5 min read

Why God Kept Reshuffling Who Came First in Egypt

Moses the younger walked in front of Aaron the elder. A shepherd's staff outranked a scepter. God spent the Exodus tearing up every rule of rank.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Man Who Looked Around and Found No One
  2. Moses's Staff Entered the Palace Before His Title Did
  3. The Younger Walked in Front of the Elder
  4. The Firstborn's Connection to the Exodus

The Man Who Looked Around and Found No One

Moses was still a prince of Egypt when he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave. The Torah says he looked this way and that and saw that there was no man, and only then struck the Egyptian down. Shemot Rabbah refused to read that phrase as a simple check for witnesses. The rabbis asked what Moses was actually looking for when he turned his head.

Rabbi Yehuda said Moses saw there was no man willing to be zealous for God and act. Rabbi Nechemya said Moses saw no one righteous enough to invoke the divine name first and then strike. Others said Moses consulted the angels themselves about the Egyptian's case, asking whether this man deserved death before moving against him. The verdict came back: yes.

This was not how princes of Egypt normally operated. Princes did not take surveys of bystanders' righteousness before disciplining a slave master. But Moses was not acting as a prince. He was acting as the person he was in the process of becoming, and the process required that kind of precision. He was not impulsive. He was deliberate. He did not strike first and ask later. He asked first. He found that no one else was going to act. Then he acted.

Moses's Staff Entered the Palace Before His Title Did

God told Moses to go back to Egypt and confront Pharaoh. Moses brought a shepherd's staff. This was the object he was going to use to demonstrate divine authority in the court of the most powerful ruler in the known world. A piece of wood from the Midianite desert against the full institutional weight of Egyptian civilization.

The midrash preserved a tradition about that staff that located its origin before Moses was born. The staff had passed through hands, from Adam through Noah through Abraham through all the patriarchs, arriving at Jethro's household by a route the tradition documented. Jethro had planted it in his garden and it had remained there, rooted, until Moses came and pulled it out. No one else had been able to move it.

When it performed its signs in Pharaoh's court, swallowing the staffs of the Egyptian magicians, what was performing was not Moses's personal authority. It was the accumulated weight of every hand the staff had passed through. The younger brother who should not have been leading anything was carrying the instrument that was older than the Egyptian kingdom.

The Younger Walked in Front of the Elder

Moses and Aaron are listed in different orders in different verses of Exodus. Sometimes Moses comes first. Sometimes Aaron comes first. Shemot Rabbah noticed this variation and read it as deliberate. God kept the list from settling because the question of who came first was exactly what was at issue in the whole story.

The Torah's inheritance law gave the firstborn a double portion and the right of precedence. The patriarchal history kept violating it: Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, Joseph's dreams above his brothers' practical authority, Ephraim's hand over Manasseh's. The Exodus was not a break from this pattern. It was the pattern made explicit and systematic. God was answering a question across generations: which kind of priority is real?

Aaron was older. Aaron was an eloquent speaker. Aaron was, in many ways, the more conventionally qualified leader. Moses was the younger, the one with the stammer, the one who had spent forty years in the wilderness herding sheep. And Moses walked in front. Not because the rules of rank were wrong but because the mission required the person God had chosen for the mission, and that person was not selected by the rules of rank.

The Firstborn's Connection to the Exodus

The last plague killed the Egyptian firstborn. But it sanctified the Israelite firstborn. From that night forward, every Israelite firstborn son belonged to God in a special sense, set apart by the fact that on the night the Egyptian firstborns died, the Israelite firstborns lived because of something that had been done at a threshold marked in blood.

The sanctification of the firstborn was another inversion of the normal inheritance logic. The firstborn was not set apart because of what he would inherit or accumulate. He was set apart because of what he had survived without knowing it. His status was not earned. It was granted at a moment he could not remember. The youngest brothers who walked in front of their elders carried the same structure. Their priority was not the result of a competition they had won. It was the result of a selection they had not made.

God kept reshuffling the deck because the deck the world was using was measuring the wrong things. Birth order is a fact. It is not a verdict. The Exodus was God's extended argument that the verdict had to come from somewhere else, and that the somewhere else was a place that did not appear on any register of precedence the Egyptians were keeping.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

4 sources

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

Shemot Rabbah 1:29Shemot Rabbah

As is so often the case with Torah, the rabbis unpack layers upon layers of meaning. What did it really mean when it says "he saw that there was no man"?

It wasn't just about the absence of another human being. It was about something far deeper.

Rabbi Yehuda suggests that Moses saw “there was no man who would be zealous on behalf of the Holy One blessed be He, and kill him.” No one willing to stand up for justice, to act as God's agent in the world. A chilling thought, isn't it?

