Original Meaning

FINALLY, THE ISRAELITES leave Egypt! This passage brings us to the end of Egyptian rule over Israel and to the climax to which the first fourteen chapters have been leading us. This section resumes the narrative of the departure from Egypt after the liturgical “interlude” of 12:1–13:16.1 From now forward, Egypt will never again have the stranglehold over God’s people that it once had. The mighty enemy of Israel will play a far less central role for the remainder of Israel’s history. Israel’s attention will be directed toward the kings surrounding Canaan, the Canaanite peoples themselves, and more important, the mighty nations of Assyria and Babylon. Hence, this passage tells not only of the end of Israel’s servitude to Egypt and the beginning of her servitude to Yahweh, it tells of the beginning of Israel itself, from a band of slaves to a nation.

Exodus 13:17–22 sets the stage for the drama in chapter 14. Pharaoh has let the people go. The use of the verb šlḥ (to release, let go) in verse 17 is surely intentional. It is what Moses has been demanding of Pharaoh from the very beginning of their confrontation (5:1) and what God said would happen as far back as 3:20 (see comments on 8:21; 9:7). Indeed, 13:17 brings us to the threshold of the consummation of God’s deliverance of Israel.

The story takes an unexpected twist, however. God leads the Israelites on a path that they may not have expected—the longer route rather than the shorter.2 The reason stated is that the shorter route will bring them into military conflict with the Philistines. Yahweh does not want the Israelites to become discouraged and change their minds, so he has them avoid this region entirely. But why, after such an irresistible display of power in Egypt, does the possibility of armed conflict give God such pause for thought (if we can even speak this way)? Can he not continue fighting for Israel and use such military engagement as another source of encouragement for the Israelites?

In one sense, the subsequent narrative makes clear that the circuitous route taken by the Israelites is one of the things that gives Egypt the impetus to follow, though this is not the reason given in 13:17. They are not led through the desert in order to inspire Egyptian confidence but to avoid war. But again, why? Also, why avoid war now only to see it a mere two months later (17:8–16)? Does God feel the Israelites have had enough excitement for one day? Is it a display of his care for his young flock that not too much testing can be expected of them so early in their journey? All this is speculation and probably not fruitful to discuss. Moreover, such suggestions do not take into account the fact that this alternate route will quickly result in a much greater test of their faith (being hemmed in by the sea) than open conflict with the Philistines might have.

Another strange phrase is that the Israelites march out “armed for battle” (v. 18). What sense does this phrase make in the context, since verse 17 tells us that God wants to avoid war. The fact of the matter is that the Hebrew word translated in the NIV as “armed for battle” has posed problems for interpreters and translators throughout history, and its meaning is still uncertain.3 Some ancient versions do have “armed” (e.g., Targum Onkelos), but this translation is far from certain. Reading “armed,” however, does help make sense of the fact that the Israelites are apparently well armed by the time they fight the Amalekites in chapter 17; this is no doubt one reason why interpreters since intertestamental times have understood 13:18 as “armed for battle.” Nevertheless, the context of this passage is decidedly nonmilitary, so a reference to an armed departure is somewhat odd, to say the least.

Moreover, were the Israelites given weapons by the Egyptians upon their departure? Some see in 12:36 a veiled reference to such a scenario, but this is cryptic at best. Some ancient interpreters have attempted to solve the problem of where Israel got her weapons by suggesting that they stripped the Egyptians of their armor after their bodies washed up on the shore (see 14:30). Clearly, the Israelites must have gotten their arms from somewhere, but the text does not tell us where. I suggest with other commentators that the military overtones should not be stressed, and we should settle for a less specific translation, such as “in an orderly fashion.”4

It is significant that the move forward out of Egypt does not commence without a look backward: Moses remembers to take the bones of Joseph with them, thus fulfilling the patriarch’s wish that his bones be taken to Canaan when the Israelites leave Egypt (Gen. 50:24–25). As we have seen throughout these chapters, Exodus is vitally connected to Genesis. God delivers Israel from Egypt not because they somehow deserve it, but because he has a promise to keep to Abraham and the other patriarchs (e.g., Ex. 2:24). Here we have another reminder that the departure from Egypt is part of a larger plan that God has been orchestrating for hundreds of years and that is now coming to its climax (see Deut. 7:7–8).

Inasmuch as the reference to Joseph’s bones is a reminder of the past, so too is the mention of the pillar of cloud and of fire in 13:21–22. Although this is the first time we encounter these phenomena, which will become prominent throughout the desert period, we have had a hint of them in 3:2 with the burning bush. Hence, we arrive at a partial understanding of the significance of the burning bush: It is another element in the early chapters of Exodus that presages the subsequent events of the Exodus. The burning bush is a theophany, that is, a manifestation of God’s presence with his people. The pillars of cloud and fire take us to the next level of intensity of God’s presence with his people, an intensity that will reach its climax at Mount Sinai, where that presence will be too much for the people to bear (20:18–19). For now, the presence of God in the cloud and fire is meant to be unbearable not for the Israelites but for the Egyptians, as the subsequent narrative makes clear.5

With 14:1, the narrative shifts back to the action at hand. The departure from Egypt takes another unexpected turn. One would think after all the Israelites have gone through that a speedy, painless, undelayed departure would be in order (especially since God himself ordered the departure to be hasty [12:11]). But God is not finished with the Egyptians yet. He devises what by common military standards is a foolish strategy: March the Israelites toward the sea, leaving them no escape route. Then entice Pharaoh to follow the Israelites so he and Pharaoh can engage in one final battle, one that will show Pharaoh who is truly God.

In fact, to make sure that this strategy will work, God does what he has done several times before during the plagues: He hardens Pharaoh’s heart (14:4). Everything Pharaoh does—his previous decisions to let the Israelites go, the hardening of his heart not to let them go, his final decision to let them go, the retracting of that decision we see here, and finally the death of the Egyptian army in the sea—it is all in God’s hands. God does not so much predict Pharaoh’s move as force the move himself. Like a master chess player, God induces Pharaoh to move his king into checkmate, and he doesn’t even realize it.

