“וַה׳ נָתַן אֶת־חֵן הָעָם בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרַיִם וַיַּשְׁאִלוּם וַיְנַצְּלוּ אֶת־מִצְרָיִם.”
[“And the Lord granted the people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians, and they lent them what they asked; thus they emptied Egypt.”]¹
As the tractate moves into 9b, the tone becomes more narrative and midrashic. The Gemara brings the passage “דבר נא באזני העם” [“Please speak in the ears of the people”] and interprets “נא” as לשון בקשה [a language of request]—a divine plea. God asks Moshe to urge Israel to request silver and gold from the Egyptians so that the promise to Avraham—“ואחרי כן יצאו ברכוש גדול” [“and afterward they shall leave with great wealth”]—will be fulfilled. The people, however, respond with the weary longing of the oppressed: ולואי שנצא בעצמנו [“If only we ourselves could just get out”]. A parable illustrates their state of mind: a prisoner promised wealth upon release asks only to be freed today, without reward.
The sugya continues with interpretations of “וישאלום” [“and they borrowed from them”] and “וינצלו את מצרים” [“and they emptied Egypt”], exploring whether the Egyptians or the Israelites were reluctant to part with the wealth, and describing Egypt as emptied like a trap without grain or the depths of the sea without fish. The discussion then turns to “אהיה אשר אהיה” [“I will be what I will be”], where God assures Israel of His presence in future exiles, and Moshe protests that the people cannot bear such knowledge. God instructs him instead to say simply: “אהיה שלחני אליכם” [“Ehyeh has sent me to you”].
The tractate concludes with Eliyahu’s prayer on Mount Carmel, “ענני ה’ ענני” [“Answer me, O Lord, answer me”]. Rabbi Avahu explains the double plea: Eliyahu asks both for fire to descend from heaven and for the people’s hearts to be turned away from suspicion, so they will not attribute the miracle to sorcery. The verse “ואתה הסבות את לבם אחורנית” [“and You have turned their hearts backward”] becomes a meditation on the divine shaping of human perception.
The Torah’s language here is arresting. It does not merely describe a transaction; it gestures toward the fulfillment of a promise whispered generations earlier. Yet the sages hear in this moment an echo that reaches back to another verse, spoken in a gentler key: “דבר נא באזני העם” [“Please speak in the ears of the people”]². אמרי דבי ר’ ינאי teach that “נא” is לשון בקשה, a word of request. God does not command Moshe; He entreats him. בבקשה ממך—“I ask of you.” Go to Israel and say בבקשה מכם—“I ask of you”—take from Egypt כלי כסף וכלי זהב, silver and gold vessels. Not because Israel yearned for wealth, but because a divine promise must not remain half‑fulfilled. The prophecy “ועבדום וענו אותם” [“they will enslave them and afflict them”]³ had already been realized with painful exactness. The companion promise “ואחרי כן יצאו ברכוש גדול” [“and afterward they will leave with great wealth”]⁴ must also come to pass.
But the people, bowed by centuries of labor, answer with a stark and human honesty: ולואי שנצא בעצמנו [“If only we ourselves could just get out”]⁵. Their longing is not for gold but for air. The sages liken them to a prisoner told that tomorrow he will be freed and given riches, who replies simply: בבקשה מכם הוציאוני היום ואיני מבקש כלום—“Please, take me out today; I ask for nothing else.”⁶ When one’s world has shrunk to the dimensions of a cell, freedom itself becomes the only treasure.
Still, the Torah insists: “וישאלום”—“they borrowed from them”⁷. Rabbi Ami teaches that this borrowing occurred בעל כרחם—against their will. But whose will resisted? Some say the Egyptians, reluctant to part with their wealth even as their world collapsed, as hinted in “ונות בית תחלק שלל”—“and the dove’s wings divide the spoil”⁸. Others say it was Israel who resisted, משום משוי—because the burden of carrying such wealth weighed heavily on bodies already bent by bondage. Redemption, it seems, carries its own weight.
