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The Kings of Edom Before Israel Had a King

Eight kings ruled Edom and died before Israel ever crowned one. The throne passed from city to city, never from father to son.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. A Throne That Would Not Stay in One Family
  2. The Last King of Edom Before Israel's First
  3. The Full Procession
  4. What Israel Was Doing During All of This

A Throne That Would Not Stay in One Family

The verse sits in Genesis like a stone in a road: these are the kings who reigned in the land of Edom before any king reigned over the Israelites. Eight kings. Eight deaths. A procession of rulers in the land of Esau, chosen and buried and replaced, the throne passing not from father to son but from city to city - Bozrah, Temani, Avith, Masrekah, a river city, a place called Rehoboth in the field - while the descendants of Jacob were still a tribal federation with no throne, no palace, no royal bloodline at all.

Edom had kings when Israel had none. The first country to get there was the country descended from the firstborn who sold his birthright for soup.

The Last King of Edom Before Israel's First

The Book of Jasher names the last of the eight kings and gives him a life. His name was Saul, chosen from the city of Pethor on the river. He was young when they chose him, with beautiful eyes and a comely face, the kind of young man that communities send for when the previous king has died and they need someone who looks the part. He reigned over the children of Esau for forty years.

He outlasted every political arrangement around him. He buried the six kings who had come before him. He watched the political structures of the region shift around Edom and kept his throne while others lost theirs. He died eventually, as the list requires, and Baalhannan son of Achbor reigned after him, and then Hadar of the city of Pau, who was the last in the list.

The Full Procession

The Book of Jubilees, composed in the second century BCE and preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls, extends and fills in the Edomite kinglist with fuller genealogies and dates. It names them in careful sequence: Balaq son of Beor, then Jobab son of Zara of Boser, then Husham of the land of Teman, then Hadad son of Bedad who smote Midian, each one reigning and dying and being replaced by someone from somewhere else entirely. The Edomite kingship was not dynastic. There was no royal family. There was a position, and whoever held it was king, and when he died they found someone new.

The Jubilees account suggests that the Edomites had a coronation protocol but not a succession protocol. A king was chosen for his qualities. The throne was not heritable. This arrangement produced eight kings in what was probably several generations, a succession that kept the land governed without allowing any single family to accumulate the kind of power that would have given Edom the stability of a true dynasty.

What Israel Was Doing During All of This

While Edom was on its fifth or sixth king, the descendants of Jacob were in Egypt. They had gone down in seventy souls during Joseph's years of authority in Pharaoh's court and they had multiplied into a nation under the weight of bondage. They had no kings. They had tribal elders and then, for forty years in the wilderness, Moses. The kingship they would eventually establish - under Saul, the Benjaminite, not the Edomite - came only after judges and prophets and Samuel's reluctant anointing, centuries after Edom had already established and buried its line of city-kings.

The note in Genesis is not accidental. It marks time, the time between Jacob's grandchildren and Israel's first king, and it marks it by contrast with the nation Esau had founded. The country that got the firstborn blessing - or rather, did not get it - had a throne before the country that did. The tradition preserved the list without explanation, leaving it to later readers to decide what to do with the implication.


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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.

Jasher 69Book of Jasher

Sometimes, it's the little-known stories, the tucked-away details, that truly bring the past to life. to a snippet from the Book of Jasher, a text mentioned in the Bible itself (Joshua 10:13 and (2 Samuel 1:1)8), though the version we have today is likely a medieval work drawing on earlier traditions. Chapter 69, and it's a fascinating glimpse into power, succession, and the ever-present struggle for freedom.

So, what's happening? Well, the king of Edom has kicked the bucket after an 18-year reign. He gets buried in a temple he built for himself, But Nope. They send all the way to Pethor, "which is upon the river," to find a young man named Saul. And he wasn't just any Saul; he was a looker, with "beautiful eyes and comely aspect." Looks matter, apparently, even when choosing a king! They bring him back and crown him king in place of the former ruler, Samlah. Saul then reigns over Edom for a good forty years.

