Exodus: Chapter 19

Going up

and coming down

The moment of connection

When all must be kept apart

for fear of breaking forth

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We finally reach “this day,” “this place.” We are back—as promised—at the “mountain of God.” The circle is complete. The gaping uncertainty filled. We leave the nadir of Refidim, with its existential doubt-“Is God amongst us or nothingness?” Now God has “brought you to Me.” A promise of an everlasting relationship: “you will be treasured from all people, a kingdom of priests”—which takes on new meaning in the aftermath of Jethro-the-priest’s visit. There is a brief moment of perfect harmony. Heaven “comes down” to earth. For once, the “entire” nation “answers together” to affirm rather than complain.

But in the background, looming danger. The consummation devoutly to be wished for carries its own danger. In the place of uncertainty, the desire for possession, to take, to have. “Do not touch” the people are warned again and again, and the “boundaries” are set into place and emphasized. Moses is again the liminal figure, going up and going down, binding heaven and earth. The mountain flames in a recreation of the burning bush, and the question is: who will be consumed? “Do not get close to a woman”—there is no place for human relations when surrounded by the encompassing Voice. Everything is on “edge”. And those who touch the "edge" will be destroyed by the "breaking forth" of the carefully contained power]

Exodus 18: In Writing

"Why did you leave the man?

Call him here, that he may eat..." Exodus 2:20

You saved us then,

Water-giver

Why did you leave the man?

At the edge of the whispering well

I left you

You will be a bridegroom of blood to me

I knew then

You locked in combat

Against, within,

The looming mountain

At the moment of rest

crushed in intimacy

of clutched gazes

locked arms

I threw the oath between

Lonely island

In the sea of man

Rising, breaking

Against your shoals

Receding tide

baring empty banks

of imprinted sand

alone, in an alien country

the God of my fathers is my help

my children, circled in my arms

I wing above

Forgotten

Exodus: Chapter 18

The return of the past
what we do comes back
sink beneath the burden of loneliness



Stand between
and beyond












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This chapter in some ways follows seamlessly from the previous one. We return to the leitworts of “standing” “sitting” and “weight”. Moses’ “heavy hands” here become the crushing “weight” that must be “lightened” with the help of judges.  As he did when he climbed the mountain, Moses stands in a liminal space “before God,” both part of the nation, and apart.

Yet in some ways, it is a discontinuity, as Moses’ old, personal life abruptly breaks in with the appearance of his family: his father in law, his wife, and her two children (no longer referred to as “his”, perhaps to indicate the gaping gulf).  We return to the beginning of Moses’ mission, with the repeated word “hatzel—to save”—recalling both Moses’ initial meeting with Tzipora, and his accusation that God has “not saved” His nation. Now the initial linkage that God set up between “hearing” “seeing” and “knowledge” is complete. “Now I know,” says Jethro. There is a poetic beauty in the completed Exodus, with the Egyptians destroyed through their very instruments of oppression: “in the very thing with which they had acted intentionally.”

Yet a price is paid. Moses sits “alone”. “It is not good” Jethro says, recalling the primal “not good” of the Bible: “It is not good that man should be alone.” “You will wither, you and the people with you.” A system of judges is set up to relieve the burden. Yet while Moses no longer acts alone, he is even more isolated, lacking intimacy even with the people who “come to seek God.”]

Exodus 17: In Writing

Nothing has a weight

a grey slate

Nothing had a taste

of chalky waste

of cracked-tongue thirst

coating the collapsed hollow

of my mouth

Are you here, within

or nothingness?

Does something survive

this parched expanse

of lost sands

limp arms

wailing want?

Finger the crevice

press against

the solid barrier

blocking you

in the sinking weight

am I here?

With your arms

lift mine, 

bear me through these tides

a memory

a song

a figure on a mountain astride

Exodus: Chapter 17

Water to stone
Stone to water

Hold me up,
or crush me down

We test each other
Are you inside me?

The crevices
of incompleteness













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The chapter continues seamlessly from the first, a further fall, an exacerbation of desperation and bitterness. And the underlying fear is at last revealed: "Is God amongst us or nothingness?" God's "testing" of Israel with constant uncertainty is answered by a need to "test" his presence. A young relationship, tearing itself apart.
The complaint is a chiastic closing to the series of complaints that followed in the immediate wake of the Splitting of the Sea. From hunger, we return, once more, to thirst. Now the children of Israel do not merely complain, they "fight" with Moses. Again the hint of distrust and acrimony. "Why did you take us out from Egypt, to kill me, and my children, and my cattle, with thirst?"--an intensification and personilization of "For you have taken us out to this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger."  Moses indeed feels threatened: "What should I do for this people, soon they will stone me!"
This "stone" becomes thematic, an sad link to the seemingly-forgotten Song of the Sea, where the Egyptian  "sank like a stone" and  enemies grew silent "as stone."
Now, Moses smites the stone to bring forth water; his heavy tired arms must be propped by stones on each side. Yet his arms remain "faithful" (emunah), a return to the "faith" that closed the Song of the Sea.]

Exodus 16: In Writing

“Who would give our death by the hand of God in Egypt, as we sat by pots of flesh, and ate bread to our fill? 

