The Mother of Moses
Simeon Solomon, 1860

My dear friends,

This week's reading introduces the story of Moses, although Moses himself remains almost entirely passive. Before he can become God's instrument of liberation, he must first be preserved by the courageous love of others. The passage unfolds as a vivid contrast between the downward spiral of an ignorant and fearful ruler and the upward movement of compassionate women whose wisdom quietly overcomes the violence of empire. Read through the lens of both the Gospel and the Bodhisattva path, it teaches that liberation begins wherever love, compassion, and skillful means arise in the midst of suffering.

The first movement of Pharaoh's downfall is surprisingly simple: forgetfulness. He "did not know Joseph." He forgot the one through whom God had once preserved Egypt during the famine. This forgetfulness is a form of ignorance, the first of the Three Poisons described in Buddhism. When gratitude disappears, fear easily fills the empty space. Every form of prejudice begins with forgetting the humanity, history, and goodness of another people. The Hebrew Bible likewise calls us to remember God's saving works, because remembrance nourishes gratitude while forgetfulness leaves the heart vulnerable to delusion.

Pharaoh's next step is speech that divides. He transforms his own imagined fear into a public narrative that invites others to distrust the Israelites. The threat exists largely in his own projections, yet his words give those projections social power. Scripture repeatedly warns that the tongue can set a forest ablaze, while Buddhism teaches that right speech builds harmony instead of hostility. Every campaign of oppression begins by persuading people to see neighbors as enemies.

Fear now becomes policy. Pharaoh steals the Israelites' freedom, their time, and the fruit of their labor. Oppression is a form of theft because it takes from others what God has given them: dignity, opportunity, and the freedom to live according to conscience. Whenever people are treated as tools for another's ambition, both Christian ethics and Buddhist ethics recognize a profound violation of the moral life.

Oppression does not calm Pharaoh's fears. Instead, his fear grows stronger. This is the nature of the afflictions. Hatred promises security, yet it feeds upon itself. The more tightly we cling to control, the more threats we perceive. Jesus teaches that those who seek to save their lives by grasping will lose them. The Bodhisattva path likewise teaches that aversion deepens suffering until wisdom and compassion interrupt the cycle.

The inner poisons now bear their darkest fruit. Pharaoh commands murder. The one entrusted with protecting his people becomes the one who threatens the innocent. Sin and unwholesome karma always move in this direction when they remain unchallenged: ignorance gives birth to fear, fear to dehumanization, and dehumanization to violence.

Here the narrative changes direction. The midwives fear God more than Pharaoh, which means that reverence overcomes fear of worldly power. Their compassion refuses to cooperate with evil. They cannot overthrow Pharaoh, yet they faithfully perform the good that lies within their reach. Such courage reflects the heart of the Bodhisattva, who never abandons living beings, and the disciples of Christ, who obey God rather than unjust human authority.

The midwives answer Pharaoh with remarkable wisdom. Their words divert his attention and preserve life without provoking immediate retaliation. This is an example of skillful means. Wisdom asks how compassion may become effective within the circumstances that actually exist. Love and practical intelligence work together for the protection of others.

Pharaoh now widens his guilt by recruiting the entire nation into his crime. Repeatedly choosing evil strengthens the habits of the heart and spreads suffering through the community. Yet every person still retains the freedom to respond differently, as the women in the next chapter will beautifully demonstrate.

Moses survives through the steadfast love of his mother. Her maternal loving-kindness, akin to the mettā celebrated in the Buddhist tradition, refuses to surrender to despair. The basket is called a tebah, the same word used for Noah's ark. Once again God preserves life through a humble vessel floating upon dangerous waters. A mother's love becomes the means through which divine providence prepares the future liberator.

Pharaoh's daughter belongs to the household of the oppressor, yet she refuses to let inherited loyalties silence her compassion. She sees a Hebrew child, hears his cry, and her heart responds. Here the image of God and the seed of awakening shine through political boundaries. Compassion proves stronger than tribal identity.

Miriam quietly completes the chain of salvation through alertness and wise timing. She waits, observes, speaks at exactly the right moment, and restores the child to his own mother. Compassion is accompanied by mindfulness. Her action illustrates how skillful means can transform even the machinery of oppression into an unexpected channel of grace.

Moses is first drawn out of the waters before he will one day draw Israel through the Sea of Reeds. His own life begins with rescue before it becomes an instrument of rescue for others. Every disciple learns this same pattern. We are first sustained by grace, compassion, and the loving kindness of others, and then we become channels of that same grace for the world.

The opening chapters of Exodus reveal a profound paradox. Pharaoh possesses an empire, armies, and absolute authority, yet his fear steadily enslaves him. Five women—Shiphrah, Puah, Jochebed, Miriam, and Pharaoh's daughter—possess no worldly power, yet their love, compassion, maternal tenderness, and skillful means preserve the child through whom God will liberate Israel. Their quiet cooperation transforms a fragile basket into a second ark of salvation. The Gospel teaches that the meek shall inherit the earth, while the Bodhisattva path teaches that boundless loving-kindness and compassionate wisdom are stronger than violence. Exodus invites us to believe both. History is ultimately changed less by those who cling to power than by those whose hearts remain open to love.