What would Moses do? Vote!

There's just something about late winter in Israel that feels like elections. Every single national contest we've held in this country in this century has been between mid-Shevat and late Adar (February-March). Maybe it's the realization that we're not getting any more snow days, so we need another reason for a day off.
But another 21st-century Israeli electoral trend is much more troubling: citizens just aren't that into it. Consider the turnout for the last five elections, percentage-wise: 62.3, 67.8, 63.6, 64.7, 67.8. Compare that to the last five elections of the 20th century: 78.7, 79.3, 77.4, 79.7, 78.8. When once nearly four in five voted, now we're not even averaging two out of three.
For a bit of insight, let's turn to the man whose birthday and yahrtzeit fall smack in the middle of this season: Moses. What was Moses' deathbed wish? To cross over the Jordan and enter the Land of Israel. But why?

R. Simlai expounded: Why did Moses our teacher yearn to enter the land of Israel? Did he want to eat of its fruits or satisfy himself from its bounty? But thus said Moses, "Many mitzvot were commanded to Israel which can only be fulfilled in the land of Israel. I wish to enter the land so that they may all be fulfilled by me."

That's what we find in the Talmud (Sota 14a), but it is still pretty vague. The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni 816) narrows it down further: "This is the appointment of the king." Moses wasn't looking forward to the first fruits or tithes or sabbatical or jubilee: he was anticipating "the appointment of the king"--not the coronation, not the reign, but the appointment.
This is shocking when we consider how low an opinion some of Moses' successors had of the institution of the monarchy, Samuel first and foremost. "You have said to me: 'No, a king shall reign over us,' but Lord your God is your king!" (I Sam. 12:12). We might expect the man who concluded the Song of the Sea with "Lord shall reign forevermore" (Exod. 15:18) to object to a human king. But on the contrary, Moses' most profound wish is to witness the appointment of a king in Israel--to fulfill that mitzva.
But perhaps this is a one-time command? No, it appears in the lists of 613 commandments, e.g. #497 in the 13th-century Sefer HaChinnukh.

Rather, the significance of the commandment is not limited to the appointing of a new king, it encompasses everything we have mentioned: the appointing of a new king – if there shall be a reason why one shall be needed – and also the establishing of the reign in the hands of the heir, and the constitution of his authority over us; and in all respects, we should behave toward him as we have been commanded, and as we do following the known procedure and command, which truly does apply forever.

But maybe the command is just for important people like Moses? Actually, the king is supposed to be appointed by 70 members of the Sanhedrin, and appointing them is another mitzva (#491):

Now this is one of the commandments which is incumbent upon the entire community in each and every place, and as explained in Tractate Sanhedrin (2b), a community that has the ability to establish among them a council but does not set one, has abrogated a positive command, and their punishment is very great for this commandment is a strong pillar... For each and every congregation in all places should select some of the good among them, people that will have power over all of them to compel by whatever means necessary... and to remove from amongst their midst disgraceful matters and all of that ilk. In regard to those appointed people it is also fitting that they should straighten their way and make their actions fit and have no cause for public shame... Furthermore, they should try continually to do what is beneficial for their colleagues that are dependent upon them to teach them the true way and to establish peace with all their energies among the congregation. They should abandon, leave, and forget from their hearts all of their physical delights; upon this they shall put their attention and upon this shall be the majority of their thoughts and activities, thereby fulfilling the verse (Dan. 12:3) "And those of keen intellect will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars, forevermore."

This is what Moses wanted to do more than anything: to leave behind a political structure that would last, a society that could prosper for generations to come. He could not have been naive about the prospect: he himself, God's direct appointee, had to deal with numerous revolts and rebellions during his four decades. Moreover, he spent his youth in Pharaoh's palace, seeing the cutthroat nature of politics up close. But he wanted his last act to be doing his civic duty.
So yes, Israeli politics are imperfect. But as someone who's lived and worked in the US, Canada and Israel, I can tell you that having a vote that actually counts and a real choice among parties is a blessing. Sure, you may not find that transgender haredi Ethiopian faction fighting to make canola oil kosher for Passover for everyone, but choose the next best thing. Do it for Moses/ Moishe/ Musa/ Mosheh. Because a vote is a terrible thing to waste.