And when the Torah declares “וינצלו את מצרים”—“they emptied Egypt”⁹—the sages paint images of utter depletion. Rabbi Ami imagines Egypt as מצודה שאין בה דגן—a trap with no grain¹⁰, stripped of all that once lured and ensnared. Reish Lakish deepens the image: מצולה שאין בה דגים—the depths of the sea without fish¹¹, a place hollowed to its silent floor. Egypt, once a house of bondage, becomes a husk.
Earlier, at the burning bush, God reveals Himself with the enigmatic “אהיה אשר אהיה”—“I will be what I will be”¹². He instructs Moshe to tell Israel that just as He is with them now—אני הייתי עמכם בשעבוד זה, “I was with you in this servitude”—so will He be with them in the exiles yet to come—ואני אהיה עמכם בשעבוד מלכיות¹³. But Moshe, the shepherd who feels the tremor of every wounded heart, protests: רבש”ע דיה לצרה בשעתה—“Master of the universe, the suffering of the moment is enough”¹⁴. Do not burden them with the shadows of future nights. And God, who knows the weight of a single word, answers with gentleness: אהיה שלחני אליכם—“Ehyeh has sent me to you”¹⁵. Presence without prophecy. Comfort without foretelling.
Generations later, on Mount Carmel, Eliyahu cries out “ענני ה’ ענני”—“Answer me, O Lord, answer me”¹⁶. Rabbi Avahu wonders why the prophet repeats himself. Eliyahu, he explains, seeks two answers: ענני שתרד אש מן השמים ותאכל כל אשר על המזבח—“answer me that fire may descend from heaven and consume the offering,” and ענני שתסיח דעתם כדי שלא יאמרו מעשה כשפים הם—“answer me by turning their minds so they will not say it was sorcery”¹⁷. For Scripture testifies, ואתה הסבות את לבם אחורנית—“and You have turned their hearts backward”¹⁸. Eliyahu prays that their hearts be turned forward again, toward truth, toward covenant, toward the God who answers not only with fire but with clarity.
Thus the wealth taken from Egypt becomes more than the spoils of liberation. It becomes the weight of a promise, the burden of destiny, the shimmering reminder that redemption is not merely escape but fulfillment. It is a story of a God who pleads, a people who yearn, a prophet who demands both miracle and understanding. And it is a reminder that every exodus—ancient or modern—requires not only the opening of a path but the turning of a heart.
For Christian readers, this passage offers a window into the deep moral and spiritual texture of the Exodus story—one that resonates far beyond its historical moment. The Talmud’s meditation on “דבר נא באזני העם” [“Please speak in the ears of the people”] and “אהיה אשר אהיה” [“I will be what I will be”] invites Christians to reflect on a God who accompanies human beings through suffering, honors promises across generations, and calls people toward freedom not only of body but of heart. The imagery of Egypt being “וינצלו את מצרים” [“emptied out”], the plea “ולואי שנצא בעצמנו” [“If only we ourselves could just get out”], and Eliyahu’s cry “ענני ה’ ענני” [“Answer me, O Lord, answer me”] all speak to themes central to Christian faith: liberation, covenantal fidelity, and the transformation of the human heart. Studying this passage allows Christians to encounter the Exodus not only as a foundational narrative but as a living dialogue about divine presence, human longing, and the slow, courageous work of redemption.
This midrashic meditation draws upon the Talmudic commentary found in Berakhot 9b.
Endnotes
- Exodus 12:36.
- Exodus 11:2; Berakhot 9b.
- Genesis 15:13.
- Genesis 15:14.
- Berakhot 9b.
- Berakhot 9b, parable of the prisoner.
- Exodus 12:36.
- Psalms 68:14, cited in Berakhot 9b.
- Exodus 12:36.
- Berakhot 9b, R. Ami’s interpretation.
- Berakhot 9b, Reish Lakish’s interpretation.
- Exodus 3:14.
- Berakhot 9b, divine assurance of future presence.
- Berakhot 9b, Moshe’s protest.
- Exodus 3:14, shortened form.
- 1 Kings 18:37.
- Berakhot 9b, R. Avahu’s explanation.
- 1 Kings 18:37.