The paradox of God’s plan to harden Pharaoh’s heart and of the latter’s decision to pursue begins in 14:5. Pharaoh regrets having let his slaves go. His concern should remind us of his predecessor’s initial response to the growing numbers of Israelites: He enslaves them (1:11). This strategy appears to have been a boon for Pharaoh, and he is understandably reluctant to let them go. What is intriguing in this passage, however, is the dialogue that precedes Pharaoh’s pursuit. Why does he need to be told (v. 5) that the Israelites have left? Had he not given the order himself? Is this news to him, or does the report merely jar him into realizing what is happening? Moreover, why does the realization that releasing the Israelites means losing his slaves come as such a surprise to him? “What have we done?” he responds in verse 5.

The likely answer to both of these issues is that Pharaoh apparently expects the Israelites to go only on a three-day journey, which is what Moses asked for from the beginning and which Pharaoh probably means in 12:31 when he finally gives the command to go. Although the text does not spell this out, it is reasonable to conclude that after three days have elapsed, Pharaoh is told that “the people . . . fled” (v. 5), meaning that they have kept right on going.6 The three days are up, and it finally dawns on Pharaoh what is happening. If this is the proper understanding of the scenario, the purpose of proposing to Pharaoh a three-day journey from the outset becomes clear. It was never God’s intention to take the Israelites on a three-day journey anywhere, even though this is what Moses is commanded to tell Pharaoh. The purpose of this ruse, however, is to entice Egypt to follow the Israelites, thus resulting in their death in the sea and allowing Egypt’s punishment to come full circle: They are drowned in the sea for drowning the Israelite children in the Nile.

The thought that the Israelites will not come back is too much for Pharaoh, so he chases them. He musters all his power. He calls the best and brightest of Egypt’s troops (v. 7). The irony, of course, is that Pharaoh has gone to fight Israel’s God, the God of the plagues, with mere chariots, horsemen, and troops (v. 9). These may be the best of the best, but they will prove of no avail. Whatever dissension in the ranks there may have been earlier (e.g., 10:7) is now gone. They all pursue (14:9). God’s punishment, like the tenth plague, makes no distinction among the Egyptians. They will all get what is coming to them. They arrive near Pi Hahiroth along the route the Israelites have taken. Things are proceeding according to God’s design.

But this turn of events comes as a great shock to the Israelites. It is clear to the reader that Pharaoh’s pursuit will end badly for him, but Israel is not made privy to God’s purpose for taking the long way out of Egypt.7 The Israelites, contrary to God’s plan, are expecting a carefree jaunt out of Egypt. The last thing they expect is to pause for a moment at the sea, and then turn around and see the Egyptians in hot pursuit, camped within easy striking distance. So, in one sense one can hardly blame the Israelites for reacting the way they do in verses 10–14: “They were terrified and cried out to the LORD” (v. 10).

Still, their moment of panic is not painted by the author in a sympathetic light. There is, for one thing, a significance attached to the use of the word “cry out.” This is the same word we have seen before (ṣaʿaq), first in 3:6. The story of the Exodus is proof to the Israelites that God has heard their cry. The sudden reiteration of that cry, so soon after they have witnessed God’s mighty acts in the plagues, is nothing less than capitulation to the appearance of their immediate circumstances, of which the events of the previous thirteen chapters should have cured them. This quick, almost embarrassing mood change by the Israelites is the first installment of the grumbling theme, hinted at as early as 2:11–14, that will characterize much of Israel’s behavior throughout the desert period to follow, and to which we will have ample opportunity to return.

The people’s specific outcry is also startling. Apparently they were quite happy as slaves in Egypt, and their blindness to God’s might leads them to think of only two options: slavery in Egypt or death in the desert (v. 12). This hyperbolic response is more of a temper tantrum than a cry for help. At the first sight of trouble, they are willing to march straight back to Egypt, ignoring the mighty acts of God that have brought them out in the first place. With Pharaoh in hot pursuit, they do not give a second thought to the promise God made to the patriarchs. They still have not learned that God’s purpose for bringing them out of Egypt is not simply to save them, but to maintain his covenant tie to all his people, past, present, and future. They have still not learned that their circumstances are not the final standard on which to view the work of God.

The precise wording of the outcry in verse 12 is not found anywhere in the preceding narrative. It is possible that this specific complaint was made earlier but simply not recorded (perhaps hinted at in 5:21). But why would this be the case? Whether or not the complaint itself was actually made, the fact that it was not previously recorded adds to the startling effect this response has on the reader. Moses is blindsided.

It is in this context of the Israelites’ faithlessness in light of what God has done that we should understand verse 14: “The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” This is not, as is suggested by a number of translations (including the NIV) and commentaries, a word of comfort.8 Moses is not saying, “There, there. Don’t worry. God will take care of you. You’ll see. Be calm.” Rather, this is a terse, impatient command on Moses’ part. In Hebrew, the last part of the verse is a mere two Hebrew words, which are best translated as “You be quiet!” or better, “Shut up!”9 This is no word of comfort but an angry denouncement of Israel’s paper-thin faith.

One’s thoughts turn immediately to a similar episode in Numbers 20:9–11, where, in response to Israelite murmuring about lack of water, Moses becomes extremely angry and strikes the rock instead of speaking to it. Exodus 14:10–14 is the first such episode where Israel’s lack of faith brings upon them Moses’ anger. This lack of trust in light of the plague narrative is startling, and perhaps it is meant to be. It is a harbinger of things to come.

Verse 15 is one of the oddest twists in Exodus and has been a topic of discussion by interpreters since before the time of Christ. Why is it, after the Israelites cry out in verse 14 and Moses rebukes them for their lack of faith, that Moses is reprimanded by God for crying out? Some commentators suggest that Moses’ cry, although not recorded, must certainly have happened, otherwise God’s rebuke makes no sense.10 This view must be given due consideration, since, as we have seen elsewhere, the narrative does not fill in all the gaps. Yet, this gap is baffling if we are expected to supply such a fundamental incident in order for the passage to make sense.

I suggest another approach to this problem. We have seen earlier in Exodus that Moses is a representative of his people. In chapter 2, for example, in his “persecution” at the hands of Pharaoh and in his flight from Egypt, Moses embodies what all Israel will soon come to experience. There is a close identification between Moses and the people he is leading, and this identification becomes even more obvious in the subsequent chapters. He is “one” with them, and as such, he can represent the people to God. He is the mediator who connects the people to God (e.g., 32:9–14). What we see in 14:15, then, is one reflex of this close identification between Moses and the Israelites: Their guilt becomes his.

