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Joseph Ascended to Heaven While the Matriarchs Watched

When Joseph revealed himself to his brothers in Egypt, the rabbis say the matriarchs were watching from above. His rise from the pit had a celestial audience.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What No One in the Field Could See
  2. What the Matriarchs Saw
  3. Why the Brothers Could Not Believe Him
  4. Angels Attended to the Prison and the Palace

What No One in the Field Could See

Joseph should have died in that pit. His brothers had stripped him of his coat, thrown him into a dry cistern, and sat down to eat bread while he called out below them. By every measure available to the men standing in that field near Dothan, the story was ending there. What none of them could see was the audience already assembled above, watching from the heavenly realms as the betrayal took its shape.

Bamidbar Rabbah, the midrashic collection on Numbers compiled in its present form around the eleventh century CE, makes the connection that the Torah leaves implicit. When Joseph was sold, the price was twenty pieces of silver, five shekels per brother. That number becomes the exact price, centuries later, that each Israelite father pays to redeem his firstborn son. The sale of Rachel's firstborn son set the redemption price for every firstborn who would come after him. The crime and its payment were woven together from the beginning.

What the Matriarchs Saw

When Joseph finally reveals himself to his brothers in Egypt, he weeps so loudly the sound carries through Pharaoh's palace. Bereshit Rabbah, compiled in the Land of Israel approximately in the fifth century CE, asks what that weeping is for. The answer is triple: Joseph wept, Judah had pleaded, and the matriarchs were watching the entire arc of betrayal and reconciliation from the world above.

Rachel had named Joseph at his birth with a prayer: may God add to me another son (Genesis 30:24). She had seen in him the first sign that her own history of barrenness was ending. When Joseph was torn from Jacob and vanished into Egypt, the tradition teaches that Rachel wept in the world above as she had wept in life. Her tomb on the road to Bethlehem had been placed there deliberately, the rabbis said, so that when the exiles passed it on their way to Babylon, she would be positioned to intercede for them. The woman who had prayed for one more son spent centuries praying for all her sons.

Why the Brothers Could Not Believe Him

The reunion scene in Egypt presented a theological problem. Joseph tells his brothers who he is. They are stunned into silence. They cannot accept that the bearded viceroy of Egypt is the smooth-faced youth they sold to a caravan. Legends of the Jews records that Joseph understood their disbelief and met it directly: he spoke to them in Hebrew, the language of home. He showed them the sign of the circumcision. He told them things only a brother would know.

Still they hesitated. The Joseph of their memory was a child. The Joseph standing before them was a ruler. The gap between what they had done and what now stood before them was too large for immediate comprehension. This is the weight that Joseph's weeping carried. It was not only grief for the years lost. It was the tears of someone who had survived his brothers' verdict and arrived at a place they could not have imagined when they handed him to the merchants.

Angels Attended to the Prison and the Palace

Between the pit and the palace lay years in Potiphar's house and years in an Egyptian prison. Legends of the Jews notes that Joseph's extended imprisonment was not accidental. He had asked the royal butler to mention his name to Pharaoh, and the butler forgot. Two additional years in prison followed that lapse. The tradition reads those two years as a consequence: a righteous man who places his trust in human memory rather than in divine timing must wait while the divine timing reasserts itself. The extra years were not punishment for Joseph but correction of his reliance on the wrong intermediary.

And then the dream came to Pharaoh, and no one in Egypt could interpret it, and the butler remembered a young Hebrew in prison who had once explained a dream with startling accuracy. The angels who had attended Joseph in the pit, the Midrash suggests, had been present all along, not to spare him suffering but to ensure that the suffering would lead somewhere.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Legends of the Jews 1:150Legends of the Jews

His extended stay behind bars had a very specific reason.

The familiar story is this: Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, rises in power in Egypt, only to be falsely accused and thrown into prison. While there, he interprets the dreams of two fellow prisoners, the royal butler and the baker. Joseph correctly predicts the butler's release and restoration to Pharaoh's service, and naturally, he asks the butler, "Hey, when you're back in Pharaoh's good graces, remember me! Mention me to him, so I can get out of here!"

You'd think that would be the end of the story. Joseph's dream-interpreting skills get him out of jail. But no. He languishes in prison for two more years. Two. More. Years. What gives?

In Legends of the Jews, Joseph should have been released the very day the butler was freed! He had already served ten years, making amends, in a way, for the lashon hara (evil speech) he had committed when he told his father about his brothers' misdeeds. So why the delay?

