In his commentary on Exodus, Terence Fretheim illuminates the depth of Moses’ journey into Midian, emphasizing that this transition marks a shift in Moses’ identity from the adopted son of Egypt to a “sojourner” (ger)[1]. Fretheim points out that the word ger—used throughout Israel’s story to describe the nation’s experience in Egypt—finds resonance in Moses’ personal exile. Here, in the wilderness, he experiences a new kinship with his people. His identity as an “Egyptian” (Exodus 2:19) still clings to him, yet as he navigates this season in Midian, Moses enters the shared narrative of his ancestors. He becomes a sojourner in his own right, reliving their journey and anticipating Israel’s future.
This status as a ger carries a transformative implication. For Moses to become the deliverer of Israel, he must first experience what it means to be a stranger in a strange land—a sense of dislocation that Israel will come to know intimately. Fretheim suggests that, paradoxically, Midian offers Moses a more hospitable environment for self-discovery than the comforts of Egypt. Egypt, for all its wealth, symbolized a form of oppression for Moses, both inwardly and outwardly. In the wilderness, however, Moses confronts the true wilderness of his inner life, allowing him to encounter who he is apart from titles and positions. His life in Midian, then, is not merely a pause but a crucible of identity that shapes him into the kind of leader Israel will one day need.
Thus, the wilderness journey is not just geographical; it’s existential. Just as the wilderness will become a proving ground for Israel, so too does it refine Moses. Through his time as a ger, he learns to see life through the lens of exile and marginality, recognizing himself in the fate of his people. This wilderness, marked by arid landscapes and solitary stretches, ironically becomes a space of divine hospitality, a place where Moses is finally able to encounter himself and, eventually, God.
In Midian, Moses finds himself in a wilderness of self—displaced and without a guiding star to orient his life’s course. As James Hollis suggests, when our natural desires and directions are suppressed or diverted, it’s as if we lose our place in the heavens, set adrift without a compass. The Latin root of “desire,” de sidere—“of the stars”—carries this sense of longing for a greater point of reference[2]. Moses’ life in Egypt was, in many ways, one of imposed direction and suppressed desire; he lived within a framework that prevented him from following his own inner “star.” Now, in the wilderness, stripped of his former titles and expectations, he must search for a new bearing, a fresh understanding of his purpose that is aligned with the deepest truth of who he is.
The desert’s vast openness confronts Moses with the absence of these constraints and forces him to navigate the “wine-dark sea” of his soul. Just as Hollis observes, the absence of a guiding star leaves us vulnerable to the unpredictable tides of life—depression, despair, or aimless wandering. Without a fixed point to ground him, Moses risks being swept into the whirlpool of his past, his unresolved shadows, and the unresolved question of who he is meant to be. Yet, paradoxically, it is precisely this lack of external direction that prepares him to encounter the divine call. In Midian, Moses begins to reconnect with that “star of desire” that aligns him with God’s purpose and illuminates the path forward.
As Moses steps into the wilderness of Midian, he soon arrives at a well, a place that holds both symbolic and practical significance throughout ancient narratives. This well encounter, like those of Hagar, Rebekah, and Rachel before him, represents a moment of transition and revelation. In coming to the well, Moses enters a space that will not only meet his immediate needs but also set the stage for relational and spiritual transformation.
Waldemar Janzen suggests that this stop at the well in Moses’ life prefigures Israel’s future exodus from Egypt. Just as Moses flees the oppression of Egypt and finds respite by the oasis wells in the wilderness, so too will Israel flee Egypt and encounter places of rest and renewal in the desert[3]. The well thus becomes a symbol not only of sustenance but of temporary rest on a journey toward a larger destiny. This pause by the well marks a moment where Moses, like the people he will one day lead, finds a measure of safety and solace, albeit brief, from the turmoil that has characterized his life until now.
Yet, as Avivah Zornberg observes, this rest is complex. For Moses, the well represents a momentary reprieve from his inner struggle, a temporary pause in the “doubleness” of his identity[4]. Zornberg describes Moses as embodying an “unconscious preparation for a great destiny offered by ‘another’ identity and culture,”[5] hinting at the tension Moses feels as he lives between two worlds—identified by his Egyptian upbringing but now moving toward his Hebrew heritage. He is drawn by an ethical imperative, an inner liberator that cannot ignore injustice.
