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| James Tissot: Pharaoh and His Dead Son |
Parashat Bo: The
Moment Before the Moment
Rabbi Yehuda Hausman
“When was the last
time you felt the power of God so strongly you floated upon the rising tide
like Moses in his cradle?” (From the novel “Freddy and Fredericka” by Mark Helprin.)
There was a moment, just before the moment, when the tide of
Jewish history finally surged. God
commanded Moses, “‘Take the staff which turned into a serpent, and go to
Pharaoh in the morning, as he goes out to the River. Station yourself before
him on the Nile’s bank…and say thus to him: ‘With this staff, I shall strike
the water of the Nile, and it shall turn to blood’” (Ex. 7.14-17).
That was the moment before the change…. For after that
morning, no longer would Israelite infants be cast into the River, no longer would
the current wash away the blood of infanticide and cleanse the executioner’s
hand in its muddy depths. Egypt would drink her sins, and drink more. “Ver trinken sie abends ver trinken sie nacht”
(Paul Celan, Deathfugue).
The first plague of blood abated and the second plague of
frog passed, but a stench of rotting fish and frog remained, the rancor of
guilt settled on the land. (Ex. 7.21; 8.10) With the odor came the plagues of
lice and flies, latching to the flesh of human and beast, like the mark of
Cain: ‘this was the finger of God’, said Egypt’s magicians (Ex. 8.15). Soon
came the pestilence and then the boils. ‘Moses drew a handful of soot out of
the furnaces [of oppression]’—where Israel had long fired mortar and baked bricks—and
cast it windward, whereupon the ashes fell upon all those who struck with the mallet
and attacked with the whip. (Ex. 9.8) Israel
rose steadily, Egypt ebbed away.
But if we may return to that slice of frozen time before the
commencement of judgment.… Moses stationed upon the River as his sister had
once stationed herself upon the River. Miriam
must have stood rigid with worry, while years later, Moses must have felt wonderment
at his fate. Here, a certain royal princess cast forth her hand and rescued a
slave-child with her embrace. Could this Pharaoh stretch forth his hand, to save
his people, at the least?
In Pharaoh’s stubbornness, we forget that Moses’s heart
could be no less stubborn. Five times he rebuts God by the burning bush. He is
hardly one to voice ready agreement. “I am stiff of tongue and stiff of speech,”
he states, “I am a man of uncircumcised lips.” Moses needs signs and wonders: a
miraculous staff…an unconsumed bush. He wants to know God’s name. Moses keeps insisting, ‘send another,’ “who am
I to take Israel out of Egypt?” Even in agreement,
he sets out half-heartedly: Moses puts his family on a donkey, while he ambles
afoot by their side. (Ex. Chs. 3-4)
Pharaoh seems much the same. He wants to know the Lord’s
name: “Who is this Hebrew God that I should listen to his voice?” (Ex 5.2). He
is no less blunt: “Why should I send
them forth?” Pharaoh asks for signs, but he is similarly unimpressed by wonders
(7:9-13). After each of the first five plagues, we are told that Pharaoh “stiffened
his heart.” Even when he relents in the aftermath of disaster, we know his acquiescence
is less than whole-hearted.
It is of interest that Moses’ resistance finally wanes while
en-route to Egypt. Along the way, a mysterious divine threat “seeks to kill
him.” Just who exactly or why, the Torah does not say. But disaster
is averted only when Tziporah, Moses’ quick-thinking wife, circumcises their
firstborn son. “Tell Pharaoh Israel is my firstborn,” God instructs Moses
before he sets out (4.22). It is as if God’s concern for a firstborn son must
be mirrored by Moses’ anxiety for losing a child. “Circumcise the foreskin of
your heart, and no longer be stubborn.” (Deut. 10.16) It is sympathy that
loosens a stiff upper lip and warms a frigid heart. And though, after the
Plague of the Firstborn Pharaoh and Egypt set Israel free; it is a broken will,
not a broken heart, which cause the floodgates to open.
To sound a final note, there is an aspect of the plagues
that is often neglected. With remarkable
consistency, almost every plague is preceded by an invitation. “Go to Pharaoh.”
“Stand before Pharaoh.” “Come before Pharaoh, ” as this week’s portion begins. The invitation seems
trivial compared to the plagues that follow. But the anticipation of what is to
come is no less divine than the miracle itself. To end oppression one must
first learn to personalize its horror, as Moses does on his journey back to
Egypt, a lesson Pharaoh refuses to learn. To seek redemption, there must be first
an inkling of what it means to be free.
The eating of the Paschal Lamb, the Sparing of the Hebrew Firstborn, these
things precede the Splitting of the Sea and the Resurrection of a People. It is
always the moment before the moment
where we find God speaking to Moses and
beckoning to us.
We know Pharaoh’s daughter stretched forth her hand, but not
before God lifted the tide.
