6 min read

Josiah Died at Megiddo Because He Chose One Verse Over Jeremiah

Pharaoh warned Josiah to step aside and let the Egyptian army pass. Josiah quoted Moses and refused. He was struck by three hundred arrows before nightfall.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Jeremiah Came With His Teacher's Prophecy
  2. The King Answered With Moses
  3. The Measure That Was Already Full
  4. Three Hundred Darts at Megiddo
  5. What Shook in Jerusalem
Josiah Died at Megiddo Because He Chose One Verse Over Jeremiah Click for full size

Jeremiah Came With His Teacher's Prophecy

Jeremiah did not bring an argument of his own to the palace. He brought his teacher.

Isaiah had seen this war coming a hundred years earlier, Egypt against Assyria, and had said so, and the road Egypt would take to fight it ran the length of Judah. So the prophet told the king to open the road. Let Pharaoh through. The Egyptian column had no interest in Jerusalem and no orders about it, and if Judah stood aside the column would pass and be gone by the new moon.

Josiah had spent his reign doing what prophets told him. He had torn down the high places, burned the vessels made for other gods, and rebuilt the worship of the Temple out of a scroll found in its own walls. He had never once been the man in the room who said no to a prophet.

He said no.

The King Answered With Moses

"Moses, thy teacher's teacher, spake," Josiah said. Then he gave the verse, and the verse was not obscure. "I will give peace in the land, and no sword shall go through your land."

He pressed on the words the way he pressed on everything. Not no hostile sword. Not no sword raised against Israel. No sword. A blade crossing his territory to cut somebody else's throat was still a blade crossing his territory, and the promise Moses had made covered every one of them or it covered nothing. Isaiah had seen a war. Moses had made a guarantee, and Moses had taught the man who taught Jeremiah, and a guarantee from further up the chain outranked a forecast.

He was not being reckless. He was being consistent, in the only way he had ever known how to be, with a man who could not answer him from a stronger verse.

So Jeremiah left, and Josiah called out the army, and the two forces met in the plain at Megiddo.

The Measure That Was Already Full

What the king did not know was that the promise he was standing behind had been quietly voided by the people he was standing in front of.

They had kept their idols. Not in the open, since he had made the open impossible, but kept, in rooms he never entered, by men who bowed correctly when he passed. The guarantees of the Torah were never issued to a nation like that, so the sword clause he was counting on had lapsed while he was still enforcing everything else in the book. He was innocent of the deception, which is a strange thing to be able to say about the most informed king Judah ever had.

Above them, in the vision Amos was given, God stood over that generation the way a man stands over an animal he intends to slaughter. Their sins had filled a se'a measure to the rim. The rabbis asked which sin at the top of that measure was the one that prosecutes, and the answer was not idolatry, which sat lower in the jar. It was robbery. Short weights, bought judgments, wages held back, the ordinary daily theft of a market town, worth more in that court than bloodshed and worth more than the idols in the back rooms.

"Strike the apex, and the thresholds will quake." The apex was the king.

Three Hundred Darts at Megiddo

The Egyptians shot in volleys, and they kept shooting at the same man.

Three hundred darts went into Josiah before his people got him off the field. Not three or thirty. Three hundred, counted afterward, which means somebody counted them, which means the body came back to Jerusalem in a condition the counters could not stop describing.

He was alive for part of it. A man with that many shafts in him has time, and the whole court was waiting to hear what he would say, since a king dying inside a promise God had made him has grounds for a complaint that would be heard. His mouth was full of blood. He got the words out anyway, and they were not a complaint. "The Lord is righteous," Josiah said, "for I have rebelled against His commandment."

He had worked it out on his back in the chariot. Not that Moses had lied and not that Jeremiah had been lucky, but that a prophet had stood in his throne room and told him to stand aside, and he had preferred his own reading, and preferring his own reading was itself the rebellion. He named the crime as his and cleared the court of any other defendant, and then he died of it.

What Shook in Jerusalem

The men who quaked were his legal advisers.

They had sat in his courts through every year of the reform, hearing the cases from those markets, certifying that the land was clean, sending him out to Megiddo on the strength of a verse whose conditions their own dockets had already broken. The apex was struck in the plain, and the doorframes went on shaking in the city where the actual robbery had been transacted, in front of judges who had watched it come in and had called the land faithful anyway.

Judah buried the best king it ever had, and the men who had let the measure fill kept their seats.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

2 sources

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.

Legends of the Jews 9:53Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

Take the story of King Josiah, a righteous ruler who met a tragic end.

Josiah was a king known for his piety and his efforts to purify the land of idolatry. He reigned during a tumultuous time, when the Jewish people had strayed far from the path of Torah, the Law. But even a king as righteous as Josiah couldn't escape the complexities of fate.