Even as Moses rests by the well, he cannot ignore the sight of Reuel’s daughters being driven away from their own water source. The liberator within him, though exiled from Egypt, remains alive, stirred by this injustice. Defending the daughters is not only an act of justice but a reflection of the calling that continues to emerge within him, foreshadowing the deliverer he is destined to become.
Here, Moses encounters the daughters of Reuel, later known as Jethro, the priest of Midian, who have come to protect their rightful claim to water. Their struggle mirrors Moses’ own internal battle to hold on to identity and purpose amid external threats. The well is theirs by right, yet others attempt to seize it. Witnessing this injustice, Moses instinctively steps forward, driven by a sense of justice that has persisted since his time in Egypt. Despite his inner conflict and efforts to suppress parts of himself, Moses’ commitment to justice remains central and unshaken.
In this encounter, he is also introduced to a new relational dynamic. Reuel welcomes him into his household, and he soon finds himself betrothed to Zipporah, one of Jethro’s daughters. In this new bond, Moses is offered a sense of rootedness within his liminal experience. While he is a stranger in Midian, this union grants him companionship in his exile—a missing piece that allows him to begin piecing together a life apart from Egypt. His marriage to Zipporah represents more than companionship; it is an invitation to wholeness within his fractured identity. Through his marriage, Moses can begin to embrace a life in which he no longer needs to bury or deny any part of himself.
However, even as Moses joins Jethro’s family, he is introduced as an “Egyptian” (Exodus 2:19), a label that points to the indelible imprint of his upbringing. No matter how far he runs, the “Egyptian” part of him remains visible to others, a marker of the complex past he cannot shed. His identity is inextricably linked to both Egypt and Israel, and he cannot become the man he is meant to be without acknowledging and integrating both. His very name, given by Pharaoh’s daughter—“drawn from the water”—foreshadows his destiny with the Red Sea and serves as a reminder of his dual heritage.
Each step he takes in Midian stirs the sand beneath his feet, symbolic of the threshold between his conscious and unconscious self. Buried within that sand lies the memory of an Egyptian he thought he had put to rest—a piece of himself he hoped was dead. Yet what is buried alive is not so easily forgotten, and so it is with Moses’ inner conflict. The Egyptian he buried in haste was, in truth, a part of his own identity that he sought to suppress. This buried figure is ever-present, haunting him with the unfulfilled work of integration.
Fretheim insightfully highlights how Moses' actions in Midian are not merely reactive or impulsive but serve as anticipatory acts, prefiguring God’s own deliverance of Israel. As Moses “sees” the oppression of his people (Exodus 2:11), this parallels the divine seeing we encounter later: God “sees” Israel’s suffering (2:25; 3:7, 9)[6]. This seeing is not a passive observation but a stirring of response—a shared perspective between Moses and God. Moses, from his own place of exile and dispossession, embodies God’s empathy for Israel. His vision and action at the well, therefore, is an extension of the divine concern, foreshadowing a deliverance on a much larger scale.
Moses’ act of striking the Egyptian echoes the actions that God Himself will later undertake against Egypt. Fretheim observes that the Hebrew term nakah (“strike”) used here is the same word used for God’s later “striking” of Egypt (Exodus 12:12, 13; 9:15)[7]. This action by Moses can be viewed less as impetuous violence and more as an anticipatory resistance, foreshadowing the intensifying conflict that will culminate in God’s ultimate judgments upon Egypt. Moses introduces a new level of resistance, one that escalates from the nonviolent defiance of the midwives and women of Exodus 1-2, signaling an inevitable intensification that corresponds to Egypt’s growing oppression[8]
Moreover, Moses’ deliverance of Jethro’s daughters when they are driven away by hostile shepherds is also significant. Fretheim points out that the language of “deliverance” (nasal) used here directly mirrors the language used for God’s future deliverance of Israel (Exodus 3:8; 6:6)[9]. In helping and saving the women at the well, Moses provides water for them, prefiguring God’s provision of water for Israel in the wilderness. This moment is a microcosm of the larger narrative of salvation and provision, echoing forward to Israel’s journey and God’s sustaining presence in the desert.