What makes the rebuke of verse 15 unusual as well is the fact that it is over so quickly. It is a curt rebuff and the action resumes. God is now going to give the final display of his power. In the face of a seemingly hopeless situation, God will do something that must have been completely unexpected. He tells Moses to raise his staff so that the water will be divided and the Israelites can walk through on dry ground (v. 16). Once again, as in the plagues, the elements obey Moses’ command to bring deliverance for the Israelites but punishment for the Egyptians.

As we have seen repeatedly, the plagues are God’s employing the forces of creation against Pharaoh and his people. They are reversals of creation; that is, what was done in Genesis 1 is undone in the plagues. The parting of the water at Moses’ command is the ultimate creation reversal. In Genesis 1:9, the seas come together and separate themselves from the dry land. Here, the seas are split open to expose the land beneath. In both episodes, the result is that “dry land” appears, though in Exodus this has a different purpose. In Genesis 1, the dry land brings forth the myriad of creatures who will live there. So too in Exodus, the dry land will give life to the Israelites. For the Egyptians, however, this act of “creation” is reversed, for it brings death, not life. As such, it is not just a creation reversal, but the ultimate payback for Pharaoh’s attempt to kill the Israelite firstborn in the waters of the Nile.

To ensure that this is indeed payback time, God says he will harden the hearts of the Egyptians. He is preparing them not just to follow the Israelites, but to die. Verses 17–18 are largely repetitive of verse 4. The ultimate goal of the Egyptians’ tragic end is that (1) God will be glorified, that is, he will use them to bring glory to himself, and (2) the Egyptians will know that “I am the LORD” through the death of their soldiers in the sea.

It may be difficult for people living in the modern world to understand how God can be “glorified” by killing his enemies, but this sentiment should not obscure what is clearly the case here. In fact, passages such as this have led many to think of the God of the Old Testament as a God of “wrath” while the God of the New Testament is a God of grace and love. Of course, even a cursory knowledge of both Testaments quickly dissolves such a view, since there is plenty of grace in the Old Testament, even toward the enemies of God (e.g., Isa. 19:16–25), and a good bit of wrath in the New Testament (e.g., Matt. 8:12; Rev. 14:14–20). God is not as tame as we would like him to be.

In verse 19 we meet, somewhat unexpectedly, “the angel of God.” Who is this figure? We get a hint from 13:21, where we read that the LORD went ahead of the Israelites in the pillars of cloud and fire. The fact that the angel of 14:19 is said to perform the same function leads to the conclusion that he is a concrete manifestation of God’s presence with his people. We are thus drawn back to 3:2, where we first meet an angelic representative of Yahweh, also manifest in fire (the burning bush; see the comments on 3:1–10 for the identity of this figure). Thus, Israel’s redemption from Egypt begins and ends on a similar note: the appearance of a heavenly messenger, closely identified with Yahweh. His role in 3:2 is to announce the coming salvation; in 14:19–20 he is a presence in the salvation itself. His role is to keep the two camps11 separate, presumably to keep the Egyptians from attacking the Israelites (although this is not explicit).

But why wait until daytime? Why not just finish off the Egyptians right away? Perhaps it is to create suspense, but this just begs the question: Why create suspense? Most likely the fact that the cloud brings darkness to Egypt but light to Israel (presumably the pillar of fire) is a reminder of the ninth plague and, hence, should have been a clear sign to Pharaoh of what is about to happen. A brief journey into his short-term memory should have alerted Pharaoh what happened the last time Egypt was swallowed in darkness but Israel had light: Soon after God killed the Egyptian firstborn. This period of darkness will also be followed by a mass killing, against which the tenth plague will pale in comparison.

Verse 21 brings together a number of other statements in Exodus. In verse 16, Moses is told to raise his staff to divide the water. Verse 21 begins in the same way, “Moses stretched out his hand”; but then we read that the Lord is the one who does the parting. Who, then, is responsible for the parting of the sea? The simple answer, of course, is that God is working through Moses. But on a deeper level, at various stages in the book thus far, there is ambiguity concerning who is acting, Moses or God. As early as 3:7–10 we read that God has “come down to rescue” the Israelites (v. 8), but also that God is sending Moses to “bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt” (v. 10). Similarly in 13:17, God is leading the people out of Egypt despite the fact that we are repeatedly reminded that God has raised up Moses for this very purpose. In other words, God and Moses act almost as if they have interchangeable roles. To be sure, they are not equated, but they are closely identified.12

As the mediator between the people and God, Moses takes on characteristics of both. As we have noted regarding 14:15, he “participates” in their grumbling, even though he himself rebukes the grumbling. Elsewhere he is clothed in glory, as when he commands the elements, thus highlighting his more “divine” attributes. He is even called “God” in 4:16 and 7:1. The ambiguity is not a result of poor writing or sloppy thinking. It is a window into the manner in which God has brought Israel back to himself. Indeed, it is a hint of how God will once again, more than a millennium later, save “Israel” through one who identifies both with the people and with God.

The parting of the sea is described in an unusual manner: a result of “a strong east wind” (v. 21). The mention of what appears to be a “natural cause” for the parting of the sea brings us back to discussions regarding the nature of the plagues, whether they can be explained as natural phenomena. Mention of an east wind seems to encourage such a view, and, in fact, has inspired many scholars to accent this element, even at the expense of the miraculous.13 What is clear, however, is that the ancient Israelites did not view the parting of the sea in either-or categories.

The natural-supernatural dichotomy, we must remember, is essentially a modern invention. No Israelite, or inhabitant of the ancient Near Eastern world for that matter, would have considered that God’s acts and everyday occurrences are incompatible. To see the east wind as a veiled reference to some sort of “naturalness” in the parting of the sea is, to say the least, an overly subtle and thoroughly anachronistic reading of the text. God does not need to alter the laws of nature in order to act; he can make use of them.14

The sea is parted and the Egyptians follow in pursuit, hardened against the horrible end that surely awaits them. But they finally grasp that all hope is lost, for in their pursuit, God throws the Egyptians “into confusion” (v. 24). This is not mere intellectual confusion, as if they are confused about what course of action to take. This is a terrifying confusion, and it takes the form of wheel trouble (v. 25)—most likely either that their wheels come off or that they get stuck in the muddy road that once was the bottom of the Red Sea.15

However we try to understand this, we should not lose sight of the fact that this tactic hits the Egyptians at their symbol of power—their mighty chariots—which earlier struck fear into the Israelites. It is precisely that element that God mockingly derails. There they are, stuck in the middle of the sea, unable to proceed or retreat, and it finally dawns on them that they are, literally, in over their heads. In what is an almost comic confession in light of the preceding fourteen chapters, their wooden brains finally draw the obvious conclusion, “Let’s get away from the Israelites! The LORD is fighting for them against Egypt” (v. 25).