Wait, there's more! The Book of Jasher then shifts its focus back to Egypt and the plight of the Israelites. Remember Balaam, the prophet hired to curse Israel? (Numbers 22-24) Well, apparently, his advice to Pharaoh on how to deal with the Israelites didn't pan out. Instead of dwindling away, the Israelites were thriving: "fruitful, multiplied, and increased throughout the land of Egypt." So, what does Pharaoh do? He doubles down on oppression.

Here’s where it gets truly heartbreaking. Pharaoh issues a decree that no Israelite man can slack off on his daily labor. And the punishment for falling short? If a man didn't produce enough bricks or mortar, his youngest son would be taken and literally put in the place of the missing brick. Can you imagine the horror? The Book of Jasher tells us that this happened "day by day, all the days for a long period." It paints a stark picture of the brutality and desperation faced by the Israelites.

There is, however, one small glimmer of hope in this dark chapter. The tribe of Levi, from the very beginning, didn't participate in this forced labor. Why? Because, according to the Book of Jasher, "the children of Levi knew the cunning of the Egyptians." They were wise to the Egyptians' schemes from the start and somehow managed to avoid this terrible fate. What exactly was this cunning? The text doesn't elaborate here, leaving us to wonder about the details of their strategy.

What does this all mean? Chapter 69 of the Book of Jasher offers a glimpse into the political landscape and the daily lives of people caught in the crosshairs of powerful rulers. It reminds us that even in the face of immense suffering, there are always those who resist, who find ways to survive, and who, like the tribe of Levi, perhaps even manage to outsmart their oppressors. And it sets the stage for the larger story of redemption and liberation that we know is coming. The story of Exodus is indeed a evidence of the strength and resilience of the human spirit against unimaginable odds.

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Jasher 68Book of Jasher

Book of Jasher turns to Miriam's Vision.

It all starts with Miriam. Yes, Moses' sister, a prophetess in her own right. According to the Book of Jasher, "the spirit of God was upon Miriam," and she prophesied that her parents would have a son who would save Israel from Egypt. Imagine the courage it took to utter those words, to hold onto that hope in the face of such oppression!

Her father, Amram, hearing this prophecy, remarries his wife Jochebed, whom he had sent away because of Pharaoh’s decree to kill all male Hebrew children. They reunite, and soon Jochebed conceives. The Book of Jasher tells us that she gave birth after only seven months. And when he was born, their house was filled with "great light as of the light of the sun and moon." A sign, perhaps, of the extraordinary destiny that awaited him.

Joy quickly turned to fear. The Egyptians, growing ever more paranoid, were determined to wipe out the Hebrew population. The text paints a grim picture: Egyptian women would bring their babies to Hebrew homes, and when those babies cried, the hidden Hebrew infants would cry in response, revealing their presence. A terrifying game of cat and mouse, where the stakes were life and death.

For three months, Jochebed hid her son. But the risk was too great. In desperation, she makes a tevah, an “ark” or basket, out of bulrushes, waterproofed with slime and pitch. Sound familiar? It's the same word used for Noah's Ark. She places her baby inside and sets it afloat on the Nile, entrusting him to God's care.

Miriam, ever watchful, positions herself nearby to see what will become of her little brother and her prophecy. Her presence is a evidence of her faith, her courage, and her unwavering belief in a better future.

Then comes Pharaoh's daughter, Bathia. She goes to bathe in the river and spots the ark. Upon opening it, she finds the baby and is immediately moved by his cries. "This is one of the Hebrew children," she declares, defying her own father's cruel edict.

But here’s where the story gets even more interesting. According to Jasher, all the Egyptian women nearby try to nurse the baby, but he refuses. It was "from the Lord," the text explains, "in order to restore him to his mother's breast." A divine intervention, ensuring that Moses would be raised by his own family.

