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God Leveled Egypt's Fields in the Fields Where Israel Had Labored

Egypt forced Israel to plow and harvest their farmland for generations. God's answer came as hail mixed with fire and then locusts with the teeth of lions.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Hands in Egyptian Soil
  2. God Reaches Across the Sky to Release the Hail
  3. The Locusts and the Teeth of Lions
  4. Measure for Measure in the Dirt

Hands in Egyptian Soil

It was not only pyramids. The Egyptians had driven the Israelites into the fields, made them work the soil that fed Egypt's empire, season after season. They plowed the hard ground before the Nile flood. They scattered the seed when the water receded. They tended the orchards that grew sweet fruit in the Delta. They harvested what others would eat, loaded the granaries that stored Egypt's surplus, and had nothing to show for it. Israelite backs bent over Egyptian soil for generations, growing Egyptian wealth from Egyptian earth with Israelite labor. The crops flourished. The storehouses filled. And when the harvest was in, the overseers went back to the brick pits to assign the next assignment.

God watched this accounting build for four hundred years.

God Reaches Across the Sky to Release the Hail

The hail God sent was not weather. The midrash describes God reaching from earth to heaven to release it, a gesture of such scale that the physical limits of heaven and earth stretched to accommodate it. What fell from that reach came as hailstones wrapped in fire. The two elements existed inside each other without conflict: fire burning within ice, ice holding fire, each serving its purpose without destroying the other. The orchards went first. Trees that Israelite hands had pruned and watered and coaxed into bearing fruit for decades were shattered to wood and bark in the time it takes a storm to cross a field. Branches stripped. Trunks split. What the hail did not level it left broken, bent at angles nothing would straighten. The grain crops followed, stalks beaten flat into mud.

Moses had warned Pharaoh this was coming. He had walked to the palace wall and drawn a line, marking how high the hail would reach, so the Egyptians would know that what was falling had been measured before it fell, calibrated precisely to the debt Egypt owed. Some Egyptians believed him and brought their animals inside. Others did not, and those animals died in the fields.

The Locusts and the Teeth of Lions

What the hail left standing, the locusts ate.

The aggadic tradition describes the locusts' teeth as being like the teeth of a lion, which is not literary decoration. It is a claim about what kind of creature God deployed. Ordinary locusts destroy a field by numbers. These locusts destroyed by force. They did not merely consume what grew in the soil; they stripped the surface of whatever remained after the hailstones had finished. The trees already shattered were cleared of their remaining leaves and bark. The flattened grain was eaten to the roots. Nothing that had grown from Egyptian soil, tended by Israelite labor, was left above the ground.

A wind from the east brought the locusts in. A wind from the west drove them out. The tradition notes the dramatic precision of the exit: the locusts did not merely die or scatter. They were lifted from Egypt and deposited in the Red Sea in a mass so dense it was visible from the shore. Egypt watched its agricultural ruin carried off in one visible motion.

Measure for Measure in the Dirt

The tradition is precise about the logic of this sequence. Israel was made to work Egypt's fields. Egypt's fields were destroyed. Israel was made to tend Egypt's orchards. Egypt's orchards were leveled. The plague that fell on the specific domain in which the slaves had been forced to labor is not coincidental, not a matter of God choosing crops because crops are vulnerable. It is a statement about how divine justice operates: in the exact territory of the injustice, with instruments proportionate to the wrong.

Shemot Rabbah, the midrashic collection on Exodus, frames the entire agricultural sequence of plagues as a measure-for-measure accounting. What Egypt extracted from Israel through field labor came back on Egypt through the destruction of those same fields. The soil that had grown Egypt's empire on Israelite bodies was the soil God chose to break when the time came to settle the account.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Shemot Rabbah 12:3Shemot Rabbah

In the book of Exodus, we read, "The Lord said to Moses: Extend your hand toward the heavens, and there will be hail throughout the land of Egypt…" (Exodus 9:22). It seems straightforward. But the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Shemot Rabbah, dives deeper, using this moment as a springboard to explore God's power and, surprisingly, God's willingness to bend the rules.

