Timeless Torah

She is one of the most unexpected heroes of the Bible. Without her, Moses might not have lived, and the story of the Exodus would have been completely different. Yet she was not an Israelite. Still, with nothing to gain, and everything to lose, she did not hesitate. Even as Pharaoh afflicted the children of Israel, his own daughter Batya saved them.

Recall the context. Pharaoh had decreed death for every male Hebrew child. Yocheved’s baby could no longer be concealed, and so she set him afloat on the Nile in a basket, hoping for a miracle. This is how the Torah describes what followed: Pharaoh’s daughter went to bathe in the Nile, while her maids walked along the river’s edge. Discovering the basket…she opened it…saw the child…[who] was crying. She had pity and said, “This is one of the Hebrew boys.”

Note the sequence. First she sees the baby and has pity: a natural reaction. Only then does it dawn on her who the child must be; a Hebrew. Who else would abandon an infant? Instantly the situation had changed. To save the baby would mean breaking the law. That would be serious enough for an ordinary Egyptian; doubly so for a member of the royal family.

Nor was she alone when the event happened. Her maids were with her. She had to face the risk that one of them, in a fit of pique, or even mere gossip, would tell someone about it. Rumors flourished in royal courts. Yet she did not shift her ground. She had courage, not just compassion. Now something extraordinary occured: The [child’s] sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I call a Hebrew woman to nurse the child for you?” “Go,” replied Pharaoh’s daughter. The young girl summoned the child’s own mother. “Nurse this child,” said the princess, “and I will pay you a fee.”

The simplicity with which this is narrated conceals the astonishing nature of this encounter. First, how does a child, a member of a persecuted people, have the audacity to address a princess? And with no elaborate preamble such as, “Your royal highness” or any other formality? They seem to speak as equals.

But these are hardly the only words left unsaid. “You know and I know,” Moses’ sister implies, “who this child is.” So she proposes a brilliant plan. If the real mother would nurse the child, we minimize the danger. You will not have to explain to the court how this child suddenly appeared: and we can say the child is not a Hebrew, and the woman a mere nurse for an Egyptian mother. Miriam’s ingenuity is matched by the princess’s instant agreement. They understand each other clearly.

Now, Batya’s moment of compassion could have ended right there. No one would have impugned her good name had she forgotten the child. Yet the passage of time had not diminished her sense of responsibility. Not only did she remain committed to his welfare; she adopted the riskiest of strategies. When the child matured and was brought to the palace, she adopted him as her own son, and named him Moses. This is courage of a high order.

The story contains one last bombshell. In Torah, it is parents who give a child his or her name. In the case of a special individual, G-d himself gives the name. Adoptive names however, such as Tsofnas Paneach - the name given to Joseph by an earlier Pharaoh - traditionally have a short shelf life in the Biblical literature. How strange then that the greatest of all the prophets should bear not the name his parents, Amram and Yocheved, have used thus far, but the one given to him by his adoptive mother.

Who was this Egyptian princess? Nowhere is she explicitly named. However the First Book of Chronicles (4:18) mentions a daughter of Pharaoh, named Bitya, and it was she whom the Sages identified as the woman who saved Moses. Her name (often rendered as Batya) means “daughter of G-d.” This itself was a form of reward and acknowledgement for her courage, as G-d Himself explained, “Moses was not your son, yet you called him your son. You are not My daughter, but I shall call you (Batya) My daughter.”

Instead of “Pharaoh’s daughter” read “Hitler or Stalin’s daughter” and appreciate her valor. Her father’s tyranny could not destroy her humanity. That the Torah itself tells Batya’s story has enormous implications: Moral courage can surface anywhere. Thus, we must never stereotype. The Egyptians were not all evil: even from Pharaoh himself a heroine was born. Nothing could signal more powerfully that Judaism recognizes virtue wherever we find it, even among our enemies. Indeed, outside Yad Vashem the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem there is an avenue dedicated to righteous gentiles to remind us of that fact.

Still Batya’s example shines brighter than most. Even King Solomon recognized her bravery and immortalized her in his famous song, Eishes Chayil - A Woman of Valor. According to one interpretation, each verse of that composition refers to a Biblical or historic woman of outstanding character. Which verse is Batya’s? “She gets up while it is still night.” Night is always a symbol for exile, for during the night we are surrounded by darkness, unable to see what is real. It is easy to get lost, confused, stuck, and be rendered inactive.