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Yeshivat Har Etzion

Parashat Shemot

Rav David Silverberg

Towards the beginning of Parashat Shemot we read of Benei Yisrael's accelerated population growth in Egypt, and the concern this engendered within Pharaoh. Pharaoh is worried that "in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and will leave the country" (1:10). To avoid this scenario, Pharaoh devises various measures to help curb Benei Yisrael's growth – first slavery, and then an order that all newborn males among Benei Yisrael should be killed.

The final words of the aforementioned verse – "ve-ala min ha-aretz" ("and will leave the country") – has been the subject of considerable debate among the commentators. The straightforward reading of this phrase, which is accepted by Rashi (in his first approach), the Rashbam and – though somewhat ambiguously – Ibn Ezra, indicates that Pharaoh was concerned that Benei Yisrael might leave the country. Other commentators, however, preferred not to adopt this reading of the verse. After all, why wouldn’t Pharaoh want Benei Yisrael to leave? If he felt threatened by their population growth, wouldn't he be elated by their en masse departure from his country? (Recall that all this takes place before Benei Yisrael's enslavement; quite obviously, once Egypt enslaved Benei Yisrael, Pharaoh would do anything he can to keep them in his country and prevent them from leaving, even for a three-day "vacation.") The Rashbam, who, as mentioned, nevertheless accepts the straightforward reading, seems to have anticipated this difficulty. He therefore writes, "'And will leave the country' – to return to the land of their forefathers; and it is not good for us to lose our subjects, for we will be called a 'tiny kingdom'." Thus, Pharaoh on the one hand was interested in his country's continued growth and expansion, but on the other hand, Benei Yisrael's unrestrained expansion might lead them to return to Canaan, which would be to the detriment of the Egyptian monarchy. The Ramban suggests this interpretation, as well, only he adds that Pharaoh feared that Benei Yisrael would return to Canaan with all of Egypt's wealth. According to the Ramban, the concern relates to not the loss of subjects, but rather to the loss of property.

Rashi cites a different approach to this verse from the Gemara (Sota 11a), which explains this term as a euphemistic reference to the Egyptians themselves. Pharaoh's concern was that "we will leave the country" – the combined forces of the enemies and Benei Yisrael will overpower the indigenous Egyptian population and drive them from the land. But rather to even allow for such a notion to cross his lips, Pharaoh expressed this concern in the third person – "they will leave the country" – but in truth he spoke of the Egyptians.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch suggests that Pharaoh here expresses two different concerns. First, he warns that in the advent of war, "they may join our enemies in fighting against us." And secondly, even without war, Benei Yisrael pose a second threat: "they will leave the country," meaning, the region, where they currently live and spread throughout Egypt. As we know from Parashat Vayigash, Benei Yisrael settled only in the area of Goshen, which lay at one corner of Egypt. Pharaoh feared that should the population growth continue, Goshen will no longer contain the people, and they will be forced to expand into other parts of the country. Pharaoh's racial enmity towards Benei Yisrael led him to take measures to prevent Benei Yisrael's entry into mainstream Egyptian society.

Finally, Seforno claims that "ve-ala min ha-aretz" refers not to Pharaoh's concern, but rather his desire. This phrase, according to Seforno, should be read as a direct continuation of Pharaoh's earlier comments: "Let us deal shrewdly with them… in order that they will leave the country." Pharaoh realized that he will not win Benei Yisrael's loyalty, and they will thus pose a threat during times of war. On the other hand, he cannot kill them or banish them without any reason, as this would tarnish Egypt's reputation. Therefore, Pharaoh decided to encourage Benei Yisrael to leave of their volition, by making their conditions in Egyptians intolerable.

Seforno's approach gives rise to one obvious difficulty: if Benei Yisrael's enslavement was intended to encourage them to emigrate from Egypt, then why was Pharaoh later so insistent on keeping them in the country? Why didn't he let them go when Moshe and Aharon demanded their release?

Iy"H we will address this question tomorrow and elaborate further on Seforno's approach.