This comedy soon turns tragic. Within moments the sea, at Moses’ command, comes crashing down on the Egyptians. When he stretches out his hand—the one holding the staff, which had been with him since the beginning (see v. 16)—an amazing thing happens (v. 27):

Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and at daybreak the sea went back to its place. The Egyptians were fleeing toward it, and the Lord swept them into the sea.

It seems as if the Egyptians make a beeline for the sea, apparently after the parted waters have already begun to return to their former state.16 After the sea returns to its normal state, they keep on marching into it! They are totally confused. And as they approach the water, God ensures victory by “sweeping” them in; last-minute escape is impossible. The entire army is killed; “not one of them survived” (v. 28). Egypt has finally paid the ultimate price for the ultimate transgression. Their king has been contending with God, thinking that he was his equal. He set out to destroy God’s beloved son, Israel. Now, finally, once mighty Egypt understands that this was a mistake.17

Verses 29–31 end the narrative of the departure from Egypt. Although the events will be recounted in poetic form in chapter 15, these verses form the conclusion to what has been a climactic, whirlwind series of events that end four hundred years of Israelite stay on foreign soil. The Egyptians perish while the Israelites pass through the sea on dry ground. The Egyptians prove no match for the God of Israel, and the fact that they are washed up on the shore, in plain view of all, is proof to the Israelites that their escape is now complete. The Egyptian might that they have so feared now gives way to a display of God’s own power.

This contrast between Egypt’s might and Israel’s is lost in the NIV, but it comes through in Hebrew. In verse 30, the NIV reports that the Israelites have been saved “from the hands of the Egyptians.” The Hebrew is actually singular (“hand,” yad), and the biblical idiom is best translated “from the power of the Egyptians.” This is in fact how the NIV handles the same idiom in verse 31: “The Israelites saw the great power [yad] the LORD displayed.” The Israelites are then moved to fear God and to trust both him and Moses. This is trust that was broken in verses 10–12, when the Israelites murmured against God and Moses by saying that they liked their odds better in Egypt than being hemmed in at the sea. The hand of Egypt is no match for the hand of God.

The redemption of the Israelites has been accomplished. The promise to the patriarchs—at least the first installment of that promise—has been kept. Egypt is in their rearview mirror, and the people are about to embark on the second stage of their journey. They have left their service to Pharaoh and are now on the way toward a new service to Yahweh, a new life as a people with their own land and national identity. The next stop on this journey is the foot of Mount Horeb (Sinai), where God will make plain to them what is expected of them, now that he has graciously brought them out of slavery and death. There is some trouble along the way, however (see chs. 15–17), and these incidents will soon prove indicative of the people’s poor response to God’s love. Still, the end is always in God’s sight and his plan will not be thwarted.

Bridging Contexts

THERE ARE A NUMBER OF THEMES in 13:17–14:31 that we have seen earlier. For example, God “does the unexpected” by leading the Israelites on a circuitous route out of Egypt. This, to all observers, becomes a great cause for peril, but God uses this unexpected means to bring an even greater salvation to his people. The murmuring theme, which we have seen as early as chapter 2, comes into greater prominence in 14:10–14, but further discussion of this theme will wait for chapter 16. We have also glimpsed briefly at the divine warrior theme in Exodus. Earlier hints at this theme come to a climax in the defeat of the Egyptian army, for here God is truly fighting for Israel (14:14). But since this theme has been touched on earlier, I will treat a different theme here, one that proves central not only to this book but to many in the broad sweep of Scripture.

Exodus as a paradigm of salvation. The Exodus is the inception of Israel’s existence as a people. It does not simply deliver them from slavery. It is also the event that forms them, that gives them their beginning. Since it is the foundational event in Israel’s history, it should come as little surprise that it becomes a paradigm for understanding other acts of deliverance throughout their history and into the New Testament era.18

There are, for example, a number of instances in the Old Testament where the Exodus is appealed to or alluded to in the context of some other act of deliverance. The first example is Joshua 3–4, the crossing of the Jordan, which took place a generation later. That this story is meant to be understood in light of the crossing of the Red Sea needs little elaboration. Here, too, the Israelites are encamped by a body of water (3:1) that they are about to cross. They are led this time, however, not by pillars of cloud and fire but by another manifestation of God’s presence, the ark of the covenant (3:3). As Moses did in Exodus 14:13–14, Joshua promises the people direct divine intervention in their imminent journey (Josh. 3:5). In fact, the purpose of this miracle is to give the people further confidence in God’s might (3:7–13). The most obvious parallel, of course, is the parting of the water (3:13–17).

But there is a further element of this episode that parallels the Exodus. After the crossing of the Jordan, we read of an incident that brings to mind immediately the Passover ritual. Each of the leaders of the twelve tribes takes a stone from the middle of the Jordan and builds a pile at the point at which they step out of the river (Josh. 4:4–7). This pile is to serve as a sign for future generations so that they, too, will know what God did for Israel. Like the Passover, the crossing of the Jordan is tied closely to a concrete acting-out of the events themselves, all for the purpose of ensuring that Israel’s descendants “forever” (4:7) will remember what God has done.

The central purpose of this crossing of the Jordan seems to be to confirm God’s presence with Joshua “as I was with Moses” (Josh. 3:7), so that the Israelites will revere Joshua “just as they had revered Moses” (4:14). In one sense, the point of this is simply to verify God’s continued presence with his people in the person of Joshua after Moses’ death. But the parallel runs deeper. With the demise of the Exodus generation, the obvious problem that faces the Israelites is the essential lack of firsthand experience of what God has done, the danger being that God’s relationship with his redeemed people will not be as real to successive generations.19

The crossing of the Jordan, then, is not simply another display of God’s power, but another Exodus, a reenactment of the Red Sea crossing. It is, in other words, itself a ritual of sorts. This second generation does not have a particularly stellar pedigree to look back on. Their parents, except for Joshua and Caleb, have not set a faithful example. The parting of the Jordan, then, allows this second generation to “participate” in that first great act of deliverance, to experience what their fathers and mothers experienced. It is a concrete display that God is still with his people, that the God of Moses and the plagues and the passage through the Red Sea is the same God of Joshua and the community about to take possession of the land. Of course the parting of water will not be repeated for every successive generation, but the foundational event at the Red Sea becomes a predominant paradigm for subsequent events.

