6 min read

Pharaoh Took Away the Straw and the Sea Was Already Waiting for Him

Pharaoh took the straw and kept the quota. The sea that would destroy him had been prepared at the start of creation. His patience was measured against God's.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Morning After the First Request
  2. What Pharaoh Understood About Hope
  3. When the Slaves Turned on Their Rescuers
  4. The Sea That Had Been Waiting
  5. Did He Repent Before He Drowned

The Morning After the First Request

Moses and Aaron came to Pharaoh's court and said: "let my people go." Pharaoh said: "who is God that I should obey him? I do not know this God and I will not let Israel go." The audience ended.

The next morning Pharaoh issued a new decree. Not a simple refusal. An escalation. The straw that the Israelites had been using to make bricks would no longer be provided. The quota of bricks would remain identical. Every brick that could not be made because there was no straw to bind it would be counted against the workers in blood. "Go," Pharaoh said to the taskmasters, "and find your own straw wherever you can. But the tally must not decrease."

The Israelites scattered through Egypt looking for stubble in the fields after the harvest. The taskmasters beat the officers of Israel for the shortfall. The officers went to Pharaoh. Pharaoh dismissed them. "You are lazy. That is why you say let us go sacrifice to God. You are idle. Get back to work."

What Pharaoh Understood About Hope

The ancient rabbinic compilations were precise about what Pharaoh was doing and why. On that same day, the traditions record, he also forbade the Israelites from resting on the Sabbath. He knew they used the Sabbath to read scrolls that spoke of their coming redemption. He understood, at some level, what those scrolls were doing: they were keeping alive, week after week, the story the people told themselves about what was coming. The story that God had made a covenant. That the covenant would be kept. That the suffering was not the end of the narrative.

Pharaoh was not trying to break their bodies. He had been doing that for years and it was not breaking them. He was trying to break the story. He moved to extinguish hope at its source, at the weekly gathering around the texts that carried it. He was, in his way, more sophisticated about what was keeping Israel alive than the taskmasters with their rods.

When the Slaves Turned on Their Rescuers

The officers of Israel came out of Pharaoh's court and ran into Moses and Aaron waiting for them at the gate. And they turned on their rescuers with a fury that the tradition recorded without softening. "You have made us odious in the eyes of Pharaoh and in the eyes of his servants," the officers said. "You have put a sword in their hand to kill us. You have done this."

Moses went to God with this. He was not calm about it. "Why have you done evil to this people? Why did you send me? Since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has done evil to this people, and you have not delivered them at all."

The ancient midrash on Exodus preserved the heavenly response to this accusation with a frankness that the tradition did not flinch from: the angels asked God the same question Moses was asking. When Israel suffers, heaven suffers with them. The suffering in Egypt was not invisible from above. The question Moses shouted at God was a question the divine court was already holding.

The Sea That Had Been Waiting

The answer God gave Moses was not an explanation of the delay. It was a statement of what was coming: "now you will see what I will do to Pharaoh. With a strong hand he will send them out. With a strong hand he will drive them out of his land."

What neither Pharaoh nor Moses nor the officers at the gate knew was that the sea that would destroy the Egyptian army had already been prepared. The tradition that described the ten things created at twilight before the first Sabbath included the mouth of the sea. The Red Sea crossing was not an improvisation. It was a mechanism built into the structure of creation at the beginning and waiting for the day when Pharaoh's chariots would race into it.

Pharaoh doubled the labor. He took away the straw and kept the quota and banned the Sabbath rest. He was eliminating hope with each decree, removing every source of sustenance the people had. And the sea was already there, at the bottom of the sequence, patient in the way that things prepared before the world began are patient, waiting for the morning when Pharaoh would look at the horizon and see Israel crossing on dry ground and decide that what God had done once, Pharaoh could also do.

Did He Repent Before He Drowned

The tradition kept one question alive across the centuries because it could not quite let it go: did Pharaoh actually repent before the sea closed over him? The Midrash on Exodus noted that when Pharaoh finally said at the sea, "I have sinned against the Lord your God and against you," he used the third person. Your God. Not my God. He acknowledged the reality without making it his own. He saw the power at work and named it correctly but did not cross into the relationship that naming implies.

The tradition that tracked this question was asking something harder than whether Pharaoh made a deathbed confession. It was asking whether the recognition that arrives too late counts as anything. The answer it worked toward was careful: he saw. He understood. He said the words. But the repentance that saves requires more than accurate perception of where the power lies. It requires the turning that Pharaoh, even in the final moment, could not quite make.

