The first verses of Parashat Shemot compress decades of history, which must have been rich with nuanced and complicated politics and multi-facetted heroes and villains, into just a few verses. The Torah, at times, packs some of those details of history into just a single word that seems out of place or unexpected and invites us to unpack the layers of meaning contained in each verse. At other times, the Torah drops details altogether leaving us with a narrative that seems sparse but that is actually deliberately focusing our attention on the details that truly matter.
The Torah describes a rapid, rapid descent of the Israelites in Egypt that takes us from the generation of Yosef and his brothers who lived in honor as members of the highest echelons of Egyptian power, to being powerless victims of a genocidal campaign by a Pharaoh who could not remember any positive intervention ever performed by a Jew in Egypt. And then, the Torah describes a rapid ascent that brings us from endless slavery with no end in sight, to the cusp of liberation.
A teacher of mine once pointed out that in literature, and certainly in movies, villains are more interesting than heroes. In real life, however, it is much more interesting to be virtuous and far more captivating and compelling to be around descent people who strive to act with integrity than it is to be surrounded by base characters interested only in their base and selfish interests.
In real life the struggle to be good is so much more interesting than giving up that struggle. But precisely because it is hard and unending work to live a life of virtue, there is something quite appealing about fictional villains who pursue evil because it is evil and seem to have no motivations other than hatred and violence.
What about Pharaoh? Is he a cartoon villain overcome by irrational hatred, or is something more complicated going on.
Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, someone who experienced antisemitism first-hand as a resident of the Russian Empire in the 19th century, noticed an unexpected word in the Torah’s account of Pharaoh’s paranoid phobia of his Israelite subjects:
וַיֹּ֖אמֶר אֶל־עַמּ֑וֹ הִנֵּ֗ה עַ֚ם בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל רַ֥ב וְעָצ֖וּם מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃
And he said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us.
Netziv notices that there is an extra word in Pharaoh’s statement. Instead of saying that the Israelites had grown too numerous בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל רַ֥ב וְעָצ֖וּם מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃ he says, “ עַ֚ם בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל” the Israelite “am” have grown too numerous. What does “am” mean in this context?
דכ״פ משמעות עם. אנשי חיל למלחמה. והי׳ בבנ״י כמה אנשי חיל. וחש פרעה שיחזקו מאנשי חיל של פרעה
“Am” in this context means an armed militia. Pharaoh was not worried that Egyptians could be outnumbered in Egypt, he was worried that there were armed militias among the Israelite population that could threaten his own army if there were to be a war. Pharaoh goes on to explain that the fear could materialize if there were a broader, all-out, war which would give even a small Israelite army the possibility of acting as a destructive fifth column.
Pharaoh isn’t delusional and he isn’t necessarily paranoid. He is not a cartoon villain who cackles with delight at his own evil plans. He is a responsible statesman who is trying to do what is best for his people in the face of a legitimate security threat. Pharaoh becomes a villain when he adopts immoral tactics to pursue a legitimate concern. More pointedly, Pharaoh ignores the individual humanity of his Israelite subjects and treats them as abstract members of a group. He has an “Israelite problem” and eventually, inexorably, inevitably, he arrives at his final solution to his Israelite problem.
And then, there is a rapid reversal and Parashat Shemot ends on the cusp of liberation. Pharaoh ignored the individual humanity of his Hebrew subjects and lead his kingdom to unspeakable cruelty, violence and evil. Redemption begins with individuals who see individuals when they are asked to see members of a group.
The “Hebrew midwives” the מְיַלְּדֹ֖ת הָֽעִבְרִיֹּ֑ת refuse to carry out Pharaoh’s command. There is an incredible syntactic ambiguity in that phrase. (I’ve shared before that the definition of a linguist is someone who loves syntactic ambiguity more than most people…). Are they the Hebrew women who work as midwives among their own people? Are they the Egyptian midwives who serve the Hebrew population? The mefarshim, the classic commentaries are divided. I encourage you to take some time to contemplate what each option would mean for the significance of their action because I do not believe there is an obvious grammatical resolution to the ambiguity.
Perhaps the ambiguity itself is part of the point. These midwives don’t see Hebrews or Egyptians and they don’t think of themselves as Hebrews or as Egyptians. They see newborn infants who arouse their compassion.
