The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan adds a line the Torah does not spell out and that the Sages treasured. And it was when she spake with Joseph this day and the next, and he hearkened not to her to lie with her, lest with her he should be condemned in the day of the great judgment of the world to come (Genesis 39:10).
Two small phrases carry the weight. Day after day — Joseph's trial was not one dramatic moment but a slow, daily pressure, repeated over weeks or months. And the day of the great judgment of the world to come — the Targum gives us the argument inside Joseph's mind. He is not calculating whether he will be caught now. He is calculating whether he will be able to stand before the court of heaven later.
The Sages teach that the fear of the Yom ha-Din, the Great Day of Judgment, is a peculiar form of moral ballast. It is not terror; it is long vision. The olam ha-ba, the world to come, is the court where the record of a life is read aloud. Pseudo-Jonathan, compiled in the Land of Israel in the early common era, is giving Joseph that horizon. When the house is empty and the woman is pressing, a man who sees only the next hour will fall. A man who sees the next thousand years may stand.
This idea is already in the Mishnah. Know what is above you: a seeing eye, a hearing ear, and all your deeds are written in a book (Pirkei Avot 2:1). The Targum is placing that awareness in the mouth of the patriarchs' great-grandson, in the face of the oldest temptation in literature. What protects Joseph is not that he is cold, and not that he is perfect, but that his imagination reaches further than his desire.
The takeaway is portable. Every decision has two audiences — the one in the room now, and the one at the end of our life's reading. The Sages teach that the quickest way to resist the short pressure is to borrow, for a moment, the long memory.