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Simeon's Deathbed Confession About What Envy Almost Made Him Do

On his deathbed, the patriarch Simeon gathered his children and named the force that had once brought him to the edge of fratricide: not hatred, but envy.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Peacemaker Who Was Planning Murder
  2. What the Testament of Simeon Says
  3. How Envy Works From the Inside
  4. The Angel Who Stood Opposite
  5. Envy and the Cure

The Peacemaker Who Was Planning Murder

Simeon had spoken with Joseph peacefully in their father's presence. The words were calm. The face was composed. The soul was planning something else entirely.

He had wanted to kill Joseph. Not out of sudden rage but out of the slow corrosion of envy, the feeling that had started the moment Jacob gave the boy the coat of many colors and had not stopped. Every gift Jacob gave Joseph was a subtraction from what Simeon had. Every dream Joseph reported was an insult delivered in the language of prophecy. The pit and the sale had been a compromise, a group decision when Simeon had wanted something worse.

Now, decades later, dying, Simeon gathered his children and told them exactly this. He did not soften it.

What the Testament of Simeon Says

Guard yourselves from the spirit of envy, he told them. Guard yourselves in word, in deed, and in the thoughts of the soul.

The three levels are deliberate. Envy in words is the most visible: the comparison that diminishes, the praise that carries a hidden barb, the silence that lets someone be hurt while you watch. Envy in deeds is more serious: the action taken not from principle but from resentment of what someone else has. But envy in the thoughts of the soul is the one Simeon had lived with, the kind that produces a pleasant face and violent intentions simultaneously, that allows a man to speak peacefully to a brother while privately measuring the distance to a pit.

He knew what he was describing because he had been it.

How Envy Works From the Inside

The tradition notes that Simeon's specific case involved a distortion of perception. When he looked at Joseph, he did not see a younger brother with a gift. He saw a rival whose gifts were subtractions from his own. The coat was not given to Joseph. It was taken from Simeon. The dreams were not Joseph's experiences. They were provocations. Envy does not add a second value to the world. It converts every other person's gain into its own loss, and it does this so completely that the envier genuinely cannot see what he is doing.

This is why Simeon's confession is addressed to his children rather than to Joseph. Joseph by the time of the deathbed scene has already forgiven the brothers, has already wept over them, has already installed them in the best land of Egypt. The damage from Simeon's envy was absorbed and dissolved by someone who had every reason not to dissolve it. What Simeon wants to address is the mechanism, not the outcome. He wants to describe envy accurately enough that his children can recognize it before it reaches the stage of speaking peacefully while planning something worse.

The Angel Who Stood Opposite

The tradition also records that during Joseph's time in Egypt, when Simeon was held as a hostage at the court, the angel of envy stood opposite him and watched. The image is precise: envy is not internal to Simeon alone. It has a presence, an angelic adversary assigned to exploit the crack that was already there. The years of captivity in Egypt were, in this reading, not merely political detention. They were a kind of forced confrontation with the spirit Simeon had carried for decades.

He came out of Egypt different. The tradition does not describe a sudden conversion. It describes a slow recognition of what had been governing him. By the time he was dying, he had named it clearly enough to pass the warning to his children.

Envy and the Cure

Simeon's prescription is simple and impossible-sounding: put the love of God in your heart, and the love of what is right will follow, and envy will have no foothold. The tradition does not promise this is easy. It promises it is the only cure that works at the root level. Everything else treats symptoms. The man whose soul is fully oriented toward what God loves cannot simultaneously organize itself around the calculation of what others have that he does not.

The deathbed confession was not theater. Simeon was not performing remorse for his children's admiration. He was reporting what he had learned by living through the consequences, and the report was specific and clinical: here is what envy looks like from the inside, here is the stage where it becomes unmanageable, here is the only place it can be stopped before it reaches that stage.


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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 2:73Legends of the Jews

One that even the sons of Jacob, the patriarch of the Jewish people, grappled with. These weren't just ordinary siblings. They were the ancestors of entire tribes, destined for greatness. Yet, they were as susceptible to jealousy and resentment as we are.

