Parshat Shemot5 min read

God Promised Wonders But Asked Israel to Walk

God names the land before Israel can imagine escape, strikes Egypt with wonders no single telling captures, then tells Israel to move toward the sea.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Land Was Named Before Israel Could Picture It
  2. God Promised Wonders Egypt Would Not Survive
  3. Israel Stood Trapped Between Two Walls of Death
  4. The Plagues Carried Layers No Counting Exhausted
  5. God Showed Moses Love Through the Law

The Land Was Named Before Israel Could Picture It

Israel was making bricks in Egypt, still under the taskmaster's count, still sleeping in whatever shelter a slave community assembles, when God began describing the destination. A good and expansive land, flowing with milk and honey, the land of the Canaanite and the Hittite and the Amorite and the Perizzite and the Hivite and the Jebusite. Six nations were named, each one a wall between Israel and the promise. The detail was not designed to discourage. It was designed to make the promise concrete. You can only move toward what you can picture, and a slave who has never lived anywhere but Egypt needed the map before the march could begin. Shemot Rabbah hears God's descent to deliver Israel not as an improvisation in response to unbearable suffering but as covenant memory arriving on schedule. God had told Jacob: I will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up. The outcry that reached heaven was real. But the promise had preceded the outcry by generations.

God Promised Wonders Egypt Would Not Survive

Before any plague had fallen, God told Moses what the end would look like. He would stretch out His hand and strike Egypt with all His wonders. Then Pharaoh would send Israel out. Not release out of mercy. Not negotiate out of reason. Send out, because the cost of keeping them would finally exceed the cost of freeing them. The Midrash turns those wonders into a structure that no single account can fully hold. Ten plagues, but behind the ten there are layers: three by Aaron's hand, three by Moses's hand, three from heaven without a human intermediary, and one, the death of the firstborn, by God Himself with no instrument at all. Each layer adds severity. Each layer adds precision. Egypt was not destroyed carelessly or randomly. It was struck according to a sequence that matched its crimes and measured its refusals, each plague calibrated to the specific way Pharaoh had refused the one before.

Israel Stood Trapped Between Two Walls of Death

The sea was in front of them. Pharaoh's chariots were behind them. The desert was on either side. Israel cried out and then said to Moses what people say when fear has made everything visible except escape: was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us here to die in the wilderness? Moses told them: do not be afraid. Stand firm and see the salvation of the Lord. What he did not tell them was that God was simultaneously telling him: why are you crying out to Me? Tell the children of Israel to move forward. The rescue required the impossible step before the road appeared. Salvation was not going to arrive while Israel was standing still. It was going to appear when Israel moved toward the water, and the water itself had already been told, at the moment of creation, that this day was coming. The sea would not part until someone stepped into it.

The Plagues Carried Layers No Counting Exhausted

The Midrash on the plagues never agrees on the final number. At the sea, the rabbis argued over multiples. If each plague in Egypt contained four phenomena, at the sea each plague contained five. Some said the plagues in Egypt contained four divine acts each, making forty in total. Some said at the sea the number reached two hundred. The argument is not about arithmetic. It is about a principle: God's action against Egypt was not a single event with a clean edge. It was a sustained declaration, spoken in signs and wonders, that the world had an Author and that Author's patience had limits. Every plague that followed Pharaoh's hardened heart was a re-announcement of the same fact in a new register. Egypt kept refusing to hear, and God kept speaking louder.

God Showed Moses Love Through the Law

After Egypt was crossed and the sea was crossed and the water from the rock was drunk and the manna had accumulated its lessons, there was still a hunger in Moses that the plagues and the miracles had not fed. He had seen God's back but not His face. He had heard the Name but not understood its full weight. He wanted to know the divine ways. At some point in the wilderness, Shemot Rabbah finds the moment in a verse from Exodus, God showed Moses the depth of love available to a prophet who had accepted the law's demands. The commandments were not a burden laid on top of freedom. They were the form that freedom took when it stopped being merely the absence of Egypt and started being the presence of covenant. Moses had carried the law down the mountain twice. The second time the tablets were cut by human hands, as if God were asking Moses to participate in his own instruction. Love was shown through the act of making law together.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

5 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 3:3Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah turns to A Land Flowing With Milk and Honey Awaits Israel.

Shemot Rabbah, a collection of Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interpretations on the Book of Exodus, digs into this very question. The text points us back to Jacob, the patriarch. Remember when Jacob went down to Egypt? God promised him, "I will go down with you into Egypt, and I will also surely bring you up again" (Genesis 46:4).

