Parshat Vayeshev5 min read

Simeon Confessed at 120 That He Wanted Joseph Dead

Simeon confessed at one hundred and twenty years that he had wanted Joseph dead. He had hated him since the pit, and his deathbed speech names the shame.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Organ That Would Not Soften
  2. The Day at Shechem
  3. What Jacob Already Suspected
  4. The Warning His Envy Made Him Give

He was one hundred and twenty years old and he had been carrying it for a century.

Simeon lay down on the bed in his sons' house in Egypt, and then he did something he had not done in the course of a hundred years. He strengthened himself and sat up. He kissed each son on the mouth. Then he told them the truth.

The Organ That Would Not Soften

He began with his body. I was strong exceedingly. My heart was hard. My liver immovable. My bowels without compassion. These are not metaphors. In the ancient Hebrew imagination, the feeling organs sit low in the body. The bowels churn with pity. The liver clenches against grief. When Simeon says his liver was immovable, he means that even the parts of him designed to shudder at the sight of a weeping brother had been frozen shut.

Then he named what had frozen them. Envy.

Jacob loved Joseph more than the other sons, and every brother knew it. The Torah does not hide this. It is the engine of the whole story. But the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, a Jewish pseudepigraphical text composed in roughly the second century BCE and preserved in Greek and Armenian manuscripts, does something the Torah does not do: it puts Simeon inside his own head and keeps him there until he confesses what jealousy actually looks like from the inside.

He did not see Joseph as a brother who was loved more. He saw Joseph as an enemy who had stolen something that belonged to him.

The Day at Shechem

Simeon told his sons about the days of the conspiracy. When he went to Shechem for ointment and Reuben went to Dothan for supplies, it was Judah who made the practical suggestion to sell Joseph to the Ishmaelites passing in the road (Genesis 37:28). Simeon had not been satisfied with selling. He had wanted more. His own account of what he intended, standing in the field at Dothan while the caravan passed, is the confession he had never made to anyone in a hundred years.

The prince of deceit had sent forth the spirit of envy, he told his sons, and it had blinded his mind. He had not been a man who weighed his brother's life against his brother's advantage. He had been a man who had ceased to see a life at all.

What Jacob Already Suspected

The Legends of the Jews, Louis Ginzberg's synthesis of rabbinic tradition published in the early twentieth century, captures what Jacob read in his sons' faces when they returned with the blood-stained coat. The patriarch's grief was not only about Joseph. It was an accusation. Me have ye bereaved of my children. These words, the midrash says, were not a lament but a pointed indictment. Jacob suspected his sons of foul play. He saw their explanations as elaborate lies. And he knew, from the way they told their story, that more than one of them had wanted Joseph gone long before the Ishmaelite caravan appeared.

Simeon in his death speech is confirming what Jacob already knew.

The Warning His Envy Made Him Give

A deathbed speech in the Testaments carries more than confession. It is instruction. Simeon had carried the sin. He had watched it work through him across a century. He had seen what it produced. Now he wanted to leave his sons something that would outlast him.

He told them: do not look at a man's face. Do not love a man's appearance. Do not desire a man's position. The prince of deceit will find the crack and pour itself in. It will not announce itself as envy. It will feel like justice. It will feel like clarification. You will not know you have stopped seeing a person and started seeing a threat until you are standing in a field in the sun with your hands already dirty.

He paused. He asked his sons to pray for him. He said that after his death he wanted no labor done over him, only the anointing of the body, and burial in Hebron, in the cave where the patriarchs lay.

He died at the end of that first day of his hundred and twentieth year.


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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.

Testament of SimeonTestaments of the Twelve Patriarchs

Simeon, second son of Jacob and Leah, was dying in his hundred and twentieth year. Joseph his brother had already passed. When his sons came to visit, Simeon strengthened himself, sat up, kissed them, and began to speak.

What he confessed was monstrous.

"I was strong exceedingly," he said. "My heart was hard, my liver immovable, my bowels without compassion." In his youth, Simeon had been consumed with jealousy of Joseph, because their father loved Joseph beyond all the others. The prince of deceit sent forth the spirit of envy and blinded Simeon's mind, until he regarded Joseph not as a brother, but as an enemy to be destroyed.

He laid out the events plainly. When Simeon went to Shechem for ointment, and Reuben to Dothan for supplies, Judah sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites (Genesis 37:28). When Reuben heard, he grieved, for he had wished to restore Joseph to their father. But Simeon was furious that Judah had let Joseph go alive. For five months, rage consumed him.

Then God intervened directly. "The Lord restrained me," Simeon said, "and withheld from me the power of my hands. My right hand was half withered for seven days." This was the sign. Simeon understood: because of Joseph, this had befallen him. He repented and wept. He besought the Lord that his hand might be restored and that he might hold himself aloof from all envy and folly.

"Beware of the spirit of deceit and envy," Simeon warned his children. "For envy rules over the whole mind of a man. It suffers him neither to eat nor to drink nor to do any good thing. It ever urges him to destroy the one he envies. And so long as the envied one flourishes, the one who envies fades away." Two years of fasting in the fear of God taught Simeon the cure: if a man flees to the Lord, the evil spirit runs from him, and his mind is lightened.

