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Joseph Kept Shabbat in Egypt and Died Making His Brothers Swear

Jacob's arrival cut five famine years short. Joseph kept Shabbat in Egypt before Sinai. Dying, he made his brothers swear the oath Jacob had pressed on him.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Famine That Stopped Early
  2. Shabbat in Pharaoh's Court
  3. The Oath He Forced on His Brothers
  4. Moses Carries the Coffin

The Famine That Stopped Early

The sentence was forty-two years. Egypt would starve for forty-two years before the land recovered, and neither Joseph nor Pharaoh nor any human calculation could have shortened it. What shortened it was a person crossing a border.

When Jacob finally arrived in Egypt in the second year of the famine, the sky changed. Five years of hunger evaporated because one righteous old man had come. The land that had swallowed Joseph as a slave received his father as something closer to a sovereign, and the weight of Jacob's merit fell across Egypt like rain.

The remaining forty years did not simply vanish. They were deferred to a later generation, to the days of the prophet Ezekiel, who would carry that transferred debt in his own body by lying on his side for the number of days that represented Israel's iniquity. Hunger is a debt the world eventually collects from someone. Jacob's arrival did not cancel it. It moved it.

Shabbat in Pharaoh's Court

Joseph rose to the second highest office in Egypt. He wore Pharaoh's signet ring, rode in the second chariot, and supervised the grain stores of the most powerful nation on earth. He also set aside every seventh day and refused to work on it.

The Torah would not give the command until Sinai, generations away. Moses had not yet been born. No stone tablets had been cut. And yet Joseph, in a court that worshiped the sun and organized its religious life around a solar calendar that knew nothing of a seven-day rest, stopped on the seventh day and kept the Shabbat.

The rabbis treated this as evidence of something the patriarchs knew from an inner source that had nothing to do with Sinai. The commandments were the formalization of truths that ran deeper than the moment of their inscription. Abraham kept them all. Isaac kept them. Jacob kept them. Joseph kept Shabbat in Pharaoh's palace because the seventh day was built into the structure of creation before Egypt existed, and a man who understood the structure of things would observe the day regardless of the law on the books.

The Oath He Forced on His Brothers

On his deathbed, Joseph gathered his brothers. They had been through enough together that the air between them was thick with the weight of old things, the pit, the sold child, the years of grief and concealment and reunion. He told them what Jacob had told him. \"Take me home when the redemption comes. My bones do not belong in Egypt.\"

He made them swear.

This was the same structure Jacob had used at the end of his life. Not a request. Not a hope. An oath. The hand placed under the thigh, the covenant of circumcision invoked as surety. Joseph had carried the sworn obligation to bring Jacob home, and he had carried Jacob's bones out of Egypt when the time came. Now he was passing the same obligation to his brothers and their descendants.

The brothers swore. The bones were embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt, waiting.

Moses Carries the Coffin

When the exodus finally came, more than four centuries later, Moses remembered. While all of Israel was collecting gold from their Egyptian neighbors, Moses went to the place where Joseph's coffin was kept and carried it out himself. The Ark of God and the ark of Joseph traveled together through the wilderness.

The rabbis read this as a commentary on Joseph's entire life. The man who had been sold into Egypt, who had served and been imprisoned and risen and ruled, whose bones had waited in a coffin for four hundred years for the moment when someone would finally honor the oath, was carried through the wilderness alongside the Torah. What the Torah commanded, Joseph had already lived.


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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 1:169Legends of the Jews

The why behind the seven years of plenty and the seven years of famine might be more dramatic than you think.

Remember how Joseph, after years of hardship, finally finds himself interpreting Pharaoh's dreams? Two dreams, both pointing to the same thing: seven years of abundance followed by seven years of crippling famine. What a gig. From prisoner to prophet in a single bound.

According to some traditions, particularly in Legends of the Jews, the famine was originally intended to last not just seven years, but a whopping forty-two! Forty-two years of hardship for Egypt. Can you imagine the social upheaval? The suffering?

So, what changed? Why the divine reduction in sentence, so to speak?

The answer, as with so much in our tradition, lies in the power of blessing, specifically the blessing of Jacob. when Jacob, also known as Israel, finally makes his way to Egypt to reunite with his son Joseph, it's already the second year of the famine. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, God shortened the famine to only two years because of Jacob's arrival and the blessing he brought with him.

That's right. The presence of a righteous man, a patriarch, had the power to mitigate a divinely ordained disaster. That's a pretty profound thought, isn't it?