And who should be conveniently nearby? Miriam! She approaches Bathia and offers to find a Hebrew woman to nurse the child. Bathia agrees, and Miriam, of course, brings back Jochebed. Talk about a miraculous turn of events! Jochebed is even paid two bits of silver daily for her services.

For two years, Jochebed nurses and raises her son, instilling in him, we can imagine, the values and traditions of his people. Then, when he is old enough, she brings him to Bathia, who adopts him as her own son and names him Moses, explaining, "Because I drew him out of the water."

But that's not the only name he had! The Book of Jasher lists a whole host of names given to Moses by different family members, each reflecting their own experience and hope connected to his birth. Amram calls him Chabar, because it was for him that he reunited with his wife. Jochebed calls him Jekuthiel, because she hoped for him and God restored him to her. Miriam calls him Jered, because she went down after him to the river. Aaron calls him Abi Zanuch, because his father left his mother and returned to her on his account. Kehath, Amram's father, calls him Abigdor, because on his account did God repair the breach of the house of Jacob. The nurse calls him Abi Socho, saying, In his tabernacle was he hidden for three months. And all Israel calls him Shemaiah, son of Nethanel, for they said, In his days has God heard their cries and rescued them from their oppressors.

Imagine the significance of these names, each a thread in the tradition of his identity. They speak to the hope, the fear, the faith, and the love that surrounded his birth.

And so, Moses grows up in Pharaoh's house, among the king's children, yet forever connected to his Hebrew roots. His destiny, shaped by prophecy, courage, and divine intervention, is just beginning.

Isn't it amazing how much richness and depth these ancient texts can add to stories we think we already know? The Book of Jasher reminds us that even the most extraordinary lives often begin in the most ordinary, and precarious, of circumstances. And that even in the darkest of times, hope, faith, and a little bit of divine intervention can make all the difference.

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Book of Jubilees 39:1Book of Jubilees

We've all been there. Sometimes even the most ancient texts can feel a little… dry.

The Book of Jubilees, a fascinating text considered preserved in Ethiopian manuscript tradition but relegated to apocryphal status by many others. It's a bit of a royal roll call.

The verse reads, "And ’Adâth died, and Salman, from ’Amâsêqâ, reigned in his stead." Okay, we’re off to the races! Salman kicks the bucket, and then "Saul of Râ’abôth (by the) river, reigned in his stead."

These guys are kings of Edom, by the way. Edom, you might recall, was the land settled by Esau, Jacob's twin brother. Remember that whole birthright kerfuffle? Yeah, that Esau.

So, Saul goes, and "Ba’êlûnân, the son of Achbor, reigned in his stead." Ba’êlûnân also shuffles off this mortal coil, and then "'Adâth reigned in his stead, and the name of his wife was Maiṭabîth, the daughter of Mâṭarat, the daughter of Mêtabêdzâ’ab."

Now, why all these names? Well, genealogies were super important in the ancient world. They established lineage, legitimacy, and your place in the grand scheme of things. Knowing who your ancestors were was a big deal. It connected you to the past and gave you a claim on the future.

The Book of Jubilees is particularly interested in establishing the correct chronology of events, often disagreeing with other biblical accounts. It wants to set the record straight, as it were. And for that, you need names, dates, and a clear line of succession.

"These are the kings who reigned in the land of Edom." The text declares, bringing this mini-dynastic history to a close.

Then, almost as an afterthought, it adds: "And Jacob dwelt in the land of his father's sojournings in the land of Canaan."

A seemingly simple sentence, but it sets the stage for the next part of the narrative. While Edom has its kings, Jacob is still just sojourning, a temporary resident. He's in the land promised to his ancestors, but the promise is not yet fully realized. There's a sense of anticipation, of waiting for something more.

So, what do we take away from this brief glimpse into the Edomite monarchy? Perhaps it's a reminder that history isn't just about the big, dramatic events. It's also about the everyday lives of people, the passing of time, and the slow, steady march of generations. And sometimes, it's just about a list of names that connect us to a distant past. A past that shapes who we are today, even if we don't always remember every single name.