We see this, for example, in 1 Samuel 4–6 with respect to the capture of the ark by the Philistines. The presence of the ark in Philistine territory brings great harm to them, and they are eventually eager to rid themselves of this nuisance. The initial stubbornness on the part of the Philistines to recognize the cause of their predicament, despite their apparent confession to the contrary in 4:7–8, is condemned by their own priests and diviners in 6:6: “Why do you harden your hearts as the Egyptians and Pharaoh did? When he [God] treated them harshly, did they not send the Israelites out so they could go on their way?”

As with the crossing of the Jordan, the ark represents God’s presence (hence the people’s desire to have the ark with them in battle in 1 Sam. 4:3), but that presence with Israel’s enemies does not bring deliverance but destruction. Is this not the lesson of the Exodus? The Philistine priests and diviners are perceptive enough to point this out. Their warning is not merely a haphazard appeal to a great past event where God called down judgment on wicked people. If that were the case, there were other incidents to draw upon (e.g., the Flood, Sodom). Rather, the priests employ Exodus language, which leads to the conclusion that the defeat of the Philistines should be understood as another Exodus-type event. God’s presence among an impure people that seeks to harm his people will bring pain and affliction. The Philistines learn, as did Pharaoh before them, that Israel’s God is not to be taken lightly.

Of the other allusions and references to the Exodus in the Old Testament, some more subtle than others, most worthy of mention is the book of Isaiah. The Exodus theme is of vital importance for Isaiah, particularly after chapter 40.20 Leaving aside the matter of authorship (irrelevant for this discussion), Isaiah 40–66 is clearly written with Israel’s deliverance from Babylon in mind.21 Isaiah wants his readers to understand this release as another Exodus. We have already glanced at 43:16–17 in conjunction to Exodus 1, but it bears repeating here:

This is what the LORD says—

he who made a way through the sea,

a path through the mighty waters,

who drew out the chariots and horses,

the army and reinforcements together,

and they lay there, never to rise again,

extinguished, snuffed out like a wick.

The context of this passage is Israel’s unfaithfulness contrasted to God’s mercy. He promises in Isaiah 43:14 that he will bring Israel out of Babylon despite their forgetfulness of who he is; verses 16–17 remind them of this. It is no accident that the imminent release from Babylon is juxtaposed so closely to the Exodus. God is in effect telling the people, “I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.” The departure from Babylon will be another Exodus.22

The parallels between the Babylonian exile and Israel’s slavery in Egypt are straightforward. In both situations the people find themselves on foreign soil, held against their will and needing divine intervention for deliverance. The references in Isaiah, therefore, to the Exodus are to be expected. But the analogy goes beyond this surface similarity. There is a theological connection between the two events that binds them not only to each other, but back to the dawn of history, to Genesis 1. In both events God is pictured as displaying his might in ways that resemble what he had previously done at creation. Isaiah 51:9–10 may serve as an illustration:

Awake, awake! Clothe yourself with strength,

O arm of the LORD;

awake, as in days gone by,

as in generations of old.

Was it not you who cut Rahab to pieces,

who pierced that monster through?

Was it not you who dried up the sea,

the waters of the great deep,

who made a road in the depths of the sea

so that the redeemed might cross over? (italics added)

As in Isaiah 43:16–17, the prophet is appealing to the past, to God’s acts “in days gone by,” “in generations of old.” This past act is certainly the Exodus, references to which are easy to spot in the second half of the passage. But is this the only past act to which Isaiah refers? No. He refers to “Rahab” in the first part of the passage. What is this?

According to ancient Near Eastern creation stories, the world was created out of conflict, part of which was the subduing of a god associated with water and depicted as a sea monster of some sort. Rahab is one name of this creature.23 It was necessary to tame this creature in order to create the inhabitable world. The sea, in other words, was a symbol of chaos, which had to be controlled for the order of the created world to exist. The particular god that won the struggle, that is, the creator of the habitable world, was elevated to supreme status in the pantheon. Although these specifics of the ancient Near Eastern story do not seem to come into play in the Old Testament, the story as a whole is used by a number of biblical writers to serve their own theological purposes.

Isaiah is one such writer. In Isaiah 51:9 he says that it is Yahweh who won this “struggle” against Rahab. It is he who “cut Rahab to pieces” and thus tamed the chaotic waters. Thus we see the connection between the slaying of Rahab and the dividing of the waters of the Red Sea. For Isaiah, the power God displayed over the Red Sea is another slaying of Rahab. The significance of these two events goes beyond mere analogy. According to the ancient myth, the creator-god subdued the sea, but this left open the possibility of chaos breaking through now and then. When seen in this light, the parting of the Red Sea may be thought of as a continuation of this cosmic battle between Yahweh and Rahab.24

This also explains the identification between Rahab, the mythic sea monster, and Egypt, such as what we find in Isaiah 30:7 and Psalm 87:4. Egypt, and particularly Pharaoh, is seen as a chaotic force bent on encroaching upon God’s created order. We have already seen this in Exodus 1–14. The biblical writer styles Pharaoh not simply as a king but as an anti-God figure, whose purpose is to keep the Israelites from fulfilling their creation mandate to be “fruitful and multiply” (ch. 1). Pharaoh’s actions pit him against the Creator-God. So, as fitting punishment, Yahweh unleashes a series of plagues against him, which are reversals of creation. These punishments are the reintroduction of a watery chaos into creation by God himself, and as such they are a dose of Pharaoh’s own medicine for wanting to reverse the creation blessing. The death of the Egyptians in the Red Sea is the final installment of this struggle between the true God and the monster Rahab/Egypt, where, once again, the waters are tamed.

The use of water to punish, indeed destroy, Egypt/Rahab is, therefore, not arbitrary but takes us back to the dawn of time. There is more at stake in the Exodus than the deliverance of one people at one point on the historical timeline. It is, at least according to Isaiah 51:9–10, a reflex of an ancient cosmic battle, one over which Yahweh has complete control but which he allows to surface from time to time.

