This may explain Moses’ ambiguous relationship with his people—and God. He desperately wanted the adventure to be successful . . . and it was not easy. He found himself constantly wavering between ecstasy and despair; failures followed triumphs, he never knew what to expect from his people.

Moses’ outbursts of anger, even his abdication are understandable. This people he had chosen never gave him anything but worries. There was no pleasing, no satisfying them. Forever complaining, grumbling, protesting, regretting the stability—however precarious, even miserable—of the past; the certainties—however debasing—of bondage. Moses’ Jews showed no faith, no joy in being participants in the making of history.

No sooner had they left Egypt than they already asked to return: Why did you make us leave? They asked Moses: Aren’t there enough graves in Egypt? Why do you want to bury us all in the desert?

Three days after the miraculous Red Sea crossing, all they wanted to know was: Ma nishte?—What is there to drink? Barely one month later they recalled Egypt with nostalgia: it was so good there; we ate all we wanted . . .

Even when Moses obtained the manna for them, they were not satisfied. At one point he became so exasperated that he cried out: Oh, God, what am I to do with this ungrateful people? One more incident, and they will stone me to death! On another occasion he had to remind them that he had taken nothing from them, that he had not become rich at their expense, and that he owed them nothing. One does not make such statements unless one stands accused.

Listen to a Midrash: Among the children of Israel, there were those who followed Moses with their eyes, saying: Look at this neck and look at that belly and those legs; whatever he eats, he has taken from the Jews; whatever he drinks, he has taken from the Jews; everything he owns comes from the Jews.

The line And they were jealous of Moses is commented upon by one text in a very explicit manner: every husband suspected him of engaging in illicit relations with his spouse. Everyone seems to have tried to pull him down to their own level.

Poor Moses, who had dreamed of inspiring them, elevating them, transforming slaves into princes, fashioning a community of free and sovereign men. Here was his dream—broken, shattered. The Jews, unchanged, were still absorbed in their sordid intrigues and in-fighting. They had seen God at work and had learned nothing. They had witnessed events of cosmic importance and had remained unaffected. Hayesh adoshem bekirbenu im ayin? They were already doubting God’s presence in their midst. They were already doubting their purpose, their very memory.

Moses had expected something else from this chosen people: another kind of vision, another kind of loyalty. After their liberation they should have lived proudly, as free men, not like a pack of fugitives. Vayekhal Moshe—And Moses prayed—is interpreted in the Midrash as: They made Moses sick. Too many people plaguing him with too many problems. We imagine him morose, unhappy. Only once do we see him joyous: on the day his brother Aaron acceded to the office of high priest. Otherwise he seemed far removed from happiness, and even more, from collective rejoicing. He was burdened with too many responsibilities, too much grief. He handled everything alone, without any help, without the benefit of comradeship and reliable allies. On the contrary, he felt that he was not liked; that the people mistrusted him, envied him. Here and there, young prophets plotted behind his back. Notables—from the Korakh clan—even prepared a coup to force him out of power. The scouts he had dispatched to the land of Canaan—famous people all—came back with disastrous reports that the Promised Land was inhabited by giants in whose eyes they had felt very small and frail. Two nephews—Aaron’s sons—had penetrated into the sanctuary while in a state of drunkenness. His brother himself had had a hand in the making of the Golden Calf.