# 66 - Moses the Murderer - In this episode of The Chosen People with Yael Eckstein, we explore his defining act of passion, its consequences, and the lessons it holds for navigating faith and purpose in complex times.
Episode 66 of The Chosen People with Yael Eckstein is inspired by the Book of Exodus.
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Today's opening prayer is inspired by Psalm 51:10, "Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me."
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Show Notes:
(02:32) Intro with Yael Eckstein
(04:02) Moses the Murderer - Cinematic Retelling
(25:36) Reflection with Yael Eckstein
Previously on the chosen people.
These Hebrews are like rats breeding in the shadows.
They already outnumber my soldiers.
We must cut the Hebrews off before they become unmanageable.
When Pharaoh's men arrived, they did so with the violence of a summer storm. The streets that had buzzed with life now rang with the screams of mothers as soldiers tore their children from their arms.
Ygerbed, know, poor, what's going on?
Take your son and hide now Pharaoh's men are coming.
Jokobed's hands trembled as she placed the basket into the water, her heart breaking with each breath.
I sleep, my child. I pray that our God will protect you.
I feel I can't do more.
I have to believe something greater for you myself. I have to believe.
The basket was a vessel of salvation. Although chaos raged around him, the baby was safe inside. Miriam watched the basket flow into the banks near Pharaoh's palace, where a group of women were bathing in the morning sun. Princess Bitcher waded toward the basket and brought it back to the steps. His name shall be Moses, because I drew him out of the water. When Moses was weaned, he was returned to Princess Bitcher and raised as a prince of Egypt. He grew up alongside Ramsays, the son of Pharaoh SETI, the future ruler of the land. But despite the opulence of the palace, a shadow hung over Moses, a lingering scent of the Hebrews that clung to him like a second skin. While rousings embodied the glory of raw, Moses remained a figure suspended between two worlds. He was neither fully Egyptian nor entirely Hebrew, neither slave nor free. He was Moses, the stray Hebrew pop raised in the heart of Pharaoh's.
Crut between royalty and rebellion, Moses lashed out in a moment that would shape nations. Shallo, my friends from here in the Holy Land, Welcome to the Chosen People. I'm ya l Extein. With the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. Each day we'll hear a dramatic story inspired by the Bible, stories filled with timeless lessons of faith, love, and the meaning of life. Through israel story, we find this truth that we are all chosen for something great. If you haven't yet followed the podcast. Be sure to do so now. That way you never have to miss an episode, and that small step helps us tremendously as we try to be discovered by more people so that we can inspire them. If you're interested in finding out more about the prophetic, life saving work of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, you can visit our website at IFCJ dot org. Have you ever been caught between two worlds, torn between duty and identity?
What do we do?
And we witness injustice when our hearts burn with a call to act? Moses found himself at such a crossroad in this cinematic retelling of Exodus two eleven to fifteen. Let's ponder our own place among the chosen people.
Moses planted his right foot firmly into the dust, his sandal grinding into the loose earth, and cocked his shoulder back. The wooden, practiced sword felt heavy in his hand, not from its weight, but from the rage simmering beneath his skin. With a guttural shout, he lunged forward, swinging wildly, but Ramses was quicker. The Prince sidestepped, and Moses stumbled forward, his momentum, carrying him off balance. Ramses seized the opening, driving his knee hard into Moses's ribs. A sharp gasp escaped Moses's lips as he crumpled to the ground, the taste of blood on his tongue. Ramses swung his sword in a swift arc, aiming to end about with a single blow, but Moses rolled away just in time. He scrambled to his feet, clutching his side where the pain glanced, sharp and unyielding. Anger flared hotter than the desert sun, and Moses felt the familiar loss of control, the fire in his blood demanding release. He roared and charged at Ramses again, swinging wildly recklessly. Ramses ducked the first strike and parried the second. His movements were fluid and precise. Behind them, their survey's voice cut through the clash of wood on wood.
Easy, young Moses, don't lose your temper again.
But Moses heard nothing save the rush of blood in his ears. He snarled his teeth bead like a cornered beast, and lunged once more. Ramses saw it coming, stepping lightly aside and driving the wooden blade hard to Moses back Moses fell forward, hitting the ground with a breathless gasp, his fingers clawing at the dirt.
You'll fight like a frightened animal, Moses, stop bedding her claws and think.