So, God's "coming down" to deliver the Israelites isn't just about this moment, this generation. It's about fulfilling a promise made long ago. As Shemot Rabbah emphasizes, God is now coming down to bring Jacob's descendants up, to the land He swore to their ancestors. It’s a moment generations in the making. God states, "And to take them up from that land…".

Why now? Why this specific moment in history?

The very next verse, (Exodus 3:9), gives us a clue: "And now, behold, the outcry of the children of Israel has come to Me, and I have also seen the oppression with which the Egyptians oppress them." Hasn’t God always known about their suffering?

The Midrash explains that until now, their outcry hadn’t fully reached God. Why? Because the time hadn't yet arrived. The prophecy given to Abraham, that his descendants would be enslaved and afflicted for four hundred years (Genesis 15:13), had to run its course. It was a cosmic countdown, if you will, ticking towards this moment of liberation.

And then comes the call to action. God tells Moses, "Go now, and I will send you to Pharaoh, that you may bring My people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt" (Exodus 3:10). Seems straightforward. But even this simple command is ripe for interpretation.

Rabbi Elazar, quoted in Shemot Rabbah, makes a fascinating observation about the Hebrew word for "Go" – lekha (לְכָה). He suggests reading lekha as a combination of lekh ata – essentially meaning "go, you!" The implication? If you, Moses, don't deliver them, then there is no one else who can. Wow. The weight of a nation's freedom rests on one man's shoulders. It speaks to the immense responsibility, the unique calling, that each of us might face in our own lives. We might not be leading an entire people out of slavery, but we all have moments where we are called to act, to stand up, to make a difference. And sometimes, just sometimes, it might feel like if we don't do it, who will?

The story of the Exodus isn't just a historical event; it's a timeless reminder of promise, patience, and the power of a single individual to change the course of history. And it all begins with that simple, yet profound, command: Lekha – Go.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 3:11Shemot Rabbah

In (Exodus 3:20), God says, "I will extend My hand, and smite Egypt with all My wonders that I will perform in its midst; after that he will let you go." Shemot Rabbah unpacks this, connecting it directly to God’s promise to Abraham in (Genesis 15:14): "And also that nation which they will serve, I will judge." The plagues weren't just random acts of divine power. They were a carefully calibrated punishment, "to fit their crime." God, according to this understanding, intentionally hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Why? So the punishment, and therefore the justice, could be fully realized. Only after the full measure of retribution was complete, would Pharaoh finally release the Israelites.

The story doesn't end with freedom. It continues with wealth. (Exodus 3:21) promises, "I will give this people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians, and it will be when you go, you will not go empty-handed." Again, Shemot Rabbah links this back to God's promise to Abraham: "And afterward they will emerge with great wealth" (Genesis 15:14).

The commentary suggests that God had to ensure the Israelites left with riches. Why? To silence any potential claim from Abraham himself! Imagine Abraham saying, "You fulfilled the part about servitude and affliction (Genesis 15:13), but what about the 'great wealth' (Genesis 15:14)?" God preemptively addresses this potential grievance by arranging the "spoiling of the Egyptians."

(Exodus 3:22) details how this would happen: "Every woman shall ask of her neighbor, and of she who lives in her house, silver vessels, and gold vessels, and garments; and you shall place them upon your sons, and upon your daughters; and you shall despoil the Egyptians." Shemot Rabbah emphasizes the significance of the garments, noting how essential they were for dignity and avoiding shame, "as when a person sets out on the road, if he lacks garments, he is embarrassed."

And that word, "venitzaltem" – "you shall despoil" – is particularly striking. The commentary interprets it powerfully: the Israelites were "destined to make Egypt like the depths [metzulot] that have no fish." Utterly emptied.

So, what are we to make of all this? The Exodus isn’t just a story of liberation; it's a complex narrative of divine justice, fulfilled promises, and even, arguably, a pre-emptive defense against potential ancestral claims! It challenges us to consider the many-sided nature of God's actions and the intricate web of promises and obligations that underpin the Jewish story. It makes you wonder, doesn't it: what does it truly mean to be free, and what are we entitled to after suffering?

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 9:10Shemot Rabbah

A reader can see them as just divine punishment, but Jewish tradition often digs deeper, searching for layers of meaning. one fascinating idea from Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus.