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Yesterday, we discussed the verse in Parashat Shemot which records Pharaoh's concerns upon observing Benei Yisrael's rapid population growth in Egypt: "Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies… and leave the country" (1:10). As we saw, Seforno interprets the final phrase – "and leave the country" – as Pharaoh's objective, rather than part of his concern. Meaning, we should this phrase as, "therefore, let us make them leave the country." Unwilling to take the drastic measure of forced banishment, Pharaoh instead decided to enslave Benei Yisrael, in the hope that Benei Yisrael will then decide on their own to leave Egypt and return to their country of origin.

Of course, this raises the question of why Pharaoh later adamantly refuses to release his Hebrew slaves. If the entire purpose of the enslavement was to encourage Benei Yisrael's departure, why does Pharaoh so stubbornly demand that they remain?

In his comments to the subsequent verses, Seforno implicitly answers this question. He explains that Egypt's mistreatment of Benei Yisrael developed in two stages. Initially, "they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor" (1:11) – they forced Benei Yisrael to perform hard work for them in the hope that they would emigrate. However, as Seforno writes (in his commentary to 1:12), the Egyptians saw "that they degraded themselves in performing menial tasks," and they therefore "made them slaves." Meaning, rather than leaving Egypt to avoid this humiliation, Benei Yisrael self-degradingly accepted the abuse. Egypt thus decided that rather than encourage the Hebrews to leave, they should resort to a different tactic to prevent Benei Yisrael's disloyalty: they would deny Benei Yisrael their rights and enslave them.

This easily explains why, nearly two centuries later, Pharaoh refuses to release the slaves. Although initially this is precisely what Egypt had hoped for, the second tactic had proven very useful and profitable, and Pharaoh therefore refused to let the slaves go free.

One question, however, remains: why did Benei Yisrael allow themselves to be humiliated, rather than leave Egypt and return to their homeland?

Rav Nosson Ordman of London, in his "Natan Da'at," explains based on Seforno's comments several verses earlier. In describing Benei Yisrael's extraordinary rate of procreation, the Torah (1:7) employs several terms that seem to refer to expansion and reproduction. Seforno, however, interprets one of these terms – "va-yishretzu" – as a reference not to population growth, but rather to the nation's spiritual decline. This word stems from the derogatory word "sheratzim" – insects. Seforno explains, "After all the seventy people [of Yaakov's family who moved from Canaan to Egypt] died, they resorted to the conduct of insects." Rav Ordman explains that with the passing of the original seventy members of Yaakov's family, Benei Yisrael lost their sense of connection to their roots, to the patriarchs and to Eretz Canaan. This detachment resulted in their loss of dignity and self-respect, to the point where they saw themselves as "sheratzim." For once they no longer fully identified with their heritage and origins, they were nothing more than a group of dislocated foreigners in a strange land. If they no longer saw themselves as the progeny of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, with whom the Almighty had established an eternal covenant and whom He had destined for greatness, then they had no other source of self-esteem as foreigners in Egypt. This loss of self-respect triggered a process of spiritual decline, as described at length in the book of Yechezkel (chapter 20).

This perhaps explains why Benei Yisrael simply accepted the harsh terms imposed upon them by the Egyptians, rather than attempting to improve their lot by returning to Canaan. Having lost their sense of identification with their roots, they lost as well their ambition. They therefore accepted their status as second-class citizens, which enabled the Egyptians to proceed to the next stage, of declaring the entire nation of Benei Yisrael as full-fledged slaves of Egypt.

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The Torah tells in Parashat Shemot of Pharaoh's order to the Hebrew midwives that they must kill all newborn males among Benei Yisrael. The midwives brazenly and heroically defy the royal edict: "The midwives feared God and did not do as the king of Egypt had told them; they let the boys live" (1:17). Curiously, the Torah here emphasizes their quality of "yir'at Elokim" – fear of God, and attributes their heroic defiance to specifically this sense of fear. This emphasis repeats itself several verses later: "And because the midwives feared God, He established households for them" (1:21). Why does the factor of "yir'at Elokim" play such a prominent role in the midwives' refusal to obey Pharaoh's order? Wouldn't we expect anyone with an elementary sense of ethics and compassion to do whatever he can to avoid murdering newborn infants?

