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Joseph and Moses Hid Inside the Song of Songs

Egypt was in the streets for the Nile. Joseph stayed with the ledgers in an empty house. Moses later asked where that same people should rest at noon.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. He Came to Perform His Labor
  2. Moses Asked Where to Rest Them at Noon
  3. Israel Sat Under the Apple
  4. He Leapt From Egypt to the Sea
  5. The King Built Her a Palanquin

Egypt was in the streets. The Nile was being honored. Every house had put down its work. Joseph was alone in his master's house, doing the accounts.

Joseph and Moses Hid Inside the Song of Songs Click for full size

He was not yet in Pharaoh's palace. He was a Hebrew slave in a foreign city, keeping ledgers in an empty house while the festival poured past the door. No one was watching the figures. No one would praise the accuracy of this hour.

He Came to Perform His Labor

He came into the house to perform his labor, and none of the men of the house were there (Genesis 39:11). Rabbi Yehuda called it a day of disgrace and manure. Rabbi Nehemya called it a day of theater for the Nile. Either way the street was loud and the rooms were empty, and Joseph stayed with the numbers.

Anyone who serves his master properly is set free. Joseph served. Therefore he would stand before kings, and not before dark ones. Pharaoh sent and summoned him and they rushed him from the dungeon (Genesis 41:14). Potiphar, the dark one, had his eyes blinded and his body broken so he could not hold the slave who had kept the books while the city worshiped water.

The Song hid him there: a diligent man in an hour nobody saw, already on the road to a throne he did not know was coming.

Moses Asked Where to Rest Them at Noon

God said to Moses, "Now go, and I will send you to Pharaoh" (Exodus 3:10). Moses did not simply comply. He stood at the bush and counted a people he had not yet led.

How many new mothers. How many pregnant women. How many small children. How many kinds of hearty food for the new mothers. How many soft foods for the pregnant. How much roasted grain and how many nuts for the little ones. "Master of the universe, can all this really be accomplished through me?"

Tell me, he whom my soul loves, where do you herd in the summer heat, where do you rest your flock at noon in the rain (Song of Songs 1:7). Moses was asking after the nation he had put his soul on the line for. He would not be a mourner with his lip covered, weeping, while the flock went hungry at noon. The Song hid him too: a shepherd who would not move until he knew where the children would eat.

Israel Sat Under the Apple

Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the boys. In its shade I delighted and I sat, and its fruit was sweet to my palate (Song of Songs 2:3).

Everyone flees that tree in the heat. It has almost no shade. On the day the Torah was given, the nations of the world fled from the shadow of God for the same reason. The cover was thin. The demand was not. Israel did not run. Israel sat down under it and found the fruit sweet.

The apple puts out blossom before leaves. In Egypt the people believed before they heard. "The people believed, and they heard that the Lord had remembered" (Exodus 4:31). Faith first. The details later. Joseph had stayed in an empty house. Moses had asked about noon. Israel sat under a tree that did not even pretend to be comfortable.

He Leapt From Egypt to the Sea

The congregation said, "You told us to come. You come to us first."

He came like a gazelle, leaping from mountain to mountain, valley to valley, tree to tree, booth to booth, fence to fence. From Egypt to the sea. From the sea to Sinai. From Sinai to the future (Song of Songs 2:9).

In Egypt they saw Him pass through the land (Exodus 12:12). At the sea they saw the great hand, and even the toddlers pointed and said, "This is my God and I will exalt Him" (Exodus 15:2). At Sinai He stood behind their wall, gazed through the window, peered through the lattice, and spoke. Winter was the four hundred years decreed in Egypt. The rain was the two hundred and ten they actually served. The worst of the rain was eighty-six years from the birth of Miriam, when they made their lives bitter (Exodus 1:14). Then the winter was past, and the rain was over and gone (Song of Songs 2:11).