PharaohExodusRed SeaRepentanceDivine Justice
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

8 sources

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

Legends of the Jews 4:253Legends of the Jews

Pharaoh, utterly unmoved by Moses and Aaron's plea to let the people go, didn't just say no. He doubled down. On the very day of that fateful audience, he issued a decree. The Israelites were still expected to produce the same number of bricks – the "prescribed tale," as it was called – but now, the Egyptian taskmasters wouldn't even provide them with straw.

The sheer audacity! According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, it gets worse. Pharaoh, in his twisted logic, also forbade the Israelites from resting on the Shabbat, the Sabbath. Why? Because he knew they used their precious day of rest to read scrolls that spoke of their impending redemption. He wanted to crush even the hope that sustained them.

It's tempting to see Pharaoh as a uniquely evil figure, the sole architect of Israel's suffering. As the Israelites toiled to gather straw, wandering throughout Egypt, they were cruelly mistreated by the Egyptians. If they were caught gleaning straw from Egyptian fields, they were abused and degraded.

This, the narrative suggests, is key. It wasn’t just Pharaoh's decree; it was the collective cruelty of the Egyptian people that sealed their fate. They all participated in the oppression. Because of this, the entire nation shared in the Divine punishment that eventually followed. It wasn't just about one bad king; it was about a society complicit in injustice. It wasn't enough that the Israelites were enslaved. The Egyptians actively made their lives harder, even when they were simply trying to survive. Does that change how we view the Exodus story?

Perhaps the takeaway is this: While leaders can be the instigators of oppression, it's the collective actions of ordinary people that allow it to truly take root. The story is a potent reminder of our shared responsibility. It forces us to confront the uncomfortable question: Are we bystanders to injustice, or are we actively working to create a more just and compassionate world?

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 5:19Shemot Rabbah

That feeling is all over the story of the Exodus, and it really hits hard in the early chapters of the Book of Exodus. to a moment of crisis, as understood by the ancient Rabbis in Shemot Rabbah.

Pharaoh, as we know, is not exactly a benevolent ruler. He decides to make the Israelites' lives even harder. His infamous decree? "I will not give you straw." The Israelites were using straw to bind the bricks they were forced to make, and without it, their labor became nearly impossible. (Exodus 5:10) tells us, “The taskmasters of the people and their foremen went out, and they spoke to the people, saying: So said Pharaoh: I will not give you straw."

Shemot Rabbah takes a peek behind the scenes here. It suggests that when this decree came down, Moses actually went away to Midian for six months, while Aaron stayed in Egypt. The text even hints that Moses sent his wife and sons back to Midian during this time.

So, what happened next? The Egyptians told the Israelites, “You go and get yourselves straw where you can find it, as nothing will be diminished from your work” (Exodus 5:11). As (Exodus 5:12) continues, “The people scattered throughout the entire land of Egypt to gather stubble for straw.” But here’s where it gets interesting. Shemot Rabbah asks a crucial question: the Israelites and the cities they were building, Pitom and Raamses, were in the region of Goshen. Why then did they scatter all over Egypt?

The Rabbis suggest a powerful reason: they were searching for Moses. Imagine the desperation, the hope that their leader could somehow alleviate their suffering.

But the story takes another turn. According to Shemot Rabbah, God knew what was happening and said, “Tomorrow I will bring plagues upon them, and they will say: Pharaoh is sinning and we are suffering?” In other words, God was concerned that the Egyptians alone would be blamed for the suffering. So, God orchestrated things so that the Egyptians would also deserve punishment.

How did that work? Well, when an Israelite went to collect straw, an Egyptian might see him in his field and break his shins! Can you imagine the brutality? Therefore, Shemot Rabbah explains, “the people scattered” so that the Egyptians would also be deserving of punishment. It's a complex, even unsettling, idea – the idea that suffering can be distributed to ensure justice.

Finally, we read in (Exodus 5:13), “The taskmasters pressed, saying: Complete your work, each day’s matter on its day, as when there was straw.” Shemot Rabbah emphasizes that these were the wicked Egyptian taskmasters, relentlessly pushing the Israelites. But the Israelite foremen, the leaders from among the enslaved people? They saw the distress and didn't press as hard. They were upright, compassionate in the face of immense suffering.

What does this all mean? It's a layered story about leadership, suffering, and divine justice. It reminds us that even in the darkest times, there are glimmers of hope, of compassion, and of a deeper plan unfolding. It makes you wonder: what role do we play in alleviating suffering, even when the task seems impossible? And how can we be like those compassionate foremen, offering empathy and support in a world that often feels overwhelmingly cruel?