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Book of Jubilees 24:11Book of Jubilees

Book of Jubilees turns to Esau, Edom and the Patriarchs.

It all starts with Esau, wrestling with a dark thought: "I shall die; of what profit to me is this birthright?" for a second.

Esau, in this frame of mind, says to Jacob, "I give it to thee." A simple transaction. Not quite. Jacob, ever the pragmatist, responds, "Swear to me, this day." He wants it official. He wants it binding. And Esau, driven by his immediate feelings, swears.

Then comes the infamous pottage. Jacob gives his brother bread and pottage – a thick, stew-like dish. Esau eats his fill, and…despises his birthright. Just like that. Gone. In exchange for a bowl of something red and filling.

The Book of Jubilees goes on to explain that "for this reason was Esau's name called Edom, on account of the red pottage." Edom, meaning "red." A constant reminder of the fateful trade. It's a pretty blunt explanation, isn't it? A name forever linked to a moment of weakness.

And the consequences? Stark. "Jacob became the elder, and Esau was brought down from his dignity." The shift in power is complete.

The narrative takes a turn, mentioning the famine in the land and Isaac's decision to journey to Egypt. "And the famine was over the land, and Isaac departed to go down into Egypt in the second year of this week..." But the core of the story, the exchange between brothers, lingers.

What's so compelling about this passage from Jubilees 24 is how it lays bare the human condition. The impulsive choices we make, the things we undervalue, the long-term consequences of short-sighted decisions. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "pottage" are we trading our own birthrights for today?

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Book of Jubilees 38:19Book of Jubilees

Book of Jubilees turns to The Forgotten Kings of Edom Before Israel Had Kings.

Chapter 38 of Jubilees, in particular, offers a tantalizingly brief list of Edomite kings. It's almost like a forgotten family tree of rulers who held sway "before there reigned any king over the children of Israel." Imagine the world at that time! What were their lives like? What stories did they tell?

The text names them one after the other, a kind of ancient roll call:

“And Bâlâq, the son of Beor, reigned in Edom, and the name of his city was Danâbâ.”

Bâlâq. Danâbâ. Just the names evoke a sense of a distant, almost mythical past. We don’t know much about him, other than his name and the city he ruled. But isn't it human nature to wonder: What kind of king was Bâlâq? Was he just? Was he cruel? Was he wise?

“And Bâlâq died, and Jobab, the son of Zârâ of Bôsêr, reigned in his stead.”

Then comes Jobab, son of Zârâ, from Bôsêr. The line of succession continues, each king stepping onto the stage for a brief moment before fading back into the mists of time.

“And Jobab died, and ’Asâm, of the land of Têmân, reigned in his stead.”

Next, ’Asâm from the land of Têmân. Têmân itself is a place name that echoes through biblical literature, often associated with wisdom. Was ’Asâm known for his wisdom as well? We can only speculate.

“And ’Asâm died, and ’Adâth, the son of Barad, who slew Midian in the field of Moab, reigned in his stead, and the name of his city was Avith.”

Finally, we meet ’Adâth, son of Barad. Ah, but ’Adâth is more than just a name on a list! He's described as having "slain Midian in the field of Moab." Now that's a story! We get a hint of conflict, of battles fought and victories won. This single phrase opens up a whole world of possibilities. What led to that battle? What were the consequences?

The Book of Jubilees doesn’t tell us. These are just snippets, glimpses into a world before Israelite kings, a world with its own dramas and its own heroes. and villains, no doubt.

Why does the text include this seemingly simple list? Perhaps it's to give context, to place the history of Israel within the interplay of human civilization. Or maybe it's to remind us that even before the rise of Israel, there were other kingdoms, other peoples, with their own stories to tell.

It makes you wonder: What other forgotten histories are out there, just waiting to be rediscovered? And what can we learn from these glimpses into the past?

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