Rav Matis Blum answers by citing an important passage from the Malbim's commentary to Parashat Vayera. Recall that Avraham and Sara settle in the region of Gerar, where Avraham poses as Sara's brother, fearing that otherwise one of the residents will kill him and marry Sara. The king of Gerar, Avimelekh, indeed abducts Sara, but God appears to him in a dream and orders him to return her to Avraham, who is actually her husband. Avimelekh angrily demands from Avraham an explanation as to why he lied about his and Sara's relationship. Avraham replies, "I thought that surely there is no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me because of my wife" (Bereishit 20:11). The Malbim explains that the government of Gerar indeed followed a just and fair legal system. However, this system was established and enforced for purely pragmatic – rather than idealistic – reasons, to ensure stability and allow for the healthy functioning of the society. Avraham explained to Avimelekh that he could not fully trust a society whose laws are enacted and enforced without "yir'at Elokim." For without an underlying religious conscience, a perceived practical necessity can justify even the most abhorrent atrocities. If crime is outlawed only for the sake of stability, rather than due to a commitment to Godliness, then all kinds of crimes will suddenly gain acceptance the moment people become convinced of the importance of these measures with respect to the society's stability. In Avraham's case, he knew that Gerar outlawed murder, but he nevertheless feared for his life. All it would take is somebody to provide some reasonable explanation why Avraham's murder would somehow benefit Gerar – and his death becomes justified.

This analysis of the Malbim might help explain the Torah's emphasis in Parashat Shemot on the midwives' "yir'at Elokim." Ultimately, it was only their religious conscience that prevented them from committing this crime. If not for their fear of God, they may have very easily succumbed to the pressure of the royal edict and justified their actions by claiming that they were simply "following orders." Only their keen awareness of divine authority and reverence towards God's laws prevented them from carrying out Pharaoh's orders.

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Yesterday, we discussed the story told in Parashat Shemot (1:15-21) of Pharaoh's order to the Hebrew midwives to kill all the Israelites' newborn males. The midwives heroically defy Pharaoh's edict, justifying their failure to kill the infants by noting that "the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women: they are vigorous. Before the midwife can come to them, they have given birth" (1:19).

Abarbanel, in his commentary to these verses, adopts a unique approach in explaining several of the terms used in this section. Firstly, he suggests that these midwives were actually Egyptian, not Hebrew. The Torah describes the midwives as "ha-mayeledot ha-Ivriyot," which we generally translate as, "the Hebrew midwives." Abarbanel, however, translates this phrase to mean, "the midwives of the Hebrews." It is inconceivable, Abarbanel claims, that Pharaoh would rely on Hebrew midwives to carry out this gruesome task of killing the Hebrew newborns. Undoubtedly, he argues, these were Egyptian midwives assigned to oversee the Hebrew women's births.

Abarbanel also advances a unique interpretation in identifying Shifra and Pu'a – the two midwives of whom the Torah speaks in this narrative. Several commentators address the difficulty in the Torah's implication that only two midwives handled all the births of such a large nation (see Ibn Ezra, Chizkuni, Seforno). Abarbanel claims that whenever a woman in Egypt gave birth, two midwives, whose jobs were described as "Shifra" and "Pu'a," attended to the birth. The first nurse, "Shifra," worked during labor to successfully deliver the child and care for his physical welfare immediately after delivery. The second woman, "Pu'a," was there to help the mother, offering guidance and encouragement to ease the difficult process of childbirth and assist in the recovery.

A third significant comment of Abarbanel in his commentary to this narrative involves the term "chayot." As cited earlier, the midwives deflected Pharaoh's accusations by claiming that the Hebrew women are "chayot," which we translated as "vigorous." This follows the position of the Rashbam and others, who interpret this term as a reference to physical strength and vigor, which enabled the Hebrew mothers to deliver quickly and independently. Rashi, however, suggests two other approaches to the term. Firstly, the word "chayot" might mean "midwives," and thus the midwives explain to Pharaoh that the Hebrew women are themselves proficient in the skill of childbirth and thus do not require the services of the professional midwives. Rashi then cites a different approach from the Gemara (Sota 11b), which is the general approach adopted by Abarbanel. According to this explanation, "chayot" means "animals." The midwives explain to Pharaoh that the Hebrew women deliver their infants independently just like animals, and they therefore do not require the services of professional midwives.

