It’s a theme that runs deep in Jewish tradition, especially when it comes to our most righteous figures.
According to Legends of the Jews, even Jacob, after years of hardship, thought he could finally rest. But no. As the story goes, Satan himself argued before God: "Is it not enough that the future world is set apart for the pious? What right have they to enjoy this world, besides?" The result? The devastating loss of Joseph.
Ginzberg tells us that Jacob felt his life outside the Holy Land was joyless. Only the time spent teaching others about God, like his ancestors Abraham and Isaac, felt truly worthwhile. And this period of happiness, after returning to his father's house, lasted a mere eight years before Joseph was taken away. Can you imagine the heartbreak?
But here’s the thing: Jacob's willingness to endure hardship in Laban's house? It was all for Joseph. In fact, the blessing of a "quiver full" of children was because of Joseph's merits. Even the splitting of the Red Sea and the Jordan River for the Israelites is seen as a reward for Joseph's piety! Talk about a weighty legacy.
What made Joseph so special? Well, he resembled Jacob most closely, both in appearance and in character. Jacob passed down to Joseph the wisdom he'd received from his teachers, Shem and Eber, ancient figures linking them to the earliest generations after the flood.
And the parallels between father and son are striking. Ginzberg masterfully lays them out: Joseph's mother, like Jacob's, struggled to conceive. Both were born circumcised. Both were shepherds. Both served for the sake of a woman (think of Jacob and Rachel, and Joseph and Potiphar's wife... more on that later). The list goes on and on. According to the Legends of the Jews, both appropriated the birthright of an older brother (though Joseph’s was more symbolic), were hated by their brothers, and were the favorite son. Both lived in foreign lands, served masters who were blessed because of them, and were accompanied by angels.
Even their fates mirrored each other: dreams, famine relief in Egypt, promises to be buried in the Holy Land, death and embalming in Egypt, and eventual reburial in the land of their ancestors. Jacob provided for Joseph for seventeen years, and Joseph returned the favor, providing for Jacob for the same amount of time.
But Joseph wasn't just a carbon copy of his father. We learn that until the age of seventeen, Joseph was a dedicated student at the Bet ha-Midrash – the house of study. He became so learned that he could teach his brothers Halakot (Jewish laws) he heard from Jacob, essentially becoming their teacher. He offered them guidance, becoming a favorite of the sons of the handmaids, who embraced him warmly.
However, Joseph was also a bit… vain. The Legends of the Jews describes him painting his eyes, carefully styling his hair, and walking with a mincing step. But these youthful foibles were nothing compared to his habit of bringing bad reports about his brothers to Jacob. He accused them of mistreating animals, lusting after Canaanite women, and disrespecting the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, calling them slaves.
And here’s where the story takes a darker turn. These accusations, whether true or not, had consequences. Joseph was sold into slavery because he accused his brothers of calling others slaves, and Potiphar's wife lusted after him because he accused his brothers of lusting. It’s a stark example of "measure for measure," the idea that our actions often come back to us in unexpected ways.
The Legends of the Jews even points out the irony: even as the brothers plotted against Joseph, they meticulously followed the ritual slaughter laws when killing a goat, using its blood to stain Joseph’s coat. It highlights the complex, often contradictory nature of human behavior.
So, what do we take away from this intricate tapestry of a story? It’s a reminder that even the most righteous among us face trials, that legacies are complex and multi-layered, and that our actions, both good and bad, have far-reaching consequences. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a call to look a little closer at our own lives, to see the echoes of our ancestors and the potential for both greatness and failure within ourselves.