Previously on the Chosen People.
Do not fear the unknown. I am your God, am the God of your father. Do not fear going down to Egypt, For there I will make you a great nation. I will go before you, and I will also bring you back up again when the time comes, and when it is time for you to depart from this world, twill be Joseph who closes your eyes.
If I have found any favor in your sight, you will deal kindly and honestly with me. Do not bury me in Egypt. I don't want monuments. Ah, I don't want a palace. My dead body's roten.
No. No, let me lie with my fathers.
Place me in the hills beside Abraham and Isaac.
I will see it done.
As the shadow of death looms. Can a heart, once broken by betrayal, find the strength to forgive the shallow? My friends, from here in the holy land of Israel, Amya l Exstein with the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, and welcome to the Chosen People. In the final chapter of Genesis, we encounter Joseph, the Favored Son. Now we're ruler in Egypt, facing his brothers, the very ones who betrayed him. Their father Jacob has died, and fear fills
the brother's hearts. They worry Joseph will seek vengeance. Yet within this tension lies the potential for profound transformation. What does it mean to forgive? To move beyond betrayal and embrace healing? Can love triumph over fear? Let's ponder these questions and prepare our hearts to witness a tale of mercy that echoes through the ages.
Joseph buried his face in his father's hand. It was still warm, but only for a moment before the coolness of death came upon his body. Tears of agony trailed down Joseph's face. He kissed his father on the forehead, then called for Net in the other room.
Net come in at once, Yes, suffit not, Pania, send for the physicians and have them in balm my father, spare no expense. I want him to receive the highest honor that Egypt can give.
It will take forty days, my lord. The embalming is a lengthy process.
Very well. After that is complete, the nation will weep for seventy days of mourning, according to tradition.
My lord, a royal procession. Do you think that's wise. Most Egyptian nobles don't receive seventy days. Barow himself receives seventy two.
If you knew my forefathers and the god they served, you would not ask me such things. Go and fetch the priests and physicians.
The chamber was filled with the acrid scent of natron and resins, mingling with the faint trace of incense that clung to the air. In the heart of the temple, under the vigilant gaze of Anubis's stone effigy lay the body of Jacob. Joseph stood watchful and silent as the priests of Anubis worked with methodical precision, their hands steady and skilled, weaving the ancient magic of their craft. They drained the old man's lifeblood, replacing it with a concoction
of sacred oils and preserving agents. Each incision, each careful wrapping of linen, was a ritual unto itself, a dance of death and reverence that spoke to centuries of tradition. The mummification process was an art demanding the balance of scientific exactitude and spiritual devotion. The embalming took forty days, a span during which the lamentations of the people became a constant undertone. For Jacob had not been merely a
foreign patriarch. He had come to be respected, his presence a bridge between the proud sons of Egypt and the wandering tribes of Canaan. As the days stretched into weeks, Egypt mourned from the sun drenched Nile to the shadowed temples of Thebes. The people dressed in the colors of sorrow. The mourning rites extended beyond the sacred chamber, beyond the
reach of the palace. Seventy days of lamentation followed a time decreed by Pharaoh himself, for such was the honor shown to Joseph and his father by the river Nile. Men and women gathered in throngs, their cries as symphony of grief. Professional mourners led the dirges, their voices rising and falling like the very breath of the gods. The Lamb's great and humble alike joined in the solemn observance, their faces streaked with tears and dust. During this time,
Joseph was a figure both of strength and vulnerability. He moved through rituals with the gravity of a man bearing the weight of two worlds. His brothers strode behind him garments black faces, as still as the tombs looming in the back drop. As the embalmers completed their task, wrapping Jacob in fine linen, amulets and charms nestled against the aged skin to protect him in the after life. And so with a hard bound in sorrow and duty, he prepared for the journey back to Canaan to lay his
father to rest in the land of his forefathers. As was promised, Joseph stepped across the marble stone steps rising out of the lily pond. Beyond the pond was an archway adorned with fragrant flowers, jasmine and marius. The household of Pharaoh was a world within a world. The gardens leading up to his estate were filled with exotic birds. Antelopes adorned with spiraling horns reaching heaven, grazed along the grass underneath the shadows of stone monuments, fixtures of past pharaohs.