The King Built Her a Palanquin

A king had a young daughter. While she was little he spoke with her in the street, in the alley, in the courtyard. When she grew, he said it was no longer fitting. Make her a partition. When I need to speak with her I will speak from behind it.

Israel was a lad and He loved him (Hosea 11:1). In Egypt, at the sea, at Sinai, they saw Him in public. Then they stood at the mountain, received the Torah, and said, "Everything that God spoke we will perform and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7). They became His complete nation. He said it was no longer befitting their honor that He speak in the open. Build a palanquin of the timber of Lebanon (Song of Songs 3:9). Build the Tabernacle. Speak from behind the partition.

Joseph had been hidden in an empty house. Moses had been hidden in a question about noon. The Song hid both of them inside a love that started in public and ended in a room God asked them to make, because the girl had grown up and the winter had ended.

Song Of SongsJosephMosesSolomon
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From the tradition

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:1Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

The very first verse tells us: “The Song of Songs, that is Solomon’s” (Song of Songs 1:1). And the Rabbis, in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, begin by linking it to a verse from Proverbs: “Have you seen a man diligent in his labor? He will stand before kings; he will not stand before dark ones” (Proverbs 22:29). Seems like a leap. But stick with me.

The Sages see this “diligent man” as Joseph, the son of Jacob, sold into slavery in Egypt. Remember him? The Torah tells us, “He came into the house to perform his labor, and none of the men of the house were there” (Genesis 39:11).

Rabbis Yehuda and Nehemya have slightly different takes on this. Rabbi Yehuda describes it as a day of “disgrace and manure,” a rather colorful way to refer to Egyptian ritual worship. He uses these words to demean such idolatry. Rabbi Nehemya says it was a day of theater honoring the Nile. Either way, everyone was off celebrating, but Joseph? He was diligently working, calculating his master's accounts.

Rabbi Pinchas, in the name of Rabbi Shmuel bar Abba, adds another layer: “Anyone who serves his master properly is set free.” Where do we learn this? From Joseph himself! Because of his dedication, he was ultimately freed from slavery.

And here’s where the Proverbs verse comes back into play. "He will stand before kings," it says. And who does Joseph stand before? Pharaoh! As it is written: “Pharaoh sent and summoned Joseph, and they rushed him from the dungeon” (Genesis 41:14). Talk about a promotion.

But what about the second part of the verse? “He will not stand before dark ones.” This, the Rabbis explain, refers to Potiphar, Joseph’s former master. The text implies that the Holy One, blessed be He, intervened, blinding Potiphar and even castrating him. A harsh consequence, perhaps, but a clear indication of divine justice.

So, what does all this have to do with the Song of Songs, a book about love and longing? Well, maybe it’s about faithfulness, about the rewards of dedication, and about the power of divine intervention. The story of Joseph, a man who remained true to himself and his responsibilities even in the face of temptation and hardship, sets the stage. It hints that true love, like true service, requires diligence, integrity, and perhaps, a little bit of divine favor. It's a reminder that even in the most unlikely of places, amidst the "disgrace and manure" of the world, love and redemption can blossom.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 3:1Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It pops up in unexpected places, carrying layers of meaning far beyond just a tasty fruit. Take the Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on the Song of Songs. It uses the image of the apple tree to explore the relationship between God, Israel, and the nations of the world.

The verse in question is (Song of Songs 2:3): "Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the boys. In its shade I delighted and I sat, and its fruit was sweet to my palate.”

Rabbi Huna and Rabbi Aḥa, citing Rabbi Yosei ben Zimra, offer a fascinating interpretation. They say that "just as this apple tree, everyone flees from it during the heat...because it does not have shade," so too, the nations of the world fled from the shadow of the Holy One, blessed be He, on the day of the giving of the Torah. Why would the nations flee from God's presence? The implication is that they weren't ready, or perhaps willing, to accept the responsibility that came with the Torah. The Torah, while a gift, also demands a commitment.