Full source
Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 43:8Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Pharaoh, the hard-hearted king of Exodus, receives one of the tradition's strangest endings: a moment of repentance before the sea closes.

When we think of Pharaoh, images of the stubborn, cruel ruler from the Exodus story probably spring to mind. The one who hardened his heart, who refused to let the Israelites go, who brought plagues upon Egypt. Remember his famous line? "Who is the Lord, that I should hearken unto his voice?" (Exodus 5:2).

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating collection of stories and interpretations, throws us a curveball in chapter 43. Rabbi Nechunia, son of Haḳḳanah, asks us to consider the power of teshuvah (repentance), repentance. And he uses, of all people, Pharaoh, as the prime example.

The passage points out that Pharaoh's repentance mirrors his sin. Just as he once questioned, "Who is the Lord?", he later cries out, "Who is like thee, O Lord, among the mighty?" (Exodus 15:11). It's a complete turnaround! And according to this tradition, God actually delivers him from death.

Wait, what? When did Pharaoh die? Well, the text interprets God's words in (Exodus 9:15), "For now I had put forth my hand, and smitten thee," as evidence that Pharaoh did die, at least symbolically.

But the story doesn't end there. Pharaoh, having been spared, goes on to rule in Nineveh. Yes, that Nineveh, the one from the Book of Jonah! And guess what? Nineveh is a mess. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, the people are corrupt, dishonest, and engaging in all sorts of wickedness.

Then comes Jonah, sent by God to prophesy against the city. And here's where Pharaoh’s story takes another surprising turn. He actually listens. He arises from his throne, tears his garments, puts on sackcloth and ashes – the whole nine yards! He calls for a fast and orders the people to repent.

The description of the Ninevites' repentance is truly remarkable. The men are separated from the women, and the children are kept apart. Even the animals are separated! The infants cry for their mothers, the mothers yearn to nurse them. It was by the merit of 4123 children that over twelve hundred thousand people were saved. The passage echoes the powerful words of (Jonah 4:11): "And should not I have pity on Nineveh, that great city; wherein are more than six score thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand; and also much cattle?" And, as we know, "the Lord repented of the evil, which he said he would do unto them" (Jonah 3:10).

That God was slow to anger with them for forty years, corresponding to the forty days of Jonah's mission. A chance for real change.

But here's the kicker: after forty years, the Ninevites, sadly, revert to their old ways. They become even worse than before, and ultimately, they are swallowed up, descending into the depths of Sheol, the underworld. The passage references (Job 24:12), "Out of the city of the dead they groan." A tragic end, highlighting the fragility of repentance.

So, what are we to make of this? Pharaoh, the ultimate symbol of stubbornness, actually repenting? Nineveh, spared through repentance, only to fall back into wickedness? It's a complex and challenging narrative. It shows us that repentance is possible, even for the most hardened hearts. But it also reminds us that repentance is not a one-time event. It requires constant effort, a continuous commitment to choosing good over evil.

It begs the question: Are we truly capable of lasting change? And what does it take to make repentance more than just a fleeting moment of regret? Perhaps, the story suggests, the key lies in remembering the cries of the children, the yearning for connection, the recognition of our shared humanity. Because ultimately, repentance isn't just about turning away from sin; it's about turning towards something greater.

Full source
Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 48:11Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

It begins with Moses and Aaron, standing before Pharaoh, delivering a message that must have sounded utterly insane: "Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel, Let my people go" (Exodus 5:1). Can you imagine the sheer audacity?

Pharaoh’s response? A cold, dismissive, "I know not the Lord." And then, the kicker: "Who is the Lord, that I should hearken unto his voice to let Israel go? I know not the Lord, and moreover I will not let Israel go" (Exodus 5:2).

So, what do you do when faced with such defiance? Well, Aaron takes action. He casts down his rod, and BAM! It transforms into a tannin, a fiery serpent. Now, the word tannin is interesting. It can mean a large sea creature or serpent, and its fiery nature here suggests something truly awe-inspiring.

Pharaoh wasn’t impressed. He called in his own magicians, and they, too, cast down their rods. And wouldn't you know it, their rods also became fiery serpents. A magical standoff!

This is where the story takes a dramatic turn. Aaron’s rod, the one representing the power of the one true God, doesn't just sit there. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 48, it runs! It actively moves and swallows up the rods of the Egyptian magicians. "And Aaron's rod swallowed up their rods" (Exodus 7:12).

Think about the symbolism here. It's not just a magic trick; it's a demonstration of divine power overcoming earthly illusion. The serpent of God consumes the imitations of the magicians.