No matter how much Joseph visited, he couldn't quite get used to its opulence. The doors always opened for Joseph. He never needed to announce himself or his business. He was Pharaoh's hands and feet, the scepter by which justice and wisdom were enacted. The halls were thick with the smell of roasted pine nuts and wine pressed with figs and dates. A cup was placed in Joseph's hand, and a small throne was brought in for him to sit opposite Pharaoh. His entire household was present at the table.
His sons, daughters, wives, and cousins. Each had subtle disdain for Joseph hidden behind their noble eyes and regal chins. Joseph wondered what would become of his family once this pharaoh had passed and his son took his place, but that was a matter for another time.
Zavarnath, pinea, have the songs of the men have ceased? How is your family faring after your father's death?
The entire nation has honored me and my father. I am very grateful, Lord Pharaoh.
That is not why you've come, though, is it?
You are as wise? This is the stars, Lord Pharaoh, before your household. I have come with a request.
Speak.
If I have found favor in your eyes, please allow me to leave the country and go into the land of my father. He made me swear to him that I would bury him there with his father and grandfather. I will return swiftly after this is done.
The last time you were in that land, you were bound as a slave. I would think you wouldn't want to return there. My father made me swear, Lord Pharaoh, I was bound as a slave when I left. Now I am bound to honor to return honor you are Zaphnath Panaia. Honor is bound to you, not you to honor. But I will grant your request. Since your father made you swear, go up to Canaan.
My gratitude is as vast as the sea of Reed's Lord, pharaohar.
Joseph bowed and turned to leave, But before he could exit the great halls, Pharaoh stopped him. His low, growling voice echoed like the purs of a lion.
Zavoneth Peneia, Your God has delivered this nation. That is why I allow such grace. I have allowed processions of mourning to fill my streets. The shores of the Nile, a testament to my glory, were host to choirs singing songs about your father. When you return, tread.
Lightly, Joseph dipped his head and turned. He knew what Pharaoh meant. He had been a slave long enough to understand at all costs, Joseph had to ensure his family did not pose a threat to Pharaoh. The journey from Egypt to the land of Canaan was one of both grandeur and melancholy. The con stretched like a river of sorrow through the arid plains and rolling dunes. Chariots and horsemen of Egypt accompanied them, a formidable escort of warriors
and servants, their armor glinting in the sunlight. As they traveled, the landscape shifted from the fertile banks of the Nile, teeming with life and verdant fields, to the stark, austere beauty of the desert. The sands whispered beneath their feet. Abraham traversed this same path, up and down, in both victory and defeat. Joseph thought about the last time he had traversed this desert. He was bound in rope, feet
scraping against the jagged path below. He never thought he'd return, Yet here he was, walking the path of his great grandfather, bringing riches to Canaan.
Lost in your dreams again, Joseph, always, it isn't on me that this journey must be hard for you. It is more than you'll ever know. I pray your forgiveness and yours, Joseph, even though our father has passed.
Joseph said nothing. He hopped on to one of his chariots and darted to the front. Worries squeezed his heart with a steel grip. With Jacob gone, would Joseph's mercy remain? The sun beat down relentlessly, Yet the procession moved with unwavering resolve, driven by duty and the sacred promise Joseph had made to his father. Upon reaching the threshing floor of Atad, near the Jordan, they halted. It was a place of ancient significance, where the patriarchs had often communed
with the divine. Here the company made camp, and the rights of mourning intensified. For seven days, the sons of Jacob lamented, their voices, rising in a keening whale that echoed through the hills. The sound was one of profound loss and reverence, a tribute to the man who had shaped their lives. The Canaanites, seeing the grandeur and the depth of the morning, murmured amongst themselves. Awed by the sight, they named the place able miss Raem the mourning of Egypt,
for the display was unlike any they had witnessed. The blending of cultures, the reverence of the Egyptians, mingled with the ancient traditions of Jacob's descendants, created a spectacle that would be remembered for generations. When the days of morning were complete, Joseph gave the signal, and the procession moved once more. The land of Canaan rose before them, its hills and valleys a patchwork of history and memory. They came to the cave of the field of Machpela, the
burial place of Abraham, Isaac, and now Jacob. The cave bought by Abraham from Efron the Hittite, was a place of sacred memory, hallowed by the bones of their ancestors.
