Parshat Shemot5 min read

Pharaoh Chose Water and Found God Waiting There

Pharaoh studies the covenant with Noah and thinks he has found a gap in God's promise. He drowns the Hebrew boys. The Nile remembers the debt at the Red Sea.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The King Looked for a Loophole
  2. The Hebrew Women Gave Birth Like Wild Animals
  3. Moses Was Set as God Before Pharaoh
  4. Ephraim Left Egypt Early and Paid the Price
  5. The Ordinances Were Given at the Sea

The King Looked for a Loophole

Pharaoh was afraid, and fear made him clever in the wrong direction.

The children of Israel were multiplying. Their families were filling the delta. A people he had wanted as laborers was beginning to look, in his imagination, like a future army. So he gathered his counselors and reached not for courage or justice but for strategy. The word the Torah uses is shrewdly. "Let us deal shrewdly with it."

Shemot Rabbah catches the strange pronoun. Not with them. With it. Rabbi Hama son of Rabbi Hanina hears the hidden target: Pharaoh was not only plotting against Israel. He was trying to outwit the God of Israel. He considered the sword, but remembered that God judges nations by the sword and would answer in kind. Then he looked at water. God had sworn after Noah that a flood would never again pass over the earth. Pharaoh thought he had found the gap in the promise. Drown the boys. Let the Nile do what a global flood could not.

The scheme fit the oath exactly. No flood. Just a river. No divine prohibition against one local ruler killing children in one local waterway. Pharaoh had studied the covenant and decided he could work within its language while violating its spirit.

The Hebrew Women Gave Birth Like Wild Animals

Pharaoh ordered the midwives to kill the Hebrew boys at birth. Shiphrah and Puah, the midwives, feared God more than Pharaoh and let the boys live. When Pharaoh called them to account, they said "the Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women: they are lively, they give birth before the midwife arrives." The midrash takes this claim seriously. The Hebrew women gave birth in the fields, in hiding, in the clefts of the earth, without ceremony or witness. The babies appeared and were hidden before any Egyptian could count them.

This was not only survival instinct. It was a form of the same divine provision that would later feed Israel in the wilderness. The bodies of Hebrew mothers outpaced the mechanisms of genocide. The boys were born before the machinery could reach them.

Moses Was Set as God Before Pharaoh

When Moses finally stood before Pharaoh, the relationship was not equal and was not meant to be. Shemot Rabbah reads the verse: "I have set you as God before Pharaoh, and Aaron your brother shall be your prophet." Moses was positioned above Pharaoh in the structure of the confrontation. Not as a political rival but as a representative of something Pharaoh had no category for. Pharaoh was accustomed to dealing with gods he understood, gods who could be managed with ritual, gods whose favor could be purchased. The God Moses represented could not be managed.

Aaron translated. Moses declared. The prophet spoke for the one who spoke for God. The hierarchy was explicit, and Pharaoh, for all his shrewd planning, was at the bottom of it.

Ephraim Left Egypt Early and Paid the Price

The tribe of Ephraim miscalculated the timing. They had received the prophecy about the four hundred years of bondage and decided to subtract some of those years from the total. Why wait? The land was promised. The number was close enough. They left Egypt before the appointed time and were killed by the Philistines in the valley of their attempt.

Shemot Rabbah reads the dry bones Ezekiel sees in the valley as the bones of Ephraim's premature exodus. They had the right destination and the wrong moment. The covenant's timetable was not a suggestion. Pharaoh had tried to outmaneuver the oath by choosing water. Ephraim tried to outmaneuver the schedule by leaving early. Both strategies met the same answer: the covenant cannot be worked around from the outside.

The Ordinances Were Given at the Sea

After the sea closed over the Egyptian chariots and Israel stood on the other side singing, they walked into the wilderness and came to Marah. There God gave them ordinances. Not at Sinai, not yet. At Marah, beside bitter water made sweet. The laws came at the place of difficulty, not the place of triumph.

Shemot Rabbah reads this as the shape of the covenant's logic: the excellence of the ordinances is that they arrive at Marah, when Israel is thirsty and the miracle of the sea is already behind them and the desert is ahead. The law is given not in safety but on the road, not in comfort but in thirst, because the law is for people who are still walking, not people who have arrived.

Pharaoh had chosen water to drown the promise. At Marah, the same element became the place where the law was first offered. The water that was supposed to defeat Israel became the site of Israel's instruction. The loophole Pharaoh thought he had found closed completely at the shore.