It's from the testament of one of those sons, Simeon, that we get a glimpse into this very human drama. He addresses his own children, urging them to cultivate love and actively weed out hatred from their hearts – "in word and deed and the thoughts of the soul." Why this urgent plea? Because Simeon knew firsthand the destructive power of envy. He confesses, "For I spake peaceably with Joseph in the presence of our father, but when I went out from before him, the spirit of hatred darkened my understanding, and stirred up my soul to murder him." He admits to harboring murderous thoughts towards his own brother! Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, captures this internal struggle vividly.

Can you imagine the weight of that confession? The honesty? Simeon doesn't excuse his feelings. He owns them. He understands the insidious nature of envy, how it can twist your perception and lead you down a dark path.

So, what's his antidote? Love. Not just any love, but a deliberate, active love. A love that manifests in our words, our actions, and even our thoughts. It's a call to actively combat those negative feelings with positive ones.

And the advice doesn't stop there. Simeon offers practical guidance for dealing with envy when we see others succeeding. "If you see one that hath more good fortune than you, do not grieve, but pray for him, that his happiness may be perfect." Instead of feeling diminished by someone else's success, we should actively wish them well. It’s a radical shift in perspective, isn't it? Turning envy into a blessing.

Even more challenging, he addresses the temptation to envy the wicked when they prosper. "And if one of the wicked even should grow rich in substance, like Esau, my father's brother, do not envy him. Wait for the end of the Lord." Esau, a figure often associated with worldly success and moral ambiguity, is used as an example. The message is clear: don't be fooled by superficial appearances. Don't envy those who may seem to have it all, especially if their success comes at the expense of their values.

Why wait for the end of the Lord? Because, ultimately, true justice and balance will prevail. Material wealth and fleeting pleasures are not the ultimate measures of success. The tzaddikim (a righteous person), the righteous ones, understand this.

Simeon's testament, as recounted in Legends of the Jews, offers a powerful lesson for us today. Envy is a natural human emotion, but it's one we must actively combat. By cultivating love, celebrating the success of others, and focusing on our own spiritual growth, we can break free from its grip. And maybe, just maybe, we can create a world where envy loses its power and love reigns supreme.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 38:3Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

The story of Simeon and Levi, found in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 38, explores just that kind of fiery zeal.

It all starts with the violation of their sister, Dinah, by Shechem. That Simeon and Levi were consumed by kinah gedolah, a great zeal, because of the immorality. They couldn't stand the thought of their sister being treated like a zonah, a harlot, as they themselves exclaimed in (Genesis 34:31).

So, what did they do? Each grabbed his sword and, The text is pretty clear: they slew all the men of Shechem. A drastic response, to say the least.

Picture their father, Jacob. He hears about this, and his reaction? Pure fear. He’s thinking about the big picture, the potential consequences. "Now all the people of the land will hear," he worries, "and they will gather together against me and smite me."

And so, Jacob does something pretty harsh. He begins to curse the wrath of his sons. As we find in (Genesis 49:7), "Cursed be their anger, for it is fierce." He even curses their swords, specifically using the Greek language, saying: "Weapons of violence are their swords" (Genesis 49:5). It's a powerful moment of parental disapproval, tinged with a sense of helplessness.

But here’s where the story takes another turn. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 38, all the kings of the earth heard about what Simeon and Levi had done. And they were terrified! They thought, "If two sons of Jacob have done all these great things, if they all band themselves together, they will be able to destroy the world."

The text then states that the dread of the Holy One, blessed be He, fell upon them. This isn't just about earthly fear; it's a divine intervention. As (Genesis 35:5) tells us, "And the terror of God was upon the cities… and they did not pursue after the sons of Jacob." In other words, divine fear kept the neighboring cities from retaliating.

So, what are we left with? A complex mix of zeal, violence, fear, and divine intervention. On one hand, we have Simeon and Levi's passionate, albeit brutal, response to injustice. On the other, we have Jacob's fear of the wider repercussions. And ultimately, we have the intervention of HaShem, God, which prevents further bloodshed.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How do we balance our own sense of justice with the potential consequences of our actions? And what role, if any, does the divine play in those moments? It's a question that continues to resonate, thousands of years after this story was first told.

