Pharaoh’s Mirror

"Behold, the nation of the Children of Israel is more numerous and mighty than us. Come, let us be shrewd with it." (Exodus 1:9-10)

Is the bigot evil or merely misguided? Throughout history, Jews have wrestled with this fundamental question. Are antisemites driven by irrational ignorance, or cunning hatred?

This question carries urgent contemporary weight. Vast resources pour into combating antisemitism, yet every effort hinges on one of two assumptions: either hatred is calculated evil that must be exposed-its hidden networks unmasked and repressed- or it stems from ignorance that education might cure.

In our search for answers, we scour the Jewish past for the archetypal antisemitic moment. Some point to the New Testament's demonization, others to Haman's murderous plot, or to the Seleucid persecutions that sparked the Maccabean revolt. The first century Jewish historian Josephus devoted an entire book, Against Apion, to refuting anti-Jewish slanders, tracing them back to the Egyptian priest Manetho who claimed the Hebrews were not freed slaves but expelled lepers. Yet arguably the primordial case appears in this week's Torah portion, in Exodus's opening verses.

After an opening genealogy bridging Genesis' patriarchs to Exodus's tale of national redemption, we encounter a new Pharaoh "who knew not Joseph." Instead, he declares to his people: "Behold, the nation of the children of Israel is more numerous and mighty than us. Come, let us be shrewd with it, lest they increase and if war occurs, they will join our enemies and wage war against us and ascend from the land."

On the surface, Pharaoh's animosity stems from the fact of Hebrew fecundity. The text confirms that the Children of Israel "were fruitful, teemed, increased, and became strong, very much so, such that the land was filled with them." The cascade of verbs underscores the transformation from tribal clan to teeming nation.

But what precisely about this change threatens Pharaoh? His fears oscillate incoherently: the Hebrews might ally with external enemies, or they might flee, depriving Egypt of slave labor. Are they a potential fifth column who will join Egypt's enemies? Or valuable assets whose departure would weaken the kingdom? The Talmudic rabbis noted this confusion. If the Hebrews present a threat because of their growing size, then logically Pharaoh should fear they will drive the Egyptians out. Yet that is not what he says. His muddled syntax betrays muddled thinking. 

This oscillation-perceiving Jews as simultaneously weak and powerful, inferior yet superior-reveals antisemitism's internal contradictions. We see this again in Pharaoh's call to action: "Come, let us deal wisely [nitchakmah]." This reflexive form of "wisdom" [chacham] appears only once more in the Torah, in Ecclesiastes 7:16, where Kohelet warns against pretensions to wisdom that lead to self-destruction. Pharaoh's attempt to "make himself wise" about the Hebrew threat reveals not wisdom but dangerous self-deception. The Hebrew syntax itself exposes the confusion: "Come, let us be shrewd with it"-singular "it," not plural "them." The rabbis offer various explanations for the grammatical mismatch: the "it" refers to the nation collectively, or even to God. Yet the reflexive construction suggests something deeper: Pharaoh wrestles with himself, projecting onto the Hebrews his own fears about power and security.

Indeed, the Talmudic sage Rabbi Abba bar Kahana captures this perfectly in the tractate Sotah 11a, on the verse Exodus 1:10: Pharaoh "is like a person who curses himself but applies his curse to another." The reflexive verb reveals the tragic entanglement of the bigot who, in lashing out against a minority, ultimately wounds himself.

This insight aligns with historian David Nirenberg's analysis in his classic study, Anti- Judaism, where he demonstrates how societies project their deepest contradictions about power and difference onto an imagined Jew who becomes the mirror for their own demons. Pharoah's fears about Egyptian identity - challenged from without by powerful neighboring empires, and within by the variety of foreign enslaved peoples in Egypt - lead to a conspiracy theory about his Hebrew slaves. 

This ancient insight illuminates our contemporary reckoning with antisemitism. Should we treat bigotry as ignorant self-deception or malevolent threat? The Torah suggests that hatred's ultimate source lies beyond either explanation in the deeper recesses of society's psyche. Rather than merely preaching tolerance or pursuing punishment, we must address the mechanisms of fear that generate such projections. Countering antisemitism requires patient work-not flashy campaigns or public shaming, but dismantling the stereotypes at their roots.

Unlike our ancestors in Egypt, we cannot dream of redemption through exodus. We must repair the societies we inhabit, building beyond hatred. In America, as in Israel, there is nowhere else to turn-we must face both our enemies and our own demons, transcending the self-generated fears that poison coexistence.

Perhaps we can begin with another rabbinic teaching about the psychology of fear: Rabbi Nachman of Breslov's famous saying is popularly translated as, "The world is a narrow bridge; the essential task is not to fear." Howver, the original Hebrew reads not "to fear (lifached), but "to make oneself afraid ("lehitpached"). In confronting antisemitism, we must not only combat others' fears but resist manufacturing our own. Perhaps this is why the Torah preserves Pharaoh's words so carefully-not as a model of evil to defeat, but as a mirror of fears to transcend.