The verse in question: "Moses emerged from the city, from Pharaoh, and spread his hands to the Lord; the thundering and hail ceased, and the rain did not pour upon the earth" (Exodus 9:33). It sounds straightforward, right? But Shemot Rabbah sees so much more.

Notice the detail: "Moses emerged from the city, from Pharaoh." He didn't linger, didn't wait to be completely clear of the chaos and corruption. No, he was still in the vicinity of the city when he immediately "spread his hands to the Lord." Shemot Rabbah emphasizes his immediacy, his lack of hesitation. He didn’t delay praying on their behalf. And, blessed be He, the Holy One accepted his prayer. It paints a picture of desperate urgency, a leader utterly devoted to his people.

And what about that ceased hail? The text says, "The thundering and hail ceased, and the rain did not pour upon the earth." But the Rabbis don't just read the surface. They see layers of meaning. Shemot Rabbah tells us that Moses didn’t completely destroy the hail, but rather, he suspended it loosely. Waiting.

So, where did it go? When did it fall? Shemot Rabbah connects this event to the book of Joshua: "In the days of Joshua, upon the Emorites, as it is stated: “It was as they fled…the Lord cast upon them great stones from the heavens” (Joshua 10:11)." Talk about long-term consequences! But that's not the end of the story. According to this Midrash, the rest of the hail is destined to fall in the days of Gog and Magog – a messianic era battle of epic proportions! It’s a powerful reminder that even seemingly resolved events can have repercussions far into the future.

But the story doesn't end with miracles and divine intervention. It turns to a much more human, and frankly, disappointing reaction. "Pharaoh saw that the rain and the hail and the thundering had ceased, and he continued to sin, and he hardened his heart, he and his servants" (Exodus 9:34). Shemot Rabbah uses this as a moment of reflection on human nature, on the cyclical patterns of wickedness and repentance.

"Pharaoh saw that the rain and the hail and the thundering had ceased, and he continued to sin." The Rabbis observed: That's how the wicked are. As long as they are in distress, they subjugate themselves, they appear humble. But when the distress passes, they revert to their corruption. Sound familiar?

Shemot Rabbah draws a parallel with Nebuchadnezzar. When he was suffering, he praised God, as it is stated in Daniel 4:34: “Now I Nebuchadnezzar praise, extol, and honor the King of the heavens, as all His works are truth…” But then, puffed up with pride, he boasted, “The king spoke, and said: Isn’t this great Babylon, which I have built as a royal residence, by the might of my power and for the glory of my majesty?” (Daniel 4:27). Pharaoh, too, followed this pattern. It’s a cautionary tale about the fleeting nature of humility born of crisis.

What does all this mean for us? Perhaps it’s a call to examine our own reactions to adversity and relief. Do we, like Pharaoh, quickly forget the lessons learned in hard times? Or can we strive to maintain a sense of gratitude and humility, even when the storms have passed? The story of Moses, the hail, and Pharaoh is so much more than just a historical account. It’s a mirror reflecting the complexities of the human heart.