Finally, when Moses confronts wrongdoing among the Hebrews (2:13), he foreshadows the divine confrontation that will later unfold between God and Pharaoh. Fretheim notes that while Moses challenges a Hebrew for his unjust actions, this foreshadows how God, through Moses, will confront Pharaoh himself. Ironically, Pharaoh will ultimately admit to his own guilt (9:27), something the Hebrew in the story resists. In these acts of seeing, striking, saving, and confronting, Moses embodies aspects of the divine mission that will soon be unleashed on behalf of his people[10]. His actions in Midian serve as both preparation and foreshadowing, marking him as the chosen instrument for a work much greater than himself.
Moses’ journey in Midian teaches him an essential truth about individuation: to become who he is called to be, he must face and embrace all parts of his history, not just those that align with his aspirations. He cannot fulfill his role as deliverer by ignoring his heritage or by disowning the Egyptian identity that is intertwined with his Hebrew lineage. Instead, the wilderness becomes a place of integration, where his identity as a ger allows him to forge a new wholeness, even as he remains a stranger in a strange land. The Egyptian in the sand reminds him that true transformation is not achieved by erasing the past but by redeeming and integrating it.
As the high priest of Midian, Reuel—later known as Jethro—welcomes Moses not only as a son-in-law but also as a spiritual sojourner. Reuel is a descendant of Abraham and leads a monotheistic sect, a heritage that resonates with Moses’ lineage and mission. Reuel’s hospitality toward Moses, and later toward Israel as a people, highlights an open-heartedness that will prove essential at this formative stage in Moses’ journey. Existentially, Moses, now a ger in Midian, is disoriented and seeking a new grounding, and Reuel’s acceptance offers him a stabilizing presence. Reuel’s openness and generosity allow Moses to find a sanctuary in the wilderness—a place where his fractured identity can begin to mend.
From a psychological perspective, Reuel serves as a father figure, a significant relational anchor at a time when Moses has been exiled from the only family he knew. Reuel’s acceptance mirrors the nurturing side of his priesthood and provides a relational framework in which Moses can experience both affirmation and guidance. Existential psychology tells us that encounters with other grounded individuals can help us make sense of our own purpose. Reuel’s rootedness in his role as a high priest and leader enables him to extend this steadiness to Moses, who, in turn, absorbs a sense of belonging and legitimacy in his calling. Through Reuel, Moses is able to experience what Martin Buber might describe as an “I-Thou” relationship, wherein Moses is recognized not merely as a wanderer but as one who carries within him a divine destiny.
Phenomenologically, Reuel embodies a kind of spiritual otherness that calls Moses into a deeper awareness of his own inner life and purpose. As Moses is invited into Reuel’s household, he experiences the sacred within the ordinary rhythm of life in Midian. This immersion in Reuel’s family and priestly lineage creates a liminal space where Moses’ identity can begin to integrate with his deeper calling. Reuel’s presence and guidance offer Moses a reprieve from his existential isolation, as he is given the opportunity to see his life not as an exile, but as a chapter in a divinely orchestrated story. In this relational space, the “stranger” within Moses is gradually welcomed home.
For Reuel, the encounter with Moses also bears a transformative significance. Reuel perceives in Moses not only a son-in-law but a figure with significant potential—one with a lineage that connects back to the covenant promises made to Abraham. Reuel’s acceptance of Moses, then, may be seen as an act of hospitality rooted in his understanding of divine promise and kinship. Reuel is no stranger to the concept of covenant, and in this encounter, he perceives a larger purpose unfolding. Psychologically, Reuel may experience a heightened sense of meaning in welcoming and guiding this exile who holds the key to Israel’s future.
This relationship serves as a reciprocal blessing: Moses gains a spiritual father and guide, while Reuel plays a role in the formative season of Israel’s deliverer. Reuel’s monotheistic faith, deeply rooted in Abrahamic traditions, creates a space where Moses can reconnect with his own spiritual heritage and begin to grow into his role as a prophet and leader. Their relationship, one of shared lineage and mutual respect, prefigures the relationship that will emerge between Israel and the surrounding nations as Israel is called to embody God’s covenantal purpose among all people. In this early stage of the Exodus narrative, Reuel’s acceptance and guidance become a quiet yet essential foundation, one that helps Moses step more fully into his identity and mission.
