That agonizing tease of liberation is a feeling the Israelites knew all too well as they stood on the brink of freedom from Egypt. We find ourselves in the thick of it in Exodus 10:19-20, a passage laden with divine intervention, dashed hopes, and a particularly dramatic exit for a plague of locusts.
Remember the plague of locusts? Swarms so thick they blotted out the sun, devouring every green thing in sight? A truly devastating blow against Egypt! But here’s where things get interesting. As we read in Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of rabbinic commentary on the Book of Exodus, the Egyptians, in a twisted turn, actually started to celebrate! They thought, "Aha! We'll just gather these locusts, salt them, and store them for later." Can you imagine? Trying to turn a divine plague into a pantry staple!
Rabbi Yoḥanan vividly captures the scene. The Egyptians, thinking they had outsmarted the Almighty, began gleefully filling barrels with locusts. But God, blessed be He, wasn't having it. As the Midrash recounts, He rebuked them: "Wicked ones, are you rejoicing over the plague that I brought upon you?"
Immediately, God sent a mighty west wind. The Hebrew for "west wind" is ruach yam, but in this context, it's described as an "exceedingly strong west wind" (ruach yam az me'od). And this wasn't just any breeze; it was a gale-force gust designed to undo the Egyptians' hubris. As Shemot Rabbah emphasizes, this wind didn't just carry away the locusts still munching on crops. Oh no. It took everything.
The passage states, "There did not remain even one locust." But what does that really mean? According to the Midrash, it meant that even the locusts already salted and stored in pots and barrels were swept away! Imagine the scene: barrels flying open, a whirlwind of salty locusts swirling into the sky, leaving the Egyptians empty-handed and undoubtedly bewildered.
And then, the verse chillingly concludes: “The Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he did not let the children of Israel go.” (Exodus 10:20)
Why? Why after such a powerful display? The Etz Yosef commentary suggests a fascinating possibility. Perhaps, witnessing the utter and complete removal of even salted locusts, Pharaoh concluded that the plague wasn't a divine act at all, but rather the result of powerful sorcery. After all, wouldn’t a real plague of locusts leave something behind? This explanation allowed Pharaoh to rationalize his stubbornness, to attribute the events to magic rather than divine power, and thus, to harden his heart once more.
What a heartbreaking moment. The Israelites are SO close. God demonstrates His power in undeniable ways. And yet, Pharaoh, blinded by his own pride and perhaps a touch of magical thinking, slams the door shut.
This story, found within the larger narrative of the Exodus, reminds us that even in the face of overwhelming evidence, people can choose to cling to their own interpretations, their own narratives, even when those narratives lead to oppression and suffering. It's a powerful reminder to examine our own hearts, to ask ourselves: What beliefs are we clinging to so tightly that we are willing to ignore the winds of change, the clear signs pointing towards a more just and compassionate world?