We often focus on the wonder of divine intervention, but sometimes the small details reveal a much deeper story. Take the plague of blood in Egypt, for example. We all know the story: Moses strikes the Nile, and it turns to blood. But what happened after that? The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, gives us a glimpse into the bizarre, unsettling reality of that plague.
Imagine this: Egyptians and Israelites, neighbors forced to coexist, approach the same well. They draw water together, but a miracle—or a curse—occurs. The Israelite's cup is filled with cool, refreshing water, while the Egyptian's brims with blood. Can you imagine the tension? The fear?
But it gets even stranger. According to the Midrash, the Egyptian, desperate for a drink, might plead, "Let us both drink together." They both put their mouths to the cup, the Israelite still finding water, the Egyptian still tasting only blood. It's a scene of profound inequality, a constant reminder of the divine favor bestowed upon one nation and the suffering inflicted upon the other.
Rabbi Avin takes this image a step further. He suggests that "All the water that the Egyptians drank was taken from Israel with blood, and that is how they became wealthy. For if they had taken it without blood, it would have turned to blood." What a chilling thought! The Egyptians' wealth wasn't just about material possessions, but also about the very life-sustaining water they were forced to wrest from the Israelites, tainted with blood and suffering.
It's a complex idea, isn't it? The Egyptians’ prosperity, fueled by the pain they inflicted, highlights the dark side of divine intervention and the subtle ways in which injustice can be woven into the fabric of society. Even in a miraculous event, there are layers of moral ambiguity.
And Rabbi Yosei connects this to the mitzvah (commandment) of taking spoils from Egypt. He references Exodus 3:22, "And a woman shall ask of her neighbor," seeing it as a direct command regarding those spoils the Israelites were instructed to request before their departure. This verse, in Yosei's reading, isn't just about material compensation; it's about redressing a deeper imbalance, a symbolic repayment for the years of forced labor and, perhaps, even for the blood-tainted water.
So, the next time you read about the plagues, remember the cup of water, the shared well, and the blood that separated two peoples. It's a reminder that even in the most extraordinary events, the human cost is always present, and the pursuit of justice is a long and complicated journey. What does it truly mean to be free, and what are we obligated to do to repair the damage of the past? It's a question that echoes through the ages, as relevant today as it was in ancient Egypt.