The answer, in the eyes of the Rabbis, is a powerful lesson about trust. "Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord," goes the verse (Psalm 40:4). Joseph, in that moment, put his faith in the butler, in "flesh and blood," instead of solely in God. He asked the butler for help, and that, it seems, was his mistake.

Now, it's not like Joseph was wrong to ask for help. But the tradition emphasizes the importance of placing our ultimate trust in the Divine. As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, Joseph's reliance on a human intermediary delayed his freedom.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) elaborates on just how this happened. The butler didn't forget Joseph intentionally. The Zohar tells us that God orchestrated the butler's memory lapse. Whenever the butler tried to remind himself – "If this happens, I'll remember Joseph" – the situation would reverse. Or, if he tied a knot in his garment as a reminder, an angel would come and untie it! It was all part of a divine plan to teach Joseph. And us, a valuable lesson.

It’s a reminder that while human help is valuable, our ultimate reliance should be on something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes, the delays and setbacks we face aren't random misfortunes, but opportunities to deepen our faith and redirect our trust. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we place our hopes in the fleeting promises of the world, when a deeper source of strength is always available? Maybe Joseph's extra two years were precisely what he needed to learn that lesson, and for us to learn it too.

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Legends of the Jews 1:312Legends of the Jews

After years of famine, Joseph, now the all-powerful viceroy of Egypt, finally reveals himself to his brothers. Can you imagine their shock? "Ye see it with your own eyes," Joseph declares, "and also my brother Benjamin seeth it with his eyes, that I speak with you in Hebrew, and I am truly your brother." (Genesis 45:12). It's right there in the text. But they’re stunned. They can’t quite grasp that this powerful figure, speaking their native tongue, is the same smooth-faced youth they sold into slavery so long ago. He’s transformed, a bearded man in a position of immense authority.

Even after he reveals himself, they still can’t accept it. The Joseph of their memory is gone.

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, they needed more proof. Joseph, understanding their disbelief and perhaps their fear, bared his body. This wasn’t an act of aggression but one of undeniable identification. He showed them the physical mark, the sign that he belonged to the lineage of Abraham, their shared ancestor. It was a desperate attempt to bridge the gap of years and trauma.

The truth is a harsh light. Ashamed and enraged, the brothers were overcome with a primal urge: to silence the source of their guilt. They wanted to slay Joseph, viewing him as the author of their shame and suffering. The air crackled with potential violence.

Then, things get… well, let's just say "Biblical." An angel intervenes, flinging the brothers to the four corners of the house. Judah, known for his strength and fierce loyalty, lets out a cry so earth-shattering that the very foundations of Egypt tremble. Ginzberg paints a vivid picture: the walls of the city crumble, women experience premature labor, Joseph and Pharaoh are thrown from their thrones. Even Joseph’s elite guard, his three hundred heroes, are affected. Their heads are twisted backward, forever stuck in a posture of astonishment.

It’s a scene of cosmic upheaval, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil ripping through the room. Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) literature often uses hyperbole to convey the immense power of divine intervention and the profound impact of these moments.

Yet, despite this divine display of force, the brothers remain paralyzed. They are "too greatly ashamed" to approach Joseph. The weight of their past actions, the betrayal of their own brother, has them frozen in place.

And what does Joseph do? He offers them grace. "Now be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither, for God did send me before you to preserve life" (Genesis 45:5). He reframes their horrific act as part of a divine plan, a necessary step in saving their family from starvation.

It’s a powerful moment of forgiveness and redemption. It also invites us to consider: Can good truly come from evil? Can we ever fully escape the consequences of our past actions? And perhaps most importantly, can we find the strength to forgive ourselves, even when we feel most unworthy?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 4:10Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of Rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, explores this very question, specifically in the context of redeeming firstborn sons.

The passage hinges on the verse in (Numbers 3:47): “You shall take five shekels each by head count; in the sacred shekel you shall take, twenty gera is the shekel.” This verse sets the stage for a fascinating calculation and a deeper understanding of redemption.

The text immediately connects this five-shekel redemption price to a poignant moment in our history: the selling of Joseph. "You sold Rachel’s firstborn, that is, Joseph, for twenty silver pieces, which are five shekels; therefore, each and every one of you will redeem his firstborn son for five sela according to the Tyrian maneh," the verse states. The very act of redeeming a firstborn son is tied back to the betrayal and sale of Joseph. It's a powerful reminder of past actions and their consequences. The sela, by the way, is another term for shekel, and the Tyrian maneh refers to the standard of currency used at the time. Each shekel, or sela, was worth four dinars, according to this system.

