Bearing God's Name

by Carmen Joy Imes

  To have this blessing invoked over them reinforces the idea that Israel is selected for a particular purpose. As bearers of Yahweh’s name, they represent him among the nations. Everyone is watching the Israelites to find out what sort of god Yahweh really is. And these nations soon discover that anyone who messes with Israel must answer to him.

  Later in the book of Numbers, Balak, king of Moab, would find this out the hard way (see Numbers 22–24). Balak is afraid of the Israelites (as Yahweh had said the nations would be). He hires Balaam, a sorcerer, to call down curses on Israel. The two attempt multiple vantage points overlooking Israel’s camp, hoping for curses to come. Instead, only blessings flow. No matter how much money King Balak offered the prophet Balaam, he could not entice Balaam to curse the Israelites. Balaam knew better than to cross Yahweh. Yahweh has nothing but blessing in store for his people. Even after all of their sin, Yahweh was entirely committed to blessing his people.

  To bear the name of Yahweh, to bear his blessing, entails great responsibility. This explains the purpose of Israel’s laws. They are to be a people set apart, a holy nation.

  PROFANING YAHWEH’S NAME

  Leviticus adds depth to the idea of bearing Yahweh’s name by fleshing out the behaviors that profane it. Significantly, profaning the name—failing to set it apart as holy—is not just a matter of improper speech. Israel could profane the name through child sacrifice to Molek (Lev 18:21; 20:3), false swearing (19:12), participation in pagan funerary rites (21:5-6), improper handling of temple gifts (22:2), or cursing Yahweh (24:11). Leviticus 22:31-32 links profaning the name with breaking any command.6 Israel’s holiness requires distinctive behavior (Lev 11:44; 19:2; 20:24-26).

  Others should be able to tell just by looking at Israel that they belong to Yahweh. What they wear, what they eat, how they treat one another, who they are intimate with, how they do business—all these reflect on Yahweh. Israel declares their covenantal status by living according to Yahweh’s instructions. If they fail, Yahweh’s name—his reputation—is at stake. When they do fail, the prophets charge them with profaning Yahweh’s name among the nations.

  LOOKING BACK: REMEMBERING SINAI

  The stories we tell ourselves shape what we believe and how we behave. Steven Sample is the president of the University of Southern California. In his bestselling book, The Contrarian’s Guide to Leadership, he suggests that one of the keys to successful leadership is to learn to tell the story of your institution.7 Constituents need to know that they are part of something bigger than themselves and that it’s headed somewhere other than bankruptcy. Left to themselves, members of our community may buy into a self-defeating narrative.

  In the echo chamber of the desert, that liminal space, competing interpretations try to make sense of Israel’s experience. The story can be spun any number of ways. Here are a few of the voices that ricochet off Mount Sinai:

  The Sullen: “If only we had died by the LORD’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death” (Exodus 16:3).

  The Skeptic: “It was with evil intent that he brought them out, to kill them in the mountains and to wipe them off the face of the earth” (Exodus 32:12).

  The Jubilant: “Praise be to the LORD, who rescued you from the hand of the Egyptians and of Pharaoh. . . . Now I know that the LORD is greater than all other gods” (Exodus 18:10-11).

  These were not wasted years. They were years of training, of becoming.

  If we fast-forward to the book of Deuteronomy, we can listen in on several authorized retellings of Israel’s story. In his final sermon, Moses gives us his perspective on their years in the wilderness:

  Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. . . . As a man disciplines his son, so the LORD your God disciplines you. (Deuteronomy 8:2, 5)

  These were not wasted years. They were years of training, of becoming. Moses wants the people to be ready for what comes next. For that, they need to learn to tell their story. Like Steven Sample, Moses understands the importance of telling the story well. He teaches them the following grace-filled narrative—an official answer to their children’s question, “What do all these laws mean?”

  We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, but the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand. Before our eyes the LORD sent signs and wonders—great and terrible—on Egypt and Pharaoh and his whole household. But he brought us out from there to bring us in and give us the land he promised on oath to our ancestors. The LORD commanded us to obey all these decrees and to fear the LORD our God, so that we might always prosper and be kept alive, as is the case today. And if we are careful to obey all this law before the LORD our God, as he has commanded us, that will be our righteousness. (Deuteronomy 6:21-25, emphasis added)

  The problem with stories is that we forget them unless they are rehearsed. Several years ago I attended a conference in San Antonio, Texas. My hotel happened to be right next door to the Alamo. I racked my brain trying to recall what had happened there, but ironically, all I could come up with was the rallying cry, “Remember the Alamo!” That was precisely what I could not do, because I had not heard the story again after my elementary school history lesson.

  Yahweh knows this about humans, so he comes up with a spectacular plan that will sear these memories deep into his people’s consciousness: a party. Every year, the Israelites will set aside a day to reenact their last night in Egypt. This party is so important that anyone who is unable to celebrate gets a rain check—they celebrate it the following month.