What about Israel? Did they also flee? The verse continues, "In its shade I delighted and I sat." The rabbis explain that it was Israel who delighted in God’s shade, not the other nations. This highlights the special bond between God and the Jewish people, a bond forged through acceptance of the Torah.

There's a beautiful nuance here. It's not about superiority, but about a unique readiness and willingness to embrace the divine.

Rabbi Aḥa ben Rabbi Ze’eira adds another layer to this apple tree metaphor. He points out that the apple tree produces its blossom before its leaves. Similarly, he says, Israel achieved faith before hearing. He bases this on (Exodus 4:31): “The people believed, and they heard that the Lord had remembered.”

What does this mean? That the Israelites had a deep-seated belief, a tradition passed down from their ancestors, that they would be redeemed from Egypt. According to Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) HaMevoar, they believed in this redemption even before they heard God's specific promise to Moses. They had faith in the promise of redemption before they even knew the details of God's plan.

Tosafot (in Shabbat 88a) offer a slightly different perspective, suggesting that the tree in question might actually be a citron, not an apple tree. While the specific fruit might be debated, the core message remains potent.

So, the apple (or citron) tree becomes a symbol of faith, commitment, and the unique relationship between God and Israel. It's a reminder that sometimes, belief comes before understanding, and that embracing the divine, even when it's challenging, can lead to profound sweetness. What kind of shade are we seeking? And are we ready to blossom, even before we fully understand what the future holds?

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 7:1Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

I can't possibly do that!" Well, Moses felt that way too. to a fascinating interpretation of the Song of Songs that reveals Moses's very human anxieties.

The verse Why should I be as one bound to the flocks of your companions?" It sounds like a lover's lament. But Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on Song of Songs, sees something deeper.

Rabbi Yehuda bar Rabbi Simon interprets this verse as being about Moses. God tells Moses, "Now go, and I will send you to Pharaoh" (Exodus 3:10). Pretty daunting! According to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), Moses's response wasn't just simple obedience. Instead, he questioned God. "Master of the universe," he essentially says, "can all this really be accomplished through me?"

The text cleverly plays on words here. Moses asks, "Through me [bi], my Lord?" which echoes the plea, "Please [bi] my Lord" from (Exodus 4:13), where Moses is begging to be excused from the mission.

Why the hesitation? Moses worries about the immense responsibility. How can he possibly stand before such a massive multitude of Israelites? He imagines all the new mothers, the pregnant women, the little children. He even visualizes the specific dietary needs of each group! "How many kinds of hearty food have You prepared for the new mothers among them? How many kinds of soft foods have You prepared for the pregnant women among them? How much roasted grain and how many nuts have You prepared for the small children among them?"

Moses isn't just thinking about freeing the Israelites; he's thinking about their well-being, their individual needs. He's overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the task.

Where do we find this articulated? Right here, in the Song of Songs! “Tell me, he whom my soul loves", the nation that my soul loves, the nation for whom I put my soul on the line; “where do you herd”, during the summer; “where do you rest your flock at noon”, during the rainy season." Moses is concerned about the nation's welfare in every season, in every circumstance.

Rabbi Helbo, in the name of Rabbi Huna, offers another interpretation of "Why should I be as one bound [keoteya]?" He suggests: "Let me not be like this mourner who covers [oteh] until his upper lip and weeps," referencing the ritual mourning practice described in (Leviticus 13:45). Moses doesn't want to be a leader who's only capable of expressing grief and despair. He wants to be effective, to bring about real change.

Another possibility is that Moses doesn't want to be like a shepherd who abandons his flock when wolves attack. Instead, he envisions the shepherd who "will wrap the land of Egypt" (Jeremiah 43:12), protecting it and caring for it.

Finally, Moses expresses concern about facing the patriarchs. "To the flocks of your companions," he says, meaning, when I go to Your companions – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – and they ask me about their descendants, the Israelite nation, what will I tell them? How can he answer if he fails?