You took us out to this wilderness to kill this multitude with hunger!"

Just once

to hold your hand

hard and crushing

and swoon to sleep

Rather than stand

wilderness surround

starved for sight

a gaping hole

Breathing to wing-beats

trapped in my fingers

the dew

that melts in my hand

Never to have

never to hold

stench of  heaped hopes

before the final ingathering

I dream of full-bellied pots

puffing peace

fleshy and full

firm to the touch

rather than leaping at winds

as they fling past

knowing the wings that bear me

can leave me

the unrelenting question

day to day

month to month

year to year

Will you be here?

Measured to the soul

Always wanting

 I search for you in distant clouds

a desert of longing

Exodus: Chapter 16

Vanish with the sun
fly with the wind

What?

The enigma
rather than knowledge


Bound always to
the time between

Caught between the eves











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The long road to freedom. The brief moment of joy and faith after the crossing of the sea disintegrates further. If before "the nation"  complained against "Moses," now "the entire congregation of Israel" complains against "Moses and Aaron." There is a profound ennui, a death wish, a desire to escape to the cocoon of slavery in face of the unrelenting, uncertain, wilderness  "Who would give our death by the hand of God in Egypt, as we sat by pots of flesh, and ate bread to our fill? You took us out to this wilderness to kill this multitude with hunger!"
Hints of dangerous similarity between Israel and Egypt abound. Once more we return to the triplet of "know" "See" and "hear" that opened Moses' mission to Pharaoh. "Till when will  you refuse (ad ana me-antem) to keep my commandments and law?" God demands, an echo of his warning to Pharaoh "Till when will you refuse (ad matai me-anta) to send this people forth?" (10:3). Like the stench that coated Egypt as the first the waters and then the land rotted (hivishu), the manna kept against God's command rots (hivish). 
It is one month after the exodus, yet Israel must be told "Evening and you will know that God took you out of Egypt" "You will know that God is your God." They are permeated by a profound uncertainty.  That is the great "test." There is nothing that can be kept, no security. The food must be gathered "every day's on the day." "Nobody can take more," everything is measured by the number of "living souls."   Anything stored, spoils. And once a week, nothing falls, and one must live on the faith that this day, it will stay. "The God that gave you the Sabbath gave you food." It is a hard training in the terror of living on the edge, consumed by a God who is all-encompassing, but never fully present. Better indeed to die by His hand, and at least know Him.
In place of "knowledge", a question: "What is this?" (man hu?). The definitive name for their food, Man/manna is "What?" . An echo of Moses and Aaron's own existential: "and what are we?" (ve-anahnu ma?) ]

Exodus 15: In Writing

There is a breath that stirs

the salt seas

melts the frozen heart of the deeps

a sinking stone

in a wall of silence

I break through solid waters

Cast forth the dead tree

so starved roots

grab the sky

turn tears to song

standing to dance

salt waves to sweet waters

turn windy dreams

castles on clouds

to a place founded on bedrock

Exodus: Chapter 15

 from the depths
to the far reaches

The heart of the deeps

The breathing wind

What do your
own hands do?

The shifting gifts
of the salty seas

make walls of water
to walls of stone









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The Song of the Sea--a poetic response to the Exodus recapitulates in succinct symbol the central components of the process:
The identification of God by name; while seeing him within the context of a reverberating relationship: "the God of my fathers"--a reiteration of God's initial exchange with Moses.
anger--first God's at Moses' for his hesitance, then  Moses' and Pharaoh for his intransigence
wind--the repeated, portentous eastern wind that brought the frogs, and the locusts, and split the sea becomes the "breath" of God's "nostrils"
the focus on "standing"--the repeated order given to Moses; on the heart; on the "hand"; on sending forth; on spoil.
The binding together of all the elements of redemption is empowering. The enslaved children of Israel become, in the course of the song, a nation among the nations:
"You have guided in your love, this nation have You redeemed" "Till Your nation passes forth, till this nation that You possessed/created [kaniya] passes." No longer have they simply "left", in song they have already arrived, have already established the Temple. Past and future conflate into a single reality--a reality perhaps best expressed in the circles (mehol) of dancing women, led by "Miriam the prophetess."
Yet the redeeming salt seas take on an ominous cast at the closing of the chapter, when the children of Israel are unable to drink because the water is salty(marim)--a play on the singing Miriam's name. A cast tree renders the water drinkable, but the  path from exodus to full redemption is no longer so simple. What has hurt Egypt can hurt Israel as well. They must not be like Pharaoh, who refuses to listen and see. "If you will listen... and do what is just in God's eyes, all the disease that I put on Egypt I will not put on you"
The chapter closes with the comforting arrival at Eilim, with its twelve springs of water, one for each tribe. Water once again is a source of blessing]

Exodus 14: In Writing

To walk within lurking deeps

liquid towers

dissolve on touch

Seek for solid

in  shifting reflections

haunted by children lost, children come

To follow that dimming pillar of fire

lone light signing

 the shadow way

between looming talons

the teethy mouth

what price  freedom?

A reverberating scream

And you will be what you will be

a distant fire on a flooded path

As the waters break

to spit us out

on the sandy breast of faith