Like a man. Don't tell me what to do. You're not ar of yet.
The words were hot and reckless, and they spurred Moses to his feet. Abandoning his sword, he charged Ramses, his only thought to close the distance, to bring the fight to the ground where he was strongest. Ramses braced himself, raising his sword, but Moses slipped low, dipping his shoulder, untackling Ramses to the dust. The two of them hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, and Moses was on him in an instant, his arms and legs coiling around Ramses like a python. Grappling in the dirt, Moses squeezed with all his might, his teeth gritted, his breath ragged.
Yield, Ramses, a.
Lover.
You're too proud to lose to a Hebrew, I said, yield refuse.
Rage blinded Moses, drowning out all reason. He squeezed tighter, oblivious to Rams's desperate gasps for air, to the darkening of his face. He did not hear the instructor's shouts, did not feel the sting of command that echoed around them.
Enough, Moses, release your hord.
Moses couldn't hear him. His fury burned too hot. I said enough, but Moses was deaf to all but his own fury, lost in a tempest of his own making. The Instructor's hand came down hard on the back of Moses' head, a sharp blow that jolted him from his red haze. He blinked, breath hitching and released his hold. Ramses rolled away, clutching his throat, gasping for breath that would not come.
By Manto's big.
I thought you were going to kill me.
Ah I, I'm sorry, Ramses. I shouldn't have done it.
Lucky, my sister found you in that water. If it were me who saw you floating on the nile, I would have pushed you closer to the crocks. The temper of yours will be your undoing. Moses.
Yes, abate I, I don't know what came over me.
That was your Hebrew showing. That's why they need the whip. They're animals in need of a master. Remember that you're not one of them. Moses, you're in the household of Pharaoh. Act like it.
Yes, Ramses I really didn't mean to.
But Ramses had already turned his back, leaving Moses standing alone, his brow furrowed with a mix of shame and anger. Rameses was the favored son, the heir to the throne the dawn of Egypt. Moses was a prince only by the will of the gods and the whim of fate, a prince by right but not by blood. His Hebrew birth clung to him like a shadow, a constant reminder of a truth he could never escape.
Who am I?
Moses let his wooden sword drop into the dust. His eyes followed it, staring, as though the answer to his turmoil might lie in the splintered wood. He turned and walked away, his steps slow and heavy, each foot fall dragging through the sand, as if weighed down by invisible chains. He meandered through the palace courtyards. Moses wrestled with his place in the world, a prince trapped between two identities, between two names. Was he an Egyptian prince or a Hebrew or a lord or a survivor? The sun hung low over thieves, a golden disk of fire, casting its dying light across the city of Pharaohs. The air was filled with the smell of incense and the sounds of the market place, merchants, hawking wares, the chatter of slaves, and the rhythmic pounding of drums from a distant temple. This was the beating heart of Egypt, a city of splendor and power, where the Niles sacred waters carved a path through the desert, bestowing life upon all who dwelt in its shadow. Moses walked among the throngs, his stride measured and regal, a prince garbed in linen, finer than the webs of spiders, sandals of gilded leather strapped to his feet. The people parted before him, head's bowing eyes averted. It was a figure of reverence, the adopted son of Pharaoh's daughter, raised in the lap of luxury and trained in the arts of war and state craft. Yet as he moved through the streets of thieves, passed the towering obelisks and grand colonnades, he could not escape the unease that gnawed at his heart. The city was a marvel, an endless sprawl of white stone and gleaming gold, adorned with statues of gods and kings. Here, Horace and Rah watched with eyes of Lapis, and the Sphinx guarded the secrets of ages past. The palace loomed in the distance, a fortress of power, its walls painted with the victories of pharaohs long dead. Yet to Moses, the grandeur of thieves had begun to feel like a facade, a gilded mask hiding a festering wound. As he passed procession of priests leading a sacred bull to the temple, he found his gaze drawn not to the finery of the ceremony, but to the faces of the men who labored to clear the path. They were Hebrews, their skin burned dark by the sun, their bodies lean from toil. They did not look up as he passed, their eyes fixed on the ground, their expressions hollow. They were his people, his blood. A voice whispered in his mind, insidious and relentless.
You are not one of them.