So, what happened? Well, the story, as told in Legends of the Jews, attributes his downfall, in part, to the "godless generation" that surrounded him. According to this account, this generation's sins had created a spiritual climate where even a righteous king could be vulnerable.

The narrative unfolds like this: Pharaoh, on his way to battle the Assyrians, needed to pass through Palestine. Jeremiah, the prophet, advised Josiah to allow the Egyptians passage, citing a prophecy from his teacher, Isaiah, about a war between Assyria and Egypt.

But Josiah, bless his heart, stood firm. He countered with a quote from Moses, Isaiah’s teacher. “I will give peace in the land,” Moses said, “and no sword shall go through your land.” (Leviticus 26:6). Josiah believed this promise extended to all swords, even those not directly aimed at Israel.

Here's where it gets tricky. Josiah, in his innocence, didn't realize the depth of the people's deception. They were still secretly worshipping idols, which, according to tradition, nullified the Torah's promises of protection. As the story goes, the guarantees of safety and peace were conditional, dependent on the people upholding their end of the covenant.

The inevitable happened. A battle ensued between the Jewish forces and the Egyptians. And tragically, Josiah was struck by not one, not two, but three hundred darts!

In his final moments, racked with pain, Josiah uttered no complaints. Instead, he said, “The Lord is righteous, for I have rebelled against His commandment.” He took responsibility, acknowledging that he should have heeded Jeremiah's advice. He saw his death as a consequence of his own failing, perhaps in not recognizing the spiritual state of his people, in not realizing that their hidden idolatry had created a chink in the armor of divine protection.

What are we to make of this? It's easy to see Josiah as a victim, an innocent caught in a web of circumstance. But the story, as retold by Ginzberg in Legends of the Jews, suggests a more nuanced interpretation. It hints at a world where even the most righteous actions can have unintended consequences. Where the spiritual state of a community can impact even its leaders. It's a sobering reminder that we are all interconnected and that our choices, both good and bad, ripple outwards, affecting the world around us.

The story of Josiah isn't just a historical account. It's a meditation on faith, responsibility, and the enduring mystery of divine justice. It challenges us to look beyond the surface and to consider the complex interplay of human action and divine will. And it leaves us pondering: what are we doing to create a world worthy of divine protection?

Full source
Vayikra Rabbah 33:3Vayikra Rabbah

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

The ancient rabbis certainly did. They saw the world as a delicate balance, and they understood that even seemingly small acts of injustice could have enormous consequences.

In Vayikra Rabbah, a fascinating collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Leviticus, we find a powerful passage that grapples with this very idea. It all starts with a verse from the prophet Amos: "I saw the Lord standing upon the altar" (Amos 9:1). The rabbis, in their insightful way, don't take this literally. Instead, they interpret it as God poised to judge the people, ready "to slaughter" the generation for its sins. A pretty grim image. Then comes the next part of the verse: "He said: Strike the apex and the thresholds will quake" (Amos 9:1). Here, the rabbis get even more specific. "Strike the apex," they say, "this is Josiah." Josiah was a righteous king of Judah, known for his religious reforms. But even the righteous can fall, and the "thresholds that quake" are interpreted as his legal advisors, those who should have been upholding justice.

What sin is so egregious that it could bring about such a harsh judgment? The verse continues: "Shatter those [uvtzaam] who are at the head of them all" (Amos 9:1). Rabbi Shimon bar Abba, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, offers a striking analogy: it's like a se’a container – a measuring container – filled to the brim with iniquities. So, which sin is the one that tips the scales, that causes the prosecution in heaven? According to this passage, it's robbery.

Why robbery? Well, the word betza, the root of uvtzaam, can also mean ill-gotten gain. It's that act of taking what isn't rightfully yours, of cheating and exploiting others, that the rabbis saw as particularly destructive. It eats away at the fabric of society. As we see in (Judges 5:19), the term betza is used to describe monetary gain taken through violence.

Rabbi Yudan, again quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, drives the point home even further. He says that even in a society rife with idolatry, sexual immorality, and bloodshed, robbery is considered equivalent to all of those sins combined! That's a pretty strong statement.

Rabbi Yaakov bar Idi, in the name of Rav Aḥa, points to the prophet Ezekiel, who lists twenty-four sins. And what does Ezekiel conclude with? "Behold, I struck My hand due to your ill-gotten gain" (Ezekiel 22:13).

So, what's the takeaway here? It's that even seemingly small acts of dishonesty and exploitation can have devastating consequences. That’s why Moses, in the Torah, cautions Israel: “If you sell a sale item...[you shall not wrong one another].” It's a reminder that our actions have ripple effects, and that true justice requires us to treat each other with fairness and respect.

Are we contributing to a world where the "se'a container" is overflowing with iniquities? Or are we striving to create a more just and equitable society, one where everyone has the opportunity to thrive? These ancient texts, though written centuries ago, continue to challenge us to examine our own behavior and to consider the impact we have on the world around us.

Full source