Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, uses a vivid analogy to explore exactly that feeling, focusing on the Exodus from Egypt. It hangs on a single verse from Psalm 105:38: "Egypt rejoiced at their departure." Seems a little… odd, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t they be devastated?
Rabbi Berchiah, in Midrash Tehillim, paints a picture: Imagine a very, very large man riding a donkey. Now, both the man and the donkey are suffering. The donkey’s thinking, "Oy vey, when will he finally get off my back?!" And the man is thinking, "Oof, when will I finally reach my destination and dismount?!"
Finally, the moment arrives. He gets off! Both the man and the donkey rejoice. But here's the question Rabbi Berchiah poses: who is happier?
It’s a clever thought experiment, isn’t it? He then applies this to the Israelites in Egypt. The Egyptians are suffering under the ten plagues, each one more devastating than the last. They’re desperate for the Israelites to leave, thinking, "When will these people just go?!" And the Israelites, enslaved and oppressed, are of course yearning for freedom, praying, "When will the Holy One, Blessed Be He, redeem us?"
When the Exodus finally happens, when Pharaoh finally relents and lets them go, both groups experience joy. The Israelites are free! The Egyptians are rid of the plagues! But… who is happier?
The Midrash doesn't leave us hanging. It turns back to that verse: "Egypt rejoiced at their departure." The very words of King David suggest that, in this particular situation, Egypt's joy might have been greater.
Why? Well, consider the weight of those plagues. Consider the utter devastation that had befallen Egypt. Their entire world had been turned upside down. The departure of the Israelites wasn't just a political or social event; it was the removal of a cosmic burden, a release from divine wrath.
The Israelites were certainly joyous, celebrating their newfound freedom. But their journey was just beginning. They faced the wilderness, the yam suf, the Sea of Reeds, and the daunting task of building a new nation. Their joy was intertwined with uncertainty.
The Egyptians, on the other hand, experienced pure, unadulterated relief. The suffering was over. The nightmare had ended.
Of course, we know their relief was short-lived. They soon chased after the Israelites, leading to their demise in the Sea of Reeds. But in that initial moment of departure, the Midrash suggests, their joy was perhaps the greater of the two.
It's a powerful reminder that even in moments of triumph, others may be experiencing their own form of liberation. And sometimes, the end of suffering can be the greatest blessing of all. The Zohar, the central text of Kabbalah, often speaks of the interconnectedness of all things. Perhaps this Midrash hints at that same idea – that even in the midst of our own struggles, we are bound to others, and their relief can, in a strange way, reflect our own.
So, the next time you find yourself in a situation where everyone just wants it to be over, remember the fat man and the donkey. Remember the Israelites and the Egyptians. And consider: whose joy will be the greatest when it finally ends?