The thought was both a curse and a comfort. Moses knew he was a prince of Egypt, yet he felt no kinship with the land of his upbringing. He was a son of the Nile, but his blood was the blood of slaves. The sound of hammer on stone drew him from his days, and he turned his eyes toward the outskirts of the city, where the pyramids rose against the horizon like mountains of despair. Here Pharaoh's vision of eternity was etched into the earth. He drew closer to a work site. Slaves swarmed over the stones like ants, their backs bent beneath the weight of granite blocks. Overseers stalked among them, whips cracking like thunder, their shouts harsh and unforgiving. The slaves did not meet Moses eyes as he passed, but he could feel their silent plea, a cry for mercy that went unanswered day after day. Guilt twisted in his gut. He was a prince of Egypt, and yet what had he done to deserve his station? He had lived in luxury while his people bled and died, to build monuments to gods they did not worship. He was a Hebrew by birth, but he had been raised as an Egyptian, taught to revere the very men who enslaved him. Kid he belonged to neither world, poured between two identities like a man trapped between two mirrors, his reflections split and distorted. Moses stopped at the edge of the work site, his gaze lingering on a young man no older than himself, struggling to lift a stone that was too heavy for him. The overseer's whip lashed out, striking the man across the back, and he staggered, falling to his knees. The man screamed in pain.
He Brew Dog get up and left.
Moses felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce, but it was quickly tempered by Shane. He turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. But as he did, the young man's eyes met his, and for a moment time seemed to stand still. The sound of the cracking of the whip echoed. His heart beat intensified, and his fists bawled with ten. The taskmaster's whip was heavy against.
The Hebrew's back.
His arm fell like lightning.
What will it take to get you working?
Your wife and children?
Here to remind you of what.
I am capable of, Unzi? Did I say you could streak work faster? I said faster, wool dog.
Moses heart pounded, his blood boiling. No one else would act, no one else would intervene. His feet moved of their own accord, his voice coming out as a shout roar and commanding.
That's enough, leave him alone.
These dogs need to know who their masters are.
I said it up. In a blur of motion, Moses leaped at the overseer, and his fist connecting with the man's temple. The commanders staggered back, raising his whip to strike, but Moses tackled him the ground, the two of them rolling in the dust. They struggled. The commander's hands cloyed at Moses, but the prince pinned him down, his hands closing around the man's throat.
How does it feel to be the one afraid for your life? M How does it feel?
The Overseer's eyes bulged, his face darkening as Moses squeezed tighter. The world now to the sound of his own breath, the rush of blood, the pandied flailing of the man beneath him. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the struggle ended. The Overseer's body went limp, his eyes glassy and still. Moses released his grip, stumbling back in horror. He looked down at his trembling hands. Unable to comprehend what he had done, he turned to the hebrew who stared at him with a mixture of fear and gratitude. But when Moses stepped forward, the man flinched. These don't hurt me, Lord Moses.
No, I I didn't, I I would never.
The hebrew Man ran, disappearing into the maze of stone and sand, leaving Moses alone with the lifeless body of his victim. His breath hitched in his throat as he dragged the corpse to a pile of rubble, hastily burying it beneath loose stones. When he was finished, he stared at the crude grave, his heart pounding with the weight of his crime.
Oh what have I done? H oo ooh.
Am I.
Moses fled back to the palace, his steps frantic and unsteady, tears streaking his dust covered face. He stumbled through the torch lit corridors, his breath coming in ragged sobs. Finding a secluded corner, he sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as the reality of his actions crashed over him. But even in the stillness, there was no solace. Footsteps echoed through the hall, and Moses hurriedly wiped his face, trying to compose himself from the shadows. Emerged Rameses, his expression unreadable. Moses bowed his head, hoping he would pass by without notice, but Ramses stopped studying him with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
You look like cow done.
I feel like caldon.
Ramses hesitated, his usual arrogance tempered by something softer.
Oh listen, Moses, Well what I said earlier about pushing you to the crocs it was unbecoming of me. You are a member of this household and a brother.
It's all right, Rameses, I provoked you. Bait is right.
I need to control my temper and I need to control my tongue. If I'm ever to ascend to the heights of Rah and touch the Sun, I shouldn't lower myself to such words.
You are kind to apologize.
Ramses nodded, but there was a warning in his eyes as he turned to leave.
Today will be behind us. But I warn you, Moses, I will not be dishonored in such a way again, my sister's son or not, I will be mocked by no.
One understood Rameses.