First Messiah

It's Messiah season in the Holy Land once again, with Passover, Easter and elections quickly approaching (not in that order). Now, we may not agree on who that ultimate messiah should be, but we can all agree that messianic fervor must be treated with massive amounts of chocolate.

Caption might as well read: Give yourself a little square for perpetuating gender myths and a big square for canonizing them in law!

But let's spare a thought for the first messiah, a man often unjustly discounted, dismissed and disrespected... (but enough about Buji!) Aaron the Priest.
Yes, Aaron is the first man to be anointed, which is what messiah (mashiach) actually means, as we read in this week's Torah portion (Exod. 40:13):

Then dress Aaron in the sacred garments, anoint (u-mashachta) him and consecrate him so he may serve me as priest.

In fact, this image of Moses anointing Aaron is so powerful that David writes a whole psalm about it (133):

A Song of Ascents, of David.
Behold, how good and how pleasant it is
For brothers to dwell together in unity!
It is like the precious oil upon the head,
Coming down upon the beard,
Even Aaron’s beard,
Coming down upon the edge of his robes.
It is like the dew of Hermon
Coming down upon the mountains of Zion;
For there the LORD commanded the blessing—life forever.

However, as the Talmud tells it, there was great apprehension for each of the brothers during the ceremony:

Our Rabbis taught: It is like the precious oil … coming down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard, etc., two drops like pearls hung from Aaron's beard...  And concerning this matter, Moses was anxious. He said, 'Have I, God forbid, made an improper use of the anointing oil?' A heavenly voice came forth and called out, Like the precious oil … like the dew of Hermon; as misappropriation is inapplicable to the dew of Hermon, so also is it inapplicable to the anointing oil on the beard of Aaron. Aaron however, was still anxious. He said, 'It is possible that Moses did not trespass, but I may have trespassed'. A heavenly voice came forth and said to him, Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity;  as Moses is not guilty of trespass, so are you not guilty of trespass.

I said anointing oil, not Gatorade.

What were they so concerned about? Why was every drop of oil so precious? Let's take a closer look at this anointing oil (shemen ha-mishcha). WARNING: SIMPLE ARITHMETIC AHEAD!

Take also for yourself the finest of spices: of flowing myrrh five hundred shekels, and of fragrant cinnamon half as much, two hundred and fifty, and of fragrant cane two hundred and fifty, and of cassia five hundred, according to the shekel of the sanctuary, and of olive oil a hin. You shall make of these a holy anointing oil... (Exod. 30:23-25)

That's better. More super bowl, less Superbowl.

Now, the listed ingredients add up (500+250+250+500) to 1500 shekels--or 3000 half-shekels. I mention the half-shekel because this is the amount to be given by every Israelite, rich or poor, towards the construction of the Tabernacle. This is "ransom," "atonement money" and "plague" inoculation for every living man, according to the previous chapter. But there are some who do not have that opportunity, namely those who fell on the day the Golden Calf was made, "and about three thousand men of the people fell that day," because "the LORD plagued the people, because of what they did with the calf which Aaron had made" (32:28, 35).
Yes, Aaron goes on to offer a non-golden calf to atone for himself personally (Lev. 9:8) , but what about the 3000 who didn't walk away? These are the 3000 half-shekels which go into the anointing oil. Thus, every drop is precious, and the brothers are anxious.
A final point to consider is the source of the raw materials for the anointing oil--the nesi'im, the tribal princes (Exod. 35:27-28), mysterious and obscure figures in this book of the Bible. What is clear is that they view the donation of these materials as a national duty, as much as the precious stones on which the names of the tribes are inscribed. It is about accountability, the idea that the people's representatives assembled must represent all the people, not one sector, community or tribe. It's a message we sorely need in Israel, and hopefully our princes will remember it long after the Election Day chocolate has melted away.

