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Joseph Prophesied From His Deathbed and Made One Final Demand

Joseph's last prophecy named the oppression ahead and the deliverance after it. His only condition was that his brothers carry his bones when they left Egypt.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Room at the End of His Life
  2. The Prophecy He Delivered
  3. The Condition of the Oath
  4. Moses and the Coffin in the Nile

The Room at the End of His Life

Joseph was a hundred and ten years old. He had been in Egypt for ninety-three of those years, a slave for thirteen before he stood before Pharaoh, a viceroy for eighty years after. He had managed the famine, resettled a population, reunited his family, buried his father. He had lived the complete life that Egyptian tradition counted at a hundred and ten, the number that said a man had used his years correctly.

He called his brothers around him. He had something to say before he died, and the Torah records the brief version: “God will surely visit you and bring you up from this land. Carry my bones with you when you go.” Then he died and was embalmed and placed in a coffin.

The midrashic tradition holds that he said considerably more than this.

The Prophecy He Delivered

In the days before his death, Joseph gathered his brothers and described what was coming with the precision of a man who had spent his life reading the future correctly. The Egyptians would oppress them after his death. He did not soften this or make it conditional. The oppression was coming. It would be prolonged and real. The tradition he carried from his father and grandfather told him that Abraham's descendants were promised four hundred years in a land not their own, and he had done the arithmetic. What was ahead of his brothers and their children was hard.

God would exact vengeance on their behalf, he said. He did not mean this as consolation. He meant it as a structural fact: the oppression would happen, and then it would be answered, in that order. The sequence was fixed. The question was not whether deliverance would come but how long the wait would be.

The Condition of the Oath

Then he gave them the condition. “When God visits you,” he said, “you must take my bones up from here.” He was not asking to be buried in Canaan immediately. His father Jacob had asked for immediate burial and received it: the state funeral, the procession, the interment in Machpelah. Joseph was asking for something different. He was asking to wait. He would be embalmed and placed in a coffin and left in Egypt, and when the people finally left, they would carry him with them. His bones would cross the same wilderness the living people crossed, passing through the same desert, over the same Jordan.

The tradition asks why he wanted this. One answer: he wanted to be present for the going-out. He had spent his life in Egypt, had built the infrastructure of the country, had become the most powerful man in it after Pharaoh. But his identity was not Egyptian. His bones would leave when his people left. He would not be buried in a foreign country as a foreign great man. He would be carried back to where he came from.

Moses and the Coffin in the Nile

The oath his brothers swore was kept. When the Israelites left Egypt four hundred years later, Moses himself carried Joseph's bones. The tradition records that Moses knew where to find them because Serah the daughter of Asher, who had been present when Joseph originally gave the instruction and who lived to extraordinary old age, remembered. She told Moses: “Joseph’s coffin is in the Nile.” The Egyptians had placed it in the river, either to honor him or to bind the river's blessing to his bones, or simply because a coffin in the river was not going anywhere. Moses stood at the Nile and called to Joseph: “The time of redemption has arrived. Rise and come with us.” The coffin floated to the surface.

The Israelites traveled through the wilderness with two objects carried above the camp: the ark of the covenant and the coffin of Joseph. The tradition noted the image. One carried the tablets of the law. One carried the man who had kept the law under conditions that tested it to its limit.


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From the tradition

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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.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 44:9Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

One that even Moses, the great lawgiver, wrestled with.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, in chapter 44, tells a story that illuminates this very struggle. Rabbi Phineas shares a fascinating insight into Moses's actions after forty long years of wandering in the desert. Forty years! Imagine the weight of leadership he carried.

In Rabbi Phineas, Moses wanted to remind the Israelites of their moment of doubt, that chilling question posed in the wilderness: "Is the Lord among us, or not?" (Exodus 17:7). Think about the implications of that question. It wasn't just about thirst or hunger; it was about faith itself.

Moses hesitated. He understood the power of words, the potential for shame to wound deeply. He reasoned that if he directly confronted them with their past doubt, he would shame them publicly. And, according to tradition, one who shames another forfeits their portion in olam ha-ba (עולם הבא), the world to come. A hefty price to pay for a moment of truth.

So, what did he do instead? The text provides a parable, a story to illustrate Moses’s dilemma. It’s a story of a king, his garden, and a dog.

Imagine a king sitting in his upper room, overlooking his beautiful garden. A loyal friend enters the garden, but with less-than-noble intentions – he plans to steal some fruit. He distracts the king’s guard dog, who promptly tears the friend’s clothes. Now, the king faces a choice. Does he directly accuse his friend of theft, causing him deep shame?

Instead, the king chooses a path of indirect communication. He says to his friend, "Did you see that mad dog? Look how it tore your clothes!" The friend, though spared the direct accusation, understands perfectly well the king's message and his own transgression.

This, Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer suggests, is precisely what Moses did. Rather than directly accusing the Israelites of their past doubt, he chose to remind them of Amalek. He said, "Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way, as ye came forth out of Egypt" (Deuteronomy 25:17).

Why Amalek? Amalek, in Jewish tradition, represents the antithesis of faith, the embodiment of doubt and opportunistic attack. By reminding the Israelites of Amalek's treachery, Moses subtly nudged them to remember their own lapse in faith, the very doubt that made them vulnerable to Amalek’s assault. He didn't need to spell it out. The connection was there, simmering beneath the surface.

It's a brilliant move, isn't it? A masterclass in leadership and compassion. Moses understood that sometimes, the most effective way to teach is not through direct confrontation, but through gentle reminders and carefully chosen narratives. He chose to protect their dignity while guiding them towards self-reflection.