The last time we were here, we were burying our mother.
I still can't believe he wanted to be buried next to her.
With reverence, the sons of Israel lay Jacob to rest in the tomb, placing his embalmed body beside Leah. The air within the cave was cool and still filled with the presence of the past. As they sealed the entrance, a sense of finality settled upon the company the promise had been fulfilled, and the patriarch had been laid to rest among his forbears. Joseph and his brothers lingered for a time, offering prayers and sacrifices, their hearts heavy with
grief and gratitude. As the sun set over the land of Canaan, casting long shadows over the tomb, they turned their faces to the camp they once called home. The ghosts of their past could be seen there, images of them as children playing around the well and chasing sheep through the valley. The brothers scaled down the hills and settled there for the night. A large fire billowed in the center. Joseph sat among his brothers but said nothing all night. His eyes were fixed on the stars above.
Joseph was searching for something in them. He yearned for closure. The sons of Israel stared at one another, worried, creasing upwards on their boughs. They took his silence as disdain.
Now that Father is dead, Joseph may want to pay us back for the evil we've done to him.
He would be justified him killing all of us from what we did.
One of Father's dying wishes is that Joseph would show us mercy.
Maybe he won't kill us, but he could have us thrown in prison, or leave us here in Canaan, away from our families. At least that's what I would do if I were him.
Joseph is not the brute you are.
Same.
We don't know who he really is, Judah. He's an Egyptian lord who knows what he's capable of.
Now I'm too old to sit for too long wondering, I'll ask him.
Reuben stood to his feet and marched to Joseph. He bent to knee with fists to the dust.
Your father gave his wishes before he died, that you would spare us for the wrong we've committed against you. So here I am on his behalf and mine, asking that you would forgive the transgressions of your brothers. We have done a great evil again, We've caused you to suffer beyond imagination. Please forgive us, forgive me. We are your servants and at your mercy.
Joseph looked at Reuben, who was face first in the dirt, the same dirt he had been shoved into as a child. Joseph scanned the faces of his brothers. The fire illuminated genuine worry on their faces. Joseph shook his head and stood. He placed a hand on Reuben's head under the same canopy of stars where Abraham once stood. Hearing the promises of God Almighty, Joseph spoke to.
Them, Am I God, that I would determine your fate? No, no, do not shear.
Joseph's tears shimmered in the firelight. He shook his head, finally understanding what he was wanting this whole time. Being back in Canaan, the place of his betrayal, brought forth the rest of Joseph's sorrow and anger. It spilled out of him in tears and fell to the dead.
What you did was evil, and you meant it to be evil. There is no mistaking it. Brothers. You wanted to harm me, you wanted me dead. But what you meant for evil, God meant for good. He took me away from here so I could rise and save you all. Don't fear for your lives. Don't worry about your children. I will provide for you. I will protect your little ones. As long as I breathe, I accept the role God has given me as your redeemer.
Years passed, and the House of Joseph flourished in the land of Egypt. The land was at tapestry of life and prosperity, the fields rich with grain, and the rivers teeming with fish. The shadows of time crept inexorably forward. Joseph, once a beacon of youth and vigor, now bore the marks of age. His hair, once as vibrant as the fields of grain, had turned to silver. In the twilight of his years. Joseph gathered his family around him, the
sons of Israel, now numerous and strong. Most of his brothers had passed, but their children and grandchildren were vast in number, multiplying every year. Their faces reflected both the legacy of Jacob and the promise of the future. They stood in the House of Joseph, a grand abode, filled with memories and the echoes of a life lived in
service to both Pharaoh and family. His eyes still sharp with the fire of his spirit, scared, and the faces of his kin, he saw their sorrow, their unspoken fears, and their steadfast determination. Joseph, his voice steady yet tinged with the frailty of age, spoke to his brethren.