Rabbi Nechemya offers a slightly different take: there was no one who would invoke the name of God and then kill him. Perhaps the Egyptian’s actions were so egregious that they warranted a divine judgment, but no one present was righteous enough to carry it out with the proper intention.

And then there's the most unsettling interpretation of all, voiced by "the Rabbis" in the text: Moses foresaw that no righteous people would emerge from this Egyptian’s lineage, not even until the end of time. A stark, almost deterministic view of fate.

But how could Moses be sure? the verse says, Moses consulted with the angels! He asked them, "Is this one liable for execution?" And they confirmed it. So, "He saw that there was no man" – no one to speak in the Egyptian's favor.

Okay, so Moses struck down the Egyptian. But how? Here, the text offers a few possibilities. Rabbi Evyatar suggests a simple punch – a powerful one, no doubt. Another opinion claims he used a mortar rake to remove his brain! Yikes. But the Rabbis offer a more mystical explanation: Moses invoked the name of God, using its power to bring about the Egyptian's demise. This idea draws on the later accusation leveled against Moses, “Do you propose [omer] to kill me [as you killed the Egyptian?]” (Exodus 2:14), implying a power beyond mere physical strength.

And then Moses "concealed him in the sand.” Why sand? Because, the text explains, there was no one there except Israelites, who are likened to sand. Moses essentially tells them, "Just as sand makes no sound when moved, this matter should remain concealed among you.”

Of course, secrets rarely stay buried. The story continues that the matter was only heard by means of the Hebrews, as it is stated: “He went out on the second day and behold, two Hebrew men were fighting [nitzim]; [he said to the wicked one: why do you strike your counterpart?]” (Exodus 2:13).

These brawling Hebrews are identified as Datan and Aviram, notorious figures in the Israelite saga. The text cleverly connects them to other acts of rebellion, from hoarding manna to suggesting a return to Egypt. These two, it seems, were always troublemakers. The text even suggests that nitzim, the word for "fighting", hints at their ultimate end, linking their present quarrel to their future downfall.

Or, the text offers another explanation, nitzim hints at their intent to kill one another, citing (Deuteronomy 25:11), which Rabbi Elazar interprets as referring to a fight to the death.

And Moses' question, "Why do you strike your counterpart?" is revealing. The text points out that it doesn't say, "Why did you strike?" but "Why do you strike?" Implying that merely raising a hand in anger is enough to be considered wicked. And calling them "counterparts" suggests that both were equally wicked.

So, what are we left with? A single verse, packed with interpretations. It's a story about justice, about leadership, about the burden of power. It’s about the fine line between righteous action and potential corruption. And perhaps most importantly, it's a reminder that even our greatest heroes are complex figures, wrestling with difficult choices in a world that rarely offers easy answers.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 5:6Shemot Rabbah

The Torah tells us, "The Lord said to Moses: When you go back to Egypt, see all the wonders that I have placed in your hand and perform them before Pharaoh; but I will harden his heart, and he will not let the people go" (Exodus 4:21).

What exactly were these wonders God placed in Moses' hand? That's the question the ancient rabbis grappled with.

It first appears immediately of the serpent, the leprosy, the turning of water into blood. After all, these are the miracles Moses performed early on. But as Shemot Rabbah, one of the great collections of Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), points out, God instructed Moses to perform those signs specifically for the Israelites, not for Pharaoh. And, interestingly, we don't actually see Moses performing those initial signs before Pharaoh. So, what gives? What's the real wonder God entrusted to Moses?

The answer, according to Shemot Rabbah, is startlingly simple: it's the staff. But not just the physical staff itself, but what it represented. This was no ordinary walking stick. This staff, they suggest, held the power of all ten plagues, etched upon it in a coded message.

Think of it: this humble shepherd's crook, a symbol of leadership and guidance, also contained the potential for unimaginable devastation. How? Through an acronym, a sort of divine shorthand: detzakh adash be’aḥav. Detzakh represents the first three plagues: dam (blood), tzefarde’a (frogs), and kinnim (lice). Adash stands for arov (wild beasts), dever (pestilence), and shekhin (boils). And finally, be’aḥav gives us barad (hail), arbeh (locusts), ḥoshekh (darkness), and bekhorot (the slaying of the firstborn).

So, in this single, seemingly innocuous phrase, the rabbis of the Midrash found the key to understanding the wonder God placed in Moses' hand. God, Shemot Rabbah tells us, was saying: "These are the plagues that I have placed in your hand. Perform them before Pharaoh with this staff."

It's a powerful image, isn't it? Moses, standing before the most powerful man in Egypt, holding in his hand not just a staff, but the coded potential for divine retribution. A reminder that even the simplest objects can be imbued with extraordinary power, and that even the most daunting tasks can be accomplished with faith and the right tools.