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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 1:9Shemot Rabbah

"He said to his people: Behold, the nation of the children of Israel is more numerous and mighty than us" (Exodus 1:9). This is Pharaoh, setting the stage for oppression. But Shemot Rabbah doesn't just let the verse sit there. It digs deeper. "He began with the counsel first; therefore, he was punished first." A fascinating idea. The one who instigates the bad advice bears the brunt of the consequences. As it says, "Upon you, upon your people, and upon all your servants, [the frogs will rise]" (Exodus 7:29).

Then comes the chilling line: "Let us be shrewd with it, lest it increase, and it shall be that if a war will occur, it too will join our enemies and wage war against us and it will ascend from the land” (Exodus 1:10). Notice something? It doesn't say "with them," but "with it." What does that mean?

Rabbi Ḥama son of Rabbi Ḥanina offers a striking interpretation. Pharaoh, he suggests, is saying: "Come let us be shrewd with the God of these." He's trying to outsmart the Divine! They consider using the sword, but realize, "And with His sword all flesh" (Isaiah 66:16). So, they decide on water, figuring they're safe because God swore not to bring another flood, "As I took an oath that the waters of Noah would no longer pass over the earth" (Isaiah 54:9).

Here's the catch. They misunderstand the oath! The oath was about a global flood, not a localized one targeting just the Israelites. It's like trying to find a loophole in a divine contract. The midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) picks up on this, interpreting (Psalms 63:11) ("They will be hurled [yagiruhu] to the sword [ḥarev]; they will be prey for the foxes [shualim]") as: He will entice [yegareh] them with dry land [ḥorev], into the waters of the sea [sha’al yam].

And the poetic justice? “As it was in the matter that they conspired [against them]” (Exodus 18:11) – in the pot in which they cooked, they were cooked. They sought to drown the Jewish boys in the river; they were drowned in the Red Sea. Measure for measure.

Rabbi Ḥiyya, quoting Rabbi Simon, points out the key players in this disastrous counsel: Bilam, Job, and Yitro (Jethro). Bilam, the advisor, was killed. Job, who stayed silent, was punished with suffering. But Yitro, who fled, his descendants were rewarded. They got to sit in the Chamber of Hewn Stone, a place of honor and authority, as we see in I (Chronicles 2:55) and (Judges 1:16). Silence, in the face of injustice, carries a price. Action, even flight, can lead to unexpected blessings.

And then there's that strange phrase: "…and it will ascend from the land” (Exodus 1:10). It doesn't say "we" will ascend, but "it" will ascend. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana explains it beautifully: "It is like a person who curses himself but ascribes his curse to another." Pharaoh's fear isn't really about the Israelites leaving; it's about them overcoming the Egyptians.

Alternatively, the midrash suggests something even more profound: "…and it will ascend from the land,” any time that Israel reaches the ultimate depths, they ascend." It's a cyclical pattern. Despair leads to rising. As David says in (Psalms 44:26): “Our soul is bent to the dust; our belly cleaves to the earth.” And the response? “Rise up, be our savior; redeem us for the sake of Your kindness” (Psalms 44:27).

So, what can we take away from this ancient text? Perhaps it's a reminder that fear-based decisions rarely end well. That those who instigate harm often suffer the consequences. And that even in the deepest darkness, there’s always the potential for ascent, for redemption, for rising from the dust.

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Shemot Rabbah 1:16Shemot Rabbah

The Torah tells us that Pharaoh, increasingly paranoid about the growing Israelite population, ordered the Hebrew midwives to kill all newborn baby boys (Exodus 1:16). But the midwives, fearing God, refused. When Pharaoh confronted them, they gave a rather…unusual explanation: "Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women, as they are vigorous; before the midwife comes to them, they have delivered" (Exodus 1:19).

What exactly did they mean by "vigorous" – ḥayot in Hebrew? The Shemot Rabbah dives into this. It asks, if ḥaya implies they were acting as midwives themselves, wouldn't one midwife still need assistance from another? The text proposes a different interpretation: the midwives were telling Pharaoh that the Israelite women were like wild animals, strong and self-sufficient, not requiring any assistance in childbirth!

