And it was on the way, in an inn, and Hashem met [Moshe] and sought to kill him (Shemos 4:24)
In unraveling the story behind this story, the Talmud relates that a second son was born to Moshe and Tzippora as they were preparing to leave Midyan for Mitzraim. No doubt their dedication to fulfilling Hashem's command coupled with the unrelenting suffering of their brothers gave the newborn's parents no time to delay their departure. Thus they journeyed without performing their son's bris, careful not to expose him neither to the threatening elements of the desert nor the discomfort of traveling while nursing a fresh wound. Arriving close to Mitzrayim, they found lodging and could now arrange for the bris without slowing down the work of redemption or compromising the infant's health. It is at this moment, their first opportunity to circumcise their baby, that Moshe finds himself under the deadly censure of Hashem. Rashi explains that G-d's sudden impatience erupted when Moshe chose to first settle in to the hotel and only then to tend to the uncircumcised child.
Rashi's interpretation and its inference are almost as troubling as the very event he wishes to resolve. It seems that though Moshe would have momentarily performed the mitzvah for which he had waited some time, Hashem considered killing him and squashing the nascent redemption, almost before it started.
Perhaps we can understand this medrash through introspection into our own lives. We are so often besieged with obligations and commitments robbing from us the feeling that we are designing our own days and our own schedules. Over time, daily minyan and daily learning, community involvement and chesed commitments may give way to what we need to do to establish a parnosoh, run a home and tend to its members. Some get accustomed to the change while for others it is a source of agony. Some don't look back, and settle in to new expectations and adjust or limit their earlier visions. Their lives are full of accomplishments and much reason to be comfortable and satisfied. Others are always looking back, always wondering, always comparing, harboring a nagging frustration that demands constant assuaging in order to move on with contentment and direction. To be sure, their measure of discomfort is the motivation to move and to grow, which does carry with it its own source of happiness.
One's aspirations become apparent in those few moments, when the pressure lets up, the holiday, the vacation, the Sunday morning. If at those moments we find ourselves simply moving along pushed only by inertia, then we may have lost something along the way and our standards may indeed have slipped. However, if when those moments roll around, even if only infrequently, we jump at he opportunity to open a sefer or catch a minyan or visit an aunt, then indeed our schedules have not altered our priorities, and can feel that we will be transmitting our ideals to another generation.
Perhaps the medrash, that Rashi cited, conjures up the image of a family traveling with the uncircumcised baby in tow, taking every step with heavy anxiety, wondering at once when they will see their brethren in Mitzrayim and when they will welcome their son into the covenant of Avrohom. Those parents, be it on the way, even at an inn, would be found sharpening a rock long before unpacking their bags. Hashem demanded that the one to be entrusted to teach Torah, its practice and its preciousness, must be entirely consumed by being in a situation that came short of his own expectations. This, it would seem, is the standard set for us, to be ever mindful of our aspirations, seize the moments in which we can realize them, and even find happiness in the knowledge that these moments can be the context for all else that transpires.