What does it all mean? It's a powerful image, isn't it? This initial confrontation is more than just a negotiation gone wrong. It's a clash of ideologies, a battle between faith and stubbornness, between freedom and oppression. And it all starts with a simple request and a defiant "I know not the Lord." It makes you wonder, doesn't it, about the moments in our own lives where we face similar choices – to acknowledge something greater than ourselves or to stubbornly cling to our own limited understanding.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 5:22Shemot Rabbah

It’s a moment of raw honesty from Moses himself.

The story begins after Moses relays God's message to Pharaoh – the one demanding freedom for the Israelites. Instead of freedom, Pharaoh doubles down on the oppression. The people are forced to make the same amount of bricks, but with less straw. Understandably, morale plummeted. And that’s when Moses turns to God with a question – or rather, a heartfelt, slightly exasperated, challenge.

"Lord, why have You harmed this people, why is it that You sent me?" (Exodus 5:22).

Saying that to the Almighty! We, mere mortals, might hesitate before questioning someone in authority, let alone the Creator of the Universe. But Moses, in this moment, embodies the role of advocate for his people. Shemot Rabbah highlights the sheer audacity of Moses' plea. He's essentially asking, "What gives?"

The text probes deeper: "Why have You harmed…"? What does that even mean coming from Moses? Shemot Rabbah frames it as an argument. Moses, in his own way, is presenting a case before the Divine Court. He's saying, "I’ve studied the history, God! I've read the 'book of Genesis'!" He points out the fates of the generation of the Flood, the Tower of Babel builders, the people of Sodom - all judged justly, according to their deeds. The operative word here is Mishpat: justice.

So, Moses continues, "What did this generation do to deserve more suffering than all those others? Why are they enslaved even more harshly?" He even brings up the prophecy to Abraham (Genesis 15:8-13) about his descendants being strangers in a land and being afflicted. But if that’s the reason, Moses argues, why single out the Israelites of this generation? Why not enslave the descendants of Esau or Ishmael too? And even if that decree must be fulfilled, why this generation, instead of those of Isaac or Jacob? It's a powerful, direct challenge.

And then comes the zinger: "If You say why do I care – if so, why is it that You sent me?" Ouch. It’s the ultimate question of purpose. If his mission is only making things worse, what was the point?

The text continues, “‘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)." Rabbi Pinḥas HaKohen (a priest) ben Ḥama adds another layer, saying that Moses essentially tells God, "Your name is mighty, and even the wicked Pharaoh heard it… and still sinned willfully!" The nerve!

Rabbi Yishmael and Rabbi Akiva offer contrasting interpretations of the phrase "You did not rescue." Rabbi Yishmael sees it as a statement that God will certainly not rescue them at this time. Rabbi Akiva, however, offers a more nuanced view: "I know that You are destined to rescue them, but You do not care about those who are under the building." He is saying that God is focused on the big picture, but not on the individual suffering of those who are caught in the middle. (This is a powerful idea echoed in many Jewish texts and commentaries.)

The midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) concludes with a fascinating detail: At that moment, the attribute of justice (middat ha-din) sought to harm Moses. But because Moses was arguing on behalf of Israel, he was protected. This is more than just a story about Moses's chutzpah. It's a story about advocacy, about standing up for what's right, even when it means questioning the Divine. It's about the tension between justice and mercy, between the grand plan and the individual pain.

What does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even when things seem bleak, even when our efforts seem to backfire, we have a right – maybe even a responsibility – to question, to advocate, and to demand better. It reminds us that faith isn't about blind obedience, but about a relationship, a dialogue, even a wrestling match with the Divine. And sometimes, that wrestling is precisely what's needed to bring about change.

Full source
Shemot Rabbah 5:21Shemot Rabbah

That feeling... well, it's not new. It echoes all the way back to ancient Egypt, to the very dawn of the Israelite nation.

We find ourselves in the book of Exodus, Shemot in Hebrew, and things have taken a turn. Moses and Aaron, emboldened by God, have approached Pharaoh and demanded the release of the Israelites. But instead of freedom, Pharaoh doubles down on oppression. He makes their work harder, demanding the same output with fewer resources.

The Israelite foremen, the shotrim, are now in an impossible position. They’re responsible for meeting the quotas, but their people are suffering even more. It's a lose-lose situation. And their frustration boils over. They confront Moses and Aaron with a raw, agonizing accusation: "May the Lord look upon you, and judge; as you have made our scent abhorrent in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of his servants, to place a sword in their hand to kill us" (Exodus 5:21).

