Parshat Bo4 min read

Pharaoh Issued Four Decrees but Heaven Was Already Counting Days

Pharaoh's four decrees tried to stop a covenant promise. Shemot Rabbah traces the days God counted, the kings who claimed divinity, and the sea.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Four Decrees Against a Promise
  2. God Was Counting Days
  3. Kings Who Took Divine Names Were Destroyed
  4. The Angels Asked to Fight and Were Told No

Four Decrees Against a Promise

Pharaoh's plan was not random cruelty. It was targeted. Shemot Rabbah says he issued four separate decrees against Israel, each one aimed at a different layer of what makes a people survive. The first made labor so brutal that men would not return home at night, separating husbands from wives. The second attacked Israel's capacity to multiply. The third commanded the midwives to kill every male child at birth. The fourth opened the Nile as a grave: every son born to Israel was to be thrown into the water.

Pharaoh understood that he was fighting a covenant. The threat was not simply the number of Israelites but the promise that lived inside them. He attacked marriage, birth, childhood, and the river that Israel's future would have to cross. He wanted a people too exhausted, too broken, and too diminished to carry what had been promised to Abraham.

God Was Counting Days

While Pharaoh counted bricks and tallied births, Shemot Rabbah says God was counting days until the redemption. The covenant with Abraham had a number in it: four hundred years. God was not distracted by Egypt's cruelty. God was tracking time against a fixed promise, and when the number arrived, the decrees would not matter. The bricks would not matter. The drownings would not matter. The day of departure had been set before Pharaoh built his first storage city.

That is the particular force of the midrash. It does not say the suffering was unreal or brief. Four hundred years is a long time. The babies in the Nile were real. The labor that broke bodies was real. What the midrash insists is that none of it was outside a count that God was keeping, a count that would arrive at its number regardless of what Pharaoh built.

Kings Who Took Divine Names Were Destroyed

Shemot Rabbah places Pharaoh in a line of rulers who called themselves God and paid for it. Hiram of Tyre claimed to be God. Nebuchadnezzar compared himself to the Most High. Pharaoh declared he did not know the Lord and implied that this God's authority stopped at Egypt's border. The pattern is consistent: a ruler claims the category of divine, and the actual divine responds by dismantling the claim in public, in the sight of every nation that had watched the claim go unchallenged.

Pharaoh's destruction at the sea was not only the rescue of Israel. It was the answer to the palace declaration I do not know the Lord. The sea was the proof. Every nation that had watched Egypt's power receive its divine pretensions saw those pretensions disappear into the water.

The Angels Asked to Fight and Were Told No

When Israel stood at the sea and Egypt came behind them, the angels asked to join the battle. They had armies. They had fire. God told them: this is my fight. The sea will answer. The angels watching from above wanted a role in the victory, and God held them back because this particular moment belonged to the same direct divine action that had sent the plagues. The sea crossing was not to be a battle in which angelic hosts could earn credit. It was to be an act so singular that only one name could be attached to it.

That insistence on direct divine agency is also part of Pharaoh's answer. He had said he did not know the Lord. What the Lord did at the sea required no intermediary, no general, no heavenly army. The water moved. Egypt drowned. The claim about divine knowledge was answered without a single angel having to swing a sword.

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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 1:12Shemot Rabbah

Their story, as told in Shemot Rabbah, is a powerful reminder of resilience, faith, and the strength of community.

Pharaoh, wasn't just content with enslaving the Israelites. He wanted to control their very ability to be. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us he issued four decrees designed to crush them. The first was deceptively simple: work them so hard they wouldn't even have time to go home and sleep with their wives! He figured, logically, less sleep, less… procreation.

The taskmasters piled on the pressure, saying, "If you go home, you'll lose precious work time and won't meet your quota!" So, they slept on the ground, exhausted, their families distant.

As the Midrash points out, God had already promised Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars (Genesis 22:17). So, Pharaoh’s plan was a direct challenge to the Divine promise. The text asks, rhetorically: "We will see whose matter prevails, Mine or yours?" And the answer, of course, is resounding. "But the more they would afflict them, the more they would increase…" (Exodus 1:12).

