The Torah itself doesn't dwell on it. But the ancient rabbis, they loved to fill in the gaps, to imagine the "what ifs" and the "how comes" of our sacred stories. And in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval text, we get a startling answer.
They sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. Okay, we know that part. But then, this text tells us, each brother took two pieces of silver and bought… shoes.
Shoes?
It sounds almost absurd, doesn't it? Here they are, committing this terrible act, betraying their brother, shattering their father's heart… and they spend the blood money on footwear? The text immediately connects this to the prophet Amos (2:6): "Thus saith the Lord… Because they have sold the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes." It’s a stark image. The prophet is condemning Israel for social injustice, for exploiting the poor. And here, the brothers’ actions are directly linked to that very sin. Joseph, the righteous one, sold for the price of… shoes.
What are we to make of this? Is it simply a literal explanation of what happened to the money? Or is there something deeper at play?
Perhaps the rabbis are trying to highlight the brothers' callousness. Maybe it's about showing us how easily they justified their actions, how quickly they moved on, literally walking away from their guilt. Shoes, after all, are about moving forward.
Then there's the question of their oath. They were terrified that Reuben, the eldest, would reveal their secret. But he wasn’t present when they sold Joseph. Judah pointed out a cherem – a ban or oath – requires ten adult males to be valid. So, what did they do?
Here’s where it gets really interesting. The text says they "associated the Omnipresent with them and proclaimed the ban." Wow. They brought God into their conspiracy. They used the divine name to seal their lips, to ensure that their terrible secret would be kept. It’s a chilling detail, isn’t it? It underscores the depth of their depravity, their willingness to manipulate even the most sacred things to protect themselves.
It’s a disturbing picture. They exploit their brother, profit from his suffering, and then invoke God to cover their tracks. The story of Joseph is, on the surface, a story of redemption and reconciliation. But texts like this remind us of the darkness that lurks beneath the surface, the moral compromises that people make, and the way we sometimes try to drag the divine into our own messy, flawed humanity.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we try to justify our own actions, to rationalize our choices, even when we know, deep down, that they're wrong? And how often do we, perhaps unconsciously, try to enlist God in our own self-deception? The story of Joseph's brothers, it turns out, is not just a story about them. It's a story about us too.