We all know the story: God, in his awesome power, struck down the firstborn of Egypt as the final, devastating blow to convince Pharaoh to release the Israelites from bondage. But the story doesn't end there. Midrash Tehillim 136 offers a chilling, almost unbelievable, addition to this pivotal moment in our history.
Imagine the scene: Moses, standing before Pharaoh, warning him of the impending doom. He declares that at midnight, death will sweep through every Egyptian household, taking the life of their eldest sons. The firstborn, terrified by Moses' words – words that had proven true time and time again with each preceding plague – they plead with their fathers. "Let these Hebrews go!" they beg, "Or we will all die!"
But the fathers, stubborn and defiant, hardened by their king’s unwavering resolve, refused. "Even if all of Egypt perishes," they sneered, "they will not leave!" Can you imagine the despair of these firstborn sons? Facing certain death, abandoned by their own families?
So, what did they do? According to this Midrash, they took matters into their own hands. Desperate, they turned to Pharaoh himself, crying out for the release of the Israelites, warning him of the impending doom that threatened both them and their kingdom. But Pharaoh, enraged by their pleas, ordered his servants to seize and beat them!
And here's where the story takes a truly shocking turn. The Midrash says that the firstborn sons, pushed beyond their limits, drew their swords and killed their own fathers. Think about that for a moment. Parricide on a massive scale, born out of desperation and a desperate will to survive.
The text emphasizes this point with a subtle linguistic twist. It doesn't say "for the strike against the firstborns of Egypt," but rather "for the strike against Egypt's firstborns." This, according to the Midrash, implies that the firstborns were acting against Egypt, against their own families, in a desperate act of self-preservation. The Midrash claims that sixty myriads - that's six hundred thousand! - firstborns killed their fathers that night. A truly staggering number.
Now, Rabbi Avin, citing Rabbi Yudah ben Pazi, adds another fascinating detail. Pharaoh's daughter, Batya, was also a firstborn. How was she spared? The Midrash suggests it was due to Moses' prayer, citing the verse, "Its value is greater than pearls; it cannot be compared with gold." The word "night" appears in the verse, linking it, perhaps, to the night of the plague and Batya's miraculous survival.
It's a difficult, disturbing story, isn't it? A far cry from the triumphant narrative we often associate with the Exodus. But it forces us to confront the true cost of freedom, the desperate measures people take when faced with impossible choices, and the complex, often brutal, realities of power and oppression. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, about the untold stories hidden within the grand narratives we inherit? What other hidden tragedies and acts of desperation shaped our history?