Rabbi Akiva, a towering figure in Jewish tradition, offers a stunning insight: Israel's redemption from Egypt was due to the righteous women of that generation. What did they do? This is where the story truly takes flight.

Imagine this: The women would go to draw water, and miraculously, God would fill their jugs with small fish. Half water, half fish! They'd bring this bounty home to their weary husbands, setting up two pots on the fire – one with hot water, one with fish. They would feed them, bathe them, anoint them with oil, and give them drinks. And between the pots – shefatayim – they would reconnect, reaffirming their love and hope. It’s a beautiful image of domesticity as resistance.

The text even connects this to a verse in Psalms (68:14), "Now you may lie within the sheepfolds [shefatayim], wings of the dove covered with silver," suggesting that in reward for their actions, Israel would merit the loot of Egypt, symbolized by the "wings of the dove covered with silver."

And when these women conceived, they would venture into the fields to give birth, specifically under apple trees. "Under the apple tree I roused you," says the Song of Songs (8:5), "there your mother was in childbirth."

But here's the most incredible part: God would send an angel to care for them and their newborns, tending to them like a mother animal tends to its young. (Ezekiel 16:4) is quoted, describing a birth without midwives or proper care, emphasizing that God Himself was their caretaker: "As for your birth, on the day you were born [your umbilical cord was not cut, and you were not washed in water for cleansing…and you were not swaddled]." Instead, God bathed them, rinsed them, and anointed them. He dressed them and wrapped them.

They would even take two round vessels of earth, one containing oil and one containing honey, echoing the verse in Deuteronomy (32:13): "He suckled them honey from a boulder [and oil from a flinty rock]."

When the Egyptians discovered these hidden births, they tried to kill the babies. But a miracle occurred! The earth would swallow them up. The Egyptians, in their cruelty, would plow the land above them, as it says in Psalms (129:3): "Upon my back plowers plowed." But after they left, the children would sprout forth like grass, as Ezekiel (16:7) describes: "I caused you to increase like the growth of the field."

And when they grew, they would return home in herds – adarim – a wordplay in Hebrew connecting their beauty to their numbers. The verse "You came to have great beauty [ba’adi adayim]" (Ezekiel 16:7) is re-read as be’edrei adarim, "in herds of herds."

Finally, when God revealed Himself at the Red Sea, these children – miraculously saved and nurtured – were the first to recognize Him. "This is my God, and I will glorify Him!" (Exodus 15:2). They remembered Him from the miracles He performed for them in Egypt.

This passage from Shemot Rabbah is more than just a story. It's a evidence of the power of faith, the resilience of the human spirit, and the vital role of women in preserving hope in the face of unimaginable adversity. It reminds us that even when we feel most vulnerable, most oppressed, there is always the potential for miracles, for growth, and for redemption. And perhaps most importantly, it’s a story that tells us that even small acts of kindness and connection can become acts of profound resistance.

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Shemot Rabbah 8:2Shemot Rabbah

Spoiler alert: it doesn't end well.

Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of Midrash (interpretive stories) on the Book of Exodus, dives deep into this very idea. It identifies four historical figures who, in their arrogance, essentially declared themselves divine. And each one faced a rather humbling comeuppance.

First up is Ḥiram, the King of Tyre. (Ezekiel 28:2) quotes him as saying, "I am a god." Not a great move. According to (Ezekiel 28:17), his pride led to his downfall: "Your heart was elevated because of your beauty, you have corrupted your wisdom by reason of your brightness; I have cast you to the ground." Ouch.

Then there's Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. He takes it a step further, proclaiming in (Isaiah 14:14): "I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the Most High." The nerve! God's response? According to (Isaiah 14:15), "Yet you shall be brought down to the grave, to the depths of the pit." And as if that weren't enough, (Daniel 4:30) tells us he was driven into the wilderness, forced to eat grass like an animal! Midrash Rabbah even suggests the animals abused him there, referencing (Habakkuk 2:17) by drawing a parallel to the prohibition against intermarriage in (Deuteronomy 7:3). However, even in his madness, (Daniel 4:31) says that Nebuchadnezzar eventually acknowledged God and regained his understanding.