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Legends of the Jews 2:16Legends of the Jews

It’s a story of family betrayal, simmering rage, and, ultimately, a hard-won path to self-control.

The drama unfolds like this: the brothers are out tending the flocks. Joseph, the favored son, has already been sold off into slavery by Judah. Simeon recounts, "When I went to Shechem to fetch ointment for the herds, and Reuben was in Dothan, where all our supplies and stores were kept, our brother Judah sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites."

Can you imagine the shock, the betrayal? Reuben, But Simeon? His reaction was different. “As for me," he says, "my wrath was enkindled against Judah, that he had let him escape alive.” It wasn't just the act of selling Joseph that enraged Simeon, but the fact that Judah hadn't finished the job, hadn't ensured Joseph wouldn't come back to haunt them.

This anger wasn't a fleeting moment. "My anger abode with me all of five months." Five months of seething, of resentment building within him. You can almost feel the weight of that anger, can't you?

But here's where the story takes an unexpected turn. Simeon continues, "But the Lord restrained me from using the power of my hands, for my right hand withered for the length of seven days." A physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. It's a powerful image, isn't it? The very tool he might have used to exact revenge, rendered useless.

What does this mean? Well, this wasn't just a random ailment. Simeon understood it as a divine intervention. "Then I knew that what had happened was for the sake of Joseph." He saw the bigger picture, the hand of God working even through this terrible situation.

And so, Simeon repents. “I repented and prayed to God to restore my hand and withhold me henceforth from all sorts of defilement, envy, and folly." He commits to a path of self-improvement. This wasn’t a quick fix. "For two years I gave myself up to fasting and the fear of God, for I perceived that redemption from jealousy could come only through the fear of God.” Two years of intense self-reflection and spiritual discipline. That's a serious commitment to change.

Simeon's story is a reminder that anger, especially within families, can be a destructive force. But it also shows us that even in the face of deep betrayal and simmering rage, there is a path toward redemption, a path that requires confronting our own flaws and seeking something higher. And sometimes, it takes a literal, physical wake-up call to get us there. What are the "withered hands" in your own life, and what are they trying to teach you?

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 43:5Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

The Jewish tradition wrestles with this question all the time, especially through the concept of teshuvah (repentance) – repentance, return. And there's a powerful story in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, chapter 43, that hits this idea head-on.

The story centers on Rabbi Simeon ben Lakish, also known as Resh Lakish. Now, Resh Lakish wasn't always a rabbi. Before he dedicated his life to Torah, he was… well, he was a bandit.

Resh Lakish and two of his buddies are holed up in the mountains, ambushing travelers, robbing them blind. A far cry from a life of religious study. But something shifts within him. What exactly sparked this change, the text doesn't say, but it tells us that Resh Lakish abandons his partners in crime.

He leaves behind the life of violence and returns to the God of his ancestors "with all his heart." He throws himself into prayer and fasting, rising early and staying up late, pouring over sacred texts. He dedicates himself to the poor, giving generously. He completely and utterly rejects his old ways.

And here's the key: he doesn't just dabble in repentance. He immerses himself in it. He dedicates the rest of his days to Torah study, to acts of kindness, to living a life of meaning. He never looks back. He never returns to his evil deeds.

The story concludes with a dramatic contrast. On the day that Resh Lakish dies, his two former partners, still plundering in the mountains, also meet their end. But where do they end up? Resh Lakish earns a place in the "treasury of the living," a symbolic reward of eternal life. His former companions, however, are consigned to the lowest depths of Sheol, the underworld.

What are we to make of this stark difference? The story, in its brevity, is actually incredibly powerful. It is teaching us about the transformative power of teshuvah. It is telling us that no matter how far someone has strayed, a genuine and complete return is possible. Resh Lakish didn't just change his actions; he changed his entire being. He transformed himself from a robber into a respected sage.

And that’s the enduring message. The past doesn’t have to define us. The capacity for change, for teshuvah, lies within each of us. Even Resh Lakish, the bandit, could become Rabbi Simeon ben Lakish, a man remembered for his wisdom and piety. It begs the question: What changes are we capable of making in our own lives?

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