5 min read

The Hand That Strikes Egypt Also Heals Israel

The cattle that died in the plague stood back up and walked out. The water that judged idolaters had earlier exposed adulterers. One hand did both jobs.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Resurrected Cattle Walk Out of Egypt
  2. The Fire That Burned in the Pit
  3. What the Bitter Water Had Already Done
  4. The Bronze Serpent That Cured the Bite

Resurrected Cattle Walk Out of Egypt

The flies were gone, but the animals they had infected were dead across every Egyptian courtyard. The Egyptians slaughtered the carcasses before they could rot in the heat. A practical response to a catastrophe. God refused to let them keep what they had salvaged from it.

The dead animals stood up. The ones that had been killed by the plague and the ones that had been slaughtered before they could die of it rose from the ground and walked north out of Egypt, joining the living herds that would eventually accompany Israel to Sinai. The wicked were not allowed to profit from their losses. Not even from the meat.

The miracle was not just destructive. It was confiscatory. The same divine power that had sent the plague now reversed the plague's secondary effects. It struck and it healed in the same gesture. Egypt was left with no dead cattle at all: not the original ones who were still dying in the fields, and not the salvaged ones they thought they had rescued from the full cost of the plague. Heaven had been bookkeeping.

The Fire That Burned in the Pit

Pharaoh in the later stages of the plagues was shown something the rabbis preserved that the Torah does not describe directly: a vision of his own destination. Moses showed him Gehenna and said: this is where you are heading unless you release the people. It was an extraordinary pedagogical move. Not just consequences described but consequences made visible, the fire that waited below given a face so the king could look at it directly.

Pharaoh looked. He held on anyway. The rabbis did not treat this as incomprehensible. They treated it as the logical endpoint of a process that had been proceeding in one direction for years. A man who has chosen a position hard enough, and confirmed that choice enough times, arrives at a place where the evidence does not change the calculation. Pharaoh was not irrational. He was locked. The same stubbornness that had made him a king capable of building an empire made him incapable of reading a warning that required him to surrender one.

What the Bitter Water Had Already Done

At Marah, the water that Moses threw a branch into to make it drinkable had a prior life in the tradition. The rabbis connected it to the bitter water of Numbers 5, the water administered to a woman accused of adultery to determine her guilt or innocence. The water that revealed hidden unfaithfulness and the water that had been bitter and was made sweet were, in the rabbinic reading, the same water working in two different registers.

This doubled function made the Marah water a type of the larger pattern. A substance that punishes in one context heals in another. The difference is not in the substance. It is in what the moment requires. The same water that exposed a woman's hidden act and caused her shame was the water that, when encountered in the desert by a thirsty people, was turned into something life-giving. Divine instruments do not have only one direction.

The Bronze Serpent That Cured the Bite

In the wilderness, venomous snakes came among the Israelites and bit them and they began to die. God told Moses to make a bronze serpent and set it on a pole, and anyone who had been bitten and looked at it would live. The cure and the cause wore the same face. The snake that was killing the people in the camp and the snake mounted on the pole above the camp were the same creature in two registers: one working against life, one working for it.

The rabbis who commented on these verses over centuries kept returning to the question of what the looking did. The serpent on the pole had no intrinsic healing power. It was bronze. But the looking was real. A person who looked did so as an act of trust, an agreement to let the sign work, a consent to the relationship between the visible thing and the invisible power behind it. Those who looked were healed not by the serpent but by what the serpent was standing in for.

This is what the entire pattern amounted to. The striking hand and the healing hand were not two different hands. They were the same force encountering different conditions, applied with the precision of a surgeon who cuts in order to close. Pharaoh's cattle rose and walked north. Pharaoh's furnace turned cool for Abraham. The bitter water ran sweet. The snake that killed became the snake that cured. One pattern. One hand. Every miracle in the story of Moses working both sides of the same account.

GinzbergMosesMiraclesJudgment And Healing
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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

Legends of the Jews 4:305Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Dead Animals from the Plague of Flies Vanished Miraculously.