Our story centers on the very first plague: water turning to blood. Remember the dramatic scene in (Exodus 7:18-19)? "The fish that are in the Nile will die and the Nile will become foul; and the Egyptians will loathe to drink water from the Nile...Take your staff, and stretch your hand over the water of Egypt...and they will become blood." A pretty devastating image. But have you ever wondered why Moses didn't strike the Nile himself? Why was it Aaron who performed this particular miracle?

Rabbi Tanhum poses this very question in Shemot Rabbah. The answer? A profound lesson in gratitude. The Holy One, blessed be He, says to Moses, in effect: "The water protected you when you were cast into the Nile as a baby. It wouldn't be right for you to now strike it with a plague. Aaron will have to do it." Isn't that amazing? The water that saved Moses as an infant now becomes a source of suffering for the Egyptians. There's a beautiful, almost poetic justice at play.

The plague was comprehensive. Shemot Rabbah emphasizes that "everything that was in the Nile, in the ponds, and in the rivers" turned to blood. Even water in jugs! It goes on to say that "even what an Egyptian spit was blood." Yikes!

But why blood specifically? Shemot Rabbah explains that this was midah k'neged midah (מידה כנגד מידה), "measure for measure" – a punishment that fit the crime. This concept appears elsewhere, like in (Genesis 15:14), where God tells Abraham, "The nation that they will serve I will judge..." The Egyptians, we're told, prevented Israelite women from immersing in ritual baths (mikva'ot) after their menstrual cycles. This was a cruel attempt to control the Israelite population by preventing them from conceiving children. So, in response, God afflicted their water supply with blood. The very source of life and purification was turned against them.

The text continues with a passage from (Exodus 7:20-21): "Moses and Aaron did so, as the Lord commanded...and all the water that was in the Nile turned into blood. The fish that were in the Nile died; and the Nile became foul, and the Egyptians could not drink water from the Nile; and the blood was throughout the land of Egypt."

And here's where it gets even more interesting. Rabbi Avin HaLevi, son of Rabbi, adds another layer to the story. He suggests that the Israelites actually profited from the plague of blood! How? Imagine an Egyptian and an Israelite sharing a house with a tub of water. When the Egyptian tried to draw water, it would turn to blood. But when the Israelite drew water, it remained pure. The Egyptian would have to plead with the Israelite for a sip, and even then, the moment it touched the Egyptian, it would become blood again! The only way for the Egyptian to get untainted water was to purchase it from the Israelite. Thus, the Israelites became wealthy from the very plague meant to punish the Egyptians.

So, what can we take away from this passage in Shemot Rabbah? It’s not just a simple story of divine retribution. It's a multi-layered narrative about gratitude, justice, and even a bit of entrepreneurial spirit in the face of adversity. It reminds us to look beyond the surface of the text and consider the deeper meanings hidden within. And perhaps, it challenges us to think about how we, too, can find opportunities for growth and even prosperity, even in the midst of challenging times. What hidden blessings might be disguised as plagues in our own lives?

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 21:8Shemot Rabbah

The Israelites certainly did at the Red Sea. Pharaoh’s army was bearing down on them, and the sea was, well, a sea. So what were they supposed to do? Pray? Act? Just give up?

The Book of Exodus tells the story of this pivotal moment, but the Rabbis, in their infinite wisdom, delved even deeper, exploring the nuances of the situation in Shemot Rabbah, the collection of Midrash on Exodus.

One particularly striking passage in Shemot Rabbah 21 opens with a parable. It speaks of a king whose son has angered him. The king is ready to unleash a harsh punishment, but the son's tutor intercedes. The king responds, "Why are you asking on behalf of my son? I have already reconciled with my son!"

Rabbi Avtolis the elder uses this parable to illuminate God's interaction with Moses at the Red Sea. Moses, remember, had expressed doubt, saying, "Since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has harmed this people, and You did not rescue Your people" (Exodus 5:23). And the people themselves grumbled, "Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness?" (Exodus 14:11).

So, God asks Moses, essentially, "Why are you crying out to me now?"

The answer, according to the Rabbis, isn’t about endless prayer in that moment. Instead, God tells Moses, "Speak to the children of Israel and have them set forth (veyisa’u)." In other words, "Have them remove (yasiu) a matter from their heart." What's that matter? Doubt!

Rabbi further elaborates on this, suggesting that God was so impressed by the faith the Israelites did have, that was enough to warrant splitting the sea. They didn’t question Moses when he told them to turn back toward the sea. They trusted.