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) goes on to compare the tribes of Israel to various animals. Judah is likened to a lion, just as we find in (Genesis 49:9): "Judah is a lion’s cub." Dan is a serpent, as (Genesis 49:17) states: "Dan will be a serpent [on the road]." Naphtali is "a hind let loose" (Genesis 49:21), Issachar is "a strong-boned donkey" (Genesis 49:14), Joseph, "a firstborn bull" (Deuteronomy 33:17), and Benjamin, "a wolf that claws" (Genesis 49:27). And regarding the rest, (Ezekiel 19:2) says: “How your mother was a lioness, she lay among lions.”

It's a powerful image, isn't it? A nation so connected to its primal strength that even childbirth reflects a fierce independence. The Shemot Rabbah seems to suggest that this inherent vitality, this untamed spirit, was key to their survival.

So, what was the reward for the midwives' bravery and fear of God? (Exodus 1:20) tells us: “God was good to the midwives; the people increased and they grew very mighty.” The Midrash offers a couple of interpretations of this "goodness." One is straightforward: Pharaoh accepted their explanation and didn't harm them. But Rabbi Berekhya, in the name of Rabbi Ḥiyya ben Rabbi Abba, offers a deeper, more profound understanding. He connects it to (Job 28:28): "Behold, fear of the Lord, that is wisdom."

The reward for this fear, Rabbi Berekhya suggests, is Torah itself. Because Yokheved feared God, she gave birth to Moses, of whom it is written, "That he was good" (Exodus 2:2). And the Torah, which is called "a good acquisition" (Proverbs 4:2), was given through him, and it is called after his name, as stated in (Malachi 3:22): "Remember the Torah of Moses My servant." Furthermore, Miriam gave birth to Betzalel, who was filled with wisdom (Exodus 31:3) and crafted the Ark for the Torah. So, "God was good to the midwives" by bringing forth Torah and its vessels through their lineage.

The Shemot Rabbah concludes by quoting (Lamentations 3:37): "Who is it who says and it is realized, if the Lord did not command it?" If Pharaoh commanded to kill all the males, to what avail was his decree when God did not command it? Rather: "The people increased and they grew very mighty." The Israelites' growth wasn't just a matter of chance; it was a direct result of God's will, overcoming even the most brutal decrees.

What does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming adversity, inherent strength, faith, and a connection to something greater than ourselves can allow us to not only survive, but to flourish. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of that "vigorous" spirit lives on in each of us, waiting to be awakened.

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Shemot Rabbah 8:1Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah turns to Moses Set as God Before Pharaoh and Aaron as His Prophet.

The story takes an unexpected turn. We're transported to the time of King Solomon and the construction of the First Temple in Jerusalem. Remember, Solomon, famed for his wisdom, was bringing the Ark of the Covenant – a sacred chest containing the tablets of the Ten Commandments – into the Kodesh Hakodashim, the Holy of Holies, the most sacred space within the Temple.

Here’s the problem: the Ark was ten cubits wide, and the Temple entrance was also ten cubits wide. Ten cubits cannot fit into ten cubits! Plus, think about the Levites carrying the Ark! How could they possibly squeeze through? Solomon was stumped, embarrassed even. He didn’t know what to do.

So, what did he do? According to our Rabbis, Solomon turned to prayer. But not just any prayer. Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Helbo, tells us Solomon brought the coffin of his father, King David, and pleaded with God, "Lord God, do not turn away the face of Your anointed" (II (Chronicles 6:4)2), essentially asking for David's merit to intercede.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) even suggests that David momentarily came back to life! Solomon was essentially saying, "Master of the universe, do this for the sake of this one!" Immediately, immediately, his prayer was answered. Fire descended from heaven, consuming the offerings, and the glory of God filled the Temple (II Chronicles 7:1).

The Ruach (spirit) Hakodesh, the Divine Spirit, cried out, "I praise the dead who are already dead more than the living who are still alive" (Ecclesiastes 4:2). It’s a powerful statement about the enduring power of those who lived righteously.

Then, Solomon speaks the words of (Psalm 24:7): "Lift up your heads, O gates, and be lifted up, O ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in!" But the gates challenge him: "Who is this King of glory?" (Psalms 24:8). Solomon responds, "The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle!" (Psalms 24:8). When he declares this, the gates are "calmed." Imagine, if he hadn't answered correctly, the gates would have crushed him!