If we combine these various comments of Abarbanel, we might arrive at a new overall approach in understanding the significance of this narrative within the context of Parashat Shemot. According to Abarbanel, who identifies "Shifra" and "Pu'a" as all the Egyptian childbirth professionals, we have no reason, necessarily, to understand their description of the Hebrew women as complimentary. To the contrary, they very likely regarded the Hebrews as subhuman, as a lesser creature than the Egyptians: "the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women," for "they are 'chayot'" – animals. Their proficiency in childbirth, the Egyptian midwives concluded, is not evidence of the Hebrew's superiority, but precisely the opposite – this reflected their animal-like quality. They deliver babies independently and freely like animals in the jungle.

If so, then this story becomes a very important part in the developing story of the enslavement and oppression of Benei Yisrael. This process was moved along, in part, by a racial theory propagated by the Egyptians that dehumanized Benei Yisrael, to the point where their enslavement and even the murder of their infants could be justified as necessary for the preservation of the allegedly superior native Egyptian population. Once the Egyptians regarded the Hebrews as "chayot," it is easy to understand how they could assign them a collective, lower status, to the point where their basic rights are denied and they are forced to perform slave labor.

(Based in part on Rabbi Eitan Mayer's "Dehumanization – Then Murder" - www.yu.edu/riets/torah/enayim/archives/issue16/articles16.htm#Mayer)

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Parashat Shemot tells of the birth of Moshe during the time of Pharaoh's decree to drown every newborn male among Benei Yisrael. The Torah writes that Moshe's mother "saw that he was 'tov' [literally, 'good'], and she hid him for three months" (2:2). The straightforward reading of this verse indicates that Moshe's mother decided to hide him because "she saw he was 'good'." Needless to say, this reading requires explanation. Does not every mother look approvingly upon her newborn infant? Wouldn't every woman make attempts to hide her child from the Egyptian authorities who sought to kill him?

This question likely prompted several Tanna'im to offer different explanations for the word "tov" in this verse, as recorded in Masekhet Sota (12a). Two Tanna'im – Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehuda – claim that the verse here refers to the infant's name: either "Tov" or "Tovia." This does not, however, explain why Moshe's mother – more so than other Israelite mothers – attempted to hide her child from the Egyptians. It stands to reason that according to these Tanna'im, the two halves of the verse are not connected by a cause-and-effect relationship. Meaning, the mother's decision to hide her infant was natural and needs no explanation. The clause "she saw that he was 'tov'" stands separate and apart from the verse's concluding clause – "she hid him" – and simply informs us of the name she gave her child.

Other Tanna'im, however, seem to have preferred to find some cause-and-effect relationship between these two clauses, and therefore interpreted the word "tov" as a reference to some unique quality that indicated to Moshe's mother that he was destined for greatness. Rabbi Nechemya interprets "tov" as a reference to Moshe's being "hagun li-nvi'ut" – qualified for prophecy. The Gemara then cites the view of "Acheirim" ("Others"), who claim that Moshe was born circumcised, a clear indication of some unique spiritual quality. The final view, which Rashi adopts in his commentary, is that of the Chakhamim, who explain that upon Moshe's birth, his parents' home became filled with some type of spiritual light, heralding the light of salvation that he would shine upon his downtrodden people.

The classic commentators offer additional explanations to this verse. Rashbam and Chizkuni suggest that Yokheved (Moshe's mother) delivered her infant prematurely, three months before her due date. Since the Egyptian authorities would come to seize the Hebrew infants around the expected date of delivery, Yokheved had the opportunity to hide her baby for three months. On the other hand, most children born at such an early stage in pregnancy do not survive (at least in ancient times). Therefore, only once she saw "that he was good" – that Moshe was physically developed and healthy despite his premature birth, did she go through the trouble of hiding him from the Egyptian for three months. After that point, she realized that the authorities would come to seize her infant, and she therefore placed him in a basket in the river.