So, what does this all mean? This midrash isn't just about Moses's reluctance; it's about the burden of leadership, the weight of responsibility, and the very human fear of inadequacy. They questioned, they worried, they felt overwhelmed.

Perhaps that’s the most comforting takeaway. Even when faced with seemingly impossible tasks, like leading an entire nation out of slavery, it's okay to feel a little overwhelmed. It's okay to ask questions. It's okay to wonder, "Can I really do this?" The key, it seems, is to acknowledge those feelings, and then, like Moses, to find the strength to step forward anyway.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 2:9Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

What could this possibly mean?

Rabbi Yitzchak, as quoted in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, hears the voice of the congregation of Israel in this verse, pleading with God. "Master of the universe," they say, "You told us: Come, come [deyu deyu]. But, we ask, shouldn’t You come to us first?"

The image of the gazelle becomes a powerful metaphor. Just as a gazelle leaps nimbly "from mountain to mountain, from valley to valley," so too, the Holy One, blessed be He, "leapt from Egypt to the sea, and from the sea to Sinai, and from Sinai to the future." This isn't a God who sits passively by. This is a God in motion, actively seeking connection. God leaping.

In Egypt, they saw Him, as (Exodus 12:12) tells us: "I will pass through the land of Egypt." At the sea, they witnessed His power, leading them to proclaim: "Israel saw the great hand…" (Exodus 14:31) and "this is my God and I will exalt Him" (Exodus 15:2). And at Sinai, that pivotal moment, they stood face to face: "The Lord spoke with you face to face at the mountain" (Deuteronomy 5:4), echoing the words of (Deuteronomy 33:2), "The Lord came from Sinai."

Rabbi Yosei bar Ḥanina adds another layer, comparing the beloved to "the offspring of a hind." This image of youthfulness and tenderness complements the gazelle's energy, painting a picture of a God who is both powerful and gentle.

And what about that wall, the window, the lattice?

"Behold, he is standing behind our wall," the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us, refers to God waiting behind the wall at Sinai. Remember that moment? "For on the third day the Lord will descend" (Exodus 19:11). The "gazing through the window" is God descending "upon Mount Sinai to the top of the mountain" (Exodus 19:20). And the "peering through the lattice" becomes the moment of revelation itself: "God spoke all these matters" (Exodus 20:1). God seeking to establish a connection with Israel, and doing so through the giving of the Torah.

As Shir HaShirim Rabbah points out, what did He say?

"I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2). The very foundation of the relationship, the declaration of presence and responsibility.

So, what does all this mean for us today? Maybe it's a reminder that the yearning we feel is not one-sided. God, in all His power and mystery, is also reaching out, seeking connection, peering through the lattice of our lives, waiting for us to turn and acknowledge His presence. And perhaps, like the Israelites at Sinai, we too can hear that voice, declaring, "I am here. I am with you."

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 2:11Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

They saw echoes of that very struggle in the beautiful, often enigmatic, Song of Songs – Shir HaShirim in Hebrew.

Specifically, they found a powerful metaphor in the verse, "For, behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone" (Song of Songs 2:11). But what did this verse really mean?

Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a classic commentary on the Song of Songs, offers a fascinating interpretation. It connects the "winter" to a particularly painful period in Jewish history: the enslavement in Egypt. It wasn't just a few years, but a period loaded with immense suffering and spiritual darkness.

The commentary states: "For, behold, the winter is past,' these are the four hundred years that were decreed upon our ancestors in Egypt." This refers to the prophecy given to Abraham in (Genesis 15:13), foretelling the exile. But the verse doesn’t stop there. It goes on, "'The rain is over and gone,' these are the two hundred and ten years." This shorter period represents the actual length of the exile and enslavement in Egypt.

Now, you might be thinking, "Wait a minute, isn't rain part of winter? What's the difference?" Good question!

Rabbi Tanhuma offers a clever explanation: "The primary trouble [of the winter] is the rain." He's saying that while the entire winter is difficult, the rain itself is the most challenging aspect. It's the relentless, drenching element that makes everything else so much harder to bear.

