By Way of the Wilderness

by Gilbert, Morris

  When they reached their rough camp, which consisted of a pile of rocks made into a fireplace, some bundles of hides to sleep on at night, and a small store of food kept in a wooden box held together by pegs, Moses opened the box and got out a small clay jar. Taking out the stopper, he dipped his fingers in the ointment and began to apply it to the wounds of the tiny beast.

  “What does one lamb matter?” Gili demanded. “He’s going to die anyway.”

  “You never know what’s going to be important, Gili. The Great Creator put me here as a shepherd. It’s my task to care for these sheep, and this little one is important.”

  Gili stared at the tall form of Moses. He admired the strength of the older man intensely, and, indeed, Moses had become a magnificent figure. He had always been strong, but now his years in the desert roaming the hills had hardened him, burning his skin a deep, coppery hue that accented his fiery eyes, which, though soft and gentle at times, could flash like lightning during periods of anger.

  “I don’t know why you want to waste your time out here with these sheep,” Gili said. He watched as Moses put the little one down and the tiny animal staggered around. “He’s hungry,” Moses said. “We need to get him back to his mother.”

  Gili ignored the instruction and moved around to where he could face Moses directly and repeated his question. “Why do you want to fool with these sheep? You’ve got money enough to hire shepherds. You could do anything you wanted to.” When Moses didn’t answer, Gili shook his head in disgust. “People say you’re strange.”

  Suddenly Moses’ face broke into a smile. “You mean they say I’m crazy.”

  “Well, some say that. Some say you can do magic—Egyptian magic.”

  “That’s foolishness.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “People will say anything.”

  Gili shrugged and went over to pick up the lamb and go in search of a ewe that was missing its baby. When he found her, he plunked the lamb down in front of her. “Now, you better take better care of this one. The master thinks he’s important.”

  Gili returned to Moses’ side, then opened a box, reached in, and got out a handful of dried figs. He tossed one into his mouth and began chewing. “Mmm … good figs,” he said.

  “Save a few for me, will you?”

  “So you can’t do any magic. Then why do people say you can?”

  Moses hesitated. Ever since he had become Jethro’s son-in-law, stories about him had swept through the countryside. Many believed he had magical powers, that he could heal the sick or even raise the dead. This had worked to Jethro’s advantage, for he had quickly learned that the skill and the knowledge his son-in-law had stored up in Egypt came in handy out in the desert.

  Moses admired his father-in-law—or, at least, respected him—but he had quickly discovered that Jethro, the priest of Midian, pretty much believed in all gods without giving total allegiance to any of them. He dealt with amulets and magic formulas, performed rudimentary medical care, including even a little minor surgery. Jethro, as priest, was also called upon to settle disputes among the tribes that he ministered to. Here, too, Moses was called into service for the Midianites, who had an almost reverential awe of him.

  Moses lived among the Midianites, sired two sons, and had a genuine affection for his wife, Zipporah, but his heart was constantly searching after God. As he sought for the God whose name he did not know, he studied the people around him. Although he had led a lonely life, he somehow knew, deep in his heart, that the Almighty would someday reveal himself. Moses did not worship the local gods, nor did he observe any ritual for his own God. It was out in the loneliness of the desert, in the intense and almost palpable silence, that he tried desperately to open up his heart and soul so that the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob would come to him. So far it had not happened—even after almost forty years—but Moses knew he would die seeking God.

  ****

  An hour after the lamb had been rescued from the thornbush, Gili cried out, “There they come. It’s Paz and Zimra.”

  Moses looked up and listened as Gili railed at the two men for being late. Paz was a fat young man with a round, moonlike face and a foolish grin. Zimra was an old man, whose leathery skin was baked and lined by the desert sun. As Moses gathered his things to go back to his home in the village, Gili winked at him and said, “Don’t forget your lamb over there. It’s a valuable creature.”

  The old man Zimra stared at the scrawny lamb. “What’s valuable about him? He probably won’t even live.”

  “Our master Moses says he’s an important beast, and you know Moses is always right.”

  Moses paid little heed to Gili’s taunts. He nodded to Paz and Zimra and gave them a few instructions, and then, without another word, walked off into the desert. Gili followed alongside him, pestering him with questions.

  Paz stared out of his rheumy eyes at the two as they walked off, then shook his head. “Moses worries about a lamb that’s nearly dead.”

  “He’s crazy!” Zimra said. “Anybody’d have to be crazy that would stay out here in this heat when he could be home in comfort. Why does he stay out here?”

  Paz nodded wisely. “Well, living with his wife is worse than living out here. She never gives him a minute’s peace.”

  “He ought to beat her.”