  For detailed party plans, we have to turn back to Exodus 12, where the nail-biting story of Israel’s deliverance is awkwardly interrupted by nearly two chapters of ritual instructions. But this interruption is profound. The Passover ritual ensures that every succeeding generation of Israelites will own the exodus. It will be their story. The exodus makes them who they are. That’s what makes this party—and its lengthy instructions—so important. The menu includes a male lamb without defect, roasted over the fire, whose blood is brushed on the doorframes of their houses, bitter herbs to remind them of the bitterness of slavery in Egypt and bread without yeast to remind them of their hasty departure. The yearly festival ensured that the exodus would be more than a distant memory. It would evoke the smell of lamb roasting, flatbread baking, and warm blood dripping. It would elicit the sight of death and family and traveling clothes. It would summon the bitter taste of slavery, the feel of soft dough and scratchy wool, the sounds of fire crackling and stories being told, the sense of Yahweh’s protection over the entire household.

  Traditions can be powerful, especially when they involve food. As a child, we had a somewhat unusual tradition. Each Thanksgiving Day, my entire extended family would meet at a hotel restaurant for a buffet brunch. Hours before turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and pumpkin pie, we would load up on waffles and syrup, fruit compote and scrambled eggs. I always thought it strange to have two giant meals in one day, but I didn’t argue. Eventually I asked why and got a comical answer. As it turns out, one Thanksgiving during my Mom’s childhood the oven was broken, so the family went out for a big breakfast. Somehow it became an annual tradition. Even now, some fifty years later, my cousins and their families who are scattered across North America have kept up the tradition. We don’t gather the extended family anymore, but we do take our children out for breakfast on Thanksgiving Day. Something seems missing without it.

  Danny and I have added to the tradition. We bring along a Bible, paper, and pen. First we read Psalm 100 and Deuteronomy 8, about the importance of remembering what God has generously given us. Then we make our annual thankful list.

  If Israel forgets their story, they’re in danger of forgetting who they are and to whom they belong. To help the Israelites remember the events tha
t define them, Yahweh institutes the Passover celebration as a multisensory experience. It is a winning plan to cultivate the story and keep it alive.

  MARCHING ORDERS

  Sinai is framed by trumpets. Israel’s arrival at Sinai is heralded by the loud blast of a ram’s horn (Exodus 19:16). In Numbers 10, a trumpet blast signals that their time at Sinai has come to a close. The silver trumpet sounds. They see the cloud lift. And it’s time to set out—each tribe marching in order. Each tribe under its standard.

  The ark containing the covenant tablets out in front with the pillar of cloud.

  Three tribes.

  The tabernacle, taken apart and carried by designated clans.

  Three more tribes.

  The tabernacle furniture, wrapped and carried by designated clans.

  Three more tribes.

  Three tribes as a rear guard.

  It must have been quite a parade.

  If we accept current English translations, the Hebrews numbered 600,000 men plus women and children when they left Egypt (Exodus 12:37). That would total at least two million people.

  It’s worth mentioning, though, that there are other ways to understand the numbers in the Hebrew text. While the English text is usually very reliable, in this instance I think it’s quite possible that inaccurate English translations have misled us, and the numbers may be substantially smaller. I have no desire to undermine the biblical text. My goal, first and foremost, is to translate Scripture in the most accurate way possible. To suggest that Yahweh rescued fewer Israelites from Egypt is not to undermine his power.

  HOW MANY HEBREWS?

  Why question the numbers given in Scripture for the Hebrew population? Two reasons: (1) Because archaeologists’ best estimates of population sizes during this period of history, both in Egypt and in the land of Canaan in the decades that follow, are much lower. A much smaller group of Israelite escapees would fit the evidence we have. (2) Because this large number introduces problems with the biblical text. In the first place, it stretches credulity to suppose that the twelve sons of Jacob became a nation of two million people in only four generations (see Exodus 6:14-25 for the family tree).

  Furthermore, if the total number of males over twenty years old is 603,550, then males of all ages would total over a million. Numbers 3:43 lists the total of firstborn males as only 22,273. If there were a million men total, then the number of firstborns compared to the total number of men would yield a ratio of fifty to one. And that’s only counting males, not females. That means every Israelite mother would have averaged 100 children.a Obviously that’s not realistic.

  So what are our options?

  (1) Assume that archaeologists are wrong in their population estimates of ancient Egypt and Canaan, and that vast numbers of ancient inhabitants either left no evidence of their existence in either culture or left evidence that archaeologists have either misinterpreted or not yet found.

  (2) Conclude that the Bible’s large numbers are rhetorical or symbolic, perhaps representing the population of a later period. Since the population of Israel under Solomon’s reign is roughly comparable to the large figure, it’s possible that the author is making a sophisticated literary claim that identifies Israel under the monarchy with Israel of the Exodus.b

  (3) Translate the Hebrew differently. The Hebrew text does not contain numerals, but rather numbers spelled out with words. The entire phrase in Exodus 12:37 reads “six hundred thousand on foot, men without children” (author’s translation), but the word eleph that I’ve rendered here as “thousand” is a homonym with several other possible translations, including military unit or clan. Both of these are reasonable possibilities.