This connection between the Exodus and the waters of creation also helps bring to light the relevance of another event important for understanding the Exodus: the Flood in Genesis 6–9. We have already seen this theme hinted at in Exodus 2:3, where Moses as an infant is a new Noah, placed in an “ark” coated with tar and pitch.25 This is no mere entertaining allusion to a past event. Moses’ deliverance from the waters of the Nile is to be seen as a second Noah story, another deliverance from chaotic waters. As Noah’s deliverance inaugurated a new beginning for God’s people, Moses’ flood-like deliverance at the beginning of his life foreshadows Israel’s flood-like deliverance in Exodus 14.

Furthermore, the waters of the Flood themselves are not just a haphazard display of might, for God could have chosen a variety of ways to destroy the earth—but he chose water. The unleashing of the waters above and below the earth is a creation reversal, just as the plagues and the Red Sea incident are. God allowed the chaotic forces of the sea, which he had earlier tamed, to undo his created order, at least for the time being. Both the Flood and the Exodus revisit creation with destructive (chaotic) results for God’s enemies. These same waters, however, in both instances, bring new life for those in God’s favor.

This discussion of the connection between the Exodus and what has gone on before brings to mind other important connections between Exodus and Genesis. As Exodus was to become a paradigm for subsequent acts of deliverance, it is also the event that brings a sense of unity to a number of previous episodes in Genesis. There are, in other words, a number of mini-exoduses throughout Genesis, and those familiar with the story of Israel’s deliverance from Egypt will find hints of this in the life of Abraham, specifically Genesis 12:10–20. It is not too daring to see here a foreshadowing of Israel’s own experience later under another Pharaoh, especially if we keep in mind that Moses, too, in the opening chapters of Exodus foreshadows Israel’s subsequent experience. As Israel was threatened by Pharaoh but then miraculously delivered by God, so, too, was Abraham. We even read in Genesis 12:17 that God “inflicted serious diseases on Pharaoh and his household,” clearly a hint of the plagues under Pharaoh. This affliction causes Pharaoh to order Abraham to leave (12:19), which bears the unmistakable echo of the other Pharaoh’s similar order in Exodus 12:31–32. Abraham even leaves Egypt with great wealth, as did the Israelites under Moses.26

Abraham’s trek into and out of Egypt is clearly a taste of things to come. Joseph also experiences the same trek. He, like the Israelites, goes down into Egypt as a slave but emerges triumphant by God’s continued presence with him. The Joseph story is not just filler to explain how the Israelites enter into Egypt. It is also a mini-exodus as he, like Abraham and Isaac, embodies the future experience of his ancestors. The Abraham story is a clue to God’s pattern of activity that leads us to the climactic event of the Exodus.

In other words, the release of Israelite slaves from Egypt is not so much a series of similar stories, but one grand story told in a number of similar ways. In Genesis Yahweh is not only the Creator-God, he is also the Deliverer-God. As we have seen on various occasions, creation and salvation are closely tied. Consequently, perhaps it is not too much a stretch to see the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden in similar terms. This is the first and paradigmatic exile from God’s presence into hostile territory. The Garden of Eden is the promised land that God’s people are forced to leave, but to which they long to return. One of the earlier installments on the fulfillment of this promised return is the conquest of Canaan, the “Promised Land,” where the Israelites enjoy God’s presence. The final return to Eden, however, will have to wait for the truly climactic act of deliverance, the final victory of the Lamb over the forces of chaos as told in Revelation.

The Exodus was in mind already in Genesis. To put it somewhat boldly, Genesis was written for the purpose of bringing us to Exodus. This close connection has led many scholars to conclude, correctly, that Genesis was written in light of the Exodus, that is, from the reflective stance of Israel’s deliverance from slavery. This is why the writer has made such a point of emphasizing the Egypt connection in Genesis, namely, that Egypt is a place that needs to be gotten out of, by God’s help, for the sake of preserving God’s people.27

We see, then, that a look back from Exodus into Genesis actually leads us forward to a time when the ideal situation of the early chapters of Genesis, paradise, will again reign. It is, I contend, the Exodus—more accurately, the close connection between Exodus and creation—that gives shape to much of the Bible. I am not arguing that it is the biblical theme under which all others should be subsumed. But in one sense the Bible as a whole can be summarized as the story of God’s intervening to bring his chosen people out of a foreign, hostile place and back to the chosen land, back to Eden.

The full depth of this pattern of divine activity becomes clear through the person and work of Christ. Exodus continues to serve as a paradigm for salvation in the New Testament. The person and mission of Christ recall unmistakably Israel’s deliverance from Egypt. There are many examples of the Exodus theme in the New Testament, so we cannot do a thorough treatment here (the Gospel of John is particularly rich in Exodus imagery), but a number of examples will suffice.

We begin with Matthew’s use of Hosea 11:1 in Matthew 2:15. Matthew is clearly drawing on an analogy between Christ and the Israelites. As God called the Israelites out of Egypt, so, too, did God call Christ out of Egypt as a boy. From this we can draw the conclusion that Christ in some sense is to be understood as living out Israel’s experience, in a way similar to how the patriarchs and Moses foreshadow the Egypt experience of Israel. Matthew 2:15 differs from this, however, in that Christ does not foreshadow Israel, but Israel somehow foreshadows Christ. Christ, to put it a bit differently, is the final, concrete focal point for Israel’s experience. He is the “ultimate Israel,” which is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus, like Israel, came out of Egypt.28 And in the same way that Moses’ personal Exodus experiences in the opening chapters of this book foreshadow Israel’s subsequent experience, Christ’s “Exodus” as a child is a preview of the subsequent Exodus that his people will make, the Exodus for which he is the new Moses.

So Christ is not only the new Israel coming out of Egypt, but the new Moses leading them. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration as told in Luke 9:28–36 bears this out. As Jesus’ death in Jerusalem draws near, he goes up to a mountain to pray. As he does so, he changes somehow (v. 29), and Moses and Elijah appear with him. The three have a conversation, the significance of which is lost in English translations. According to verse 31, “They spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.” The Greek word for “departure” is exodos. Although the plain sense of this expression refers to Jesus’ upcoming death in Jerusalem, it is giving Luke too little credit not to see here a theologically potent reference to the Exodus.

In other words, Jesus is not just discussing with Moses and Elijah his death, but the significance of his death, which is nicely summarized by exodos. Jesus’ death is his departure, his Exodus, from this life to the next. He is a new Moses, leading the way for God’s people to a new mode of existence. He is a new Moses, leading God’s people to a new chosen land.