What "staff" do we carry with us, perhaps without even realizing its potential? And how can we use it to confront the "Pharaohs" in our own lives, the forces that seek to hold us back from fulfilling our own missions?

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 9:5Shemot Rabbah

It might seem trivial, but sometimes, the order of things speaks volumes.

Think about when Moses and Aaron first approach Pharaoh. The verse in (Exodus 7:10) tells us, "Moses and Aaron came to Pharaoh." Simple enough. But hold on. As Shemot Rabbah, one of the great collections of Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), points out, wasn't Aaron the elder brother? Shouldn't he have taken the lead?

Why does Moses get top billing here?

Well, there are a couple of fascinating explanations offered. One idea is that Moses was "greater than him in Egypt." How so? We find in (Exodus 11:3), "The man, Moses, too, was very great in the land of Egypt." He held a certain stature, a position of influence that perhaps superseded age in this specific context.

But there’s another, even more powerful reason suggested. Remember when God tells Moses, "And you will be to him as god" (Exodus 4:16)? The Holy One, blessed be He, essentially elevated Moses to a position of authority over Aaron, at least in this mission. And, as Shemot Rabbah puts it, "it is appropriate for the master to enter first." It's a matter of hierarchy, divinely ordained. Moses, hesitant and initially reluctant, is now being placed in a role of almost divine leadership relative to his own brother. It emphasizes the immense responsibility and the weight of the task ahead.

And it wasn’t a spontaneous performance, either. The text continues, "And they did so, as the Lord commanded" meaning they didn't just burst in with a display of power. No, they waited until Pharaoh himself requested a sign, a wonder. It’s a subtle but important detail. It shows that their actions were deliberate, divinely guided, and responsive to the situation. Only then, "Aaron cast his staff," and the real drama began.

What does this little detail tell us? It's not just about who goes first. It’s about the complexities of leadership, the delicate balance of power, and the way divine will can reshape human relationships. It's a reminder that even the smallest details in the Torah can hold profound meaning, if we take the time to look.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 19:8Shemot Rabbah

It goes all the way back to the Exodus, to the very night God spared the Israelite firstborn while striking down the Egyptians. But there’s more to it than just remembering a historical event. It's about a constant, living connection to that moment of liberation.

Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interpretations on the Book of Exodus, explores the commandment, "Consecrate to Me every firstborn" (Exodus 13:2). Rabbi Nehemya offers a powerful insight: God tells the Israelites that when they enter the Promised Land, they must transfer "the first issue of the womb" to Him (Exodus 34:19). But does this mitzvah, this sacred obligation, only begin once they’re settled in their new home?

The text pushes back against this idea. The verse explicitly states, “You shall transfer the first issue of the womb to the Lord" (Exodus 13:12). God cautioned them to consecrate the firstborn immediately, not just when they arrived in Canaan, because He had spared them in Egypt. – the act of redemption, of giving back to God what is rightfully His, is inextricably linked to that initial act of salvation.

It’s not just about following a rule; it's about remembering. "And when your son asks you tomorrow, saying: What is this? You shall say to him: With strength of hand the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage" (Exodus 13:14).

The Midrash emphasizes the importance of transmitting the story. When your child asks about the meaning of this ritual, you must tell them of the miracles performed in Egypt when Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let the Israelites go. "It was when Pharaoh resisted" (Exodus 13:15). We are meant to actively engage with the narrative, to relive the Exodus each time we perform this mitzvah.

And the physical reminders? They're crucial. "Make it a sign on your hand and on your head, as it is stated: 'It will be a sign on your hand, [and as an ornament between your eyes]' (Exodus 13:16)." This, the Midrash suggests, alludes to tefillin – the phylacteries worn on the arm and head during prayer. These aren't just accessories; they're tangible connections to the Exodus, constantly reminding us of God's intervention.

The Midrash then offers a beautiful analogy: A king throws a grand celebration for his daughter who had been captured by enemies. To ensure she never forgets her ordeal and his love, he asks her to recreate the celebration – to wear a crown as a constant reminder. Similarly, God performed miracles for Israel, most notably killing the firstborn of Egypt while sparing the Israelites. Thus, He commands them regarding the sanctity of the firstborn because He Himself "smote every firstborn" (Exodus 12:29).

Therefore, the tefillin, the "crown" on the head of Israel, serve as a perpetual reminder of the miracle. The tradition is not just about the historical event, but about internalizing the meaning of redemption, of acknowledging God's presence in our lives, and of passing that understanding on to future generations. Tefillin serve as a crown, a daily reminder of this foundational event.

So, what does it mean to wear that metaphorical crown today? How do we keep the memory of liberation alive, not just in ritual, but in our everyday actions? Perhaps it's about recognizing the "Egypts" in our own lives – the oppressions, the limitations, the things that hold us back – and actively working towards freedom, for ourselves and for others.

Full source