Ethan got up the next morning and helped his family gather manna, just like every other morning except the Sabbath. He knelt with his family in the middle of their tent while his father prayed, just like every other morning. He ate a bowl of manna that his mother cooked, just like every other morning.

But to Ethan, it didn’t feel like every other morning. This morning felt different. He felt different, though he couldn’t tell exactly what the difference was.

After breakfast, he scooped up his mat and started to head outside to shake the sand from it. His father met him at the tent entrance.

“Put that down and take a seat,” his father said. His voice was calm, but the tight lines around his mouth showed anger.

Ethan put the mat down, took a deep breath, and sat cross-legged. Stay calm, he told himself. Just explain that you’re tired of being a slave to —

“What is this?” his father asked, holding out the piece of wood Ethan had been carving.

Ethan swallowed. “Uh . . . It’s the piece of wood we used to make —”

“I know it’s a piece of wood!” his father said. “I’m asking you what you’re carving it into!”

Ethan’s heart dropped to his stomach. He covered his eyes with his hand so that he wouldn’t see his father’s reaction. “It’s a calf,” he said quietly.

“A calf like the one at the foot of the mountain,” his father said. Ethan couldn’t tell whether it was a question or an observation, so he just nodded.

“Do you know what an idol is, Ethan?” his father asked.

“Yeah, it’s a god,” Ethan answered.

Reaching down, his father gently lifted Ethan’s chin so that they were looking each other straight in the eyes. “No,” his father said in a quiet but very firm voice. “An idol is a pretend god. It has no power. It’s nothing but an ugly statue. The God of —”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Ethan interrupted. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force the next sentence out of his mouth. “The God of rules is the only God.”

He opened his eyes and saw that his father’s upper lip was beginning to tremble. “The God of rules?” his father cried. “This is how you refer to the Lord? Who taught you to be so disrespectful? Your new friends? The ones who laughed when you said those things to your sister last night? Did they teach you to hate the Lord’s rules?”

“No!” Ethan protested, his heart hammering. “I’ve felt this way for a long time! You always talk about the good things the Lord has done, but you never mention how hard He makes our lives with His rules. I feel like I’m still a . . . slave.” A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

His father stared at him for a moment with sorrow in his eyes. “Rules are like family members, Ethan,” he finally said. “You don’t know how important they are until they’re gone. I don’t expect you to understand that now, and I pray that you will never have to find out for yourself.”

If obeying rules is so important, Ethan thought, why does it feel so much better to break them? His mind drifted back to last night’s adventure. He couldn’t help but grin as he recalled the look on Melki’s face when that rock hit the golden calf —

“Is this funny to you?” His father’s angry voice brought Ethan back to reality. “This camp is being torn apart by people who don’t want to obey God’s rules. I will not let you become one of them!” His father gave him one more stern look and walked out of the tent.

Exhaling loudly, Ethan flopped back on his mat and looked up at the patched tent ceiling. If Father only knew how fun it is to be free of rules, he’d probably change his mind. He lay there for what seemed like a long time, remembering the night before and snickering softly.

Finally he left the tent and looked around for his family. Probably went to wash their clothes, he thought. I guess they don’t want me around right now.

Thunder from the top of Mount Sinai echoed through the camp. If I head toward the mountain, Ethan thought, I might find Melki and the rest of the guys. We could laugh about last night —and plan more fun stuff.

He scanned the empty campsite. “Well, my family deserted me,” he said aloud. “I think I’ll desert them for a while.” He started walking toward the mountain.

On the way he passed several people who looked like they were dressed for the evening festival. Some had already begun celebrating. They were laughing and dancing in front of their tents. A few were drinking from long leather wine pouches. Ethan smiled and waved as he passed by. That’s how free people live, he thought. Look how much fun they’re having.

The scene at the foot of the mountain had changed since last night. In place of the guards, dozens of men waited near the platform. Some held birds, others held lambs, and at least two held goats. None of the animals were moving. They’re offering burnt sacrifices, Ethan thought, just like we used to do for Moses’ God.

The golden calf now rested on a stand at the back of the platform. The altar, with a fire burning on top of it, sat just in front of the idol. Aaron stood before the altar, dressed in the same fancy yellow robe he’d worn at the dedication ceremony.

At the edge of the crowd, not far from last night’s hiding place, Ethan found a flat rock. He sat on it, glad he could see everything that was going on.

You shouldn’t be here, a little voice in his head told him.

Ethan ignored it.

One at a time each man in line carried his dead animal to the platform and handed it to Aaron. Aaron cut each animal’s body into four pieces and threw them into the fire. Aaron worked quickly, Ethan noticed —much less carefully than the priests who offered sacrifices to Moses’ God.