In the silence and vastness of Midian, Moses finds himself in contact with what Rollo May describes as “glimpses of being”—moments where the void creates space for an awareness of something beyond himself[11]. The intervals and pauses of desert life, the quiet spaces that exist between words and actions[12], become for Moses not merely a barren landscape but a pathway to pure being. The wilderness is not simply a geographical void; it is an existential one, offering a sacred openness where the “no thing”[13] of God’s presence may be sensed.
Yet, as May notes, the moment we attempt to define or verbalize these glimpses, they shift from “no thing” to a “something,”[14] from pure experience to conceptual form. For Moses, the desert is a liminal space that defies neat categorization. Any insight or “message” he may receive in this space comes through what May might call “contact with the being of the universe”[15]—an experience that later generations will interpret as a glimpse of God, the very ground of being and meaning.
This openness to the transcendent aligns with Moses’ journey from self-doubt to spiritual awakening, a journey that requires a readiness to encounter the indescribable. As May echoes Wittgenstein’s caution, “What we cannot speak about, we must pass over in silence.”[16] For Moses, the desert itself becomes this silence—the transformative void where words are inadequate, but where he finds himself nonetheless drawn toward the “beckoning path”[17] of being.
In Midian, Moses undergoes a transformation that begins to reshape his perception and prepare him for an encounter unlike any he has known. The wilderness is more than a place of exile; it is a space where the outer silence cultivates an inner openness, training him to perceive the world through a new lens. As Maurice Merleau-Ponty describes in Phenomenology of Perception, perception is not merely seeing; it is the act of engaging with one’s surroundings in a way that reshapes the inner landscape[18]. For Moses, Midian strips away the social and cultural frameworks that once defined him, leaving only the raw experience of being.
Hubert Dreyfus expands on this by showing that our physical capacities shape what we see and experience, inviting us to respond to the world with skill and intention. The vast, open spaces of Midian awaken a sensitivity in Moses, teaching him to perceive beyond appearances—a readiness to encounter the sacred[19].
J.J. Gibson’s concept of “affordances” adds depth here, suggesting that Moses’ surroundings, barren as they may seem, invite him to encounter himself at a fundamental level[20]. By interacting with an environment that offers no comforts or roles, Moses learns to sense the divine in the “no thing” of the wilderness, cultivating the vision that will prepare him for Horeb.
Through his time in Midian, Moses learns to listen in silence and to perceive in absence, cultivating a form of vision that transcends the physical and brings him to the very threshold of the realm of the divine. When he reaches Horeb, he will stand as one who has approached the threshold of what I would refer to as Ultimate Presence, ready to behold the sacred and respond to the One who calls him by name.
[1] Terence E. Fretheim, Exodus, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1991), 42.
[2] Hollis, James. Hauntings: Dispelling the Ghosts Who Run Our Lives (p. 154). Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.
[3] Waldemar Janzen, Exodus, Believers Church Bible Commentary (Waterloo, ON; Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 2000), 47
[4] Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb. Moses: A Human Life (Jewish Lives) (p. 25). Yale University Press. Kindle Edition.
[5] ibid. Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb. p. 25.
[6] Terence E. Fretheim, Exodus, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1991), 42.
[7] ibid. Terence E. Fretheim, 43.
[8] ibid. Terence E. Fretheim, 43.
[9] ibid. Terence E. Fretheim, 43.
[10] ibid. Terence E. Fretheim, 43.
[11] May, Rollo. Freedom and Destiny (Norton Paperback) (p. 184). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.
[12] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[13] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[14] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[15] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[16] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[17] ibid. May, Rollo. p. 184.
[18] Dreyfus, Hubert, L. The Current Relevance Of Merleau-Ponty's Phenomenology Of Embodiment, 2002. https://focusing.org/articles/current-relevance-merleau-pontys-phenomenology-embodiment
[19] ibid. Dreyfus, Hubert, L. https://focusing.org/articles/current-relevance-merleau-pontys-phenomenology-embodiment
[20] Gibson, James J. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception, chapter 8, New York: Psychology Press, 2014.
This touched me deeply and encouraged me. Thank you!