The Bible tells us about the Israelites' enslavement in Egypt, but some of the most chilling details come from other sources, like Legends of the Jews by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg. Ginzberg, drawing on a wealth of midrashic and Talmudic sources, paints a truly horrifying picture of the final years of Israel's bondage.
According to Ginzberg's retelling, Pharaoh wasn't just a cruel tyrant; he was also stricken with a terrible plague, a form of leprosy that covered his entire body. Imagine the agony, the shame, the desperation. What would you do?
Pharaoh, in his desperation, consulted his advisors: Balaam, Jethro, and Job. You might recognize Job from the Book of Job, a man known for his patience and righteousness. Balaam, however, was a very different sort. He offered a truly horrifying solution: the blood of Israelite children. "Thou canst regain thy health," Balaam said, "only if thou wilt slaughter Israelitish children and bathe in their blood."
Think about that for a moment. What kind of depravity leads someone to suggest such a thing?
Jethro, horrified, immediately fled to Midian. He refused to be party to such an atrocity. Job, though he disapproved, remained silent. Midrash Rabbah tells us that Job was later punished for his silence with a year of suffering, but was then rewarded in this world so that he would not have a claim on the world to come.
And Pharaoh? He listened to Balaam. According to this account, Pharaoh had his officials snatch babies from their mothers' arms and slaughter them, bathing in their blood in a vain attempt to cure himself. For ten years, this horror continued, one child a day sacrificed to Pharaoh's vanity.
But it didn't work. In fact, his condition worsened. His leprosy turned into boils, adding to his suffering. Just imagine the added agony, physical and spiritual!
Then came the news that the Israelites in Goshen, the land allotted to them in Egypt, were becoming lax in their forced labor. Enraged and weakened, Pharaoh had himself harnessed to a horse-drawn chariot to go and crack the whip. But divine justice, it seems, had other plans.
As Pharaoh's chariot passed through a narrow passage, the horses jostled, and his chariot overturned. He was crushed, his flesh torn. The text tells us plainly: "for this thing was from the Lord, He had heard the cries of His people and their affliction."
Pharaoh was carried back to Egypt, knowing his end was near.
His advisors urged him to choose a successor from among his sons. He had three sons – Atro, Adikam, and Moryon – and two daughters. The eldest son was an idiot. The second, Adikam, while clever, was physically repulsive, short and ungainly. Nevertheless, Pharaoh chose Adikam, who became the next Pharaoh.
The old Pharaoh died in disgrace, his body so putrid it couldn't even be embalmed. The Lord, the story says, requited him with evil for the evil he had done to Israel.
Adikam, also known as Akuz (meaning "short" in Egyptian), proved to be even worse than his father. He increased the Israelites' workload and, in a particularly gruesome detail, ordered that missing bricks be replaced with Israelite infants, literally built into the walls.
The suffering of the Israelites reached a fever pitch. They cried out to God, and He heard them.
Now, here's a fascinating point: the text emphasizes that God's decision to redeem the Israelites wasn't necessarily because of their righteousness. In fact, God knew they would later sin, even worshipping the golden calf. As the text says, "they were empty of good deeds." However, God remembered his covenant with their ancestors. They also, the text points out, possessed several virtues: they avoided incestuous relations, refrained from gossip, maintained their Hebrew names and language, and showed compassion for one another. They helped each other complete their work. "Therefore," the text concludes, "God spake, 'They deserve that I should have mercy upon them, for if a man shows mercy unto another, I have mercy upon him.'"
This story, while gruesome, offers a powerful message. It's a reminder of the depths of human cruelty, the consequences of unchecked power, and the enduring importance of compassion and solidarity, even in the face of unimaginable suffering. And perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that even when we feel undeserving, even when we fall short, the potential for redemption always remains.