Freema Gottlieb

This Shabbat we read of Matan Torah, the giving of the Commandments, and the greatest Divine Revelation ever, when God "came down" on Mount Sinai in full view of an entire nation. Why then is this week's reading named after a single individual who happened to be Moses' father-in-law, even though he himself was not Jewish? And why is the apocalyptic event at Sinai introduced with the welcome he was afforded by Moses, in the company of his closest blood relatives and the whole of Israel when his visit came as a surprise?
These are not the only questions to trouble the commentators with regard to this high priest of Midian: Why did he come? Why did he leave his settled life and the reverence he received in Midian to travel through the wilderness and meet a ragtag nation of Israelites fleeing Egypt?
Some of these questions appear answered by the text itself, but baffle us due to their underlying implications. The text tells us that when this erstwhile priest of idolatry heard of the miracles God had wrought for Israel through his very own protégé, Moses, his son-in-law, who had stayed in his house for almost forty years, Jethro was propelled to action. What the Talmud picks up on in Jethro's response to his son-in-law's enthusiastic account of God's deliverance of his nation is that rather than feeling pure joy, "his flesh crawled with goose bumps" at the destruction suffered by Egypt, a civilization in which he had thrived as a respected counselor.
What emerges is that Jethro's pretext for coming to restore Zipporah and his grandsons to his beloved son-in-law and his fundamental reason for doing so were entirely different.
It is obvious that the status of the two men has been reversed. To the religious leader of Midian who once extended his protection and hospitality—and his daughter—to a stateless fugitive, Moses has become the leader of a victorious nation, and it is now in his interest to cultivate his favor. The question the rabbis are debating is whether Jethro was a righteous convert. Was he ultimately drawn, as Boaz says of Ruth, not for love or worldly profit but from spiritual thirst, "to shelter under the wings of the Shekhinah"?
It is all a question of timing. The rabbis who believe that Jethro's goal, underneath the pretexts and Middle Eastern politeness, was to convert have no problem with the chronological order of the text. Jethro came before the giving of the Torah in order to accept it with all the Jewish people. Such wholeheartedness is therefore a fitting introduction for all of us to the revelation given to all who are biologically from the nation of Israel. Initially we all are strangers; we all are intimidated by holiness, and we have to back off and ease our way toward our goal.
The question then remains as to how, as the text tells us later, Jethro could say goodbye to his son-in-law and to Israel and return to his own people. How, after encountering the Torah, and showing his love for the Jewish people by his wise contribution to the structure of its justice system, he could leave it all behind. Moses tells him he is as essential to the nation of Israel as its "eyes and ears." But the old man is tired and wants to go home.
There is a poignant stubbornness in this retreat from ideology. The Torah does not tell us if he bows to Moses' insistent appeal. We do know that his descendants are interwoven in the Jewish story. Perhaps he had better health insurance in Midian, better care. Possibly he did accede to Moses' request. Those two, Israel's greatest leader and this philosopher of all world religions, had such a long and noble friendship. What we do know is that, apart from his bond with the Divine, for Moses, Jethro was perhaps his  most  trusted confidant. We know very little about our great Teacher's personal life. Whether Jethro stayed or left, his relationship with Moses was cherished.