Perhaps nowhere in the New Testament is the “new Moses” theme more explicit than in Hebrews 3:1–6, where Moses and Christ are compared as deliverers.29 The writer here employs a rather difficult analogy to explain the superiority of Christ over Moses (esp. v. 3). The main point, however, should not be lost in the details: In order to argue for Jesus’ superiority over Moses, the writer assumes a connection between the two. Jesus is a new and better Moses.

The reasons for this assertion are clarified in what follows (Heb. 4:1–13). It is through Christ (the new Moses) that we as the church (the new Israel) gain entrance into heaven (the new Promised Land). Christ has come to complete what the first Moses could not do and what Joshua had to do in his stead: not only deliver the people out of Egypt but bring them into Canaan. The writer of Hebrews does not extend the analogy to its fullest extent, but the possibility is attractive: Jesus is the new Moses who has come to deliver his people from a country more oppressive than Egypt (the present world order characterized by sin, death, and eternal separation from God) and governed by a ruler far worse than Pharaoh (Satan).30

The parallels between Moses and Jesus extend beyond the departure from Egypt and include incidents in Israel’s desert experience (the giving of manna and the law); these will be discussed at the appropriate point in subsequent chapters. But for now, I wish to discuss one more parallel—the one alluded to by Paul in 1 Corinthians 10:1–13. For our purposes, the relevant portion is verses 1–2:

For I do not want you to be ignorant of the fact, brothers, that our forefathers were all under the cloud and that they all passed through the sea. They were all baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. (italics added)

Paul is recalling the Exodus for the benefit of his Christian audience (a point made explicit in v. 11). The Israelites who experienced the Exodus were “under the cloud”; that is, they were guided and protected by God in the form of the pillar of cloud, and it was by that guidance that they “passed through the sea.” The unusual part of this passage, however, is the reference to baptism. What does it mean that the Israelites “were all baptized into Moses”?

This is not an easy question to answer. But at the very least, Paul is drawing an analogy between what happened to the Israelites at the sea and what happens to Christians at baptism. By being baptized, the Christian is giving expression to the fact that he or she, in Christ, is leaving behind an old way of life—a life of bondage to sin and death—and entering a new mode of existence (cf. Rom. 6:3–4, that we are baptized into the death of Christ and are buried, but then also raised to a new life). In other words, Christian baptism is the process whereby we undergo our own Exodus, leaving this world and joining another way of life under Christ’s leadership and authority.

This, perhaps, is Paul’s point about Israel’s passage through the sea. That, too, was a kind of baptism, where God’s people left an old way of life and began another under Moses’ leadership. The Red Sea incident became for Paul a powerful, theologically rich forecast of our final deliverance in Christ. We, like the Israelites, have passed through a sea of sorts. We have begun a new life, a new mode of existence in a new land, with God as supreme ruler. We are living in an ultimate spiritual sense what the Israelites experienced in a physical way.

The Exodus theme in the New Testament reaches its final stage in the book of Revelation. The coming of Christ, the new Moses, and the deliverance he has achieved for his people through his death and resurrection are in actuality the first stage of a two-stage process. The final stage of this Exodus journey will take place at his second coming. Revelation speaks a great deal about the destruction of “Babylon.” This is certainly not meant to represent any one city, much less the literal city of Babylon, but the present world order as a whole. The status that Egypt achieved in the Old Testament as the ultimate symbol of worldly opposition to God was supplanted during the postexilic and intertestamental period by Babylon. And for generations of Jews living in the shadows cast by this horrific event, it stands to reason that the exile to Babylon inspired them to use this nation as a shorthand representation for any major opposition to God. We have already seen how Isaiah draws the forceful analogy between Egypt and Babylon. The writer of Revelation, then, stands in a strong tradition in his use of Babylon.

The destruction of God’s enemies in Revelation is marked by a series of plagues and disasters that are clearly reminiscent of the plagues against Egypt (see Bridging Contexts section of 7:8–10:29). When this world order, with its oppression against God’s people, is brought to an end, it will be the final act of judgment against God’s enemies who dare harm his servants. In the end, Babylon will, like Pharaoh and his army before them, meet a violent end, like a huge millstone thrown “into the sea” (Rev. 18:21). Babylon will meet a watery death, in symbolic terms, and the final Exodus will be complete.

The final scene in Revelation brings us to the end of the present world and the beginning of the next. What Christians have been privy to in a spiritual sense since the resurrection will be brought to a new level. There will be a new heaven and earth, but, curiously enough, no sea (Rev. 21:1). What, we might ask, does God have against the sea? As noted above, it represents chaos, and in saying so we find ourselves coming full circle in our discussion.

The Exodus ends in the same way it began, not in Egypt some 1,500 years before Christ, but at the cosmic conflict between Yahweh and the sea. Here, in God’s new creation, there will be no place for chaos. There is only order. There is a new heaven and a new earth. A new Jerusalem will come down from heaven shining, like Eden, in all its pristine, pre-Fall brilliance. Its dimensions will be laid out in geometric perfection, and it will be reserved only for those “whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life” (Rev. 21:27). Chaos will be defeated fully, and God’s people will find themselves back where their first ancestors began, in paradise, complete with river and tree of life (22:1–2). Christ is truly the Alpha and Omega. At the end of history we find ourselves at its beginning.

Contemporary Significance

THE EXODUS AND YOU. The importance of the Exodus theme in the Bible would seem to have tremendous potential for contemporary application. But this application is not as straightforward as it may at first appear. True, the significance of the Exodus cannot be more obvious or more central to the very essence of what it means to be “in Christ.” It is aptly summed up by Jesus’ words in John 5:24: We have “crossed over from death to life.” When Jesus spoke these words, he was not likely thinking of the Exodus, but the image is still appropriate. As Christians, we have crossed over from our slavery to sin and death to a new beginning as God’s people, in subjection to him. We who are in Christ have moved out of one country and into another (or more accurately, we are moving toward another country), which itself is a preview of our entrance to the heavenly country that awaits us. The application of the Exodus theme to our lives could not be more central.

Moreover, the significance of the Exodus for today’s Christians is no different from what it has been for the past two millennia. The sea through which the church has passed has remained parted since the coming of Christ and will not go “back to its place” (Ex. 14:27) until our world comes to an end. Wherever men and women come to a saving knowledge of the one Lord Jesus Christ, wherever children raised in Christian homes reach the age at which they make the faith of their parents their own, the Exodus in its fullest, most sublime sense is happening. The meaning of the Exodus for Christians today, therefore, is to be understood in light of our relationship to Christ, the new Moses. It is a story of salvation in Christ, for this is how the New Testament writers have already claimed this theme for us.

