanted to remain slaves. The Midrash tells us that on their arrival in Egypt, Moses and Aaron were welcomed by the Elders of the tribes of Israel, who declared themselves ready to follow them to the end. They set out for the royal palace, but gradually, as they came closer, the Elders changed their minds. With each step the group shrank. By the time they entered the Pharaoh’s residence, the two brothers remained alone. If the Elders had lost their courage, if the leaders had succumbed to fear, what could one expect from the average Jew?