When Elon Musk Spoke About Moses And The Exodus, Everyone Was Left In Tears!

Elon Musk stood at the podium, the room enveloped in a heavy silence, each person present holding their breath in anticipation. He gripped the edge of the podium tightly, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if the weight of the moment pressed down on him. For a moment, he said nothing, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quiet and uneven. “I’m not here to talk about anything big,” he began. “Not plans, not ideas, not the future. I just… I want to tell you a story.”

The audience shifted in their seats, uncertain yet intrigued. Musk was not known for speeches like this. He swallowed hard, looking up to meet their eyes. “It’s about Moses,” he said, “and the Exodus.” The room grew even quieter, the mention of the biblical figure drawing everyone in.

“I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately,” Musk continued, his voice trembling slightly. “Moses, the man who led the Israelites out of Egypt. The man who stood before Pharaoh and said, ‘Let my people go.’ The man who faced impossible odds and still found a way forward.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “But what strikes me most about Moses is that he didn’t want to do any of it.”

Musk’s voice softened as he shared, “Moses didn’t think he was the right person. He didn’t want to lead. He didn’t feel capable. And I’ve been feeling the same way—like I don’t have what it takes to do what I’ve been asked to do.” As he spoke, he noticed tears beginning to fill the eyes of some in the audience.

“Moses argued with God,” he continued. “He said, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh? I’m not a good speaker. I’m not strong enough.’ He doubted himself every step of the way. And yet, God chose him. God called him.” Musk’s voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on. “I felt that weight too—the fear of not being good enough, not being strong enough, of failing. But Moses… he didn’t lead because he was perfect. He didn’t lead because he had all the answers. He led because he trusted.”

The room froze in a silence that felt full, not empty. “Moses stood in front of the Red Sea,” Musk said, his voice steadying. “Behind him was Pharaoh’s army closing in, and in front of him was an impossible sea—endless and uncrossable. All he could do was trust. God told him to raise his staff, and he did. And the sea parted.”

Musk’s voice cracked, and he looked away for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m standing in front of my own Red Sea,” he admitted. “A place where everything feels impossible, where I don’t know what the next step is, where I’m scared that no matter what I do, it won’t be enough.” The audience was captivated, holding their breath.

“But Moses taught me something,” Musk continued. “He taught me that even when the sea looks too big, even when the path ahead feels hopeless, there’s a way forward. Not because we can do it on our own, but because there’s something greater than us making a way.” His words hung in the air, the weight of them undeniable.

“I don’t have all the answers,” Musk admitted. “I don’t know how to part the sea in front of me. But Moses didn’t either. He just took the step he was asked to take. He trusted when he didn’t understand. And that’s what I’m trying to do now—to trust, to take one step even when I’m scared.”

Tears began to quietly fall in the room. “Moses didn’t lead because he was strong,” Musk said softly. “He led because he obeyed. He moved forward not because he was fearless, but because he believed. And that’s what I need to do. That’s what we all need to do—take that first step, trust that the sea will part even when we can’t see how.”

He looked down for a moment, gathering himself, then lifted his eyes to meet the crowd. “We all have a Red Sea in front of us—something that feels too big, too impossible. But maybe, just maybe, the way forward is waiting for us to take that first step, to raise the staff in our hands even when it feels useless to trust.”

The room remained completely still, every person caught in the weight of what he had said. Musk stepped back from the podium, his breathing steady but his eyes wet with emotion. In that silence, something happened. It wasn’t applause; it wasn’t cheers. It was a quiet understanding that passed between him and the people in that room. They all had a Red Sea to cross, and for the first time, they believed they could.

As Elon stepped back from the podium, the silence lingered, the weight of his words heavy in the air. He considered stopping there, but something deep inside him urged him to continue. He gripped the edge of the podium again, leaning forward. “There’s more to the story of Moses,” he said, his voice breaking the stillness. “More that I’ve been thinking about, more that I’ve been wrestling with.”