All About the Benjamins

Analogies are hard.
Some wags in the late 90s thought that the Lewinsky scandal was a modern Purim story, with Monica as ingenue Esther, Bill Clinton as insatiable Ahasuerus and Hillary as imperious Vashti. Fair enough, but what about Haman, the villain of the piece? Apparently relying on the fact that Iran and Iraq indisputably share 75% of their letters, Saddam Hussein was cast.
In the 2000s, we got a Persian who certainly could play the role, and not just because his last name is an anagram for "I, jaded Haman": Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. But the man who became famous for declaring that "Israel will be wiped off the map" and "There are no Persian carpet munchers" (your translation may vary) left office almost two years ago. (I know, a President Mahmoud A. who leaves office when his term is up--those Shiites give up so easily!) The most you can say about his successor, Hassan Rouhani, is that he's an inconsistent New Year's tweeter.
Then The Speech was announced. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin "Bibi" Netanyahu coming to the most prestigious chamber of the world's sole superpower, unbidden, to beg and supplicate for his people to be saved from the ministers of Persia. And doing it on the Fast of Esther! How perfect is that?
Except it's not the Fast of Esther, because that's the 13th of Adar, not the 12th. And even here in Israel, where it will be after sunset when the speech starts, the fast doesn't begin until the next morning. And the Fast of Esther does not commemorate when Esther went before Ahasuerus, which was on Passover, eleven months earlier. And--
You know what, never mind. As I said, analogies are hard. I understand why some are comparing Bibi to Esther. But I think the closer analogue is Mordecai.
And about that... Now, I don't embrace Ayalon Eliach's Haaretz hit-piece, "Mordechai the villain," but he does raise some interesting questions. The text does seem to indicate that Mordecai has no trouble hiding (denying) his Jewish identity until Haman comes on the scene, and this seems to be his main concern with Esther over the previous decade. The comfort with which we accept Esther's being "taken" because Mordecai ultimately gets wealth and prestige in return does the beg the question of how we would look at Sarah's abductions if the God had not intervened.
But the greatest service that Eliach does is remind us of the view of Rava, 4th-century Babylonian sage, who has a somewhat ambiguous view of Mordecai. The Talmud (Megilla 12b-13a) is trying to explain the fact that Mordecai is identified both as a Jew (from the tribe of Judah) and a Benjamite (from the tribe of Benjamin) when he is first mentioned (Est. 2:5). Rava comments:

The community of Israel explained [the two designations] in the contrary sense: ‘See what a Judean did to me and how a Benjamite repaid me!’ What a Judean did to me, viz., that David did not kill Shimei from whom was descended Mordecai who provoked Haman. ‘And how a Benjamite repaid me’, viz., that Saul did not slay Agag from whom was descended Haman who oppressed Israel.

In other words, the Jewish community is equally annoyed at two kings from the Book of Samuel: Saul for not killing Haman's ancestor, and David for not killing Mordecai's ancestor.
Shocking, certainly. But let's consider another aggadic source (Yalkut Shimoni 1054):

They said to him: Know that you cause us to fall by the sword. What did you see to abrogate the king's command?
He said: For I am a Jew.
They said to him: But surely we find that your forefathers bowed down to his forefathers, as it is stated: 'And he bowed down to the ground seven times' (Gen. 33:3).
He said to them: My forefather, Benjamin, was in his mother's womb and did not bow down, and I am his descendant, as it is stated: 'a Benjamite' (Esther 2:5). Just as my forefather did not bow, so I do not bow or bend…
R. Benjamin bar Levi said: "I am the knight of the Holy One, blessed be He; does a knight bow down before a commoner?"

In other words, according to Yalkut Shimoni, Mordecai's refusal to bow before Haman is not due to his Judaism (since Halakha allows this), but due to his tribal pride.
But even if Mordecai is less than perfect (in the view of some sages), we can no doubt say that he saves his people. The Book of Esther ends with a glorious act of self-defense!
Let's look at what does finally happen on the 13th of Adar (Est. 9:1-5):

The enemies of the Jews had hoped to rule over them, and it was turned that the Jews rule over those hating them — the Jews were assembled in their cities, in all provinces of the king Ahasuerus, to put forth a hand upon those seeking their evil, and no man stood in their presence, for their fear had fallen on all the peoples. And all heads of the provinces, and the lieutenants, and the governors, and those doing the work that the king had, were lifting up the Jews, for a fear of Mordecai had fallen upon them... And the Jews smote among all their enemies — a smiting of sword, and slaughter and destruction — and did with those hating them according to their pleasure.