Ethan thought about the first time his father had let him watch a burnt-offering ceremony. He remembered the thrill of sneaking away to one of the slave quarters in Egypt, where a secret altar had been set up. He also remembered the warm, peaceful feeling he had as he watched the priest pray over the offering and ask the Lord to receive it. “This sacrifice is the way we receive forgiveness for our sins,” his father had explained.

A pang of guilt stabbed at Ethan’s stomach. There probably aren’t enough animals in the whole camp to make up for all the rules I’ve broken. But then he reminded himself: If I’m free from rules, I don’t have to worry about breaking them.

Looking up, he noticed that the next man on the platform with Aaron wasn’t holding an animal. He was holding a wineskin. Aaron shook his head and held out his hands to stop the man. But the man just pushed him away and danced around the platform for a minute or so with the wineskin over his head, while Aaron shook his head and watched. Then the man walked over to the altar and poured his wine in the fire.

Whoosh! The flames shot at least ten feet into the air. The crowd oohed and aahed; some people clapped. The man then jumped off the platform and started dancing in front of it.

Another man climbed onto the platform and took off his robe. Dressed only in a loincloth, he started tearing the robe apart and throwing the pieces in the fire. Meanwhile, the men who were waiting to offer real sacrifices seemed to be getting impatient. Two of them tried to get on the platform at the same time and then started yelling and shoving each other. Finally one man pushed the other off the platform to the ground below, and the crowd clapped and cheered.

Ethan’s stomach churned. Why are they acting this way? he wondered. This is supposed to be a serious ceremony.

Suddenly he felt someone grab the back of his shirt. Looking up, he saw a man holding a wineskin over his head. “Our new god has commanded you to drink!” the man said, slurring his words. Before Ethan could move, purple wetness came raining down, splashing his forehead, soaking his hair.

Gasping, Ethan yanked himself free and stood up. Wine dripped from his hair into his face. The smell reminded him of rotting manna, and the churning in his stomach grew worse.

The man looked at Ethan and started laughing. Losing his balance, the man fell hard on his rear end —but the laughter didn’t stop.

Trembling, Ethan backed away. All around him he saw dozens, maybe hundreds of people, joining the celebration. “Hail to our new god!” someone yelled. A man was on his knees, arms stretched over his head, eyes closed, swaying from side to side. A woman wearing a pink veil over her face was dancing around him.

Ethan took a couple of steps to his left and bumped into a large, beefy man who had a neatly trimmed black beard. “Why aren’t you worshipping, boy?” the man growled.

Ethan tried to say something but couldn’t. All he could think about were the purple stripes painted on the man’s face and neck.

“I . . . I . . . just want to go home,” Ethan stammered.

He turned and ran as fast as he could back toward the main path. He glanced behind him a couple of times to make sure no one was following him, but all the people he saw were heading toward the mountain, not away from it. Gulping air, he ran all the way home.

When he got there, panting and wincing at the pain in his side, his family’s campsite still seemed deserted. Where could they be? he wondered, bending over to catch his breath.

Just then he heard noises coming from inside the tent. Was it somebody moaning? Crying? Afraid of what he might find, he walked slowly to the open flap and looked in.

He gasped. His father was lying on his back in the middle of the tent, a large bump in the center of his forehead and a dark bruise near his temple. His eyes were swollen shut, his upper lip split almost to his nose. Blood was matted in his hair, dried on his cheek, dripping from his ear.

His mother was kneeling over his father, gently wiping his face with a wet cloth. Her head and shoulders were shaking, and Ethan could hear her quiet sobs.

“W-what happened?” Ethan asked. His eyes began to water so much that his father’s face looked blurry.

His mother turned toward him. “Three men attacked him on the way to the stream,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “They beat him with clubs and kicked him.”

Ethan felt his jaw clench. “Why?”

“They said he was a traitor. They said if he didn’t change his mind about Aaron’s idol, the whole camp was in danger. They warned him to stop worrying about commands that didn’t matter anymore.”

Ethan looked down at the ground. He could feel the tears in his eyes start to spill over.

Blinking, he brushed his cheeks with the back of his hand and looked around the tent. “Where’s Leah?” he asked hoarsely.

“She went to find you,” his mother answered. “She said she knew where you would be.”

He froze. Leah was walking by herself through that mob in front of the mountain? The thought made him sick to his stomach.

And it’s my fault that she’s there, looking for me, he thought.

“I’ve got to go find her,” he said as he ran out of the tent.