Of course, we can't forget Pharaoh. He boasts in (Ezekiel 29:3), "My river is mine, and I have made it for myself." This declaration of self-sufficiency, of denying God's role in even the natural world, sealed his fate. (Jeremiah 44:30) foretells his demise at the hands of his enemies. The Midrash connects Pharaoh's downfall with a loss of power and status, comparing him to a woman whose hair is loosened in humiliation, referencing (Numbers 5:18) and (Isaiah 19:16).

Finally, there's Yoash, King of Judah. After the death of Yehoyada, as we read in II (Chronicles 24:17), the princes of Judah prostrated themselves before him, effectively treating him as a deity. The Midrash suggests that they convinced him he was divine because he emerged unharmed from the Holy of Holies after seven years. Big mistake. II (Chronicles 24:23-25) details how he was attacked by the Aramean army, suffered great diseases, and was denied burial in the royal tombs. The Midrash cleverly interprets the word "shefatim" (judgments) in II (Chronicles 24:24) as "shefutim" (exposed), drawing a parallel to (Ezekiel 23:10), emphasizing the public shame and humiliation he suffered.

So, what's the takeaway here? Why does God react so strongly to these displays of hubris? Well, Shemot Rabbah suggests it's about setting the record straight. As (Ecclesiastes 5:7) puts it, "For one higher than the high is watching, and there are higher than they." There's always someone. Or rather, Some One, above. God tells Moses, "See, I have set you as god to Pharaoh," to demonstrate that even those who believe themselves to be all-powerful are ultimately subject to a higher authority.

The Midrash emphasizes that God sees and judges the haughty, rendering them despicable in the eyes of the world. Rabbi Berekhya points out that while God's eyes range over the entire earth (Zechariah 4:10), He particularly focuses on those who elevate themselves, ensuring their downfall. Like Sennacherib, whose army was famously decimated by an angel in II (Kings 19:35).

Rabbi Binyamin bar Levi offers a powerful image: If someone studies Torah in private, God will make them known to the people. But if someone engages in idol worship in secret, God will also make them known. As (Jeremiah 23:24) asks, "Can a man hide himself in secret places and I will not see him?"

This passage from Shemot Rabbah is a potent reminder that true power and authority belong to God alone. Attempts to usurp that power, to declare oneself divine, are not only futile but ultimately lead to humiliation and destruction. It's a cautionary tale about the dangers of pride and the importance of recognizing our place in the grand scheme of things. So, maybe next time you're feeling a little too good about yourself, remember Pharaoh and Nebuchadnezzar – it might just save you from a similar fate.

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Shemot Rabbah 15:6Shemot Rabbah

It all starts with the verse, "This month shall be for you the first of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you" (Exodus 12:2). But instead of a straightforward explanation, the Midrash (interpretive method) takes us on a beautiful, allegorical journey, connecting this idea of new beginnings to the trials and triumphs of the Jewish people throughout history.

” The Midrash interprets these four descriptions as corresponding to the four major exiles the Jewish people experienced: Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and Roman. Each exile is a dark night, but the Jewish people, through their unwavering faith, emerge like the dawn, the moon, the sun, and a mighty army.

Think about the Babylonian exile. Nebuchadnezzar, the king, bowed down to the sun, a false idol. But Daniel, as the text points out, would rise early – shoḥer – and pray towards Jerusalem, seeking God's mercy. The text references (Daniel 6:11), "And windows were open for him in his upper chamber facing Jerusalem," emphasizing his unwavering devotion. Even when thrown into the lions' den, Daniel was protected, just like Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah in the fiery furnace. These acts of faith, so powerful, caused even the idolaters to acknowledge and praise God, as Nebuchadnezzar himself proclaimed (Daniel 3:28), "Blessed is the God of Shadrakh, Meshakh, and Aved Nego.” Thus, Israel appears "like the dawn," dispelling the darkness.