But why call God the "King of glory" in the first place? Here, Shemot Rabbah offers a beautiful interpretation: because God bestows glory upon those who fear Him. The text contrasts this with earthly kings. A human king doesn't let anyone ride his horse or sit on his throne. Yet, God seated Solomon on His own throne, as it is stated: "Solomon sat on the throne of the Lord as king" (I (Chronicles 29:2)3), and allowed Elijah to ride on His "horse" – the whirlwind (II (Kings 2:11), Nahum 1:3).

A human king doesn't share his scepter, but God gave His scepter to Moses: "Moses took the staff of God in his hand" (Exodus 4:20). A king doesn't give away his crown, but God will place His crown – the finest gold – upon the messianic king (Psalms 21:4, (Song of Songs 5:1)1).

And finally, a king of flesh and blood doesn't share his garments, but Israel dons the garments of God. What are these garments? Strength! "The Lord is clothed; He has girded Himself with strength" (Psalms 93:1), and He gives this strength to Israel: "The Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace" (Psalms 29:11).

The passage concludes by circling back to Moses and Pharaoh. An earthly king doesn't allow anyone to be called by his name, but God called Moses "god" to Pharaoh. Why? Because the wicked Pharaoh had declared himself a god, saying, "My Nile is my own; I made it for myself" (Ezekiel 29:3). So, God says, let Pharaoh see Moses and think, "This is a god."

So, what’s the takeaway? This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just a story about moving the Ark or the relationship between Moses and Pharaoh. It's a profound meditation on divine power, humility, and the reciprocal relationship between God and humanity. It reminds us that even the most powerful figures, like Solomon, needed to rely on prayer and the merit of others to achieve their goals. And it suggests that true glory isn't about hoarding power, but about sharing it, bestowing it upon those who are worthy. It challenges us to consider how we, too, can embody God's glory in our own lives.

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Shemot Rabbah 20:11Shemot Rabbah

The book of Exodus tells us, “God did not lead them via the land [derekh eretz]” (Exodus 13:17). But what exactly does that mean?

Well, Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on Exodus, dives right into that question. It explains that derekh eretz means the “standard manner” [kederekh kol haaretz]. And it offers a fascinating analogy to illustrate the point. Usually, when someone acquires slaves, they expect certain services: bathing, anointing, clothing, transportation, and even illumination. But, according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), God flipped the script with Israel.

Instead of the Israelites serving God in these ways, God Himself performed these acts of service for them! He bathed them, as (Ezekiel 16:9) states, "I bathed you in water." He anointed them, as we also find in (Ezekiel 16:9): "I smeared them with oil.” He clothed them, "I clothed you in embroidery" (Ezekiel 16:10). He transported them "I bore you on eagles’ wings" (Exodus 19:4). And He illuminated their path, "The Lord went before them by day…[to give them light]" (Exodus 13:21). So, “God did not lead them via the land [derekh eretz]” because He was doing everything for them. It's a powerful image of divine care and a total reversal of typical power dynamics.

The midrash doesn’t stop there. It then asks, why specifically avoid "the land of the Philistines?" The answer takes us back to a tragic tale involving the tribe of Ephraim.

Here’s where things get interesting. Apparently, the tribe of Ephraim, in their eagerness, jumped the gun and left Egypt before the divinely appointed time. They miscalculated the prophecy given to Abraham in the Covenant of the Parts (Genesis 15), specifically the 400 years of exile. They were off by thirty years. As a result, a staggering three hundred thousand Ephraimites were killed! (Psalm 78:9)–10 alludes to this, saying "The children of Ephraim were as archers handling the bow [that turned back on the day of battle; they did not keep the covenant of God]."

I (Chronicles 7:20)–21 specifies that "the people of Gat killed them." Their bones, the midrash continues, were scattered along the way. Can you imagine the horror?

So, God, knowing that the sight of these remains would crush the Israelites' spirits and send them fleeing back to Egypt, chose a different route. It's a detour born of compassion.

The midrash beautifully illustrates this with a parable. A king marries a woman, but on the way to his province, she dies and is buried at the entrance. He then marries her sister. To prevent the new wife from being overcome by grief at the sight of her sister's grave, the king takes a roundabout way.

Similarly, God led the Israelites on a circuitous route to shield them from the grim reminder of Ephraim’s failure.