What does it mean to make their "scent abhorrent"? What a strange phrase. According to Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, this verse is rich with layers of meaning. The foremen’s words aren't just a complaint; they're a cry of despair.

Rabbi Yoḥanan suggests that the "abhorrent scent" comes from the brutal beatings the Israelites endured. The stench of suffering clung to them. But Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish offers an even more horrific interpretation. He says that when the Israelites couldn't meet their brick quotas, the Egyptians would seal them alive into the buildings as replacements for bricks. Can you imagine the horror? Their very lives became building materials. This gruesome image is also echoed in Shemot Rabbah 2:5. No wonder their scent was abhorrent.

Rabbi Ḥiyya uses a powerful analogy: it's like uncovering a hidden, rotting carcass. Before Moses, the Egyptians were somewhat complacent, perhaps even unaware of the Israelites' potential for liberation. "Moses," they accuse, "there was a sense [lit. scent] among the Egyptians that we are destined to be delivered, and you came and exacerbated it." You stirred things up. You made it worse.

And then comes the most poignant comparison. Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi son of Rabbi Shalom says the Israelites are like a lamb caught between a wolf and a shepherd. The shepherd tries to rescue the lamb, but in the struggle, the lamb is torn to pieces. "Moses," they lament, "between you and Pharaoh we will die." They don't see Moses as a savior, but as someone who has inadvertently made their situation more dangerous. They are caught in the crossfire. They're trapped between the oppressor and the would-be liberator.

This passage from Shemot Rabbah isn't just a historical anecdote. It’s a powerful reflection on the complexities of leadership, the unintended consequences of action, and the agonizing reality of being caught between powerful forces. It reminds us that even the best intentions can lead to unforeseen suffering, and that true liberation often comes at a great cost. And it leaves us pondering: when we strive for change, are we truly considering the potential impact on those caught in the middle?

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus 5:14Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus

The cruelty has a chain of command. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan preserves the structure: the exactors whom Pharoh set over them as officers beat the sons of Israel, saying, Why have not you fulfilled your appointment, to cast (the same number of) bricks as heretofore, today as yesterday?

Notice the layers. At the top, Pharaoh, issuing decrees from his palace. Beneath him, the Egyptian exactors, the royal taskmasters. Beneath them, the Israelite foremen. Hebrew middle managers caught between their own people and their Egyptian overseers. And at the bottom, the ordinary slaves, making bricks without straw.

When the Middle Management Bleeds

The Targum is careful to note that the Israelite foremen themselves are being beaten, not the rank-and-file slaves, at least not in this verse. The middle managers, tasked with producing impossible quotas, absorb the physical blows when the numbers don't add up.

This is one of tyranny's oldest techniques. Make the oppressed police themselves. The Hebrew foremen are simultaneously victims (beaten by Egyptian exactors) and enforcers (responsible for the bricks their fellow Hebrews produce). Every missed quota costs them their own skin.

The sages of the Targumic tradition will later teach (Shemot Rabbah 5:20) that these foremen, precisely because they refused to pass the beatings downward, were later rewarded with appointment as the seventy elders who received prophecy at Sinai (Numbers 11:16-17). The bruises they absorbed in Egypt became the moral authority they carried in the wilderness.

The takeaway: the Exodus story keeps track of the middle managers. The Jewish imagination does not forget that some of the first heroes of the liberation were Hebrew foremen who chose to bleed rather than to pass the violence on. Their bruises became their ordination.

Full source
Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Vaera 4:2Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Vaera

(Exodus 5:9:) "Let heavier work be laid upon the men, that they may labor at it and not pay attention to lying words." For they had scrolls with which they would delight themselves from Sabbath to Sabbath, saying that the Holy One is our Redeemer. Pharaoh said to them: "Let them not pay attention to lying words", let them not lean upon them, nor delight themselves with them, nor be at rest. Thus it is stated (Exodus 5:6): "And on that same day Pharaoh commanded the taskmasters over the people and their officers, saying." He said to them (Exodus 5:7): "You shall no longer give the people straw," and so forth. The Holy One said: Tomorrow I am bringing plagues upon them, and they say, "Pharaoh sins, and we pay." Once Israel went out to bring stubble to make it into straw, the Egyptian would smite him whenever he saw him in the midst of his field. Therefore (Exodus 5:12): "So the people scattered throughout all the land of Egypt," and so forth. (Exodus 5:15:) "Then the officers of the children of Israel came and cried out to Pharaoh," and so forth. What did he answer them? (Exodus 5:17:) "You are lazy, lazy!"

Full source