But what of a personal, concrete application of the Exodus? What can we learn from this event with respect to conducting our lives from day to day? This is a more difficult question, but in the end, I would suggest that it is probably not a question the Exodus story is prepared to answer. For one thing, the application of the Exodus, understood in the manner just noted, is personal, concrete, and practical. It is as practical as you can get! Perhaps we can say that it is not so much that we apply the Exodus to our lives, but that the Exodus is applied to us.

The significance of the Exodus for us is not found in what we do with it, but in what God has done for us already. We have missed the theological point of the story if we reduce its grand theological message to a number of moral lessons, such as “Be faithful in a tight fix,” or, “Don’t fear tough times, just ‘be still’ and let God take care of you.” Of course, these are good things to remember (and difficult to do!), but the question here is whether the point of the Exodus story is to teach us these things. I think not. The Exodus story is not a pep talk for when we go through trying circumstances, to teach us that God will win our battles for us. Rather, if anything, it is a pep talk to remind us that God has won the battle. All of our daily battles, which are real and matter to God, should be seen in this overarching context.

There are many personal situations in which we want God’s help. We may find ourselves in a job or at school, for example, where people make fun of us because of our faith. Perhaps our faith even keeps us from making legitimate advances or getting promotions. So we ask God to help. Perhaps we ask him to give us a new job or to punish those who are making our lives difficult. These requests may or may not be legitimate (depending on the circumstances), but the question is whether it is legitimate to call on the Exodus paradigm in such cases.

Can we say to God, “You delivered the Israelites out of Egypt. Now do the same for me”? Generally speaking, such an application of the Exodus is not legitimate. This story itself, especially within the context of the reflexes of this theme throughout Scripture, shows that a direct line should not be drawn from Egypt in the middle of the second millennium B.C. to our own day. We are not to draw the hasty conclusion that the Exodus is about God’s saving of oppressed peoples and then simply equate our own situation of “oppression” with that of the Israelites. To do so is to miss the rich theology of this event. To put it another way, it is a mistake to think of the Exodus as initiating a general pattern that is then to be applied to a variety of subsequent, specific circumstances.

But does not Isaiah do precisely this when he applies the Exodus to the Babylonian exile? A closer look at Isaiah’s use of the Exodus, as well as the use of Exodus elsewhere in Scripture, shows the opposite. Exodus is not the initiation of a general pattern with subsequent, concrete applications. Rather, it is itself a particular application of a general pattern that, as we have seen in the Bridging Contexts section, extends from creation to consummation: God is calling people out from one type of existence to another. This process is one of salvation, and in the end it is God who battles for us and defeats the forces of chaos that wish to harm us.

This sort of theological grasp of the significance of the Exodus will keep us from calling any bad-hair day we may happen to have a personal “Egypt,” and any person we don’t happen to like our “Pharaoh.” It should also keep us from getting disappointed in God when our expected “deliverance” does not come. Even more profound examples of Christian suffering are not “Exodus” situations. We do not see New Testament authors enlisting the Exodus paradigm when speaking of intense personal suffering: “God will deliver you from your suffering as he did the Israelites from Egypt.” Such suffering is not something so much to be gotten out of as to be patiently endured—and even something to be thankful for (e.g., Col. 1:24; James 1:2–4; 1 Peter 4:12–19). This is not a “get out of suffering at all costs” mentality. We pray for suffering to end, of course, but, when it is over, it is not as if the Exodus has happened personally for us.

What God did for Israel some 3,500 years ago is not something we can do with as we please. It is not a story about Israel as much as a story about God and about who he is. It is not a story that will be duplicated in the lives of individual Christians anytime they get into trouble, but a story that gives us a glimpse of the underlying battle between God and evil, well beyond our circumstances, a battle that has eternal ramifications. The fact of the matter is that whatever circumstances we find ourselves in, we must remember not that we are awaiting God’s deliverance, but that that deliverance has already come, in Christ. We are not to say, “What I am going through is like Israel’s Egypt experience,” but “My Egypt is behind me. I am on the other side of the sea, so how am I expected to behave?” Those portions of the book of Exodus that are most relevant for our lives, in other words, are to be found in subsequent chapters.

One particularly important contemporary misapplication of the Exodus story is liberation theology (see also comments in the Contemporary Significance section of Ex. 4:18–31).31 The basic thrust behind liberation theology is to see in the Exodus an essentially sociopolitical event that can then be transposed to any situation where one people is oppressed by another.

Israel grasped a liberating sense of God and an essential value in its own vocation, namely freedom. . . . We are now enjoined to prolong the exodus event because it was not an event solely for the Hebrews but rather the manifestation of a liberative plan of God for all peoples . . . an unfinished historical project.32

This is not an atypical sentiment in liberation circles, but it is, as we noted earlier, a fundamental misunderstanding of the significance of Israel’s deliverance from Egypt. Israel’s liberation from Egypt was a religious statement; God was claiming his right over Israel, to take his people out from under Pharaoh’s rule and put them under his own rule. Exodus is not the story of Israel’s release from Egypt, as if they now can go their merry way and build a Marxist-like utopia. Rather, they have left one form of slavery in order that they may be free to enter another form of slavery, to Yahweh. It is a journey that does not merely take them out of Egypt, but to Mount Sinai and the law. Liberation theologians’ use of the Exodus to support a wholly unshackled political freedom runs contrary to the story they are attempting to appropriate.33

The Exodus is not a story of liberation in the sense in which many use it today, but a story of salvation. This is not to say, to be sure, that the Bible does not speak to the issue of “man’s inhumanity to man.” The Exodus, however, when all is said and done, is not the story of mere politics any more than it is a story of our own personal troubles. It is, rather, the foundational event in Israel’s existence as a people before God. The means by which God brings them into existence is one manifestation of God’s pattern of conduct that extends well beyond any specific historical instances. It is a pattern of conduct that is given its most concrete manifestation in the death and resurrection of the new Moses and the countless numbers who have and will follow him across the sea.

Any attempt to apply the Exodus to contemporary situations that does not first struggle with this Christological dimension, let alone the religious dimension in general, is ignoring the decidedly theological essence of the Old Testament story as well as the specifically Christian interpretation given to the Exodus by Christ and the New Testament writers.