Well, according to Legends of the Jews, Ginzberg's masterful retelling of rabbinic tradition, the end of the fourth plague was just as miraculous as the plague itself. See, the Egyptians, in their desperation, had killed a bunch of the animals afflicted by the swarms of flies. Makes sense. But here’s the thing: God wasn’t about to let those wicked oppressors profit, not even a little bit, from the devastation. So, these very animals – the ones the Egyptians had slaughtered – they were resurrected! They came back to life and marched right out of Egypt with the rest of the afflicted creatures. Can you A evidence of divine justice, ensuring the wicked gained absolutely nothing from their suffering.

It’s a stark contrast to the plague of frogs. Remember them? They just died where they fell, their carcasses rotting and adding to the overall misery. Why the difference? Perhaps because the frogs, unlike the livestock, weren't of use to the Egyptians. The point wasn't just punishment, but also preventing the oppressors from benefiting from the suffering they inflicted.

Then came the fifth plague: the devastating pestilence. This wasn't just a minor inconvenience; it was a grievous disease that decimated the Egyptians' livestock, their cattle and beasts. While the animals suffered the most, the plague didn’t entirely spare the Egyptians themselves.

Legends of the Jews explains that this pestilence wasn't just a one-time event; it was a constant, underlying presence accompanying all the other plagues. So, while the focus might be on the frogs or the locusts, this deadly disease was always lurking, contributing to the overall suffering and death toll.

And what about the Israelites? Again, they were completely unharmed. Protected, shielded. It's a recurring theme, isn't it? The clear distinction between the oppressors and the oppressed. But it goes even deeper.

According to the tradition, even if an Israelite had a legitimate claim on an animal owned by an Egyptian, that animal would be spared. And if Israelites and Egyptians shared ownership of cattle? Those animals, too, would be protected from the pestilence. It's a fascinating detail, highlighting the meticulous nature of divine justice, the careful consideration of even the smallest details.

These stories, these legends, they aren’t just ancient tales. They are reminders that justice, while sometimes delayed, is ultimately served. And that even in the midst of unimaginable suffering, there is always a glimmer of hope, a promise of redemption. What do these legends teach us about how we should treat those around us? What kind of world would we build if we remembered these lessons?

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Legends of the Jews 4:312Legends of the Jews

Think of that friend who finally starts exercising after a doctor's warning, or the colleague who suddenly becomes a team player when their job is on the line. Well, Pharaoh, in the Biblical story of the Exodus, was definitely one of those people.

After enduring plague after plague, water turning to blood, swarms of frogs, and gnats, oh my!. Pharaoh was finally starting to crack. But it wasn't a genuine change of heart, not really. More like a desperate plea.

The hail is coming down in sheets, devastating everything in its path. And finally, FINALLY, Pharaoh relents. "The Lord is righteous," he groans, "and I and my people are wicked!" According to Legends of the Jews, Pharaoh even admits, "He was righteous when He bade us hasten in our cattle from before the hail, and I and my people were wicked, for we heeded not His warning." He acknowledges that the destruction was a direct result of ignoring God's warning, a warning meant to protect both people and their animals.

He begs Moses, please, to intercede with God and stop the plague. And, of course, he throws in the usual promise: let the children of Israel go!

Now, Moses, ever the shrewd negotiator (and let's be honest, a bit of a realist), agrees to plead with God. But he’s not buying Pharaoh’s sudden humility for a second. He lays it out plain: "Think not that I do not know what will happen after the plague is stayed. I know that thou and thy servants, ye will fear the Lord God, once His punishment is removed, as little as ye feared Him before." Ouch. Talk about calling someone's bluff!

But, Moses adds, to show God's greatness, he will pray for the hail to cease. It's not about trusting Pharaoh; it's about demonstrating God's power and mercy, even to those who may not deserve it.

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How often do we, like Pharaoh, only turn to a higher power or to doing the right thing when we're backed into a corner? And how often do we truly learn from those experiences? The story of the Exodus, even in this small moment, is a powerful reminder that true change comes from within, not just from external pressures.