“Moses didn’t just face the Red Sea,” Musk continued, his tone soft but deliberate. “He faced doubt—not just in himself, but from the very people he was trying to help. The Israelites didn’t trust him at first. They were angry with him. They told him he’d made their lives harder, not better. Can you imagine what that must have felt like? To stand there trying to lead while everyone around you is questioning if you’re the right person?”

The emotion in his voice deepened. “But here’s the thing: Moses didn’t quit. He didn’t walk away, even when it would have been easier. Even when he probably wanted to.” Musk took a deep breath, his gaze drifting toward the back of the room. “I felt that weight too—the weight of expectations, of trying to lead even when I don’t feel like I’m enough, of trying to be strong for others when I’m not sure I have the strength for myself.”

A few people in the audience wiped their eyes. “The story of Moses reminds me that he didn’t lead because he was perfect,” Musk said, his voice firm but softening. “He led because he was called. He led because he believed in something greater than himself. And even when he didn’t have the answers, even when he didn’t know how to move forward, he kept going.”

He looked at the audience, his eyes filled with emotion. “That’s what I’m learning to do—to carry the weight even when it’s heavy, to trust even when it’s hard, to keep going even when I don’t know what’s ahead.” The room remained still, the transition seamless. Musk had opened his heart, drawing them further into the story—not just of Moses, but of himself.

“There’s another part of Moses’ story that keeps me up at night,” Musk said, raising his head again. “It’s the loneliness.” The crowd leaned in, caught in the tension of the moment. “Moses wasn’t just leading people. He was leading people who didn’t understand him, people who doubted him, people who blamed him when things didn’t go the way they wanted.”

He paused, his hands resting on the podium. “I think about that a lot—how lonely he must have felt, standing there carrying the weight of all those people, trying to believe in something bigger than himself while they questioned him every step of the way.” The silence deepened.

“I felt that loneliness,” Musk admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. “It’s not the kind of loneliness that comes from being alone in a room. It’s the loneliness of knowing that no matter how hard you try, some people will never see the effort, the decisions, the sacrifices.” His words resonated with anyone who had ever tried to shoulder more than they thought they could bear.

“But Moses,” Musk said, his tone lifting slightly, “he kept going. Even when the people grumbled, even when they turned against him, even when he stood on that mountain begging God to give him strength, he didn’t quit.” The room stirred slightly, not from restlessness but from connection.

“That’s what I’m trying to hold on to,” Musk continued. “Sometimes leadership isn’t about being perfect. It’s not about everyone understanding you. It’s about continuing to lead even when it feels like the weight will crush you. It’s about faith.”

His gaze swept the room, and for the first time that night, he saw nods. They weren’t just listening now; they were with him. He knew this was the moment to press on. “But doubt doesn’t just disappear,” he said, breaking the stillness. “It wasn’t easy for Moses. Even after everything, even after God spoke to him directly, he still struggled to believe he was enough. And I know what that feels like.”

The audience remained completely focused, drawn further into his reflection. “Moses questioned God,” Musk continued. “He said, ‘I’m not the right person. I can’t speak well. I can’t do this.’ And you know what God told him? God didn’t tell him, ‘You’ll figure it out.’ He didn’t say, ‘You’re stronger than you think.’ He just said, ‘I will be with you.’”

The room felt even stiller than before. Musk’s voice grew quieter but carried a new kind of strength. “That’s been on my mind a lot—what it means to trust that you’re not walking alone. That even when the weight feels unbearable, there’s something greater than you carrying it too.”

His hands gripped the podium a little tighter. “Moses didn’t lead because he was fearless or perfect. He led because he trusted. He trusted that God’s presence was enough. And that’s what I’m trying to learn—that even when I don’t have all the answers, even when I feel like I can’t take another step, I’m not alone.”

The crowd was utterly silent, the intensity of his words washing over them. “And maybe that’s what we all need to remember,” Musk said, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “That we don’t have to do it all on our own. That even when we feel like we’re standing in front of an impossible sea, we’re not alone. We’re never alone.”

