Hurled Out or Let Go? The Subtle Difference Between Surrender and Control

The Poetry Beneath the Story

The Hebrew Scriptures are full of literature. Of course they are—it’s written down. But more than that, they’re full of literary devices, little embedded hints that quietly shape the meaning if we’re willing to notice them.

One of those hints shows up in what seems like a very ordinary phrase in Exodus 13: When Pharaoh let the people go.

It sounds straightforward enough. But if you pay attention to what the writers are doing here, there’s something deeply human being revealed—something about the ways we can cling to control even in the very moments when we think we’re surrendering.

The Scene in Exodus 13

The setup goes like this: Moses has been called by God to confront Pharaoh and demand the freedom of the Hebrew people. Pharaoh, of course, has said, “Not a chance.”

Through Moses, God offers Pharaoh a series of off-ramps—ten plagues intended to open his eyes to the folly of his obstinance. Over and over, Pharaoh refuses.

But now, the weight of grief—the death of his firstborn son—has finally become too great. Pharaoh relents.

Or does he?

A Closer Look at the Language

The first poetic hint comes in that little phrase, when Pharaoh let the people go.

The verb there isn’t passive. It’s not gentle. Pharaoh didn’t “let” anyone go—he drove them out. One scholar, John Durham, suggests an even more vivid translation: Pharaoh hurled them out of his land.

The point? Pharaoh still thinks he’s in control. He hasn’t surrendered. He hasn’t learned.

Back in Exodus 3, when God first spoke to Moses, God said, “After that, Pharaoh will let you go.” That’s the passive form. That’s the version where Pharaoh participates willingly in the liberation of the Hebrews.

But here, the opposite is happening. He forces them out—not out of compassion or conviction, but because he can no longer bear the cost of keeping them.

When “Letting Go” Isn’t Really Letting Go

And this is where it gets uncomfortably close to home.

Sometimes what looks like surrender—giving in, even apologizing—isn’t surrender at all. It’s still control in disguise. We might call it passive-aggressiveness. Gaslighting. Narcissistic manipulation.

Whatever the label, it’s still about managing outcomes rather than releasing them. It’s still about bending reality to our will, even if we use softer language to mask it.

If we can’t name that difference for ourselves, we risk becoming the ones deceived by our own pretense.

God’s Freedom Is for Everyone

It’s clear in the story—God wants the liberation of the Hebrews. That’s the headline.

But there’s another layer here. God might have wanted Pharaoh’s freedom too. Not freedom from a political burden, but freedom from his own hardness of heart. That would have meant facing his grief honestly. Letting it teach him about what he had done.

But he wouldn’t.

And there’s something tragic—and poetic—in that.

An Invitation to Self-Examination

Maybe the real work of liberation starts here—with noticing the ways we disguise control as surrender.

Where are we still hurling people away instead of letting them go?
Where do our apologies mask a desire to keep the upper hand?
Where might grief be trying to soften us—if only we’d let it?

The Exodus story is not just about escaping Egypt.
It’s about learning the difference between holding on and letting go.
And sometimes, that journey happens not just on desert roads, but deep in the quiet corners of our own hearts.