The verse "Whatever the Lord wished, He has done…" (Psalms 135:6) is brought in to illuminate the point. But how do we reconcile this with the idea that God has already set the universe in motion with certain laws? Doesn't it say in (Psalms 115:16), “The heavens are the heavens of the Lord, but the earth He has given to the children of men”?

Shemot Rabbah uses a powerful analogy: imagine a king who decrees that Romans can't go to Syria and Syrians can't go to Rome. That’s how God initially set up the world – heavens for God, earth for humanity.

Then comes the Matan Torah, the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. According to the Midrash, this was a game-changer. God essentially canceled the first decree! God said, in effect, those below can ascend to those above, and those above can descend to those below. And God leads by example, as it says, "The Lord descended onto Mount Sinai" (Exodus 19:20), and "To Moses He said: Ascend to God" (Exodus 24:1). God, in a sense, lowers Godself to meet us, and invites us to rise to meet God. It's a radical act of connection, of breaking down the barriers that were initially in place. This is what is meant by "Whatever the Lord wished, He has done, in the heavens and on the earth.”

This isn't a one-time thing, either. The Midrash continues, pointing to the creation story itself. Initially, God said, “Let the waters be gathered” (Genesis 1:9). But then, when God wanted to act differently, God turned dry land into sea, as it says, “Who summons the water of the sea” (Amos 5:8; 9:6), and "All the fountains of the great deep burst" (Genesis 7:11). And conversely, God turned the sea into dry land, as we see when "the children of Israel walked on dry land in the midst of the sea" (Exodus 14:29) and "He led them through the depths, as through a wilderness" (Psalms 106:9).

And that brings us back to Moses in Egypt. Moses, a man on earth, is given the power to influence the heavens. "The Lord said to Moses: Extend your hand toward the heavens…" (Exodus 9:22). It's isn't it?

But why the hail in the first place? The Midrash tells us that the Egyptians had forced the Israelites to become vineyard planters, gardeners, and orchard keepers. So, God sent hail to destroy what they had built.

And the hail fell "upon man, upon animal." Why? Because, as the Holy One saw, the Egyptians didn't heed God's warning to bring their livestock inside (Exodus 9:19). They didn't listen. They deserved the full force of the hail.

So what does this all mean? Is God fickle? Arbitrary? I don’t think so. Instead, it suggests a God who is both powerful and responsive. A God who sets the rules, yes, but also a God who is willing to break them, to bend them, to create new possibilities when necessary. It's a reminder that even the most fundamental laws can be superseded by something even more important: justice, connection, and the ever-evolving relationship between the Divine and humanity. Perhaps the question isn't about whether God can change the rules, but when and why. And what that tells us about the nature of God and our place in the universe.

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Shemot Rabbah 13:7Shemot Rabbah

That agonizing tease of liberation is a feeling the Israelites knew all too well as they stood on the brink of freedom from Egypt. We find ourselves in the thick of it in (Exodus 10:19-20), a passage laden with divine intervention, dashed hopes, and a particularly dramatic exit for a plague of locusts.

Remember the plague of locusts? Swarms so thick they blotted out the sun, devouring every green thing in sight? A truly devastating blow against Egypt! But As we read in Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of rabbinic commentary on the Book of Exodus, the Egyptians, in a twisted turn, actually started to celebrate! They thought, "Aha! We'll just gather these locusts, salt them, and store them for later." Can you imagine? Trying to turn a divine plague into a pantry staple!

Rabbi Yoḥanan vividly captures the scene. The Egyptians, thinking they had outsmarted the Almighty, began gleefully filling barrels with locusts. But God, blessed be He, wasn't having it. As the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) recounts, He rebuked them: "Wicked ones, are you rejoicing over the plague that I brought upon you?"

Immediately, God sent a mighty west wind. The Hebrew for "west wind" is ruach (spirit) yam, but in this context, it's described as an "exceedingly strong west wind" (ruach yam az me'od). And this wasn't just any breeze; it was a gale-force gust designed to undo the Egyptians' hubris. As Shemot Rabbah emphasizes, this wind didn't just carry away the locusts still munching on crops. Oh no. It took everything.