Then there's the Persian exile. Imagine a world plunged into darkness when the moon is hidden. That's how it felt during the reign of Ahasuerus, when a decree threatened to annihilate the Jews. But then came Esther, who "illuminated" Israel, bringing "light and gladness" (Esther 8:16). That's why the text says, "Beautiful as the moon." And just as the moon is reborn after thirty days, Esther hadn't been called to the king for thirty days (Esther 4:11) before she took her courageous stand.

The Greek exile is described as "Pure as the sun." The text uses a fascinating, though somewhat corrupted, Greek phrase, “Sandrios eim Ulios,” which some interpret as referring to the Sanhedrin (the supreme rabbinic court) standing against the sun (i.e. the Greeks). The sun, or ḥama in Hebrew, is strong and powerful, but Matityahu the Hasmonean and his sons stood firm in their faith. They transformed "plowshares into swords" (Joel 4:10), and the Greeks fled. "Pure as the sun" signifies the unwavering commitment of the Jewish people to their faith, even in the face of immense pressure.

Finally, we arrive at the Roman exile, described as "Fearsome as banners." Why fearsome? Because even in a kingdom that inspires fear, Israel remains steadfast. The text draws a parallel between the twelve constellations in the sky and the twelve tribes of Israel, emphasizing their enduring presence. Just as the heavens need the constellations, the world needs the twelve tribes. The Midrash equates the "banners" with armies, both earthly and heavenly – Israel and the angels. And just as the angels are revered, so too are the Jewish people.

It's a powerful image, isn't it?

The Midrash beautifully connects the Jewish people to the angels. Angels are constantly praising God, and so is Israel. Angels are made of fire, and Israel is likened to fire. Angels are renewed every morning, and Israel, through repentance, is renewed each year. This cyclical renewal, this constant striving to be better, is at the heart of the Jewish experience.

So, what does all this mean for us today? It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the light of faith can shine through. It's a evidence of the resilience of the Jewish people, their unwavering commitment to God, and their ability to emerge from every exile stronger and more determined than ever. And it's an invitation to find our own ways to be "like the dawn," "beautiful as the moon," "pure as the sun," and "fearsome as banners," illuminating the world with faith, hope, and love.

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Shemot Rabbah 15:15Shemot Rabbah

The story of the Exodus, as told in Shemot Rabbah, the compilation of rabbinic sermons on the Book of Exodus, gives us a fascinating glimpse into this idea, focusing on the final plague and the parting of the Red Sea. It's not just about physical liberation, but about confronting the forces that enable oppression in the first place.

The pasuk (verse) in (Exodus 12:2), "This month shall be for you," is linked to (Psalms 105:26), "He sent Moses His servant, and Aaron whom He had chosen." According to Shemot Rabbah, when God afflicted the Egyptian firstborn and their gods, the Egyptians, in desperation, hid their children in their temples! Can you imagine the fear and desperation that drove them to such a measure?

Rabbi Berekhya paints a vivid picture: the Egyptians, frantic to escape the plagues, found no way out. Why? Because, as (Job 11:20) says, "The eyes of the wicked will fail, and escape is lost from them." Here, the Egyptians themselves are identified as the wicked, echoing their own confession in (Exodus 9:27), "I and my people are wicked." Their downfall, according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), was their misplaced trust in false gods.

What did God do? He struck those gods with the Egyptians. The wooden idols rotted, the stone ones dissolved, and the silver and gold ones melted back into their raw materials. (Numbers 33:4) confirms, "Upon their gods the Lord administered judgments.", the very foundations of their society, their beliefs, were being dismantled.

But here's a twist. All the idols were destroyed except for one: Baal Tzefon. Why was he spared? The Midrash tells us it was in order to mislead the Egyptians. As (Job 12:23) says, "He exalts the nations and eliminates them." God allows a glimmer of false hope to remain, setting the stage for the final act.

Remember the famous image from (Isaiah 43:16-17), "Who makes a way in the sea… Who takes out chariot and horse, army and a mighty force"? Shemot Rabbah connects this to the parting of the Red Sea. When the Israelites left Egypt, God directed them to "return and encamp before Pi Haḥirot" (Exodus 14:2). This seemingly odd move was deliberate. God wanted Pharaoh to think, "They are confused in the land; the wilderness has closed in [sagar] on them" (Exodus 14:3).

