Sometimes key moments in our lives are subtle yet significant: unexpected misunderstandings that lead to major fallouts, unnoticed small developments that shift entire life stories, unseen attitudes, and unconcerned daily living that overlook the realities of others quietly shape our characters and communities.
Biblical stories often mirror life in this way. Outlined minimally. Meaningful words, masterfully chosen and crafted. Big realities hinted at through just a few expressions.
The background story to Israel’s exodus from Egypt contains several such moments. Their weight? Tremendous. Their overall impact? Terrifying.
Ignorance and the Dawn of Abuse
Take, for example, the now almost idiomatic statement: “Now there arose a new king over Egypt” (Ex. 1:8).[i] If this were merely a political statement about a change in government, its impact would be different. But in this text it is followed by the crucial words “who did not know Joseph.” Judging from the narrative that unfolds, it is clear that this seemingly subtle statement marks a major turning point for Egypt, particularly for the Hebrew minority living there.
Just before this verse, we find seven verses naming the sons of Jacob/Israel who came with their families to Egypt by the explicit invitation of Pharaoh, in honor of Joseph and his immense accomplishments and service to Egypt (Gen. 45:16-20). Then comes the notice of Joseph’s death, along with the passing of his brothers and their entire generation. And after that, the only thing the text tells us is this: “The people of Israel were fruitful and increased greatly; they multiplied and grew exceedingly strong, so that the land was filled with them” (Ex. 1:7).
This passage stimulates—but does not satisfy—our curiosity. How did the Hebrews settle in and adapt to life as foreigners in the Egyptian empire? What were their relationships like with their Egyptian neighbors and the government over the centuries? How did they express their faith in God? What did their daily lives look like? Nothing is said. The only fact we are given is their significant growth.
Yet even in this brief statement there are important allusions we cannot ignore: echoes of creation itself. The expressions “be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth” were first spoken by God on the sixth day to the newly created humans (Gen. 1:28). Then again, after the Flood, they were given as a command to Noah and his descendants (Gen. 9:1)—to all humanity. Even in its slightly abbreviated version it is clearly linked to creation: “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image. And you, be fruitful and multiply, increase greatly on the earth and multiply in it” (verses 6, 7). And since then, only here, in Exodus 1:7, are these expressions used together again in the same statement.[ii] This is significant.
It’s about Humanity
Our text, Exodus 1:7, is the first and only other time that the full three expressions “be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth” are repeated in this combination after their original occurrence in the creation story in Genesis 1:28 and after the Flood in Genesis 9:1. (The term for “earth” (ʾeretz) in Genesis 1:28 and Genesis 9:1, and “land” in Exodus 1:7, is the same in Hebrew.) Here in Exodus 1:7 the repetition is not in the form of a command, promise, or blessing, but as a statement reporting a historical event: This is what happened. The impression is given that at this point the divine mandate has been fulfilled. It demonstrates the strong link between what is reported here and the creation of all humanity.
If believers in the creation story view God’s original plan—life before the Fall—as the ultimate model for how life should be lived according to the Creator’s will, then that ideal should shape our decisions regarding every area of life.
And it is here that the text introduces a power that positions itself not just against the Hebrews having life, hope, and a future, but against God’s will for humanity as such.
This power is personified in the king of Egypt. A new king who did not know Joseph (and there had been several since Joseph lived). Encapsulated in this statement is the notion that knowing Joseph also means recognizing his significance for Egypt: his God-given ability to interpret Pharaoh’s dream, his wise suggestion of a survival strategy for Egypt (Gen. 41), and his role in benefiting “all the earth” (verse 57), as the famine extended far beyond Egyptian borders. All this was now unknown to the most powerful ruler of the most dominant empire.
Whatever the reason for the king’s ignorance, whether genuine or willfully chosen, it had consequences. Instead of gratitude or admiration for Joseph’s service and benevolence toward his descendants, the very next thing this new king identifies as a problem is the growth of the Israelites. There is no mention of rebellion, unrest, or disloyalty. The Israelites are not portrayed as troublemakers or as opposition to the king or his government. It is their numerical growth alone that he names as a problem.
And he attaches something to it that still works powerfully today whenever one group of people is to be turned against another: fear, and the sentiment and rhetoric of us versus them. At this point his fearmongering may sound artificially constructed, but when combined with his power, it manifests itself in very real and devastating ways.
Pharaoh’s next words, “Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, lest they multiply” (Ex. 1:10), carry even more weight when considered in light of earlier scriptures. “Come, let us . . .” echoes the divine language of Genesis 1:26, where God says, “Let us make man in our image.” It also recalls the human ambition at the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11:3, 4: “Come, let us make bricks . . . Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves,” and God’s response in verse 7: “Come, let us go down and there confuse their language.” Pharaoh’s use of this phrase functions as a chilling imitation of God’s creative authority. But instead of creating life, Pharaoh plots to control and ultimately destroy it. His words signal not only political calculation but a human attempt to subvert God’s plan and place himself in the role of the divine Creator, deciding who may thrive and who must be erased.
