Take the tale of Pharaoh and Sarah in Genesis. We know the basic outline: Abraham and Sarah enter Egypt, Abraham says Sarah is his sister, Pharaoh takes Sarah into his house, and then… well, then things get interesting.
But what exactly happened in Pharaoh's palace? The Torah tells us that God afflicted Pharaoh and his house, but the details are left tantalizingly vague. That's where the Midrash comes in – specifically, Bereshit Rabbah, a treasure trove of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis.
The Rabbis of the Midrash weren't content with just the surface narrative. They wanted to know: What kind of affliction? How did it affect everyone? And what was Sarah doing the whole time?
Reish Lakish, quoting bar Kappara, offers a rather unpleasant detail: Pharaoh was stricken with raatan. Now, raatan is described as a type of skin disease. Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel adds a particularly cringe-worthy note: he recalls an elder, suffering from a skin disease, telling him that of all twenty-four types, raatan was the worst when it came to, shall we say, conjugal relations. Ouch.
But it gets even more widespread. Rabbi Aḥa suggests that even the beams of Pharaoh's palace were afflicted! The Midrash makes a direct connection between the Torah's phrase "and his household [beito]" and the literal meaning of beito – "his house." So, according to this interpretation, the divine affliction wasn't limited to people; it extended to the very structure itself. And the gossip was spreading: “…over the matter of Sarai, Abram’s wife.” The only explanation anyone could come up with for diseased house beams was divine intervention.
Rabbi Berekhya uses a striking image: "All the insolent ones have come in to touch the noblewoman’s shoe." It's a saying, a proverb, really, about low-ranking people behaving with outrageous disrespect towards someone of high status – like a princess. The Midrash applies this to Pharaoh's household, suggesting they were acting inappropriately towards Sarah.
And what about Sarah herself? The Midrash paints a picture of her in desperate prayer all night. "Master of the universe," she cries, "Abraham departed [from our home country] with a promise [of divine protection], and I departed only on faith. Abraham departed outside the cage, but I am in the cage." In other words, Abraham had God's explicit promise, while she only had her own belief. He was out in the open, but she was trapped in Pharaoh's palace, surrounded by…well, the Midrash calls them "beasts."
But God reassures her: "Everything I do, I do on your behalf." That's a powerful statement about divine providence and the unseen forces working to protect the righteous.
Rabbi Levi adds another layer. He says that throughout the night, an angel stood by Sarah with a rod, ready to strike at her command. "If you say: Strike, I will strike; if you say: Cease, I will cease." The phrase "over the matter of Sarai" (al devar Sarai) is cleverly reinterpreted to mean "by Sarai's word." Pharaoh was punished so severely, the Midrash argues, because Sarah repeatedly told him she was married, but he wouldn't leave her alone.
Finally, Rabbi Elazar, citing Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov, offers a contrasting view on the afflictions themselves. He suggests that Pharaoh was actually afflicted with leprosy (nega’im, which can refer to leprosy), while Avimelekh (in a similar story later in Genesis) suffered from obstruction of bodily orifices. How do we know which affliction goes where? From the repeated phrase "al devar" – "over the matter of." A verbal analogy, linking the two stories.
So, what do we take away from all this? More than just a lurid tale of disease and palace intrigue. The Midrash invites us to look deeper, to consider the emotional and spiritual dimensions of the story. It reminds us that even in moments of apparent helplessness, like Sarah in Pharaoh's house, divine forces are at work, responding to our prayers and defending the righteous. It's a powerful reminder that even when we feel trapped in a cage, we are not alone.