A particularly interesting approach to this verse is taken by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, who explains "he was good" to mean that Moshe was what we would call "a good baby." That is, he didn't cry very much, he wasn't too fussy or demanding. This is what allowed Yokheved to hide him; only a baby who could easily be controlled and did not cry excessively had a chance of remaining concealed from the authorities. At three months of age, however, when a baby begins to become interactive and playful, others around him wished to see him and play with him. Therefore, at this point, "she could hide him no longer" (2:3), and had to find another way of saving him from those who sought to kill him.

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Parashat Shemot tells that Moshe, who was adopted and raised by Pharaoh's daughter, one day leaves the palace to observe the plight of the Hebrew slaves, and he witnesses an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave. Moshe promptly slays the Egyptian and buries him in the sand (2:11-12). The Midrash (Shemot Rabba) informs us of Moshe's thought process in determining that the abusive taskmaster must, indeed, be put to death. Upon seeing the Egyptian flogging the Hebrew, the Midrash comments, Moshe thought to himself, "This man certainly deserves to die, as it says, 'one who kills a human being shall be put to death' (Vayikra 24:21)."

From a halakhic angle, this Midrash requires explanation. The verse from Sefer Vayikra cited by the Midrash refers to the death penalty incurred by a murderer. Here, in this incident, the Egyptian had not killed anyone; he was beating a Hebrew slave, who was still alive. How, then, could Moshe determine that the taskmaster deserved to die by virtue of the law established in this verse? The Midrash appears to answer this question in the preceding sentence, when it says that Moshe beheld through ru'ach ha-kodesh (divine inspiration) what this Egyptian "had done in the home, and what he was to do in the field." Moshe was shown that this Egyptian had engaged in relations with this slave's wife, and, furthermore, he saw "what he was to do in the field" – meaning, he saw that the taskmaster was trying to beat the slave to death. Thus, although, indeed, the Egyptian had yet to kill the slave, Moshe saw that this is precisely what he sought to do, and therefore decided to kill the Egyptian first.

Even so, this Midrash requires explanation. Seemingly, Moshe here implements the famous halakha of "rodeif," which says that one may – and in fact must – kill a person who pursues another person with the intention to kill him. Why, then, does the Midrash invoke the verse from Sefer Vayikra, which speaks of the death penalty for murderers? It is not this law that Moshe acts upon here, but rather a different law – that of rodeif.

Rav Avraham Yitzchak Sorotzkin, in his "Gevurot Yitzchak," suggests that the Midrash here perhaps touches upon the fundamental question concerning the nature of the halakha of rodeif. Theoretically, one can approach the law of rodeif in one of two ways: as a provision intended simply to rescue the pursued, or as a death penalty incurred by the pursuer. The first approach views this halakha as simply providing an extra-judicial means for rescuing a person whose life is threatened. The second approach, by contrast, places the halakha of rodeif within a more formal, legalistic context, essentially establishing that one who seeks to kill another incurs the death penalty as if he had already killed. As Rav Sorotzkin notes, this question likely lies at the heart of a debate between Rav Huna and Rav Chisda in Masekhet Sanhedrin (72b), as to whether a minor who pursues to kill is subject to the halakha of rodeif. Rav Huna applies the rodeif provision in such a case, presumably because he sees the halakha as geared towards saving the intended victim. As such, we should not limit the application of this law due to the personal status of the pursuer. For the same reason, the Gemara says that Rav Huna permits killing a rodeif even without hatra'a (forewarning), as opposed to standard cases of capital punishment, which can be administered only if witnesses had warned the perpetrator of the consequences of his crime prior to the act. Since the halakha of rodeif constitutes an extra-judicial measure intended to rescue the intended victim, we do not apply the standard formalities of the halakhic legal system. Rav Chisda, by contrast, holds that a minor is not subject to the law of rodeif, and, additionally, one must warn the rodeif before killing him. He clearly views this law within the broader context of the halakhic judicial system, and therefore applies to rodeif the restrictions that apply to capital punishment administered by Beit-Din.