The room sat in stillness, the connection between him and the audience deeper than ever. Musk’s words weren’t just his; they belonged to everyone. They hung in the air, the stillness almost tangible. He took a deep breath, his hands resting lightly on the podium now, as though the weight he’d been carrying was just a little lighter.

“But here’s the part of Moses’ story that strikes me the most,” Musk said, his voice steady but low. “It’s not just that he trusted God’s promise to be with him. It’s that he kept going even when things got harder after he said yes.”

The audience remained captivated, their expressions reflecting a mix of anticipation and connection. “When Moses went to Pharaoh the first time and said, ‘Let my people go,’ do you know what happened?” Musk asked, his eyes moving over the crowd. “Things didn’t get better. They got worse. Pharaoh made the Israelites work harder. He took away the straw they needed to make bricks but still demanded the same number of bricks. And the people? They turned on Moses. They blamed him.”

A murmur moved through the crowd, quiet but full of recognition. Musk’s voice softened as he continued. “Moses could have given up. He could have walked away right then and said, ‘I tried, but it’s too hard. It’s not working.’ But he didn’t. He went back. He trusted that God hadn’t abandoned him, even when the circumstances made it look like he had.”

He paused, his hands gripping the podium more tightly. “That’s been a hard lesson for me—that sometimes when you step out in faith, things don’t get easier right away. Sometimes they get harder. And it’s in those moments, when you’re ready to give up, that you have to remember why you started in the first place.”

The room was completely still, the weight of his words reaching every corner. “Moses didn’t give up because he wasn’t doing it for himself,” Musk said, his voice quiet but firm. “He was doing it for the people he was called to lead, for something bigger than his own comfort or success. And that’s what I remind myself when I want to quit—that it’s not about me. It’s about the people who are depending on me, whether they know it or not.”

His eyes swept the room again, a flicker of vulnerability in them. “And maybe that’s what keeps all of us going—not the promise of an easy path, but the belief that what we’re doing matters, even when it’s hard.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was full of understanding.

Musk’s last words seemed to settle in the air like a steady heartbeat pulsing through the room. He looked out at the audience, their faces reflecting his own struggles, his own questions. He took a step back from the podium, hesitating for just a moment before leaning forward again. “But here’s the thing,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Moses didn’t get to see the promised land.”

The crowd stirred slightly, the unexpected turn pulling their attention even closer. “He led the people through the wilderness for 40 years,” Musk continued, “through hunger, rebellion, and battles. He gave everything he had to them, even when they doubted him, even when they turned away from God. And after all of that, he wasn’t the one to cross the Jordan. He got to see it from a distance, but he never set foot in it.”

His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on. “And that part—that part has been hard for me to understand. It feels unfair, doesn’t it? To give so much, to sacrifice so much, and to not get the reward you’ve been working toward?” The crowd was quiet, some nodding in recognition.

“But the more I think about it,” Musk said, his voice soft but steady, “the more I realize something. Moses’s story wasn’t about him. It was never about him. It was about what God was doing through him—for others, for the people he was leading, for the generations that came after him.”

He paused, his hands resting lightly on the podium. “And maybe that’s the real calling—to do what we’re asked to do, even when we don’t get to see the full outcome. To trust that what we’re building, what we’re sacrificing for, will matter—not just to us, but to the people who come after us.”

Tears quietly rolled down a few faces in the crowd. Musk’s voice softened again. “Moses didn’t enter the promised land, but he fulfilled his purpose. He led the people there. He gave them hope. He gave them a future. And maybe that’s what real leadership is—laying the foundation for others to succeed, even if you don’t get to see it yourself.”

The room was still, every heart tied to the weight of his words. Elon stood silent for a moment, letting them absorb the meaning before moving forward. He let the silence linger, the weight of his last words filling the room. He looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before raising his head again. His voice was calm but filled with emotion.