The passage states, "There did not remain even one locust." But what does that really mean? According to the Midrash, it meant that even the locusts already salted and stored in pots and barrels were swept away! Imagine the scene: barrels flying open, a whirlwind of salty locusts swirling into the sky, leaving the Egyptians empty-handed and undoubtedly bewildered.

And then, the verse chillingly concludes: “The Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he did not let the children of Israel go.” (Exodus 10:20)

Why? Why after such a powerful display? The Etz Yosef commentary suggests a fascinating possibility. Perhaps, witnessing the utter and complete removal of even salted locusts, Pharaoh concluded that the plague wasn't a divine act at all, but rather the result of powerful sorcery. After all, wouldn’t a real plague of locusts leave something behind? This explanation allowed Pharaoh to rationalize his stubbornness, to attribute the events to magic rather than divine power, and thus, to harden his heart once more.

What a heartbreaking moment. The Israelites are SO close. God demonstrates His power in undeniable ways. And yet, Pharaoh, blinded by his own pride and perhaps a touch of magical thinking, slams the door shut.

This story, found within the larger narrative of the Exodus, reminds us that even in the face of overwhelming evidence, people can choose to cling to their own interpretations, their own narratives, even when those narratives lead to oppression and suffering. It's a powerful reminder to examine our own hearts, to ask ourselves: What beliefs are we clinging to so tightly that we are willing to ignore the winds of change, the clear signs pointing towards a more just and compassionate world?

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Shemot Rabbah 12:2Shemot Rabbah

The Torah tells us, "Behold, I will rain down tomorrow at this time very severe hail, that there has not been like it in Egypt since the day it was founded until now" (Exodus 9:18). The midrash, the rabbinic commentary, really digs into this. Specifically, Shemot Rabbah asks, how exact was this prediction?

In Zavdi ben Levi, the prediction was incredibly specific. He says that Moses actually scratched a mark on the wall and told Pharaoh, "When the sun reaches here, the hail will fall tomorrow." Can you imagine? A literal countdown to divine wrath!

The midrash doesn't stop there. It points out a subtle difference in the phrasing compared to the plague of the firstborn. Regarding the firstborn, it says, "Nor will be like it any more" (Exodus 11:6). But concerning the hail, it only says, "That there has not been like it." The implication? The hail was unprecedented, but not unrepeatable.

The Shemot Rabbah interprets this to mean that an even more severe hail is destined to fall in the future, specifically during the days of Gog and Magog – a messianic era of conflict described in the prophetic books. As it says in (Job 38:23), God has "reserved for a time of trouble, for a day of battle and war," storehouses of hail. Similarly, (Ezekiel 38:22) speaks of "torrential rain and hailstones" in that future time. So, while the Egyptian hail was devastating, it was just a taste of things to come, according to this interpretation.

Now, let's consider the mercy embedded within this seemingly harsh plague. God warns the Egyptians: "Now, send and gather your livestock and everything that is yours in the field; every man and animal that will be found in the field and will not be gathered into the house, the hail will fall upon them and they will die" (Exodus 9:19).

Isn't that amazing? Even in anger, the Holy One, blessed be He, shows compassion. Shemot Rabbah emphasizes this, noting that God didn't immediately unleash the hail. Instead, He gave the Egyptians a chance to protect themselves and their animals. Those who "feared the word of the Lord" heeded the warning and brought their servants and livestock indoors. Those who "disregarded the word of the Lord" left them exposed.

And who were these people? "He who feared the word of the Lord among the servants of Pharaoh," the Rabbis say, "that was Job." Yes, that Job, the righteous sufferer of the Book of Job. "And he who disregarded," that was Pharaoh and his people. Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, expands on this, painting a picture of divided loyalties and moral choices within Egyptian society.

So what does this all mean? This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just about a historical plague. It's about the precision of prophecy, the nuances of divine justice, and the enduring presence of mercy, even in times of wrath. And perhaps, most profoundly, it's about the choices we make when confronted with a divine warning: do we listen, or do we ignore?

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