Moses watched him go, feeling the familiar sting of rejection mingled with a desperate longing for Ramsey's approval. When his uncle disappeared around the corner, Moses let out a long, shuddering breath. He dragged himself to his bed, but sleep did not come easily. The image of the dead man's eyes haunted his dreams, I relent specter that kept him tossing and turning, until at last he could stand it no longer. Rising, he made his way to the river. The first light of dawn had yet to touch the sky, and the Niles waters ran dark and swift, whispering secrets as.
They cut through the land.
Moses stood at the edge, staring out at the currents, the wind tugging at his robes. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened all those years ago. The stories his mother had told him came to mind, of the basket that carried him through the reeds, of the gentle hands that cradled him against the cold waters. But it all felt like a half remembered dream, a puzzle missing too many pieces. The breeze carried a soft murmur Mooses, a stirring in the reeds that almost sounded like a v Moses' eyes snapped open, his heart quickening. He peered into the mist, but saw nothing save the shifting shadows of the river bank.
Who Who's there?
There was no answer. Moses shook his head, pushing the strange feeling aside. The whisper was gone, but the questions remained gnawing at him. As he turned away from the river's edge, Moses wandered back into the city, the early morning still cool with the last remnants of night. As he walked, he saw two men locked in a heated argument, their voices raised in anger. They were Hebrews, their tunics stained with the dust of their labor.
Every time you take a break, you leave me carrying an entire load. Myself finish the job carrying the load.
Anyways, I take more breaks because you refuse to do your fair share of the work.
Take that back, that make me.
The smaller of the two took a jab at the other. The larger man returned with an even greater woe to the man's jaw. Moses immediately stepped into help.
Stop why do you fight each other? Stop this nonsense.
At once, the men hesitated, but when they looked at Moses. Their expressions turned cold. They saw not a fellow Hebrew, but a prince in fine linen, an Egyptian in every way that mattered?
Were you a task master? Now, Moses? You're going to whip us into submission? Who made you prince over us?
Anyway?
I heard rumors you're a Hebrew just like the rest of us. No, I'd be careful.
You might lose his temper on you, like you did with that Egyptian yesterday.
Ah, yes, we all heard about that.
How did you know about that? Moses stepped back. Terror coursed through his veins. If these slaves knew about the murder, surely word had reached the palace by now?
Are you going to murder us like you did the Egyptian?
Who are you, Moses?
A vigilante? A tyrant? Whose side are you one?
Moses turned and fled, his heart pounding as he bolted through the streets. He reached the palace courtyard, but skidded to a halt when he saw the guards, a dozen of them, their eyes scanning the grounds. They were looking for him. Moses spun on his heel and ran, his breath hitching in his throat As he stumbled down the palace steps, he crashed into a vendor's cart, ascending figs spilling onto the stones.
These after him.
Moses ran his feet barely touching the ground as he tore through the crowded marketplace. He dodged past startled merchants, sprinted down the cobblestone streets, and ducked into the narrow alleys that twisted through the city. The guards were close behind, their shouts growing louder get.
Back by the order silen. They had to get out of here.
Moses didn't stop. He bolted through the eastern gate, diving into the dense brush that lined the river bank. The reeds rustled around him as he crawled toward the water, Slipping into the nile's embrace. He stayed hidden, his body submerged as the guards passed by, their torches flickering in the dark. When dusk finally fell, Moses emerged from the water, shivering and spent. He crossed to the far shore, each step taking him farther from the city that had been his home and his prison. The land stretched out before him, a barren expanse of sand and stone, unforgiving and uncharted. Moses wandered the desert, his thoughts a whirlwind of guilt and fear. He was no longer a prince, nor was he a slave. He was an exile, a fugitive with no home and no kin. The desert wind howled around him, biting at his skin, and the sun beat down with merciless intensity. Moses trudged on, driven by a need he could not name, haunted by the man he had killed and the questions that nor did his soul. In the vast emptiness of the wilderness, Moses was utterly desperately alone. Wow.