“And that’s where I am now,” he said, trying to understand what it means to lead even when I might not see the end. To trust that what I’m doing isn’t about me, but about what’s being built through me—for others, for the future.”

The room was utterly still, the audience clinging to every word. “Moses wasn’t perfect,” Musk continued. “He doubted, he failed, he got angry. But through it all, he stayed faithful to the call. And that’s what I want to hold on to—that even in my own failures, my own doubts, the work isn’t in vain.”

The room felt connected in a shared understanding. Musk’s voice grew softer, almost reflective. “When Moses stood on that mountain looking out at the promised land he wouldn’t enter, I wonder what he felt. Was he disappointed? Was he at peace? Maybe he knew in that moment that the journey had been worth it—that it wasn’t about him getting there; it was about the people he had led.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, his eyes meeting those of the audience. “And that’s what I think we all have to hold on to—that sometimes our purpose isn’t about what we achieve, but about what we leave behind. About the lives we touch, the people we lift up, and the hope we give to those who come after us.”

A few in the crowd nodded, while others wiped tears. Musk straightened slightly, his voice stronger now. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how my journey will end. But what I do know is this: we’re all part of something bigger—something we can’t always see. And even when the way forward feels impossible, we have to keep going—not for ourselves, but for the people who are counting on us.”

He stepped back from the podium. The room was still completely silent, but it wasn’t an empty silence. It was full of hope, reflection, and connection. As Elon walked off the stage, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: peace. Not because he had figured it all out, but because he knew he didn’t have to. He was part of something bigger, and that was enough.

Not stopping there, ‘child-bearing machine’ Elon Musk continues to welcome his 14th child

“After discussing with Elon Musk and on Arcadia’s birthday, we felt it appropriate to share about our wonderful son, Seldon Lycurgus,” Shivon Zilis, Neuralink’s senior director of operations, wrote on his personal page on February 28.

In the comment section below the post, Tesla CEO left a heart icon, implicitly expressing his joy.

Zilis’s post first revealed the name of his third child, who will be born in early 2024. Previously, Elon Musk welcomed twins Strider and Azure with Shivon Zilis in November 2021.

In June 2024, it was reported that the couple had secretly welcomed their third child. Shortly after, Musk exclusively confirmed to Page Six : “There is no secret fatherhood. All of our friends and family know. Not releasing a press release does not mean it is secret.”

The news of Elon Musk’s 14th child comes as the controversy surrounding the billionaire’s 13th child remains unresolved. Specifically, on February 14, social media influencer Ashley St. Clair announced on X that she and Elon Musk are expecting a child together in September 2024.

“I was completely isolated during my pregnancy. All work was put on hold. I was told not to tell anyone,” St. Clair said.

According to text messages between St. Clair and Jared Birchall, Musk’s manager, the young mother complied with the billionaire’s wishes to keep his name off the birth certificate for privacy, security, and secrecy. “It’s hard to put into words what I’m going through right now. I’m sad that the media is forcing me to speak out. But it’s also a relief because I’ve lived in secrecy for almost a year,” she wrote.

Despite the shock of the incident, St. Clair is at peace. She hopes the revelation will help her and her child live a normal life.

“Almost every relationship in my life became distorted and dishonest because I couldn’t tell what was going on. My son never went outside for five months because I was afraid someone would see,” St. Clair said.

The news that Elon Musk is expecting his 14th child probably doesn’t surprise the media. The billionaire has always emphasized that the population decline is getting worse and is therefore racing to…have as many children as possible.

“I’m doing my best to confront the population crisis. The declining birth rate is the greatest danger civilization has ever faced. Mark my words, this is the sad truth. I hope you have big families, and congratulations to those of you who do,” Musk said proudly.

Elon Musk currently has at least 15 children. He has 6 children with his ex-wife Justine Wilson (1 child has passed away), 3 children with singer Grimes, 3 children with his subordinate Shivon Zilis, and 3 children with Neuralink Director Shivon Zilis.