  Here are two sample passages that use eleph with the meaning “clan”:

  Judges 6:15: “‘Pardon me, my lord,’ Gideon replied, ‘but how can I save Israel? My eleph is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.’”

  Joshua 22:14: “With him they sent ten of the chief men, one from each of the tribes of Israel, each the head of a family division among the Israelite eleph.”

  In Exodus 12:37, “military units” is a smoother fit than “clans,” since the whole phrase indicates that men alone are being counted: “Six hundred eleph on foot, men without children.” The tribe of Reuben, for example, includes “forty-six eleph and five hundred” (Numbers 1:21, author’s translation). Humphreys argues that this could be read as forty-six military units totaling 500 men. Using this as his basis, he calculates that the average Israelite military unit must have consisted of just over nine men from two families (though the actual size ranged from six to fourteen, depending on the tribe). This figure corresponds roughly to the size of military troops mentioned in the El-Amarna tablets, where on separate occasions a king requests troops of ten or twenty men each.c In Israel’s case, Humphreys proposes a total of 5,500 men over twenty years old leaving Egypt, bringing the overall total for the Exodus to roughly 22,000 men, women, and children.d

  Whatever your conclusion about the size of the Israelite company, the book of Numbers depicts an impressive parade of Israelite men, women, and children following the pillar of cloud as they march from Mount Sinai. They are no longer disorganized refugees, fleeing from Pharaoh. Yahweh has brought order from chaos.

  DIGGING DEEPER

  Timothy R. Ashley. The Book of Numbers. NICOT. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993.

  *Kenneth Kitchen. On the Reliability of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003. Pages 264-65.

  Austin Surls. Making Sense of the Divine Name in Exodus: From Etymology to Literary Onomastics. BBRSup 17. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017.

  Related video from The Bible Project:

  “Torah: Numbers.”

  INTERMISSION

  WINDOW VS. PAINTING

  We began this journey staring at a painting of a Narnian ship. I told you that Lewis was on to something—that reading the Bible is like looking at a moving painting that draws us in until we’re part of the story. Wouldn’t it be more accurate, then, to say that reading the Bible is like looking through a window? Through glass we see things as they really are. The Bible shows us what really happened, right?

  Not exactly. As with any form of art, the Bible is selective. We don’t know everything about Israel’s time at Sinai. In fact, we know relatively little. Did they do business with Nabatean traders? Did they camp together as extended families? Did the women swap manna recipes? Did the elders sing around campfires? Did the men go on hunting expeditions? What games did the children play? We just don’t know. The Bible doesn’t say. Exodus is selective in its telling of the events at Sinai. We’re told only what is necessary to the larger storyline. If we were watching through a window, we’d be able to see a whole lot more.

  Paintings are not just selective; they also depict reality from a particular perspective. The same is true of narrative in the Bible. We don’t experience Sinai through the eyes of Moses’ wife or his kids. We don’t know how Joshua feels about joining Moses on the mountain. We don’t hear the fighting men spin stories about the battle with the Amalekites. We’re on top of the mountain with Moses, engaging with Yahweh in private conversation (see Exodus 33:12-23). Later, we’re at the bottom of the mountain, looking up: “When Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the two tablets of the covenant law in his hands, he was not aware that his face was radiant because he had spoken with the LORD” (Exodus 34:29). This verse is written from the perspective of the Israelites watching Moses descend.

  Paintings and narratives are also interpretive. They convey the way an artist feels about the subject. They persuade us to see things the artist’s way. Biblical narratives do not just report events as they can be observed with the naked eye. They often evaluate these events or give the reasons behind them. Here are a few examples:

  “Then the LORD relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened” (Exodus 32:14, emphasis added).

  “When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead
them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, ‘If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt’ ” (Exodus 13:17, emphasis added).

  “Moses heard the people of every family wailing at the entrance to their tents. The LORD became exceedingly angry, and Moses was troubled” (Numbers 11:10, emphasis added).

  To say that reading biblical narrative is like viewing a painting is not to suggest that it is unhistorical. A painting has the potential to accurately and powerfully depict a historical event, inspiring generations of viewers to reflect upon and remember what was most significant about that event. Take, for example, the painting by Jacques-Louis David titled The Death of Socrates (see figure I.1).1

  David depicts Socrates surrounded by his disciples, on the verge of drinking his death sentence of poison. He uses the final moments of his life as another teachable moment, remaining stoic in the face of death. Plato, from whom we learn the story of Socrates’s death, was not present in these final moments of Socrates’ life, yet David paints him slouching at the foot of the bed, his back to his friend. Why include such an inaccuracy in this painting?

  Figure I.1. Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Socrates

  Because David was a genius. He knew Plato’s deep grief over Socrates’s death. By depicting him in the room, but looking away, the artist accurately captured Plato’s disposition toward the death of his esteemed colleague without making the spurious claim that Plato witnessed it. If Plato had been missing from the painting, we would lose this central point the artist was trying to make—a point that creatively conveys the truth of history.