It's easy to focus on the big battles and powerful leaders, but sometimes the most profound changes come from the courage of ordinary people. Today, we're going to delve into one such story, a tale of defiance and compassion found in the heart of the Exodus narrative: the story of the pious midwives.
The Israelites, despite facing immense hardship under Pharaoh's rule, were thriving. As Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg) tells us, they were multiplying at an astonishing rate, filling the land "as with thick underbrush." Understandably, this worried the Egyptians. They saw the growing Hebrew population as a potential threat.
Pharaoh, desperate to control the situation, turned to his counselors for advice. One of them, Job (yes, that Job!), suggested a chilling solution: kill all newborn Israelite boys. According to Ginzberg, Pharaoh and the Egyptians preferred to have the midwives commit this atrocity, believing they would avoid divine punishment that way.
So, Pharaoh summoned the Hebrew midwives and commanded them to do just that. The text identifies these women as Jochebed, Moses' mother, and Miriam, his sister. When they appeared before Pharaoh, the young Miriam, in a moment of courageous defiance, exclaimed, "Woe be to this man when God visits retribution upon him for his evil deeds." Can you imagine the audacity? Jochebed, ever the protective mother, quickly diffused the situation, claiming Miriam was just a child.
Now, Pharaoh's order was deceptively simple: kill the boys, spare the girls. But why spare the girls? The text offers a rather uncomfortable explanation: the Egyptians were motivated by their own desires, wanting as many women as possible "at their service."
But here's where the real heroism begins. These midwives, faced with an impossible choice, chose compassion. They defied Pharaoh's orders. They refused to participate in the murder of innocent children. Instead, they secretly ensured the babies' survival, providing for their needs and praying for their well-being. As the story goes, if a mother lacked food, the midwives would collect provisions from wealthier women to ensure the infant wouldn't suffer.
Pharaoh, realizing his command was being ignored, summoned the midwives again. He demanded an explanation. Their response? They claimed that the Hebrew women were like animals and didn't need assistance in childbirth. (Talk about quick thinking!)
According to Legends of the Jews, the midwives even prayed for the children’s safe delivery, lest they be suspected of injuring them in an attempt to carry out Pharaoh’s orders. Miraculously, no child born under their care was born with any blemish.
What's so powerful about this story is the understated nature of their resistance. It wasn't a grand rebellion or a violent uprising. It was a quiet, persistent refusal to participate in evil. It was choosing humanity over obedience.
But what were the consequences of their actions? Did they face punishment? The text tells us quite the opposite! These God-fearing women were richly rewarded. Jochebed, as we know, became the mother of Aaron and Moses. And Miriam, through her lineage with Caleb, became an ancestor of the royal house of David. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, their righteousness and faith were recognized.
According to the text, the hand of God was visible in Miriam's married life, too. After a severe illness, she was restored to health, youth, and beauty, bringing renewed joy to her husband. And as a final reward, Miriam was privileged to give birth to Bezalel, the master craftsman who built the Tabernacle, endowing him with celestial wisdom.
So, what can we learn from the story of the pious midwives? It's a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming power, individual acts of courage can make a difference. It's a testament to the strength of compassion and the importance of standing up for what's right, even when it's difficult. It’s also a poignant reminder that heroism often resides not in grand gestures, but in quiet acts of defiance and unwavering commitment to human life. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, where we might find those pockets of quiet heroism in our own world today?