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Legends of the Jews 2:110Legends of the Jews

Oh no. Some faced a rather unpleasant form of divine justice, involving… drinking water.

Yep, you heard that right. Drinking water! But not just any water. This water, according to some traditions, was a form of capital punishment inflicted upon the sinners. Imagine the scene: the aftermath of the Golden Calf, the air thick with remorse and fear. Moses, standing tall, issues a call to action: "Who is on the Lord's side? Let him come unto me!" (Exodus 32:26).

Who answers the call? The sons of Levi. They, who had remained steadfast and not participated in the idolatrous worship. Moses, in turn, appoints these Levites as judges. Their immediate duty? To carry out the lawful punishment of decapitation upon those who, with witnesses present, were seduced into idolatry after having been explicitly warned. Harsh. According to Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, Moses gave this command as if he had been directly commissioned by God. But here's the twist: he wasn't! Why do this? To expedite justice. Because under normal Jewish jurisprudence, punishing all the guilty in a single day would have been nearly impossible.

Those who were witnessed committing idolatry but couldn't be proven to have received a prior warning didn't escape judgment entirely. They met their fate through this special water that Moses forced them to drink. Apparently, this water had the same effect on them as the curse-bringing water administered to an adulterous woman, the sotah, described in Numbers 5.

But what about those sinners against whom no witnesses came forward? Did they get off scot-free? Not quite. The legend says that God sent a plague to carry them off. So, no one truly escaped the consequences of their actions.

It paints a stark picture, doesn’t it? A society confronting immense guilt, seeking to restore its relationship with the Divine. The story highlights the severity with which idolatry was viewed and the lengths to which the community went to cleanse itself after such a profound transgression. It makes you wonder about the nature of justice, divine intervention, and the human capacity for both immense faith and terrible mistakes. How do we balance justice and mercy? And what does it truly mean to be "on the Lord's side"?

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Legends of the Jews 5:86Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Even Dog Bites Were Healed by Looking at the Serpent.

Here's a fascinating detail: The healing wasn't uniform. Those bitten by animals were cured with a mere glance, a quick acknowledgment. But those bitten by serpents needed a long, insistent gaze. What does that tell us? Perhaps it hints at the deeper, more sustained work required to heal from the original transgression. Maybe it symbolizes the deeper venom of that first transgression that had led to the serpents in the first place.

The story continues, and the landscape itself becomes a character. The murmurs of the people, which brought about the serpent plague, occurred in Zalmonah, a place, as the verse says, "where grew only thorns and thistles." A fitting backdrop for discontent, wouldn’t you say? From there, they wandered to Punon, where God's punishment found them. Even in the next two stations, Oboth and Iye-abarim, their hostility continued, fueling God's wrath.

Things didn’t turn around until they reached Arnon. It was there, in the valley of Arnon, that God's favor returned. And how! The miracles there were, as great as the splitting of the Red Sea!

Now, picture this: The valley of Arnon formed by two towering mountains, so close that people on their summits could chat with each other. But to traverse the valley, one had to descend seven miles and then ascend again. The Amorites, knowing the Israelites would have to pass through, hatched a plan. Some hid in caves on the mountain slopes, others waited in the valley below. A classic ambush!

But God, as always, had other plans. Here's where the story reaches a crescendo. one mountain was full of caves, perfect for hiding. The other? A jagged, rocky mountain. And then, God moved the rocky mountain, pressing it so close to the other that its jutting rocks crushed the Amorites hiding in the caves!

Isn't that an incredible image? The landscape itself becoming an instrument of divine justice. The very geography reshaped to protect the Israelites. It’s a powerful reminder that even the most cunning plans can be overturned by a force greater than ourselves. The Zohar tells us that every detail in Torah has a purpose, so this amazing event at Arnon surely is no different.

What does this story, with its brazen serpent and collapsing mountains, leave us with? Perhaps it's a reminder of the power of perspective. A glance can heal a small wound, but a sustained gaze, a deeper introspection, is needed for true transformation. And perhaps, too, it's a reminder that even in the most treacherous valleys, divine intervention is possible, sometimes in the most unexpected, earth-shattering ways.

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