  “Yes, he should—but he never will. He’s too tenderhearted. That’s a serious flaw in a man.”

  ****

  As Moses entered his house he found Zipporah sewing a garment. She had grown rather heavy over the years, and her once black hair now had threads of silver, but her eyes were still sharp and her voice was even sharper.

  “So you finally decided to come home.”

  “We had to go farther than I thought to find pasture,” Moses said defensively. He walked over and sat down across from Zipporah. “Where are our sons?”

  “They’ve gone to a wedding feast with their friends.”

  Moses stared at Zipporah for a moment, but then asked, “Which friends?”

  Immediately Zipporah was angry. She threw down the garment she was sewing and got to her feet. “They have to take their friends where they can find them! I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  Moses sat back on a bench and leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for the time he would spend at home. Over the years Zipporah had gotten more difficult to live with. He never offered a word of criticism to her, but he knew she was disappointed in him. His two sons, Gershom and Eliezer, were also critical of him.

  “You can come and eat now.”

  Moses got to his feet, walked over to the table, and sat down and began to eat. The food was sharp and seasoned with garlic and leeks and onions, and he smiled at her. “This is good.”

  “If you’d stay home more, you could have more good cooking.”

  “I have to take care of the flocks. You know that.”

  “You could hire someone to do that.” Zipporah pulled at her hair, which hung down her back. “You let my father take advantage of you.”

  “No I don’t. He’s always been goodhearted and kind to me.”

  “You should demand your share of the profits.”

  “All right, I will.”

  “No you won’t. You ought to think more of your family. What’s going to become of us?”

  Moses had been through this many times. Indeed, he had been a help to Zipporah’s father, but he had no plans to make any claim whatsoever for money or position. Jethro had one son, who had been born a year after Moses married Zipporah, and Moses was content that he would be the heir. Zipporah sat down and watched Moses eat. She could not be quiet for long, and soon she got back to her favorite theme. “Have you thought any more about going back to Egypt?”

  “I could never go back there.”

  “Why not?”

  “That life’s closed to me.”

  “Your foster mother is a sister to the pharaoh. She’s rich. You could hav
e anything you wanted. I don’t understand why you don’t go back and claim what’s rightfully yours.”

  Moses had long ago given up any attempts to explain his background to Zipporah, and he did not try now. He knew she was unhappy, and his mind went back to the time when he had first seen her. She had been happy then, and he remembered the dark beauty of her eyes and her hair, her trim form. It seemed like another lifetime to him, and he felt a sudden twinge of guilt because he had not provided for Zipporah the things she seemed to require.

  “Why don’t you become a priest like my father?”

  “I could never do that, Zipporah.”

  “Why not? You know all about the gods.”

  “There’s only one God. I’ve told you that many times.”

  “You could do so much more with yourself.” Zipporah leaned forward, and her mouth twisted with anger. “I can’t understand why you’re content to stay out in the desert and ignore your inheritance in Egypt.”

  Moses had become accustomed to Zipporah’s railings, and now he almost welcomed the sound of footsteps. As his father-in-law, Jethro, stepped in, he said with some relief, “Well, I’m home, Father.”

  “I know. Gili told me you’d come back. How are the sheep?”

  “We’ll have one of the best crop of lambs in years. Many fine young animals.”

  “Sit down, Father, and let me feed you,” Zipporah said.

  Jethro sat down, and she put a huge bowl of the soup before him. Grabbing a wooden spoon, he began to shovel it down, making noises of pleasure. He was a glutton, and it was only when he had finished the bowl that he turned to Moses, belched loudly, and patted his stomach. “Well, Moses, have you thought any more on what I talked to you about?”

  “Not really.”

  “You ought to.” Jethro leaned forward. “You could become the head of the whole Midianite nation. All it would take would be a little effort on your part.”

  “I’m a shepherd.”

  “We can hire shepherds by the dozen,” Jethro snorted impatiently. “I’m talking about your future. You could even be a king.”

  “I don’t want to be a king.”

  Zipporah gave a disbelieving cry and shook her head. “If you don’t want to be a king, what do you want to be?”

  Moses wearily put his spoon down and tried to think of an answer, but he had none. Finally he said, “I will never do more than herd sheep.” He saw the look that passed between Jethro and his daughter and knew he would never please either of them. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “I’m tired.”

  ****

  A month had passed since Moses’ return from the wilderness, and during that period of time he had been miserable—as he usually was when he was at home. When he could get away from the house, he prayed all the time. He tried to spend time with his sons, but their interests were so different. They cared nothing even for the gods of the Midianites, and as for an unseen god, they merely laughed at him.

  “We have to have a god we can see,” Gershom said. “How can we know he is there if we can’t see him?”