But the story goes even deeper. The midrash suggests that God took the blood of the Ephraimites and, “as it were, dipped His garments in them,” echoing the imagery of (Isaiah 63:2), “Why is Your garment red?” God declares that He will not be consoled [mitnaḥem] until He avenges the Ephraimites. This is why it is stated: “God did not lead them [naḥam].” In other words, the detour wasn't just about avoiding a painful sight; it was tied to a promise of future redemption and justice.

What does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that our paths are not always direct. Sometimes, detours are necessary, not because we've failed, but because we need protection, healing, or because a greater purpose is at play. And maybe, just maybe, it's a comforting thought that even in our darkest moments, God is with us, not just as a guide, but as a compassionate companion, ready to avenge injustice and lead us towards a brighter future.

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Shemot Rabbah 22:3Shemot Rabbah

It all comes down to what those moments taught us about ourselves and about our relationship with God. to a fascinating passage from Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, to explore this idea.

The passage starts with the verse from (Exodus 14:31), describing the Israelites' reaction after witnessing God's power at the Red Sea: “Israel saw the great power that the Lord wielded upon Egypt and the people feared the Lord; and they believed in the Lord, and in His servant Moses.” It's that phrase, "the people feared the Lord," that sparks our Rabbis' discussion.

Think about the Shema, the central prayer in Jewish life. We recite it every morning and evening, declaring God's oneness. The Rabbis ask, what elements of the Exodus story are essential to include in the blessings surrounding the Shema, specifically in the emet veyatziv – "true and firm" – blessing that follows the morning Shema? The Rabbis teach that we are required to mention the splitting of the Red Sea and the plague of the firstborn. However, if we didn't mention them, we don't need to repeat the prayer. But, if we forget to mention the Exodus itself, we do have to repeat it! Why?

The answer, according to this passage, lies in the degree of difficulty. The Exodus from Egypt was a monumental, almost unimaginable feat. As it says in (Deuteronomy 4:34), “Or has any god attempted [to go and take a nation for him from the midst of another nation…according to everything that the Lord your God did for you in Egypt?]” Taking a nation from the heart of another? That's power! And as (Deuteronomy 4:20) reminds us, “But the Lord has taken you…[from Egypt].”: God Himself declares, "I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt" ((Exodus 20:2)). But regarding the splitting of the Red Sea, God doesn't say, "I am God who split the sea for you." According to the Rabbis, this subtle difference highlights that taking Israel out of Egypt was a greater evidence of God’s commitment.

So why mention the splitting of the Red Sea at all? Because it was after this event that the Israelites truly believed. "And they believed in the Lord, and in His servant Moses," the verse tells us. This belief, this newfound faith, entitled them to sing a song of praise, and the Ruach (spirit) HaKodesh, the Divine Spirit, rested upon them. As we read in (Exodus 15:1), "Then Moses [and the Israelites] sang…"

This connection between redemption, belief, and song has profound implications for our own prayer. Just as the Israelites juxtaposed song after their belief and the splitting of the sea, we should juxtapose redemption to prayer. In other words, we should recite the Shemoneh Esrei – the central standing prayer – immediately after reciting the blessing mentioning the redemption from Egypt.

But there's more. Just as they purified their hearts and recited a song, we too must purify our hearts before we pray. (ob 16:17) says, “For there is no villainy in my hands, and my prayer is pure.” Rabbi Yehoshua HaKohen (a priest) ben Rabbi Nehemya points out: Is there such a thing as a "sullied prayer?" He explains that if our hands are sullied with robbery, our prayers are not answered. Why? Because they are carried out in sin. God says to Noah in (Genesis 6:13), "The end of all flesh [has come before me, as the earth is filled with villainy because of them]."

Rabbi Ḥama bar Rabbi Ḥanina drives this point home. How do we know that stolen property makes our prayers impure? (Isaiah 1:15) states, "When you spread your hands…I will not hear." Why? Because "your hands are full of blood." Conversely, when we distance ourselves from robbery, our prayers become pure. (Psalms 24:4) says, "He who has clean hands, and a pure heart." And what is the reward? "He shall receive a blessing from the Lord…This is the generation of those who seek Him" ((Psalms 24:5)–6).

So, what's the takeaway from all of this? It's not just about reciting the right words in the right order. It's about the state of our hearts. Our actions, our integrity, directly impact the effectiveness of our prayers. The Exodus wasn't just a historical event; it was a transformative experience that taught us about faith, redemption, and the importance of living a life worthy of God's blessings. And that, my friends, is a lesson that resonates just as powerfully today.