The text outlines, with stark precision, the steps the king took to suppress the strength and growth of the Hebrews: first, appointing taskmasters and enforcing heavy labor (Ex. 1:11), which not only failed to suppress them but seemingly caused them to multiply even more (verse 12); then, escalating to outright slavery (verses 13, 14); followed by a murderous mandate to the midwives of this minority group (verses 15, 16). They were commanded to kill all Hebrew baby boys at birth.
Is it not beautiful that history remembers the midwives by name? Shiphrah and Puah. They were human and remained humane because they feared God, the Creator, the Giver of life. They chose civil disobedience, letting the male newborns live (verse 17). When questioned by Pharaoh, they responded with a “creative” truth, comparing the labor of Hebrew women to that of Egyptian women (verses 18, 19).
A lie to Pharaoh’s face? The text appears unconcerned with passing judgment on ethics here. What we do read is that God “dealt graciously” with these midwives and “gave them families,” rewarding their reverence for Him (verses 20, 21), a reverence expressed in disobeying the king and fearing him less than God.
Unable to count on the Hebrew midwives, Pharaoh escalated again. He ruthlessly broadened his genocidal policy, commanding all Egyptians to commit infanticide, to kill Hebrew male infants (verse 22). This was genocidal.
And let’s be clear: It was not just the killing of babies that stood in opposition to God’s will. It was, first and foremost, the oppression—the brutalizing of life that already existed. These were human beings already created, already made in God’s image and likeness. Denying them the dignity that belongs to all humans is the foundational sin. Cutting off their future (i.e., their offspring) is simply an extension of that dehumanization.
Small Steps
How many years it took to reach this brutal, destructive point, we don’t know. It was most likely less than 400 years. In the story it takes only a few sentences to move from ignorance to fear to outright genocide. And I suspect that this formal feature carries deep meaning. Because it truly does not take much to reach that ultimate point—of destroying other human life: life we have not created, life we do not truly sustain, life we no longer consider equal in value to our own, and life we sacrifice on the altar of our opinion about what a safe community, a safe society, or a safe nation should look like. Human history and the present day are full of examples of rapid development.
If believers in the creation story view God’s original plan—life before the Fall—as the ultimate model for how life should be lived according to the Creator’s will, then that ideal should shape our decisions regarding every area of life, as imperfect as these decisions may be, given the broken systems we live and work in. But ideals matter, direction and tendencies have weight. They reflect what we consider valuable, worthy of protection and care.
If these aspects are considered part of God’s perfect plan, then the same model should also affirm the supremacy of human dignity and worth. It should stand in contrast to the human-made importance placed on nations, ethnicities, skin color, and other categories that sinful humans have invented over millennia to devalue others, to dominate and exploit them. These divisions have often been used to determine who is worthy to live and who is not.
Humane behavior and life-affirming policies must be grounded in a recognition of human dignity. Period. Whether there were/are accomplishments and broader contributions to society involved or not. Furthermore, there should be, of course, appreciation for the contributions and achievements of those who came before us and live right next to us. All of that carried by the understanding of our shared humanity and essential needs. Without this foundation we risk repeating the story of Egypt—not by identifying with the oppressed Israelites, but by imitating the brutal leadership of the Egyptians. Interestingly, in the end-times the last major human political power mentioned in the Bible shares the same characteristics as Egypt. That is not by chance. It points to the same life-destroying spirit that guides both.
Human history, and, tragically, especially the history of those who confess Christ, is full of disturbing examples of confusion about which role we are actually playing.
To place oneself in the position of the Creator, claiming the right to determine which humans are worthy to live and which are not, is always a dangerous endeavor. It can cost us our humanity.
The Problem, and the Solution
In Exodus 1 Israel’s problem is not portrayed as a spiritual failing on their part. We see this most clearly in the nature of the solution that God provides. In this case God responds to their oppression and attempted genocide with a physical solution: He leads his people out, removing them from the land of their suffering and bondage.
Surely the Hebrews faced a plethora of challenges during their time in Egypt beyondmere physical oppression. Scripture hints that they began to forget the God of their fathers and gradually assimilated into the idol worship practiced around them (Joshua 24:14; Eze. 20:5-8; 23:3, 8, 19, 27). This spiritual drift had far-reaching implications—not only morally but also culturally and socially, shaping their identity in ways that conflicted with their calling as God’s people.
It is, however, remarkable to see that the Lord did not begin His salvation by giving the people spiritual or moral instructions. He did not raise up a leader to teach them His law or to remind them of His covenant with Abraham, their forefather, to “set them straight.” No. God began with a rescue mission. And the goal of that mission was to get them out—to remove them from their oppression. To take them out of a system that did not see them as equally valuable or deserving of a future.
The entire background to the Exodus narrative highlights a fundamental aspect of our human nature: we are, first, beings of and in time, and second, beings of and in space. We are bound by both time and location.
