The stories of Exodus so far have been the push and pull of Pharaoh and the Israelites, and after the last of the 10 plagues, Pharaoh admits defeat and lets the Israelites leave at the end of last week’s parasha. But the parasha really ends with God explaining to the Israelites how they will commemorate the Exodus in the future. This week’s parasha continues with the Israelite departure but it begins in a curious way: “now when Pharaoh let the people go, וַיְהִ֗י בְּשַׁלַּ֣ח פַּרְעֹה֮ אֶת־הָעָם֒.” We already know that Pharaoh has let the people go, so what is this doing here? Since the Rabbis see no superfluity in the Torah, meaning must be here. For the Rabbis, this presents them with a chance to investigate the role of Pharaoh within the story. He has been so clearly the villain, but the Rabbis refuse to acknowledge his one-dimensionality— there must be depth, interiority, and potential for growth (albeit that is tragically misspent). The portrait that they craft here is of a tyrant deeply attached to the people he terrorized and hungry for divine connection. Pharaoh yearns for what could have been both with God and the Israelites. The Rabbis make the radical suggestion that even those we understand to be evil have the potential for self-awareness. Pharaoh’s tragedy is that self-awareness comes much too late. The Rabbis build out a plea: that we ward off our internal Pharaoh, reflect in time, and make the necessary changes.
In the three Midrashim that we we will look at, we see competing visions of Pharaoh’s sorrow and regret. But in all of them, we see a Pharaoh seeking out a missed opportunity for human or divine engagement.
The Rabbis create a vivid portrayal of Pharaoh’s choreography. Though I had always imagined Pharaoh sulking in his palace after permitting the Israelite departure, the Rabbis see something different:
The Rabbis look at the naming word of the parasha, בְּשַׁלַּח, and find a parallel in Genesis. Rather than seeing this as a flick of the hand where Pharaoh glumly dismisses the Israelites, the Rabbis imagine something plaintive: Pharaoh hauntingly lurks with the Israelites. The original text shows Pharaoh directly asking for a blessing, but the midrash sharpens the moment. Pharaoh understands that something has changed with the Israelite departure and recognizes that they have a divine connection that can aid him. The moment can be seen cynically: the tyrannical Pharaoh is hoping that he can get grace from the people he oppressed. He wants to have the credentials that speaks to his good citizenship and only the people he has wronged can grant him forgiveness. In this midrash, Pharaoh acknowledges dependence on the Israelites, but he relates to them in a utilitarian manner that asks: nu, what can you do for me? And yet, the image of Pharaoh accompanying them adds pathos to the moment and asks that we entertain the possibility of a regretful Pharaoh.
In another image, the Rabbis imagine a regretful Pharaoh-- but one whose regret focuses on his realization that he badly underestimated the Israelites. They create a beautiful parable:
In the parable, we see an owner with an unloved, rugged field. His relationship with is defined by disdain and economic self-interest. He sells the field to another who discovers the hidden beauty and tends to it. When the former owner sees what could have been, he mourns his shortsightedness and lack of care. The Rabbis describe this in order to understand how Pharaoh comes to see the Israelites. Exodus begins with his dehumanizing language toward the Israelites and continues with his brutal regime against them where he exploits them for financial gain. The midrash imagines his moment of startled realization: this is a remarkable people who I failed to understand. His regret is retroactive and too-little-too-late. But it is still an important addition to our understanding of Pharaoh. He does not live forever with a disparaging sentiment toward the Israelites, but he comes to see their potential. In this moment, we can imagine the depth of Pharaoh’s regret: the Israelites developed into such a great people, if only I had cultivated and tended to them accordingly! We can still see Pharaoh as primarily self-interested, but we can also see the expansion of his reflective capacity.
Another midrash presents a parable but shifts the focus from the Israelites to God-- focusing on the opening word of “וַיְהִי, and it was”:
“When Pharaoh had let the people go, who was it that wailed, “Woe (וַוי)!” It was Pharaoh.
The Rabbis connect “וַיְהִי, and it was” to a loud lament, וַוי, woe (or more popularly, oy). The parable is strange, and I do not understand why the Rabbis created one that emphasizes the warm reception that the son received, as the son and the rich man are clear stand-ins for the Israelites and Pharaoh. It is worthy of further consideration, and I’ll take any suggestions!
But we now see a new layer of Pharaoh. It is not just that he sought human connection but really that he craved divine relationship. The Rabbis take the radical move of rewriting the narrative so far: Pharaoh refuses to free the Israelites because he cares only about his material gain, so God continues to send plagues which results in the back and forth between Moses and Pharaoh. Normally, we read this as Pharaoh’s recalcitrance and selfishness, but the Rabbis put forth something different: Pharaoh wants to stay in relationship with God. He of course mangles the effort, but it is a fascinating recasting of events.
The Rabbis show through these midrashim a different view of Pharaoh than one we are accustomed to. Yet, we and they know how it ends: Pharaoh regrets freeing the Israelite and pursues them. As Maimonides teaches, repentance is only valid if one does commit the same sin again. Though Pharaoh has these profound revelations, they come to naught. The Rabbis praise the power of self-awareness and how regret can shape our ethical compass. But they see its limitations: if it doesn’t change our fundamental behavior, what was really the point?