And here’s where it gets even more poignant. The commentary zeroes in on the most intense period of the Egyptian bondage, highlighting the eighty-six years from the birth of Miriam, the prophetess. It’s during this time that "they made their lives bitter [vaymareru]” (Exodus 1:14). The connection is made even more explicit through wordplay, linking the bitterness of the enslavement, vaymareru, to Miriam's name, which itself is linked to maror, the bitter herb we eat at the Passover Seder.

So, what’s the takeaway? It seems the rabbis are teaching us that even within periods of general hardship ("winter"), there are specific, acutely painful moments ("rain") that define the experience. The most intense period of suffering for the Israelites was during the time leading up to the Exodus, a time when even the newborn girls, like Miriam, were seen as a threat to Pharaoh and his oppressive regime.

But ultimately, the verse promises that even the harshest winter, the most relentless rain, will eventually pass. There’s a promise of renewal, of spring, of freedom. And perhaps that’s the message we can take with us today: even in our own personal "winters," we can hold onto the hope that the rain will eventually cease, and a new season will dawn.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 3:9Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It’s a story of intimacy, growth, and the need for appropriate boundaries. to a fascinating interpretation of a verse from the Song of Songs, Shir HaShirim, that illuminates this very concept.

"King Solomon made himself a palanquin of the timber of Lebanon" (Song of Songs 3:9). A beautiful line. But what does it really mean? Rabbi Azarya, quoting Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, offers an intriguing interpretation in Shir HaShirim Rabbah. He sees this "palanquin" – a covered carriage – as a metaphor for the Tabernacle, the Mishkan.

Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Ilai beautifully illustrates this with a parable: Imagine a king with a young daughter. In her early years, he freely interacts with her in public – on the street, in the courtyard, wherever. But as she matures, as she shows signs of adulthood, the king realizes that such public interactions are no longer appropriate for her dignity. So, he creates a partition, a private space, so that when he needs to speak with her, he does so with the respect and privacy she deserves.

Isn't that a powerful image? This, according to the rabbis, is how we can understand God's relationship with the Israelites.

Initially, as we find in (Hosea 11:1), "Because Israel is a lad and I loved him," the connection was direct and visible. Think back to the Exodus. In Egypt, the Israelites witnessed God's power openly. As (Exodus 12:23) states, "The Lord will pass to smite Egypt," a clear demonstration of divine intervention. And at the Red Sea, as (Exodus 14:31) recounts, "Israel saw the great power," so much so that, according to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, even toddlers pointed and proclaimed, "This is my God and I will exalt Him!" (Exodus 15:2). At Sinai, they even saw God "face to face," as (Deuteronomy 33:2) tells us, "The Lord came from Sinai…"

But something changed. At Mount Sinai, the Israelites received the Torah and declared, "Everything that God spoke we will perform and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7). They became God's complete nation.

And here's the crucial shift. The Holy One, blessed be He, realized that it was no longer befitting for Him to speak to His children in public. Instead, He instructed them to build a Tabernacle, a private sanctuary, so that He could communicate with them from within its sacred space. This is alluded to in (Numbers 7:89): "When Moses went into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Him." The intimacy remained, but the mode of communication evolved to reflect the Israelites' maturity and the sanctity of their relationship with God.

So, when Shir HaShirim says, "King Solomon [Shlomo] made," it refers to the King of peace [shalom], whose very name echoes tranquility and wholeness. And the "timber of Lebanon" reminds us of the materials used to build the Tabernacle itself, as we find in (Exodus 26:15): "You shall make the planks for the Tabernacle of acacia wood, standing."

What does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that relationships, even our relationship with the Divine, evolve over time. What was appropriate at one stage may need to be adjusted as we grow and mature. The key is to maintain the intimacy and connection, even as we create appropriate boundaries and sacred spaces for communication. Just like the Tabernacle, we can find ways to connect deeply, even if not always face to face.

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