This Midrash, Rav Sorotzkin suggests, very likely followed Rav Chisda's view, that the law of rodeif operates within the parameters of standard judicial law. This perhaps explains why it cites as the basis for Moshe's decision the verse from Sefer Vayikra which speaks of capital punishment for murderers. For according to the Midrash, killing a rodeif essentially amounts to killing a murderer. He is killed not simply to save the victim, but because a pursuer formally incurs the death penalty as if he had already murdered. (Rav Sorotzkin then adds that in truth, we may reconcile this Midrash even with Rav Huna's position, in light of the theory posed by Rav Chayim Ozer Grodzensky – in Achiezer, E.H. 18 – that Rav Huna accepts both approaches to the law of rodeif. This law on the one hand sanctions extra-judicial measures to rescue the victim, and, in addition, imposes a formal death penalty upon the pursuer.)

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The Torah tells in Parashat Shemot of God's initial revelation to Moshe, which occurred in the "burning bush" which Moshe encounters as he tended the sheep of his father-in-law, Yitro. The Torah writes, "Moshe was tending the flock of his father-in-law, Yitro, the priest of Midyan, and he drove the flock into the wilderness, and came to the mountain of God, to Chorev" (3:1). This mountain, of course, where God appears to Moshe in the burning bush, is none other than Mount Sinai, the future site of Matan Torah. Indeed, over the course of God's conversation with Moshe here at the burning bush, He tells the newly appointed prophet, "And when you have freed the people from Egypt, you shall worship God at this mountain" (3:12) – a clear reference to Matan Torah.

Several writers have sought to identify a fundamental link between the two halves of this verse: the description of Moshe as a shepherd, and his arrival on the sacred Mountain of God. At first glance, the two halves of the verse are linked only circumstantially: Moshe's shepherding happened to bring him to the Mountain of God, where the Almighty appears to him and charges him with the task of freeing Benei Yisrael. Perhaps, however, the Torah seeks to convey a deeper message through this association between Moshe's work as a shepherd and his historic experience upon the Mountain of God.

The Midrash Tanchuma Yashan (12) comments that as Moshe led his father-in-law's sheep through the wilderness in search of suitable pasture, he could not find anywhere for them to graze. The sheep went an entire forty-day period without food by the time the flock arrived at Mount Sinai. The obvious question arises, what purpose did this miracle serve? Why did God see to it that Moshe's consecration as prophet would be preceded by a miraculous, grueling trek through the Sinai desert?

Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his "Oznayim Le-Torah," writes that God here sought to preempt Moshe's concerns of how he could lead a multitude of men, women, children and cattle from Egypt to Mount Sinai. As we know from numerous incidents throughout Chumash, the issue of food and water arises time and time again throughout Benei Yisrael's journey through the wilderness, particularly as they made their way towards Sinai, as we read in Parashat Beshalach. Indeed, the Midrash records that already here, during God's initial revelation to Moshe, Moshe questions his ability to lead the nation to this desert location, as God orders him to do. The miracle of Yitro's sheep was intended to serve as an example of the miraculous supervision God will grant Moshe and Benei Yisrael as they travel through the wilderness on their way to Sinai.

This, then, is the connection between Moshe's shepherding and his arrival atop the Mountain of God. His miraculous ability to sustain the sheep under his charge in the wilderness foreshadows his nation's supernatural journey into and through the desert of Sinai after the Exodus.

Rav Pinchas Elimelech Rosensweig, in his "Pe'er Yashar," suggests a different connection between the two halves of this verse. Targum Onkelos translates this verse as, "he led the sheep to a place of good pasture in the wilderness, and he arrived to the mountain upon which God's glory was revealed – to Chorev." According to the Targum, Moshe arrived at this mountain specifically because he searched for "a place of good pasture." Herein, perhaps, lies the deeper connection between the two halves of the verse. Moshe earned the privilege and the responsibility of leading the people and bringing them to Sinai specifically because of this quality he displayed here – his ensuring to maintain only the highest standards in performing his work. When entrusted with his father-in-law's sheep, Moshe insisted on nothing short of the very best pasture he could find. This is the quality that brings one to the Mountain of God, to the experience of Sinai. A person can reach such an experience only through strong ambition and an insistence on the very highest standards. The Torah therefore emphasizes that Moshe encountered God's revelation at Sinai while tending to Yitro's flock – when he exhibited this important quality of insistence on only the very highest standards of achievement in whatever work he performed.