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There is something wonderfully human about the story of the Israelites in the wilderness.
They have been free from Egypt for only a matter of weeks. They have witnessed the plagues, walked away from slavery and somehow made it through the sea while Pharaoh’s army disappeared behind them. If there were ever a group of people who might reasonably be expected to believe that God would look after them, surely it was them.
Then the food begins to run out, and suddenly, Egypt does not sound quite so bad.
“If only we had died by the LORD’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted.”
I love the selective memory in that sentence. Nobody mentions the bricks. Nobody mentions the overseers or the forced labour. Nobody mentions Pharaoh ordering Hebrew babies to be killed.
What they remember is dinner.
Perhaps we should not be too hard on them. Hunger has a way of concentrating the mind, and fear can do strange things to our memories. When what lies ahead feels uncertain, even a difficult past can begin to look strangely attractive.
Egypt had been terrible, but the truth is, it had also been familiar.