Pharaoh, believing Baal Tzefon had gathered lions in the wilderness against Israel (a parallel to (Daniel 6:2)3), rallied his army. But it wasn't just Pharaoh chasing them; it was "Egypt" itself, meaning their angel, their collective national spirit, as (Exodus 14:10) suggests.

The Israelites, terrified, cried out. But God reassured them: "Do not fear" (Exodus 14:13). God instructed Moses to stretch out his hand, and the sea parted. But get this – as (Exodus 14:27) says, "Egypt was fleeing toward it [the sea]." Shouldn’t they be fleeing from it? The Midrash explains that God misled them, disorienting them so they couldn't find an escape, driving them straight into the path of destruction. "The Lord tossed Egypt in the midst of the sea" (Exodus 14:27), as the Divine Spirit lamented, "And the eyes of the wicked will fail and escape is lost from them" (Job 11:20). Baal Tzefon, their last hope, proved to be a cruel illusion. "And their hope will turn into despair" (Job 11:20).

Shemot Rabbah doesn't stop there. It extends this idea to the future, envisioning a time when all idolaters will bring their gods for judgment, echoing (Micah 4:5), "For all the peoples will walk, each in the name of its god, but we will walk in the name of the Lord our God, for ever and ever." What will God do then? He will melt their idols, causing them shame and forcing them to hide, just as (Isaiah 2:12-20) describes.

Even if they hide on Mount Carmel, like Ḥiel (who, according to a Midrash, tried to secretly ignite the Baal's sacrifice and was bitten by a snake!), God will find them. As (Amos 9:3) declares, "Though they hide themselves on top of Carmel, I will search from there…Though they hide from before My eyes…from there I will command the serpent and it will bite them."

In the end, "the eyes of the wicked will fail" (Job 11:20). But for the righteous? "The name of the Lord is a tower of strength" (Proverbs 18:10).

So, what's the takeaway? The Exodus wasn't just about escaping physical slavery. It was about confronting the false idols, the misplaced trust, that enable oppression to take root. And even when those idols seem to be vanquished, the temptation to cling to them, to seek refuge in illusion, remains. The story reminds us that true liberation requires a constant vigilance, a willingness to confront the "Baal Tzefons" in our own lives, and to trust in something far greater.

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Shemot Rabbah 22:2Shemot Rabbah

Pharaoh's army bearing down, water as far as the eye could see. What do you do?

The Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, paints a vivid picture of this moment. "The waters will return," it says, but there's so much more packed into those few words.

Rabbi Yoḥanan offers a striking image: the very instant the last Israelite made it to safety, the last Egyptian plunged into the sea. A hair's breadth escape! But Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish adds a layer of intensity. He says the sea wasn't just behind them; it was closing in from all four directions! Can you feel the pressure?

In this moment of absolute crisis, Moses turns to God. “What should Israel do?” he asks. And the response? "You need not ask... I will perform a miracle on their behalf." What a powerful statement of faith!

Then, Rabbi Abbahu uses a beautiful analogy. Imagine a father and son being attacked by marauders. The father scoops up his child with one hand, protecting him, while simultaneously fighting off the attackers with the other. The son, witnessing this, exclaims, “Father, may I never be without these two hands – one that holds me, and one that kills the marauders!”

Similarly, the Israelites, witnessing God's power, say, "Let there be peace upon Your two hands; one that rescues us from the sea, and one that would toss the Egyptians!" As we find in (Exodus 15:6), "Your right hand, Lord, glorious in power, Your right hand, Lord, [shatters the enemy]."

But notice something subtle in the text. It doesn't say, "The sea will return," but "the waters will return." The Rabbis in Shemot Rabbah see this as an indication that all the waters – every single drop – returned with devastating force.

And another thing: it doesn't say "upon the Egyptians," but "upon Egypt." The text suggests that God first took the Egyptians’ angel – their spiritual protector, if you will – and drowned him in the sea. Only then did the army follow. That's why it says, "The waters will return upon Egypt," and only then "upon their chariots and upon their horsemen."