So whom did the Jews kill? Antisemites, certainly--those who hated them. This was a widespread phenomenon during the reign of Ahasuerus (see Ezra 4:6). But this was hardly an act of self-defense, but rather "for the Jews being ready at this day to be avenged of their enemies" (Est. 8:13). It is the Jews who mass, not their enemies. Consider just three points:

1. The Jews are allowed "to cut off, to slay, and to destroy the whole force of the people and province who are distressing them, infants and women, and their spoil to seize" (8:11). What infants and spoils did the Jews need to defend themselves against? In practice, the Jews only kill men; but the decree is clearly designed to be the mirror image of Haman's decree, targeting Jew-haters instead of Jews, but not limited to self-defense.
2. "Many of the peoples of the land were becoming Jews, for a fear of the Jews had fallen upon them" (8:17). Now, if they were scared of the Jews, and the Jews would only act in self-defense, how about just not attacking?
3. "And Esther said, ‘If to the king [it be] good, let it be given also tomorrow, to the Jews who [are] in Susa, to do according to the law of today; and the ten sons of Haman they hang on the tree."' Now, that's the 14th of Adar, a day on which no one was ever allowed to attacked Jews. So why did the Jews go and kill 300 more men in the royal complex?

The confusion is probably due to the phrase "la'amod al nafsham," which many translate "to stand for their lives," i.e. to act in self-defense. But the phrase "al nafsham" recurs in 9:31, where it clearly means "for themselves"--the Jews accept Purim "for themselves and for their seed." They are meant "to stand for themselves"--to settle the score with their foes.
Mordecai the Benjamite is a complex figure. We would do well to study what he does in order to understand the nature of the threats we face today--and what motivates our response.
There's a reason it's the Book of Esther, after all.

You Light Up My Life

Parashat Tetzaveh, most people will tell you, begins with the mitzva of lighting the Menorah. There's only one problem: the Menorah is not mentioned at all. The location of the nightly lighting is "in the tent of meeting, outside the curtain (parokhet), in front of the testimony." The location, within the Sanctuary, seems to be an integral part of the mitzva.
If we look back at Parashat Teruma, we find that virtually every step is phrased in the second person singular--i.e., to Moses. But there are two exceptions, two cases in which the third person singular is used, "yaaseh otah," "he shall make it"--concerning the Menorah and concerning the hangings which close off the Sanctuary, the Parokhet and the Masakh. These hangings essentially ensure that the light of the Menorah does not leave the Sanctuary.
This stands in dramatic distinction to the Menorah of the Temple. Shlomo builds the Temple with "open closed windows" (I Ki. 6:4), explained by R. Hanina and R. Levi (Lev. Rabbah 31:6) as "narrowing inside, widening outside, in order to illuminate the world."
This is the difference between Mishkan and Mikdash. The Mishkan is a temporary structure, designed to be disassembled and reassembled for travel. It represents a nation--or a person--in the stage of development. Enlightenment at that point is quite insular. One is not ready to illuminate the world.
The Mikdash, on the other hand, represents permanence and maturity. It is literally set in stone. From such an environment, light may go forth to illuminate the entire world.

Portraying the Prophet

Yes, this post will contain images of the Prophet, but not Muhammad. Instead, I'd like to talk about the first person ever selected by God to be a prophet, navi in Hebrew--that would be the guy on the left.

Cause I be frontispiecin, yo!

Yes, in this week's Torah portion, we witness God selecting a navi for the first time in Scripture, and it's Aaron (Exod. 7:1): "Then the LORD said to Moses, “See, I make you as God to Pharaoh, and your brother Aaron shall be your prophet."