When the brothers went down to Egypt, Joseph bound Simeon as a spy. Simeon knew he was suffering justly and did not grieve. And Joseph, who had the Spirit of God within him, bore no malice. He loved Simeon as he loved all his brothers. All his days, Joseph never reproached them. He loved them as his own soul, glorified them beyond his own sons, and gave them riches, cattle, and fruits.

"Love each one his brother with a good heart," Simeon pleaded, "and the spirit of envy will withdraw from you. For envy makes savage the soul and destroys the body. It causes anger and war in the mind, stirs up deeds of blood, leads the mind into frenzy. Even in sleep, malicious jealousy gnaws at a man, disturbs his soul with wicked spirits, and wakes him in confusion."

Joseph's beauty of face, Simeon explained, came from the fact that no wickedness dwelt in him. The trouble of the spirit shows itself in the face. A pure heart makes a person radiant.

Looking to the future, Simeon declared that the Mighty One of Israel would glorify Shem, and the Lord God would appear on earth to save humanity. All the spirits of deceit would be trodden underfoot, and men would rule over wicked spirits. He commanded his sons to obey Levi and Judah, for from them would arise the salvation of God: from Levi a High Priest, and from Judah a righteous King.

Simeon slept with his fathers at a hundred and twenty years old. They laid him in a wooden coffin to take his bones to Hebron. They carried them secretly during a war of the Egyptians, for the Egyptians guarded the bones of Joseph in the tombs of their kings. Their sorcerers had prophesied that when Joseph's bones departed, darkness and plague would fall upon all Egypt, so terrible that even with a lamp a man could not recognize his own brother.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 1:227Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Jacob Suspected His Sons of Lying About Joseph and Simeon.

The words Jacob spoke, "Me have ye bereaved of my children," weren’t just a lament. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, they were a pointed accusation. Jacob suspected his sons of foul play, both in the presumed death of Joseph, or Yosef, and the disappearance of Simon. He saw their explanations as nothing more than elaborate lies. Can you

Jacob's inconsolable grief wasn't only about the loss of his sons. It was about something much bigger: the Divine promise. He believed that with two sons gone, the promise that he would be the father of twelve tribes – the foundation of the Israelite nation – was now impossible. The weight of history, of destiny, rested on his shoulders, and it felt like it was crushing him.

So, when his sons proposed taking Benjamin, or Binyamin, the youngest, to Egypt, Jacob was resolute. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances would he risk losing another son. And when Reuben, ever impetuous, offered his own sons as collateral – "Slay my two sons, if I bring him not to thee" – Jacob didn’t even dignify it with a response. "My first-born son," he thought, "is a fool. What will it profit me if I slay his two sons? Does he not know that his sons are equally mine?" Ouch. Can you feel the sting in that rejection?

Judah, wiser perhaps, stepped in. He advised his brothers to back off. He knew their father would eventually have to relent when necessity demanded it – when their food ran out, and a second journey to Egypt became unavoidable. It wasn't about convincing Jacob with words, but waiting for the pressure of circumstance to force his hand.

What does this tell us? It's a reminder that even the most righteous among us, the patriarchs of our traditions, are flawed, vulnerable, and capable of profound despair. Jacob's story isn't just about loss; it's about faith tested to its limits. It's a story of a man wrestling with his own doubts, his own fears, and the heavy burden of a promise that seems to be slipping away. It makes you wonder, doesn't it: What promises are we holding onto, and how do we keep our faith alive when everything seems to be working against us?

Full source
Legends of the Jews 2:15Legends of the Jews

It's not a new phenomenon, not by a long shot. the tradition turns to the story of Simon, one of the twelve sons of Jacob, and his struggle with envy.

The scene: Simon is on his deathbed, surrounded by his sons. This isn't just a private moment; it's a moment of profound reckoning. He’s not offering platitudes or empty blessings. Instead, he's confessing his deepest sin, a sin that gnawed at him his entire life. As we read in Legends of the Jews, Simon calls his sons together, ready to unburden himself (Ginzberg).

"I was the second son," he begins, recounting his birth and the meaning of his name, Simon – "because the Lord had heard her prayer," referring to his mother Leah. But this isn’t just a family history lesson. It’s a prelude to a dark confession. He describes himself as strong, fearless, but also… hard. "My heart was hard, and my liver unyielding, and my bowels without mercy." That's a chilling self-assessment.

Then he gets to the heart of it: his jealousy of Joseph. Remember Joseph? The favored son, the one with the colorful coat? "In the days of my youth I was jealous of Joseph, for our father loved him more than all the rest of us, and I resolved to kill him."

Can you feel the intensity of that statement? The sheer, raw hatred fueled by envy? According to Ginzberg’s retelling in Legends of the Jews, Simon admits that he was consumed by a "prince of temptation" that sent a "spirit of jealousy to take possession of me." He was blinded by it, unable to see Joseph as his brother, unable to consider the pain it would inflict on their father, Jacob.

He confesses that he spared neither his brother nor his father. It's a brutal admission of guilt. But there's a glimmer of something else here, isn't there? A recognition of divine intervention. "But his God and the God of his fathers sent His angel and saved him out of my hands."

So, what are we to make of Simon's deathbed confession? Is it merely a historical anecdote, a cautionary tale from a bygone era? Or does it speak to something deeper, something universal about the human condition? Perhaps it’s a reminder that even the strongest among us are vulnerable to the corrosive power of envy, but also that redemption, however late in life, is always possible. That even in confessing the wrong, we still find a way to tell the truth.

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