When we disregard our own dependence on time and location, are we not also tempted to disregard it for our neighbor? And doesn’t that open the door to becoming dangerous, to committing inhumane acts, to becoming perpetrators of evil? Just like that king long ago, who was (willfully?) ignorant of the Israelites’ history and their contribution to Egypt. He ultimately denied them space in the very land to which they had once been welcomed. So we too are capable of doing the same. This occurs on both individual and communal levels, as well as on a national scale. It happens to people who have been victims of oppression before. Unfortunately, victims become perpetrators way too often. It happens while we profess Christ, His character, and His salvation.
Assuming God’s Role?
Knowing from the book of Genesis that God had always intended a different land for the Israelites does not diminish the point at hand, nor does it place Pharaoh’s actions within the framework of God’s will. The text itself leaves no doubt that Pharaoh and those who participated in the oppression and killing of the Hebrews had agency and made their own free choices. They clearly acted against the will of God, not only for His chosen people but for humanity as a whole.
The divine focus on life, hope, and the future reaches back to creation itself (Gen. 1:22, 28): “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth [land]” (verse 28). Pharaoh positioned himself against human life on a broad scale, and specifically against the life of the Hebrews on a national scale. His successors—and especially the pharaoh of the Exodus eight decades later—stubbornly maintained that position, as we will see in our continued study of the text during the coming weeks.
Through the 10 plagues, the Lord brings judgment upon that posture of defiance: the self-aggrandizing that fueled it, and the evil actions that flowed from it. To place oneself in the position of the Creator, claiming the right to determine which humans are worthy to live and which are not, is always a dangerous endeavor. It can cost us our humanity.
Scripture repeatedly warns of this distortion. The books of Daniel and Revelation, for example, use the image of beasts as a legitimate symbol of what happens when people or powers lose their true human identity—an identity rooted in creation itself.
Christians generally consider the Exodus story to be a story about salvation from sin, yet on a literal level it does not address the sin of the people of Israel. Instead, it highlights a physical location change that happens solely by God’s initiative: getting them out of a place where they were oppressed, where their human dignity was disregarded, their future denied, and their lives taken.
While continuing the traditional—and thoroughly biblical—reading of the Exodus story as a symbol of God’s salvation, both collectively and individually,[iii] we should not overlook the very literal lessons this narrative undoubtedly holds on a general level:
- Human life is God-given. It should not be human-taken. (See also Gen 9:5, 6.)
- Do not forget the contributions and accomplishments of those who came before you, even if they did not belong to your immediate community.
- Do not create or hype up fear.
- Do not make fear of other humans the basis for your behavior, whether in private life or the public sphere.
“If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20). Cornel West said, “Justice is what love looks like in public,” and he is right. Scripture is right. The abundance of connections in the Bible between right worship of God and just behavior toward fellow humans leaves no doubt regarding the conduct and vision of those who believe in the Lord as Creator of humans.
God began with a rescue mission. And the goal of that mission was to get them out—to remove them from their oppression.
Self-Reflection
The unseen. The unaware. The subtle attitudes we adopt, feed, and fail to release. So much of our life is lived in our heads, unknown to our neighbor and often to us, yet shaping everything we do. And eventually, becoming known to everyone.
The story of oppression in and the Exodus out of Egypt resonates deeply with our personal struggles in life and with sin. But first it exemplifies the reality that inhumane treatment in this world is most often sanctioned, planned, and perpetrated by higher earthly powers: institutions and systems that, fueled by fear and egomaniacal pride, assume the role of God. They decide the value and dignity of human life and determine who lives or dies on a larger scale.
The trickle-down effects of this are things all of us not only observe, experience, and suffer from, but also knowingly or unknowingly perpetuate. To live in a sinful world, a broken system, means being embedded in this cycle. And if we see ourselves only as the oppressed—and never as those who participate in or benefit from the oppression—we risk falling into moral blind spots that spill over into a life increasingly shaped by injustice.
It is not just about not forgetting history, as Pharaoh did. It’s about proactively becoming informed—about the past, about our present, about the needs and dignity of all creation, each person formed by the loving hands of a self-sacrificing Creator. These are the first steps toward changing course. Toward living according to God’s original plan.
May God grant us the grace to get out of Egypt—and to get Egypt out of us.
[i] All Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. ESV Text Edition: 2016. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
[ii] In slightly different form (“Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth”) the expression is used for the animals on the fifth day. In an abbreviated version (“Be fruitful and multiply”) it is given as a divine promise to Abraham (Gen. 17:6), to his first son, Ishmael (verse 20), and to Jacob twice: once in Isaac’s blessing (Gen. 28:3, 4) and once in God’s command and promise (Gen. 35:11). It is also applied in that same abbreviated form to the Hebrews in Egypt, because God chose this people to work with and through—to bring hope and blessing to all the world (Gen. 28:3, 4; 35:11).
[iii] See, for example, 1 Cor. 10; Heb. 3; 4; Rev. 15:2, 3.