Prophet in Greek, like navi in Hebrew, refers to a speaker. In this analogy, Moses and Aaron are God and prophet, as Moses has doubts about his own oratorical skills. This parallels what we read last week (4:15-16):

You are to speak to him and put the words in his mouth; and I, even I, will be with your mouth and his mouth, and I will teach you what you are to do. Moreover, he shall speak for you to the people; and he will be as a mouth for you and you will be as God to him.

So a prophet is God's spokesman, the divine mouthpiece, the heavenly press secretary. He takes the celestial communique and presents it in a way that the audience will listen to.
This concept is essential to understanding the gap we often find between our ethical standards and the words of Scripture. Rabbi Dr. Zev Farber writes about this eloquently on TheTorah.com, in his "Marrying Your Daughter to Her Rapist: A Test Case in Dealing with Morally Problematic Biblical Laws."

The Torah contains a number of laws that fly in the face of modern ethical notions. In certain ways, this is similar to the question of science and Torah, where many admit that the Torah expresses notions of the universe that contradict modern science. Although a significant number of people in the Orthodox world have made peace with the fact that the Torah speaks in the language of its times when it comes to science, the question is all the more pressing when it comes to ethics, especially for people who find themselves inhabiting both the Torah and modern worlds.

Rabbi Farber notes that the Sages themselves reinterpreted many of the Torah laws which they found morally troubling. But that doesn't solve the issue of why God would gives us such laws in the first place. So, building on the conceptual framework of Professor Tamar Ross, he argues:

But if, as Ross and others have argued, we assume that prophecy is not meant to be understood as a verbal revelation from God to the prophet, but—to use my language—as a tapping into the divine flow, then understanding the historical and intellectual context of the author/prophet is vital. Once we admit that any divine message is refracted through a human perspective, then by definition, the divine message will be incomplete and subject to the perspectives and comprehension of the prophet.

The problem with this approach, of "tapping into the divine flow," is not only that it makes God extremely passive, but that it seems to ignore the role of the people. (Rabbi Farber brings the latter issue up parenthetically.) Consider the compulsion described by Amos (3:8): "The lion has roared-- who will not fear? The Sovereign LORD has spoken-- who can but prophesy?" The prophet does not go out into the wilderness seeking to commune with the divine, dowsing for the word of God--he is gripped by an almost autonomic need to convey his message to the nation.
Using the Amramite example, would we say Aaron was tapping Moses' flow? Moses' problem is not understanding God, but being understood by the people. Thus, if we triangulate God, prophet and people when confronting an idea that seem ethically untenable, we should not find fault with the prophet's limitations, but rather with the people.
Indeed, the role of the navi is not just to convey God's word to the people, but to advocate for them. He knows how to speak not only for God, but also to God.
This is quite evident when we go back to the first person to be referred to as a navi, Abraham. God calls him by this title not when He first reveals Himself, indeed not when speaking to Abraham at all, but rather to Abimelech (Gen. 20:7):

Now therefore, restore the man’s wife, for he is a prophet, and he will pray for you and you will live. But if you do not restore her, know that you shall surely die, you and all who are yours.”

Now, how bizarre is to picture this: God is speaking to Abimelech about what he needs to do to save himself from divine wrath for the kidnapping of Sarah: 1) release Sarah; 2) ask Abraham to pray for him. So God is telling Abimelech to tell Abraham to tell God to heal Abimelech? This seems circular, until we consider the power of the prophet: he alone can put a message in the proper words, shaping it for his audience--even if that audience is Omnipotent and Omniscient.
The role of the prophet is an integral one. But ultimately, prophecy was taken from us, and it is now we people who must do our best, using the revelations of long ago, the facts of today, and the compass of our conscience to figure out what God wants.