וַתִּירֶ֤אןָ הַֽמְיַלְּדֹת֙ אֶת־הָ֣אֱלֹהִ֔ים וְלֹ֣א עָשׂ֔וּ כַּאֲשֶׁ֛ר דִּבֶּ֥ר אֲלֵיהֶ֖ן מֶ֣לֶךְ מִצְרָ֑יִם וַתְּחַיֶּ֖יןָ אֶת־הַיְלָדִֽים׃
“The midwives, fearing God, did not do as the king of Egypt had told them; they let the boys live.”
The Torah contrasts the instructions of the “king of Egypt” to act in a political way in the national interest, with the fear of God that demanded their principled refusal. The midwives were the first people to take a moral stand motivated by fear of God in generations. Yehudah intervenes to save Yosef’s life with an appeal to the financial gain to be had by keeping Yosef alive to sell into slavery. Yosef himself had tried to push off Mrs. Potifar’s advances with an appeal to his own loyalty to Potifar himself.
We must go back to Avraham himself and his willingness to offer his son Yitzhak as an offering before we find any action in the Torah classified as being motivated by fear of God. Avraham’s willingness to kill a child at God’s command is echoed, generations later, by the midwife’s willingness to save children through ignoring Pharaoh’s command.
Pharaoh’s daughter has mercy on Moshe when she sees his basket floating in the Nile.
תִּפְתַּח֙ וַתִּרְאֵ֣הוּ אֶת־הַיֶּ֔לֶד וְהִנֵּה־נַ֖עַר בֹּכֶ֑ה וַתַּחְמֹ֣ל עָלָ֔יו וַתֹּ֕אמֶר מִיַּלְדֵ֥י הָֽעִבְרִ֖ים זֶֽה׃
When she opened it, she saw that it was a child, a boy crying. She took pity on it and said, “This must be a Hebrew child.”
Pharaoh’s daughter knows precisely whose baby she has found. She knows the baby is a hostile foreign population and she knows the policies her own father has put in place to protect their kingdom – her kingdom too – from Hebrews. But she has compassion on an individual child and that compassion leads to redemption.
The final steps needed for redemption are brought about by Moshe himself. In yet another profound instance of syntactic ambiguity the Torah tells us of Moshe’s maturation and his ensuing moral maturation:
וַיְהִ֣י ׀ בַּיָּמִ֣ים הָהֵ֗ם וַיִּגְדַּ֤ל מֹשֶׁה֙ וַיֵּצֵ֣א אֶל־אֶחָ֔יו וַיַּ֖רְא בְּסִבְלֹתָ֑ם וַיַּרְא֙ אִ֣ישׁ מִצְרִ֔י מַכֶּ֥ה אִישׁ־עִבְרִ֖י מֵאֶחָֽיו׃
Some time after that, when Moses had grown up, he went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen.
Who were his kinsfolk, his brothers וַיֵּצֵ֣א אֶל־אֶחָ֔יו? In the end of the verse, it’s clear that his kinsman is another Heberw, “ אִישׁ־עִבְרִ֖י מֵאֶחָֽיו׃” but it could be that Moshe goes out to be with his Egyptian brothers, and is transformed by a first-hand encounter with the suffering and subjugation of Egyptian slavery. Ibn Ezra reads the verse this way and I think he is correct.
Moshe leaves his home one morning thinking of himself as an Egyptian and that his loyalties should be to other Egyptians. He comes to understand that right and wrong are independent and absolute and do not depend on kinship at all. His ultimate responsibility is to protect innocent people even when they are oppressed by his own Egyptian brothers.
And then, after reclaiming his own Hebrew identity, Moshe intervenes in a fight between two Hebrews. One is innocent and one is an aggressor. Moshe here too sees individuals and is able to make an appropriate ethical evaluation of the situation and of his responsibility to intervene on behalf of an innocent victim. Moshe is willing to criticize another Hebrew. He recognizes that even an enslaved Hebrew can himself become an oppressor to someone even more vulnerable. Oppression isn’t binary. One can be an aggressor even as one is also a victim at the same time. A broader context of victimhood cannot justify behavior that is otherwise unjustifiable.
The Torah begins with the creation of individual human beings in God’s image. Sefer Bereishit ends when the descendants of Avraham and Sarah manage to form one nation. In Sefer Shmot we see how national identity can pave the way for the worst kinds of evil when a statesman like Pharaoh ignores the humanity of innocent Hebrew babies, and ultimately stifles his own humanity. The way out of Egypt, the path to redemption, is through the restoration of individual identity. The midwives refuse to see national enemies instead of infants. Pharaoh’s daughter ignores the national identity of the infant in front of her. Moshe sees that right and wrong are determined by one’s actions and not one’s kinship.
And then, after this foundation has been built by human compassion, God intervened into history and redeemed us from Egypt.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 