The bush was still burning. It was unbelievable to his wife and his father-in-law, but it was true. Neither of them had come to see the sight. They both thought that he was just creating a bit of excitement to entertain himself on his monotonous daily journey.
He first noticed the light on his shepherding rounds. Everyday for the last week or so Moshe had come to this place, taken his shoes off and sat down on the ground. He would sit for hours watching the flames as they licked the walls of the cave.
Though he had work to do Moshe couldn’t help but spend hours in that cave. It never felt long enough, but the hot sun had moved from the top of the sky on down toward the horizon every evening when he emerged.
Tziporah was beginning to wonder where he was spending all of those hours; prior to that particular week Moshe had been home well before evening every day. She knew that her husband had a past that he never really spoke about. She was beginning to suspect that all these late days had something to do with this unspoken of past.
The place spoke to him. He felt alone there, but it was not loneliness that he felt. It was a feeling a peace. His heart raced each time he approached the light, and as he entered the small space it slowed to a steady pace.
Today had been Moshe’s day off, but he left his family and slowly walked down to the cave. He usually felt liberated on his days off from work, but sitting at home was only making him anxious. So he walked.
As he sat down in the cave and his heartbeat began to slow, Moshe closed his eyes to watch the shadow of the light dance on the inside of his eyelids.
If there was one thing that Moshe cherished in his life in the North, it was his freedom. He had experienced the shackles of city life. It was not for him. Still, Moshe knew his freedom was incomplete.
The life that he had set up with his family was an escape in many ways. Most of all it was an escape from what he had done. Once upon a time, Moshe had been a killer. Today, as he contemplated this wonder of nature before him, he remembered that fact and knew that it was unchangeable. It remained true. Moshe was a father, husband, and killer.
Many years later, Moshe sat on the rock. He looked down at his dust covered feet. He was alone. The rock that he now sat on had, moments before, been the object of his uncontrollable rage. Now all Moshe felt was regret. He felt it in his stomach, and it made him feel dizzy.
Moshe had climbed up the hillside to a spot that he was sure he knew. He was certain that there was a natural spring, but apparently this wasn’t it. He had promised that he would deliver water, but he couldn’t. Moshe took up arms against the rock, but of course the battle was lost before it had begun.
This was the end of his journey. He told his friend, Joshua how to get to where they were going and Joshua nodded. He asked Moshe to continue on, but Moshe refused.
As his former companions marched on, Moshe was certain that not one of them had looked back, and it made him sad and full of self-pity. It had been many years since the young man had gone from that cave down to the capital to convince his people to throw off their chains and leave with him for a land that promised to be flowing with all things good.
Now, as he looked upon them and looked back at his life, he wondered if he had made righteous choices.
In that moment Moshe felt the same self doubt that he had displayed when he first went back to the scene of his crime. He had asked a local, Aharon, speak on his behalf. Moshe knew the words that he wanted to convey, but he did not know if he could convey them. Perhaps it was just that he didn't speak the same language as those people. After all, they came from different places. He came from wild riches, they came from flooded alleyways.
Moshe knew that the Egyptians had created slavery for these people., and, knowing this, his solution was simple: He had simply gone ahead and invented freedom.
Moshe knew that his life was over. He wondered what the future held for those former slaves down there. He wondered if something better was actually within reach.
Moshe sat at the top of that hill and wondered if anyone would read that memoir of the march to freedom that he had left with the group. Moshe, at the end of his life, did not know the answers to these questions. All he could do at that point was hope. So he lay down and filled his final hours with speculation as his tribe continued on their journey and the last of them left his scope of sight.