The ancient rabbis grappled with this very feeling when they looked at the Exodus story.
The Torah tells us that God "did not lead them" – lo naham – after Pharaoh finally let the Israelites go (Exodus 13:17). On the surface, it seems straightforward: God had a plan. But the Rabbis of Shemot Rabbah (a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Exodus) saw something deeper. They ask: Why the word naḥam? It’s usually translated as "relent" or "comfort," implying God wasn't yet satisfied.
Shemot Rabbah 20 offers a powerful parable to explain this. Imagine a king whose son is kidnapped. He bravely rescues his son from the clutches of highwaymen, defeating them in battle. The son, safe now, recounts the horrors he endured: "They did this to me! They struck me like that! They enslaved me!"
Now, even though the king vanquished the kidnappers, the story goes that he remained inconsolable. He couldn't simply move on. He kept thinking, "They did this to my son!" The pain inflicted upon his child lingered, demanding a more profound reckoning.
That, according to the Midrash, is how God felt about the Egyptians' treatment of the Israelites. For generations, the Egyptians "embittered their lives" (Exodus 1:14). They inflicted unimaginable suffering, reducing an entire people to slaves. God, in turn, unleashed the Ten Plagues, a devastating display of divine power, ultimately freeing His children.
But according to this reading of Shemot Rabbah, even the plagues weren't enough to fully soothe the divine anger. The text says God "would not be mollified" – mitnaḥem – "until I kill all of them." Strong words. The midrash continues, pointing to verses that describe the utter destruction of the Egyptian army at the Red Sea: "The Lord overturned Egypt in the midst of the sea" (Exodus 14:27); "The horse and its rider He cast into the sea" (Exodus 15:1); and the prophecy that "Egypt shall be a desolation" (Joel 4:19). These verses, read together, underscore the totality of the Egyptians' demise. Only then, seemingly, could a measure of divine justice be achieved.
So, what does this all mean? Are we to understand that God is vengeful? Perhaps not. Instead, this midrash might be teaching us about the enduring nature of trauma and the profound challenge of achieving true justice. It suggests that simply punishing the perpetrators may not fully heal the wounds of the victims.
The pain of slavery, the scars of oppression – these things linger. And perhaps, Shemot Rabbah suggests, true redemption requires not only liberation but also a complete and utter dismantling of the systems that allowed such suffering to occur in the first place. It's a sobering thought, and one that continues to resonate deeply today.