What does all this tell us? It's not just a story about a miraculous escape. It’s about the utter completeness of divine protection and justice. It's about the faith to trust even when surrounded by impossible odds. It’s about recognizing the different facets of God's power – the hand that holds us close and the hand that vanquishes our foes.

So, the next time you feel surrounded, remember the Israelites at the Red Sea. Remember the waters that returned, not just on the enemy, but on the entire system that oppressed them. And remember the promise of a power that both protects and delivers.

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Shemot Rabbah 42:1Shemot Rabbah

The book of Exodus and the sages of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) explore this very idea.

In (Exodus 32:7), we read, "The Lord spoke to Moses: Go descend; for your people, whom you brought up from the land of Egypt, have acted corruptly." The Midrash, specifically Shemot Rabbah, dives deep into this moment. Rabbi Tanhuma bar Abba opens with a powerful analogy from (Proverbs 25:14-15): "Clouds and wind but no rain, [is a man who glories in a false gift.] With patience, a commander is enticed." Someone who boasts about a gift they never deliver is like a storm that promises relief but brings only disappointment. The Midrash connects this to the generation of the wilderness. According to the Midrash, when the Israelites stood at Sinai, they were an impressive multitude: six hundred thousand elders, alongside equal numbers of young men, lads, and women. That’s a LOT of people! When they accepted God’s kingship, declaring in unison, "Everything that the Lord spoke, we will perform and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7), their voice was like thunder itself.

Then, in the wilderness, they faltered. They "violated everything and corrupted their actions." God saw this and told Moses, "Go descend, for your people…have acted corruptly [shiḥet]." Shiḥet, the Midrash emphasizes, signifies a deep corruption of their deeds, mirroring the verse in (Deuteronomy 32:5): “They behaved corruptly [shiḥet], not from Him; His children, it is their blemish.” It wasn't just one mistake.

The Midrash doesn't hold back. This "revelry [seḥok]" (Exodus 32:6) wasn't innocent fun. It encompassed idol worship, forbidden sexual relations, and even bloodshed. How do we know seḥok can mean such terrible things? Well, the Midrash points to examples like II (Samuel 2:14), where "play [visaḥaku]" leads to violence, and (Genesis 39:17), where Potiphar's wife accuses Joseph of intending to "mock [letzaḥek]" her, implying a violation. According to Abba, the expounder (cited by Rabbi Tanhuma bar Abba), even Ḥur, a figure of great stature, was killed during this time.

But there's another layer to this. "The Lord spoke [vaydaber] to Moses: go descend," in anger. Rabbi Yoḥanan suggests that dibur here signifies harsh words, akin to (Genesis 42:30): "The man, lord of the land, spoke [diber] harshly with us." In that moment, Moses witnessed the ministering angels rising, ready to unleash destruction upon Israel.

What did Moses do? Did he abandon his people? Absolutely not! He knew that if he left, Israel would be lost forever. So, he stood his ground and pleaded for mercy. He reminded God of their virtues: their acceptance of the Torah when Esau rejected it, their immediate faith in Egypt, the sacrifices offered by their young men. Each time, God countered with their transgressions: "They transgressed regarding the performance… They transgressed regarding the prostrating… They transgressed regarding the sacrifice… They violated it."

But Moses persisted, invoking God's own words from Sinai: "I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2). Even in their betrayal, Moses saw a glimmer of their initial commitment. It was a desperate plea, a battle of wills, but ultimately, it worked. Moses, through his unwavering advocacy, "voided the punishment." This, the Midrash concludes, is the meaning of "with patience, [a commander is enticed]" (Proverbs 25:15).

What does this all mean for us? It's a reminder that we, like the Israelites, are prone to falling short. We make promises, we strive for ideals, but we often stumble. But it's also a story of redemption, of the power of advocacy, and the importance of remembering the good, even when faced with disappointment. And maybe, just maybe, it's a call to be a little more like the rain – to deliver on our promises and bring real sustenance to the world.

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