What an incredible story. Moses's struggle to belong and his bold yet dangerous act reminds us of the cost of standing up for what's right, even when the world stands against us. Yet there's a haunting complexity to this story, isn't there. Moses's act of violence and from a heart of righteousness, blurs the lines of morality. It challenges us to grapple with the gray areas of justice and the difficult choices we face in the quest for what is right. Before we look at Moses's actions, let's set the scene and Verse eleven tells us one day after Moses had grown up, he went out to where his own people were and watched them at their hard labor. Well, actually, the more precise Hebrew here translates that Moses quote looked at them, not watched them. If you translated exactly, says that Moses looked at them and at their hard labor. You see throughout Egypt, anywhere you looked, you would see Hebrew slaves being mistreated. But the great Jewish sage known as Rashi gives a deeper meaning to the word looked. Rashi says that Moses directed his eyes and his heart to share their distress. You know, we look at things all the time. We look at poor people, we look at people with serious problems in their lives.
We look at people who.
Are ill or in pain. But how often, my friends, do we really look to the extent that we share the pain and the distress of these people. Moses really looked at the slaves who are being mistreated. And actually, that's exactly what the Fellowship does every single day here in Israel. We look at the people who are suffering, we really feel their pain and distress, and then we go in to help, and we hope that you'll consider joining us to really look at the people here in Israel who need our help to feed them, to clothe them, to shelter them, to be there for them and give them hope. Insights from Rabbi Jonathan Zach's of Blessed Memory always leave me in awe. His teachings peeled back layers of these Bible stories were studying each day, revealing deeper truths. I'll share some of what I've learned from him. One is that Moses, that revered figure in Jewish history, faced a moment of profound conflict. In this story, it all started with an act of passion and a quest for justice. Moses saw an Egyptian who was beating the Hebrew and in a moment of righteous anger, Moses killed the Egyptian. Now let that sink in. Moses, the Prince of Egypt, was raised in a palace with all its luxuries, all its lure, all its temptations. But in that moment, Moses actually aligned himself with the enslaved, with the oppressed. Yes, Moses chose sides. That's a big deal for someone who was raised in the palace to side with the slaves. Think about the magnet of his decision. He was raised an Egyptian royalty. Moses looked and spoke like a member of the royal family. He wore their clothes, he embraced their customs. But in that one moment of violence, something within Moses snapped into place. He wasn't just acting as an impulsive young man. He was declaring his allegiance, an allegiance not to the throne, but to his people, the Hebrews. Rabbi Sax points out that this act was not just a moment of losing one's temper. Rather, it was defining moment of identity.
Who am I?
Moses would later ask God at the Burning Bush, But in a way, Moses was already asking that question here, not with his words, but with his actions. Moses could have lived comfortably, basking in the privileges of royalty. Instead, he chose the path of hardship, identifying what his people suffering. This act of killing the Egyptian more than just defending a fellow Hebrew. It was Moses recognizing his own blood, his own roots, and his own destiny. In our next few stories, we'll find Moses wrestling with this choice. Like each of us, Moses's life was informed by just one decision Moses will flee, he'll find a place in Midyan, and then he'll return, and even then he will wrestle with his place among God's chosen people. But in each one of these stories we'll find one abiding truth that Moses was a Hebrew, and no matter the cost, Moses could not stand idly by while his people suffered. This brings us to an essential truth that Rabbi Sacs so eloquently uncovers. That Jewish identity is forged in the fires of shared fate and destiny. Just about birth or upbringing. It's about a profound connection to our people suffering and their triumphs. Moses's sense of justice and his protective instinct for his fellow Hebrews showed that despite his Egyptian upbringing, he was still.
A Jewe at heart.
And God saw this in Moses, this deep, unshakable connection to the Chosen people's pain, the traits that we have found in Moses so far, his empathy and his justice made him the perfect leader. Not his royal education, not his palace manners, but his heart that beat with the Hebrew cries of his people. Moses didn't become a hero because he saw greatness. He became a hero because he couldn't ignore the suffering of his people. This is our responsibility, each one of us, as people of God, to see another's pain as our own, to respond to the cause of justice, even when it demands much of us in moments of faith, moments that truly define who we are. Let's look inward like Moses and ask this question, who am I and what am I called?
Right now to do? You can listen to The Chosen People with yle Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the prey dot Com app today. This Prey dog comproduction is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabarger and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of The Chosen People with Yil Eckstein, Edited by Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Coltefianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith, written by bre Roe and Aaron Salvato. Special thanks to Bishop Paulinier, Robin van Ettin, Kayleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. You can hear more Prey dot com productions on the Prey dot com app, available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed The Chosen People with Yile Eckstein, please rate and leave a review.