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Amon Burned Every Torah Scroll He Could Find

King Amon hunted down every Torah scroll in Judah and burned them. One scroll survived in the Temple wall. His son Josiah wept when he read it.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Hunt for the Scrolls
  2. The Scroll That Survived
  3. The Renovation That Changed Everything
  4. What He Did After
  5. What Amon's Son Preserved

The Hunt for the Scrolls

Amon, king of Judah, sent his men through the kingdom with instructions to find every Torah scroll and burn it. This was not a campaign against one sect or one city. It was systematic. Every copy, every teacher's private collection, every fragment preserved in a household since the days when Hezekiah's scribes had multiplied the texts. Find them and burn them.

He understood what he was doing. The scrolls contained laws that condemned him and commandments he had no interest in keeping. His solution was not to change his behavior but to eliminate the document that recorded the standard. If the Torah was gone, what remained was not a kingdom without obligation. It was a kingdom in which the obligation could not be cited against him. The law requires the text, and the text can be burned.

He nearly succeeded. He reigned only two years before his own servants killed him, which tells you something about the kind of court he had built around himself. But in two years, with the single-mindedness of a man who had chosen his priorities with care, he drove the Torah underground.

The Scroll That Survived

One copy survived. It had been hidden in the Temple, not stored openly on the reading stand but buried or concealed in some wall or chamber that Amon's searchers had not thought to open. The tradition does not record who hid it or when the hiding happened. Someone had moved fast enough, or had known ahead of time, or had simply been lucky enough to find a place the searchers missed. The scroll was there, inside the Temple walls, for decades after Amon died and his son took the throne.

Josiah became king at age eight. He was the son of the man who had tried to destroy the Torah, raised in a court that had spent years treating the sacred texts as contraband. His early reign reflected what he had absorbed. He did not know the Torah, because there was no Torah to know.

The Renovation That Changed Everything

Years into Josiah's reign, he ordered the Temple renovated. The structure had been neglected, its maintenance funds apparently diverted, its walls damaged or in disrepair. He sent his secretary Shaphan to oversee the work and report to him. The workers opened walls and found the scroll.

The high priest Hilkiah brought the book to Shaphan, who brought it to the king. Josiah listened as Shaphan read from it. The curses for covenant violation, the consequences for the kind of faithlessness that had defined Judah for the previous generations, fell out of the text and into the throne room. Josiah heard it and understood immediately what he was hearing: not a history of ancient events but a description of the present condition of his kingdom.

He tore his clothes. Not ceremonially. In grief. The document described what was happening around him and predicted what would follow from it, and there was nothing in the language of the text that suggested the predictions were negotiable.

What He Did After

He sent messengers to the prophetess Huldah, asking her to interpret what he had heard and whether there was any way to avert what the scroll predicted. Huldah confirmed the prediction and offered a narrower mercy: because Josiah had heard the words of the scroll and wept, the disaster would not come during his lifetime. Judah would fall, but not while Josiah was king.

He called the people together and read the scroll to them. He made a covenant with God in front of the entire assembly. He then began the most comprehensive religious reform in Judah's history: destroying every altar that was not in Jerusalem, tearing down the high places, eliminating the Baal shrines and the asherah poles, burning the vessels used in foreign worship, abolishing the practice of passing children through fire. He worked from Jerusalem outward to every corner of the kingdom.

What Amon's Son Preserved

The irony that the tradition cannot let go of is this: the man who had tried to erase the Torah had fathered the man whose discovery of the Torah changed the entire final generation of Judah's kingdom. Amon had burned every copy he could find. The one he missed produced the reform that gave Judah's last righteous king his purpose. The destruction and the survival were connected. What Amon had suppressed came back through the walls of the Temple he had neglected, and it came back in the hands of his own son.


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Legends of the Jews 9:50Legends of the Jews

He was, to put it mildly, not a nice guy. His deeds were so evil, so contrary to everything the Torah stood for, that he really should have forfeited his share in the olam ha-ba, the World to Come. So, why didn't he?

The answer, according to the Sages, lies in his son: Josiah.

Josiah is portrayed as a shining example of repentance, of teshuvah (repentance). Initially, he walked the same dark path as his father. But something changed. He abandoned the wickedness, becoming one of the most righteous kings Israel ever knew. His main goal? To bring the entire nation back to the true faith, back to God.

This transformation, this return, is often linked to a specific moment: the discovery of a long-lost Torah scroll in the Temple. Imagine the scene. Amon, in his wickedness, had tried to destroy all copies of the Holy Scriptures. But one copy survived, hidden away, waiting for the right moment to be found.

And that moment came during Josiah's reign.

When the scroll was opened, the first verse Josiah saw was from Deuteronomy: "The Lord shall bring thee and thy king into exile, unto a nation which thou hast not known." (Deuteronomy 28:36). Can you imagine the fear that must have gripped him? He saw this as a prophecy, a looming threat of exile. And he believed it was his duty to avert it.