  Moses had never been able to make his sons or his wife or Jethro understand what it was he was searching for. During the past month he’d had a strange feeling he could not define. It was as if he were rushing toward something up ahead. He could not see what it was. He could not sense it with any of his physical senses—but, finally, he could no longer bear it.

  “I’m going to go find new pastures for the flock.”

  “You can never be happy here at home, can you?” Zipporah said sadly. She felt she had failed as a wife, and she knew her tongue was too sharp, but she could not seem to help herself. “Don’t run off. Spend some time with Gershom and Eliezer.”

  “I asked them to go with me, but they claim there’s too much to do at home.” Moses knew that was not so, but he had not argued with the two. “I shouldn’t be too long this time,” he said defensively.

  “Go on, then! If you love your sheep better than your family, go to them!”

  ****

  Moses looked up and saw Mount Sinai, which broke the horizon ahead of him. The sharp, pointed mountain was the highest in the Horeb range, and Moses’ eyes scanned from Sinai’s craggy peak to the lower rises surrounding it. The Midianites had always considered Sinai a sacred place, and Moses found himself heading toward it, even as his shepherd’s eye kept a lookout for pastureland or springs.

  Silence rested over the land for the most part, but as Moses drew closer to Sinai, occasional reverberating echoes thundered down from its peak. Moses took it to be falling rock, despite the Midianites’ superstitions about the gods of Sinai. Moses had never believed their stories.

  Struck by the silence of the land, the old shepherd stopped and fell on his knees to pray. “O God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, look down on your servant. Remember your people, Lord, who are still in bondage in Egypt.”

  His voice began to break, and he wept. Finally he rose and wiped the tears from his eyes, then continued on toward Sinai. He had reached the base of the mountain, and as he looked up its rocky slopes, his eyes narrowed at something unusual in the distance. He began to climb toward it and saw that it was a bush on fire. This in itself was not unusual, because in this arid climate, a dry lightning strike could set a bush on fire. But watching carefully, Moses was puzzled to find that the bush was not consumed. He thought to himself, I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.

  As he walked toward it, a voice calling his name struck him with the force of a blow.

  “Moses! Moses!”

  The voice had come out of the burning bush. He stopped dead-still, staring at the bush as it blazed. Finally he cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “Here I am.”

  The voice came out of the bush again. It was like no voice Moses had ever heard.

  “Do not come any closer. Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

  Moses quickly kicked off his sandals and stood there trembling. He seemed hot and cold at the same time, for he knew he was hearing the voice of the God he had sought for so many years.

  “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.”

  Overcome with fear, Moses fell on the ground and hid his face against his forearms, but he still heard the voice coming strong and clear.

  “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey—the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites. And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them. So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.”

  Moses was so stunned he could not answer at first, but after a while he cried out in a high voice, “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

  The voice spoke reassuringly: “I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain.”

  Moses could not think clearly, so he voiced the question that had been on his heart for years: “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

  The voice that spoke to Moses was warm and tender and full of power. “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

  Moses thought his heart would burst on hearing the name he had so longed to hear. The eternal God who created all things was actually speaking to him! Moses was alive with every part of his being as he continued to listen to God’s instructions.

  “Go, assemble th
e elders of Israel and say to them, ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, appeared to me.’”

  Moses was trembling so much he could barely keep his mind on all that the voice was telling him. He struggled with doubts over the wisdom of his going back to Egypt as he was being instructed and telling the Hebrews that he had heard from God. How could they possibly believe such a claim? Finally he blurted out, “What if they do not believe me or listen to me and say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you’?”

  And the voice said to him, “What is that in your hand?”

  “A staff,” Moses replied.

  “Throw it on the ground,” God said.

  Moses did as he was told, and the staff became a snake. Moses cried out and ran from it, but the voice continued: “Reach out your hand and take it by the tail.”

  Moses gingerly picked up the snake by the tail, and jumped in amazement when it became a staff again.

  Then God said, “Put your hand inside your cloak.”

  Moses obeyed, and when he pulled it out, it was spotted with white leprosy. He gasped and thrust his hand away from him, but the voice spoke again: “Now put it back into your cloak.”

  Moses obeyed this command. As he drew his hand back out, he nearly cried to see the leprous hand restored to its normal state.

  Again Moses’ attention was drawn back to the voice coming from the burning bush.

  “If they do not believe you or pay attention to the first miraculous sign, they may believe the second. But if they do not believe these two signs or listen to you, take some water from the Nile and pour it on dry ground. The water you take from the river will become blood on the ground.”

  Moses had never been a leader or a good speaker, and he simply could not fathom how God could be asking him to do such a task. He did not have the skills he would need for such a monumental accomplishment! So he protested, “O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”