Princess Leah

When Star Wars premiered in 1977, my mother was thrilled. The name Leah wasn't exactly popular when she grew up, in 1950's America, and the proper Hebrew pronunciation Leia was absolutely unheard-of. But here came an instant pop-culture icon: Princess Leia, diplomat, spy, rebel. And she was portrayed by Eddie Fisher's daughter. Now my Zeidy and Bubby seemed amazingly prescient! (Remind me to tell you about my Uncle Moishy...)
Look, she even covers her hair? How frum is that!
However, this didn't solve the problem of the Torah's portrayal of Leia/ Leah. She seems to be constantly overshadowed by her younger sister Rachel. Even though Leah bears Jacob 7 of his 13 children, she never seems to get her due.
This is particularly striking when it comes to their respective passings. Rachel's tragic death is described in painstaking, breathtaking detail in Gen. 35, and then Jacob retells the story in this week's portion, Parashat Vaychi. Both Samuel and Jeremiah refer to it in their prophecies.
Leah gets five anticlimactic words (four in Hebrew): "and there I buried Leah."
But let's look at that line in context--namely, Jacob's last words (literally). Jacob is adjuring his sons to bury him in his ancestral plot in Hebron (Gen. 49:30-32):

In the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham bought with the field from Ephron the Hittite for a possession of a burying-place. There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah. The field and the cave that is therein, which was purchased from the children of Heth.

Notice that Jacob speaks of the other burials in the third person, "they buried," despite the fact that he was presumably present at Abraham's and definitely participated in Isaac's ("And he was buried by his sons Esau and Jacob," 35:29). Leah's death is personal, even more so than that of Isaac.
The Midrashic chronology Seder Olam Rabbah (Ch. II) highlights this by noting that Leah and Jacob's marriage lasted for 22 years--a crucial length of time in Jacob's life. He spends 22 years away from his father and 22 years away from Joseph. And, according to this tradition, Leah was 22 when they married. In fact, that would put Leah's passing a year or two before the sale of Joseph, which dovetails with the fact that Bilhah and Zilpah are referred to as "the wives of his father" at the beginning of Joseph's story.
Moreover, this simple statement has national significance, as Nahmanides points out (ad loc.):

It may very well be that "and there I buried Leah" indicates that Jacob already exercised possession of the cave. This would frustrate any claim by Esau and his sons at the funeral, claiming that the cave should be his birthright and that he deserves to be buried with his forebears--that even though he went to another land, his sons should bear him just as Jacob's sons bore him, as he desired to be buried with his holy forebears and to be united with them in burial.

Leah's presence precludes Esau's burial there. In fact, this may be seen as the first public expression of Jacob's precedence. Every other instance of Jacob's supplanting Esau occurs in private: between the two brothers, between them and their father, between him and God. However, Leah's burial in the Cave of Machpelah (Couples' Cave), which happens a decade and a half before the death of Isaac, conclusively demonstrates that only one of his sons is destined to be his heir and the bearer of the legacy of Abraham.
Maybe we shouldn't be surprised. The one thing we know about Leah before her marriage is that she had "eyes of refinement" (Gen. 29:17). As Isaiah (47:1-2) makes clear, the only place for a woman of delicacy and refinement is on the throne. In fact, various Midrashic sources (e.g. Gen. Rabbah, Vayera) identify her father Laban as none other than Kemuel, Lord of Aram. Which would make Leah a princess.
In any case, for forty years, Leah safeguards the field in Hebron which is the first property acquired by the Hebrews in the land of Canaan, guaranteeing that it is Jacob's progeny (hers and her sister's) which will have sovereignty in the land.
This is the ultimate distinction between Leah and Rachel. Rachel is buried on the way to Bethlehem, on the way back from Israel's first exile, symbolizing that the Jewish people will always return to their land. But Leah is buried in Hebron, the city which symbolizes Jewish sovereignty. When the Israelites first return almost two centuries later to survey the land and conquer it, Hebron is the first stop (Num 13:22). When David, the shepherd from Bethlehem, is first crowned, he rules from Hebron.
This is the legacy of Leah our Mother.

One Mean Aramean

Laban,who appears for the first time in this weekend's, Torah portion is an intriguing figure. Unlike Patriarchal antagonists Pharaoh, Abimelech and Esau, we never hear the refrain "He will kill me" concerning Laban. He seems nice. However, in the Haggadah, Laban is presented as our arch-nemesis. On Passover, we would expect Pharaoh to be the Big Bad, but apparently he plays second fiddle while Memphis burns. We read:

Come and learn what Laban the Aramean sought to do to our patriarch Jacob. For Pharaoh issued his edict against only the males, but Laban sought to uproot it all, as it is said (Deut. 26:5), "My father was lost to an Aramean, and he went down to Egypt and he became there a nation, great, mighty and populous."