Why this specific amount? Why five shekels? The text doesn't explicitly say, but it implies a sense of atonement, a rebalancing of the scales after the injustice done to Joseph.

The next verse, (Numbers 3:48), further clarifies the process: “You shall give the silver to Aaron and to his sons, the redemptions of those among them who remain.” The money collected wasn't just going into a general fund. It was specifically designated for the Levites, the priestly tribe who served in the Temple. As the text explains, "just as the Levites were given to Aaron and his sons. so, the money of redemption that was in place of the Levites was given to him." This establishes a clear link: the firstborn sons are redeemed, and the Levites, in a sense, take their place in service.

Now, here's where it gets really interesting. (Numbers 3:49) tells us, “Moses took the silver of the redemption from those who were over and above the number of redemptions of the Levites.” There were more firstborn sons than there were Levites to replace them. So, what did Moses do with the extra redemption money?

This is where the Rabbis Yehuda and Nehemya step in, offering two different interpretations of how Moses handled this logistical challenge. Imagine the scene: Moses with a pile of silver and a crowd of anxious fathers.

Rabbi Yehuda proposes a lottery system. He suggests that Moses wrote “Levi” on 22,000 notes and “Five sela” on 273 notes. These were placed in a receptacle and mixed. Each father would draw a note. If they drew “Levi,” they were redeemed. If they drew "Five sela," they had to pay the redemption price.

However, Rabbi Nehemya raises a crucial point. Wouldn't this system allow for manipulation? Someone could argue that they deserved to draw a "Levi" note. So, Rabbi Nehemya offers an alternative: Moses wrote “Levi” on 22,273 notes and “Five sela” on 273 notes. In this version, anyone who drew a "Five sela" note couldn't argue, because Moses would respond, "Had you merited it, would there not have been a note of Levi? Rather, you are obligated by Heaven." This emphasizes the idea of divine will and acceptance of one's fate.

Both interpretations highlight the complexities of implementing a system of redemption. They also reveal different perspectives on human nature and the role of divine intervention.

This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah offers us more than just a historical account of redeeming firstborn sons. It invites us to contemplate the value of life, the meaning of service, and the intricate ways in which we connect to our past. It reminds us that even in the most seemingly mundane details, there are profound lessons to be learned. And isn't that what makes studying these ancient texts so rewarding?

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Bereshit Rabbah 93:9Bereshit Rabbah

It’s a story we think we know, but the rabbis found layers of meaning hidden within.

Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba, a sage of the Talmudic era, offers a fascinating insight into the crucial exchange between Judah and Joseph in Genesis. He points out that everything Judah says to Joseph, up until Joseph finally reveals himself, is about reconciliation. But not just one reconciliation. It's a triple reconciliation, a delicate dance of forgiveness.

It’s reconciliation for Joseph, seeing Judah willing to sacrifice himself for Benjamin, both sons of Rachel. As the Etz Yosef commentary points out, Joseph witnessed Judah's transformation. Remember, Judah had been a key player in selling Joseph into slavery. This willingness to die for Benjamin showed Joseph that Judah had truly repented, a teshuvah, a return to the right path.

Then there's reconciliation for Joseph’s brothers. They see Judah, whom they had stripped of his leadership role after selling Joseph (as we find in Bereshit Rabba 42:3), now offering his very life for his brother. It’s a powerful image of redemption and responsibility.

And finally, there’s reconciliation for Benjamin. He had suspected his brothers in Joseph’s disappearance. Judah's selfless offer assures Benjamin of their changed hearts. “Just as I am giving my life for your sake,” Judah essentially says, “so I am willing to give my life for your brother’s sake.”

Then comes the climactic moment: "Joseph could not restrain himself..." But even here, the rabbis disagree on Joseph's actions. Rabbi Ḥama bar Ḥanina argues that Joseph was wrong to be alone with his brothers. Imagine the danger! Had one of them attacked him, he would have been killed instantly.

But Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman defends Joseph. He says Joseph acted appropriately, trusting in his brothers' righteousness. Joseph knew his brothers were not suspected of bloodshed.

This difference of opinion highlights the complexities of forgiveness and trust. Was Joseph naive, or did he possess a deep understanding of his brothers’ transformation? Was it reckless, or a necessary act of vulnerability to achieve true reconciliation?

The story of Joseph and his brothers isn't just a tale of betrayal and reunion. It’s a profound exploration of repentance, forgiveness, and the fragile bonds that connect us. And even after all these years, the rabbis continue to debate the nuances of this timeless story, revealing new layers of meaning with each reading. What do you think? Was Joseph's trust well-placed, or a dangerous gamble?

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