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Shemot Rabbah 30:5Shemot Rabbah

Shemot Rabbah, the collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, points this out explicitly. "Come and see," it urges, "how excellent this portion is!"

What's so excellent about it? Well, for starters, look at all the commandments, all the cautions, that God, blessed be He, gives to Israel in just this one portion. "If you purchase a Hebrew slave…" "If a man sells his daughter as a maidservant…" "One who strikes his father…" It's a whirlwind of laws. But The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), in Shemot Rabbah 30, asks: what connects all these seemingly disparate laws? What's the common thread? The answer, according to this Midrash, is God's relationship with Israel.

God says, "I acquired you in Egypt with the ten plagues." Remember those? "Wondrous are Your works; I know this well," as (Psalm 139:14) reminds us. The previous verse, (Psalm 139:13), uses the word kanita, which can also be translated as "you have acquired." So, the Midrash interprets these verses to mean that God acquired us through those incredible, wondrous plagues.

Just as you are commanded not to enslave your brother for more than six years, so too, remember that God created the world in six days. It's all connected! It’s a cosmic choreography of commandments and creation.

And what about selling your daughter as a maidservant? The Midrash takes a startling turn. God says, "I had one daughter – the Torah – and I 'sold' her to you." This might sound strange, but the idea is that God entrusted the Torah to Israel. She is stored in the Ark. As (Psalm 68:19) says, "You ascended on high; You took captives." Treat the Torah with respect, because you took her captive from Me.

Rabbi Shmuel adds another layer: God cautions us regarding seemingly lenient matters with incredibly stringent ones. "One who strikes his father or his mother shall be put to death," (Exodus 21:15) tells us. A harsh penalty. But the Midrash argues: If Ham, father of Canaan, merely saw his father Noah's nakedness and was cursed with everlasting servitude (Genesis 9:22–25), then how much more severe should the punishment be for someone who curses or strikes their parents?

Who are those who improperly treat their father, meaning God? According to the Midrash, these were the Ten Tribes, who refused to accept God's yoke. They rebelled, and as a result, Sennacherib came and exiled them. It's like a king whose ten sons rebel against him and annul his royal edicts.

The Midrash draws a powerful analogy: If Israel nullifies the mitzvot, the commandments, it’s as if they are cursing their father and mother. And who is father? None other than God, as (Isaiah 64:7) declares: "Now, Lord, You are our Father." And who is mother? The Torah itself! As (Proverbs 1:8) teaches, "Do not forsake the Torah of your mother." The Torah nurtures and raises you, just as a mother does. The Hebrew word horeitikha in (Proverbs 4:11), "I have instructed you in the way of wisdom," is even expounded as an allusion to pregnancy, herayon.

So, what does it all mean? This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just a collection of ancient interpretations. It's a powerful reminder of the profound, intimate relationship between God and Israel. It’s a call to recognize the weight of our responsibilities and the incredible gift we've been given. And it reminds us that even seemingly unrelated laws are all threads in the same beautiful, interplay of our faith. It asks us to see the echoes of creation, of redemption, in every commandment we observe.

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Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus 1:10Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus

"Come, let us take counsel against them in these matters, to diminish them that they multiply not, so as that, should war be arrayed against us, they be not added to our adversaries, and destroy us that not one of us be left, and they afterward go forth from the land."

The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus (1:10) preserves Pharaoh's speech with a small, chilling addition: in these matters. The counsel is not a single decree but a whole menu of cruelty. Demographics. Labor quotas. Fear. The tyrant is already picking tools.

Notice the logic. Pharaoh does not say "let us drive them out." That would acknowledge them as a nation. He says let us diminish them. Less food. Less rest. Less hope. The goal is not death but attrition, to shrink a people until their strength drops below the threshold at which their numbers would matter.

The reason? A hypothetical war. An enemy that does not yet exist. A defection that may never happen. Pharaoh is terrified of a future his own mind is generating. Ancient sages reading this verse heard the echo of Haman and every paranoid regime that would follow: the tyrant is always fighting ghosts.

The Targum's final clause, "and they afterward go forth from the land", is almost a slip of the tongue. Pharaoh fears Israel might leave. He wants them enslaved and present, not free and gone. A tyrant does not only want to harm you. He wants to keep you close enough to harm again.

The takeaway: hatred that fears your departure is not hatred alone. It is possession dressed in hatred's clothes.

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