Rabbi Eliezer adds a different perspective, highlighting the urgency of the situation. "There is a time to shorten [prayers] and a time to extend," God tells Moses. "My children are in a state of distress… and you are standing and extending your prayers? 'Speak to the children of Israel and have them set forth.'" Sometimes, action speaks louder than words, even sacred ones.

Rabbi Yehoshua takes this a step further: "Israel only needs to set forth. Let them set their legs forth from the dry land to the sea, and you will see the miracles that I will perform on their behalf." Talk about faith! Taking that first step, even when you can’t see the path forward, is key.

Rabbi Meir offers yet another fascinating angle. God says to Moses that Israel doesn't even need to pray. Drawing a parallel to the creation of dry land for Adam, the first human, God emphasizes that for a nation destined to proclaim, "This is my God and I will glorify Him" (Exodus 15:2), surely a miracle is warranted.

Then, the Rabbis shift to the idea of ancestral merit, or zechut avot. Rabbi Benaya suggests that God will split the sea because of Abraham's actions, specifically his splitting of the wood (vayevaka) for the binding of Isaac (Genesis 22:3), connecting it to the splitting of the waters (vayibaku) in (Exodus 14:21). Rabbi Akiva attributes it to Jacob, citing the promise that his descendants would "spread to the west and to the east" (Genesis 28:14).

Finally, Rabbi Shimon brings it back to Moses, reminding us that God had already declared, "In all My house he is trusted" (Numbers 12:7). Moses, as God's trusted agent, has the authority to command the sea, as it is stated: "Raise your staff."

So, what do we take away from this interplay of interpretations? Perhaps it's that faith isn't just about prayer. It's about action, trust, and remembering the merits of those who came before us. It’s about recognizing that sometimes, the greatest miracle requires us to take that first step, even when the sea seems uncrossable. And maybe, just maybe, it's about knowing when to shorten the prayers and start moving forward.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 30:10Shemot Rabbah

It all centers around the Hebrew word ve’eleh, meaning "these are."

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) opens with a question: What's so special about ve’eleh? The Rabbis of old saw in it a profound evidence of God's love for Moses. Remember back in Egypt? Moses steps in to stop a fight between two Israelites, and Datan and Aviram lash out: "Who appointed you to be a leader and a judge over us?" (Exodus 2:14). A stinging rebuke.

In this Midrash, God doesn't forget such things. He turns their insult into Moses' glory. God says, in effect, "Because they demeaned him with those words, I will grant him greatness." How? Through the very phrase "These are [ve’eleh] the ordinances." The Zohar, that foundational text of Kabbalah, often illuminates the hidden connections between events and words, and here we see it in action.

The connection lies in the Hebrew. The Midrash points out that the word "appointed you" (samkha) shares a root with the word "place" (tasim) in the verse "These are the ordinances that you shall place [tasim] before them." The vav at the beginning of ve’eleh, a seemingly small conjunction, acts as a bridge, linking this moment to the earlier insult. It's as if God is saying, "Remember what they said? Well, now you are the one placing the ordinances before the people!" It's a divine mic drop, if you will.

There's more! The Midrash continues, shifting our focus slightly. Remember Jethro, Moses' father-in-law? He advises Moses to delegate some of his judicial responsibilities (Exodus 18:21). Jethro outlines four key attributes to look for in potential judges: capable men, fearers of God, men of truth, haters of ill-gotten gain.

But Moses, in his haste, seems to only focus on the first attribute: capable men (Exodus 18:25). He appoints judges, but according to the Midrash, they lack the other crucial qualities. God then tells Moses, "I gave you the duty of judgment, and you appointed others who do not know!" They don’t know the laws and they lack the necessary qualities to be ideal judges. So, what does God instruct Moses to do? "You go and teach them. These are the ordinances [that you shall place before them]."

In both interpretations, the phrase "These are the ordinances" becomes a pivotal moment of instruction and empowerment for Moses. It highlights both his unique role as a leader and the immense responsibility that comes with it.

What can we take away from this? Perhaps it's a reminder that even our lowest moments can be springboards for growth. That God notices injustice and works in mysterious ways to bring about justice and redemption. And maybe, just maybe, the next time we encounter a seemingly insignificant word or phrase, we'll remember this Midrash and ask ourselves: what hidden depths might lie beneath the surface? What story is waiting to be uncovered?

Full source