This passage from Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer offers a powerful lesson about the delicate balance between truth and compassion, between directness and subtlety. It reminds us that true leadership isn’t just about pointing out flaws, but about guiding people towards growth with empathy and understanding. And, perhaps most importantly, it highlights the profound impact of our words and the responsibility we have to wield them with care.

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Legends of the Jews 2:82Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Joseph Confronted His Brothers About What They Told Jacob.

The scene: Years of separation, a devastating famine, and finally, the moment of truth. Jacob, reunited with the son he thought lost forever. But the reunion wasn't quite as straightforward as the Torah narrative suggests.

That Joseph, after revealing himself, asked Jacob, "What said my brethren to my father regarding me?" According to Legends of the Jews, a collection of rabbinic stories and traditions compiled by Louis Ginzberg, the answer Jacob gave was heartbreaking. He told Joseph how his brothers had presented their father with Joseph's coat, stained with blood, and delivered the cruel words, "Know now whether this be thy son's coat or not."

Here's where the legend takes a fascinating turn. Joseph, knowing the truth of his brothers' actions, apparently offers a revised explanation, a gentler version of events. He tells Jacob, "This is what happened to me. Canaanitish merchantmen stole me away with violence, and on the way they wanted to hide my coat, to make it seem as though a wild beast had met me and slain me. But he who was about to conceal it, was torn by a lion, whereupon his companions, in great fear, sold me to the Ishmaelites. My brethren, thou seest, did not deceive my father with a lie." Joseph, in this telling, actively attempts to soften the blow for his father. He crafts a narrative that shields Jacob from the full weight of his sons' betrayal. He frames the story in a way that absolves them of intentionally deceiving their father.

Why would Joseph do this? Was it out of compassion for his aging father? Was it an attempt to maintain family harmony after so many years of strife? Or was it, perhaps, a way for Joseph to confront his own feelings about his brothers' actions?

The legend continues, explaining that Joseph even instructed his brothers to perpetuate this revised narrative. He enjoined them not to reveal the truth to their father and to repeat the tale he had told Jacob.

It's a powerful reminder that stories, even those we hold sacred, can be complex and multi-layered. This little detour through Legends of the Jews offers a glimpse into the emotional landscape of a family confronting a painful past. It invites us to consider the power of forgiveness, the burden of secrets, and the lengths to which we might go to protect those we love, even when the truth is difficult to bear. What do you think?

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 227:10Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

Another interpretation: Joseph said to them, "My father came down here willingly, and I brought him up; I came down against my will. I make you swear that to the place from which you stole me, there you shall return me." And so they did for him, in the manner of what is said (Joshua 24:32), "And the bones of Joseph, which the children of Israel brought up, they buried in Shechem." "God will surely visit you" (Genesis 50:24): "visit" you in Egypt, and "will visit" you at the sea; visit you at the sea, and will visit you in the wilderness; visit you in the wilderness, and will visit at the brooks of Arnon; visit you in this world, and will visit you in the world to come - a visitation in Egypt, a visitation at Sinai, a visitation in Nisan, a visitation in Tishrei. "And you shall bring up my bones from here" - I might understand at once; therefore it teaches "with you" (Exodus 13:19), when you go up. And how do we know that the bones of the tribes too were brought up with them? Therefore it teaches "from here with you" - "from here" [mizeh, spelled zayin-heh] equals twelve [the numerical value, hinting at the twelve tribes]. "And they journeyed from Sukkot and camped in Etam" (Exodus 13:20): just as Etam is a place, so Sukkot is a place. Rabbi Akiva says: they were clouds of glory, as it is said, "over all the glory a canopy." I have this only for the past; how do I know for the future? It teaches (Isaiah 4:6), "and a sukkah shall be for shade by day," and it says (Isaiah 35:10), "and the redeemed of the LORD shall return."

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Legends of the Jews 1:490Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Joseph on His Deathbed Prophesied Israel's Suffering and Deliverance.

Can you

Joseph, the dreamer, the interpreter of Pharaoh's dreams, the savior of Egypt during famine… he wasn’t just about his own story, was he? According to Legends of the Jews, Joseph knew the future that awaited his brothers and their descendants. He knew the Egyptians would turn against them, would oppress them.

He also knew something else: God's promise.

He told them, "I know that the Egyptians will oppress you after my death, but God will execute vengeance for your sakes, and He will lead you to the land of promise of your fathers."

Think about the weight of those words. Even facing death, his concern was for the future, for the fulfillment of the covenant God made with their ancestors.

But Joseph didn't just offer a prophecy. He gave them a practical instruction, a physical act of faith. "Ye shall surely carry my bones with you from hence," he commanded, "for if my remains are taken to Canaan, the Lord will be with you in the light, and Behar will be with the Egyptians in the darkness."

It's a powerful image, isn't it? The bones of Joseph, a symbol of hope, a promise of redemption carried through the generations. His remains would become a tangible link to their heritage, a reminder of God's unwavering commitment.

And he added one last detail, a poignant reminder of family and legacy. "Also take with you the bones of your mother Zilpah, and bury them near the sepulchre of Bilhah and Rachel." The matriarchs, the mothers of Israel, together in their final resting place.

Joseph's final words weren’t just about death; they were about life, about continuity, about the enduring power of faith and family. They were a blueprint for the future, a promise whispered from one generation to the next.

What does it mean to leave a legacy like that? To know that even in death, you can guide and inspire those who come after you? It's a question worth pondering, isn't it? As we consider our own lives, and the marks we will leave on the world.

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