But what happened to the other forty years of famine? Did they just vanish into thin air? Not quite. The story doesn't simply erase them. Instead, it relocates them. According to this tradition, the remaining forty years were inflicted upon the land during the time of the prophet Ezekiel. This suggests a kind of divine accounting, a balancing of the scales. The suffering wasn't averted; it was simply deferred and perhaps redistributed. What does that say about divine justice? About the interconnectedness of generations? About the lasting impact of our actions, both good and bad?

It leaves you pondering the long arc of history, doesn't it? We often think of stories like Joseph's as self-contained narratives, but this glimpse behind the curtain reveals a much larger tapestry, a divine plan playing out over centuries, shaped by the choices and blessings of individuals like Jacob and the pronouncements of prophets like Ezekiel.

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Legends of the Jews 1:241Legends of the Jews

Take Joseph, for instance. You remember Joseph. Sold into slavery in Egypt by his jealous brothers, rises through the ranks, interprets Pharaoh's dreams, becomes a powerful leader. Big story.

Well, according to some traditions, Joseph was observant of the Sabbath, the Shabbat (the day of rest), even before the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai! That’s what we read in Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg. It paints a picture of Joseph as someone deeply connected to spiritual practice, even in a foreign land.

Joseph, now a powerful Egyptian official, invites his unsuspecting brothers to a feast. But they don't trust him. Remember, they don’t recognize him at first and are filled with guilt about what they did to him so many years ago. So when Joseph’s steward invites them, they refuse.

That refusal leads to.a brawl! Can you imagine? The steward is trying to usher them into the banqueting hall, and they're trying to push him out. Why all the resistance?

They feared it was a trick, a “ruse,” as Ginzberg puts it. They were worried that Joseph – or rather, this powerful Egyptian official they didn't realize was Joseph – was trying to take them captive. They suspected he wanted to seize them and their donkeys on account of the money they'd found mysteriously returned to their sacks after their first trip to Egypt. They figured it was a setup!

What’s fascinating is what they valued. They equated the loss of their animals to the loss of their freedom. "In their modesty," Ginzberg writes, "they put the loss of their beasts upon the same level as the loss of their personal liberty." for a second. It speaks volumes about their values, their sense of responsibility, and maybe even their understanding of what truly constitutes freedom.

It’s a pretty human moment, isn't it? These figures we often see as larger-than-life are squabbling with a steward, worrying about their donkeys, and suspecting the worst. It reminds us that even the heroes of our stories are, at their core, just people trying to navigate a complicated world.

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Legends of the Jews 1:365Legends of the Jews

Joseph, ever the dutiful son, promises his father he'll be buried in Palestine, the land of their ancestors. But it's not just a simple promise. Joseph adds a crucial detail: "As thou commandest me to do, so also will I beg my brethren, on my death-bed, to fulfil my last wish and carry my body from Egypt to Palestine." According to Legends of the Jews, Joseph understands this isn't just about honoring a father; it's about continuing a legacy. It's about ensuring that the connection to the Promised Land, to their heritage, remains unbroken (Ginzberg).

The real heart of the story lies with Jacob himself.

Jacob, sensing his own mortality, notices the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, hovering over his bed. The Shekhinah, often depicted as a feminine aspect of God, is said to rest in the sick room. Seeing this, Jacob bows his head and offers a prayer of gratitude. "I thank thee, O Lord my God, that none who is unfit came forth from my bed, but my bed was perfect."

What does this mean, "my bed was perfect"? It sounds like a strange thing to say. What Jacob is really expressing here is immense relief. He’s particularly grateful for a revelation he received about his eldest son, Reuben. Reuben had committed a transgression against his father. But, as Ginzberg tells us, Jacob learned that Reuben had truly repented and atoned for his actions. He had done teshuvah (repentance), turned back to the right path.

This assurance, this knowledge that all his sons were worthy, filled Jacob with a profound sense of peace. Jacob knew his sons would become the progenitors of the twelve tribes of Israel. It was essential, therefore, that they were all men of integrity, men who could carry the weight of that responsibility.

And here’s the kicker: Legends of the Jews points out that Jacob was blessed with a happiness that neither Abraham nor Isaac fully experienced. Why? Because both Abraham and Isaac had sons who were considered "unworthy." Abraham had Ishmael, and Isaac had Esau. Jacob, on the other hand, could rest assured that all his sons were fit to carry on the lineage.

So, what’s the takeaway? This story, drawn from the tradition of Jewish legend, isn't just about death and dying. It's about the enduring power of family, the importance of repentance, and the profound blessing of knowing that our children, our descendants, are walking the right path. It’s a reminder that true legacy isn’t just about bloodlines, but about the spiritual and moral character we pass on to the next generation. And that, perhaps, is the most perfect bed of all.

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