We're diving into the Book of Jubilees, specifically chapter 46. Now, the Book of Jubilees isn't part of the standard Hebrew Bible, the Tanakh, that you'd find in most synagogues. It's considered an apocryphal or pseudepigraphal text – meaning it's of questionable or unknown authorship. But it's still a treasure trove of Jewish history and folklore. It retells the stories of Genesis and Exodus with some fascinating extra details.
And this particular detail? It's all about Jacob, Yaakov, as he’s known in Hebrew, nearing the end of his life. He's surrounded by his children, the future tribes of Israel. He knows his time is short, and he has one last, incredibly important request.
What does he ask? He commands them, not requests, commands them that when they finally leave Egypt, they must carry his bones with them.
Think about that for a moment. It wasn't enough for Jacob to be buried in Egypt, a land of exile, a land not promised to his ancestors. He wanted to be in the Promised Land, Eretz Yisrael, even in death. He wanted his bones to rest in Canaan.
But it wasn’t just a simple wish. He makes them swear an oath. A solemn, unbreakable vow regarding his bones. Why? Because he understood something profound about the future, about the tenacity of power, and about the dangers they would face.
The text tells us, "And he made them swear regarding his bones, for he knew that the Egyptians would not again bring forth and bury him in the land of Canaan." He knew the Egyptians would likely want to keep him there. Why let such an important figure, the father of a growing people, leave their grasp, even in death? He understood the Egyptians would not easily relinquish their hold on him, or his descendants.
But there's an even stranger detail tucked away in this chapter, a little historical aside. The Book of Jubilees mentions Mâkamârôn, king of Canaan. We’re told that while dwelling in the land of Assyria, Mâkamârôn fought in the valley with the king of Egypt and slew him there, and pursued after the Egyptians to the gates of ’Êrmôn.
Okay, let's unpack that. This little snippet of history, not found in the Torah itself, speaks of a battle between a Canaanite king and the king of Egypt, a battle that the Canaanite king won decisively. He even chased the fleeing Egyptians all the way to the gates of ’Êrmôn. ’Êrmôn refers to Mount Hermon, a mountain on the border between modern-day Lebanon and Syria.
Why is this detail included? It's unclear. Perhaps it's meant to illustrate the shifting powers in the region, the instability of alliances, and the ever-present threat to the Israelites' future. It could also be demonstrating that the Canaanites were once powerful and were not always subservient to Egypt. This is fascinating stuff, right? It adds layers of complexity to the familiar story, reminding us that history is never simple.
Jacob’s command, his children’s oath, the bones waiting patiently… it all points to a yearning for belonging, a deep-seated connection to the land promised to their ancestors. It’s a powerful reminder that even in exile, even in death, the dream of return can endure.
And it makes you wonder, what promises are we holding onto, promises that might take generations to fulfill? What bones are we carrying, both literally and figuratively, as we journey toward our own promised lands?