Thought for the Week

Shallach et-ammi v’ya’avduni ba-midbar
‘Let my people go that they may worship Me in the wilderness.’

The word am – ‘people’ – occurs nearly 1500 times throughout the Hebrew Bible; 204 of which occur in the Book of Exodus.  On seven occasions, the word ammi – ‘my people’ is expressed in the famous phrase addressed to Pharaoh: ‘Shallach et-ammi v’ya’avduni ba-midbar – Let my people go that they may worship Me in the wilderness.’

In each of these seven statements in which Pharaoh is told to let the people go, it is either God who instructs Moses and Aaron, or Moses and Aaron who speak directly to Pharaoh. There is a pattern: Moses and Aaron speak to Pharaoh directly on the first and last occasions, while on the five middle occasions, it is God who instructs Moses and Aaron to go before Pharaoh to tell him to let the people go.  Some process is at work here that is revealed through this pattern of human effort at the beginning and end, aided by God in the middle.

If we add another layer to this structure, we see there is another configuration at work. Moses and Aaron make an initial plea to Pharaoh; nothing happens, except tragically for the Israelites, Pharaoh imposes even more intensive labour on the Israelites, to the point that it becomes intolerable.

The second and third declaration of ‘Let my people go’ are each followed by a plague: the waters of the Nile turn to blood and frogs infest the land of Egypt. The fourth and fifth pleas are each followed by two plagues: lice and swarms of insects, and then pestilence and boils.  But the sixth plea is followed by only one plague – hail – and the rhythm is paused, as though the narrative takes a breath, before Moses and Aaron face Pharaoh and the Egyptians are struck with the terror of the three final plagues.

We discern through these patterns that Moses, Aaron and God are in some kind of tripartite partnership together to defeat Pharaoh and the Egyptians. Moses and Aaron cannot do it alone, but neither can God.  And there is a cumulative effect as the plagues crescendo to their final tragic climax – locusts, darkness and the death of the firstborn.

But there is one other pattern that is at work throughout this story – more complicated and theologically challenging than we have seen already.  Even before God brings the signs and wonders upon the Egyptians, we are told that God will harden Pharaoh’s heart. This phrase occurs up to twenty times in the Exodus narrative. In relation to the first five plagues, the midrash points out that Pharaoh hardens his own heart, he becomes stubborn; while with reference to the last five plagues, it is God who, as it were, takes over and hardens Pharaoh’s heart. Is this a punishment for Pharaoh’s obstinacy as some commentators suggest?  Is Pharaoh so entrenched in his ways that he cannot repent of the evil he has done? Or, as others suggest, is God ‘strengthening’ Pharaoh’s heart to give him freewill to make the choice whether to free the Israelites or not?

Perhaps it is not a fixed design that we should perceive in this narrative, but a process – a long process that leads to deliverance for the Israelites and defeat for the Egyptians. This story has a more subtle, more difficult message for us in the world today. There is a profound message that emerges from these literary patterns that conflict is not dealt with through quick solutions and that at the darkest moments of enslavement and calamity, at times of deep despair and hopelessness, there can be the possibility of deliverance and freedom, of light and hope.