How? By reforming his people, by leading them back to the path of righteousness. He sought to conciliate God, to earn His favor through genuine change.

So, back to Amon. Did his son's righteousness somehow lessen his own punishment? Perhaps. The Rabbis suggest that Josiah’s piety created a kind of merit that reflected, in some way, on his father. In a similar manner, it is said that Jeroboam was not punished fully for his deeds because Ahijah the Shilonite was his son. (Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, Vol. 4).

It's a complex idea, isn't it? That the actions of one generation can impact the fate of another. It makes you wonder: what kind of legacy are we leaving behind? And how might our actions influence the lives of those who come after us?

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Antiquities X.3-4Antiquities of the Jews (Josephus)

King Josiah was eight years old when he inherited the throne of Judah. His grandfather Manasseh had been the worst king in the nation's history, a man who slaughtered prophets until Jerusalem ran with blood, defiled the Temple with idols, and provoked God so thoroughly that the Babylonians dragged him away in chains. But Manasseh, broken in captivity, repented. He prayed, and God brought him home. He tore down the altars he had built and spent the rest of his life trying to undo the damage. His son Amon learned nothing from this. He reverted to wickedness and was assassinated by his own servants after just two years on the throne.

Then came Josiah. Josephus describes him as "of a most excellent disposition, and naturally virtuous," using King David as his model. By age twelve, he was already reforming the nation, smashing idols, demolishing pagan altars, burning the chariots of the sun that his predecessors had installed in the royal palace. He swept the entire country clean of foreign worship.

The turning point came during Temple renovations. The High Priest Hilkiah discovered a lost scroll of the Torah (2 Kings 22:8). When Josiah heard the words read aloud, he tore his clothes in grief, the nation had strayed so far from God's commandments that the book itself had been forgotten. He sent a delegation to the prophetess Huldah, who confirmed that God's wrath was already decreed against Jerusalem. But because Josiah's repentance was genuine, the destruction would not come in his lifetime.

Josiah then gathered all the people at the Temple and read the entire Torah aloud. He renewed the covenant. He celebrated a Passover so magnificent that nothing like it had been seen since the days of Samuel, thirty thousand lambs and kids, three thousand oxen, all sacrificed according to the law of Moses. For a brief, shining moment, Judah was what it was supposed to be.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 17:14Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Rabbi Nathaniel tells us something remarkable: 300 years before Josiah was even born, his name was already being mentioned! The proof text? (1 Kings 13:2): "Behold, a child shall be born unto the house of David, Josiah by name." Centuries before he took his first breath, his destiny was being woven into the fabric of prophecy.

What a destiny it was. (2 Kings 22:1) tells us, "And he was eight years old when he began to reign." Eight years old! Can you imagine? What's an eight-year-old like? Even at that tender age, Josiah displayed incredible righteousness. He "despised the idols and broke in pieces the pillars, and smashed the images and cut down the groves." He was a force for good, a miniature whirlwind against idolatry. His merit, the text says, "was great before the Throne of Glory."

Despite Josiah’s righteousness, he dies young. Why? Because, as (Isaiah 57:1) states, "For the righteous is taken away because of the evil." Because of the secret sins of the people of Israel, this righteous king was gathered to his fathers. A truly tragic fate.

The grief was palpable. "All Judah gathered together also with Jeremiah the prophet to show loving-kindness to Josiah," the text says. And (2 (Chronicles 35:2)5) tells us, "And Jeremiah lamented for Josiah, and all the singing men and the singing women spake of Josiah."

Who were these "singing men and singing women?" Rabbi Meir suggests they were the Levites – the temple musicians – and their wives. But Rabbi Simeon offers a broader interpretation. He argues that these weren’t just any singers; they were "skilled women," professional mourners, masters of lamentation. He draws our attention to (Jeremiah 9:17-18): "Thus saith the Lord of hosts, Consider ye, and call for the mourning women, that they may come; and send for the cunning women, that they may come: and let them make haste, and take up a wailing for us."

These "cunning women" weren’t just expressing sadness; they were channeling grief, giving voice to the collective sorrow of the nation. And it was so powerful that the sages instituted a rule, an ordinance (as (2 (Chronicles 35:2)5) puts it) that this kind of mourning should be extended to all wise and great men of Israel.

So, what are we left with? A story of prophecy, righteousness, and profound loss. The tale of Josiah is a reminder that even the most righteous among us are not immune to the consequences of the world's imperfections. And it also highlights the importance of communal mourning, of giving space and voice to grief, especially for those who have lived lives of purpose. Perhaps Josiah's story is a call to action, to live righteously in the present, mindful of the legacy we leave behind, and to honor those who strive for good in a world that desperately needs it.

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