This is stunning. Pharaoh murders thousands and enslaves millions, but Laban surpasses him for thought crimes?
However, we must bear in mind that the Haggadah is a Midrashic work. In the Midrash, Laban is merely one name for a nigh-immortal character who plagues the Jews repeatedly. You may know him by a different name.

Balaam is Laban, as it says (Deut. 26:5), "My father was lost to an Aramean;" because he sought to eradicate Israel, he is called an Aramean. (Midrash Tanhuma, Vayetze 13)

Now, at least, we enter the same ballpark. Balaam also has bad intentions, but he actually does some damage, as Moses states: (Num. 31:16): "Behold, these, on Balaam’s advice, caused the people of Israel to act treacherously against the LORD in the incident of Peor, and so the plague came among the congregation of the LORD." This plague kills 24,000.

Still, tragic as that event is, can it really compare to the centuries of slavery and genocide courtesy of the Pharaohs?
Interestingly, the Midrash does connect Pharaoh to Balaam's execratory consulting business.

Said R. Hiya b. Abba, quoting R. Simai: "There were part of that council, Balaam, Job and Jethro. Balaam, who counseled, was killed; Job, who was silent, was sentenced to suffering; Jethro, who fled, merited to have grandchildren sit on the Supreme Court." (Talmud, Sota 11a)

The Rabbis taught: "Pharaoh had three counselors, and when he contracted leprosy, he asked the physicians what would cure him. Balaam counseled him to take Jews, slaughter them, and shower in their blood, thereby curing himself." (Midrash Ha-gadol, Exod. 2:23)

These two legends describe the bookends of Egyptian slavery, from the initial "Come, let's deal wisely with them" (Exod. 1:10) to the gruesome finale (2:23), "But the Israelites continued to groan under their burden of slavery. They cried out for help, and their cry rose up to God." Immediately afterwards, God appears to Moses and sends him to Egypt to redeem his people.
Now let's look at that line from the Haggadah again. "For Pharaoh issued his edict against only the males, but Laban sought to uproot it all." Who are "only the males"? This may refer to the baby boys Pharaoh orders cast into the Nile, but those are mentioned later in the Haggadah as "the boys," not "the males." "The males" is usually a term applied to men, those who would be combatants in war (cf. Num. 31:7, Deut. 20:13). In fact, in the verse cited above (Exod. 1:10), Pharaoh identifies the threat in the following way: "Otherwise they will continue to multiply, and if a war breaks out, they will ally themselves with our enemies and fight against us and leave the country." In the previous verse, he explains why he is concerned: the Israelites are "atzum mimenu," "mightier than we." In Numbers 22, King Balak of Moab, Balaam's other royal client, expresses the exact same concern, "atzum hu mimeni," "it is mightier than I." He too speaks of the Israelite threat in military terms: "Perhaps I will be able to strike it and drive it out of the land... Perhaps I will be able to wage war against it and drive it out."
However, Balaam-Laban takes this national-security threat and recasts it as an existential, eschatological fight. After he fails to curse the Israelites and is fired by Balak, he says: "Now I am going back to my people, but come, let me counsel you of what this people will do to your people in the end of days" (ibid. 24:14). If Moab does not destroy Israel, they will be destroyed by them. It is the same approach he used with Pharaoh: Egypt can survive the Hebrew threat only if the Nile turns red with their blood. It is genocide or suicide.
In this light, Laban-Balaam is indeed worse than Pharaoh or Balak. He seeks "to uproot it all," "to eradicate Israel." The king is merely the tool, the means to carry out this plan. It is Laban-Balaam who recasts the military/ national-security threat as an existential clash of peoples, nations and faiths.
These are dangerous times in the Middle East. We have to be vigilant against the forces of Pharaoh. But the true threat is the counsel of Laban, inflaming and inciting all-out war.