I am about to die, but God will surely come to your aid and take you up out of this land to the land he promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Swear to me that you will carry my bones up from this place when God visits you. When you return to the land promised to us, take me with you.
The oath was taken, the promise sealed with the weight of generations. The House of Israel, bound by their word, knew that this was not merely a request, but a sacred duty, a link in the chain of their covenant with the Almighty. Joseph's dazed dwindled, and as the shadows lengthened, he looked upon the land of Egypt with a mixture of gratitude and longing. It began as a prison, a nation of damnation. Then it was a crucible of his destiny, but his heart, like that of his father before him,
yearned for the land promised to his ancestors. When Joseph finally breathed his last, the silence that followed was profound. His passing was not just the end of a man, but the closing of a chapter. The embalmers, skilled in their ancient rites, prepared his body with the same reverence that had been shown to Jacob. The process was intricate, a blend of science and sacred tradition, ensuring that Joseph would be preserved for the journey he had been promised.
He was placed in a coffin, an enduring symbol of both his status and the faith that he had carried throughout his life. The coffin stood as a silent sentinel, a reminder to his descendants of the promise they had made. The years turned into decades, the decades into centuries, the sons of Israel multiplied, their numbers, growing vast, their strength formidable, Yet always in the recesses of their homes and the chambers of their hearts, the coffin of Joseph stood as
a testament to their heritage and their hope. They knew that one day, when the time was right, they would rise and return to the land of their forefathers, carrying with them the bones of the man who had saved them in their time of need. And so Joseph, though his body lay in the land of Egypt, remained forever bound to the promise of Canaan. His legacy lived in the hearts of his people a beacon, guiding them through
the corridors of history toward their destiny. As the twelve sons of Jacob departed from this life and new generations sprouted from their branches, so did the line of Pharaoh, the king who once considered Joseph a brother and the Hebrews his kin passed. His son took the throne, vaguely remembering the promises made to Israel. But when his son came after him, the promises eroded into whispers. Soon the name of Joseph was forgotten. In its place the legacy of Pharaohs, the image of Ra, the.
Might of the Nile.
The storehouses were replaced with monuments to their greatness, and the children of Israel were no longer favored.
In the land.
Wow, the grand finale of fitting into a long and winding road, Joseph's journey from the pit to the palace, and now this moment of profound closure. Joseph, who once wore a coat of many colors, now draped in garments of a ruler. And yet he speaks with the heart softened by years by dreams, by God's hand guiding him through the darkness into light. Am I in the place
of God. He asks a question that echoes through time, reminding us of our own places and our own roles in this grand story, God intended it for good, Joseph declares. In the previous stories of Joseph's life, we've often focused on the actions taken in each one. But as we finished this story, I'd like to look at Joseph's words, specifically Joseph's last words. I'm going to read them to
you now, from verse twenty four and twenty five. Then Joseph said to his brothers, I'm about to die, but God will surely come to your aid and take you up on this land, to the land that he promised an oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and Joseph made the Israelites swear an oath and said, God will surely come to your aid, and then you must carry my bones up from this place.
End quote.
The Bible ends Genesis first with Jacob's blessing to all of his sons, and then with Joseph in evoking God's promise to bring the Israelites out of slavery and into the promised land. And it's these two themes that have directed the chosen people since Bible times, God's infinite blessings and the promise of returning to the Holy Land where I'm talking to you from right now. And with these words, Joseph gives his children very specific instructions regards his burial.
But instead of asking to be buried in Canaan, like his father Jacob did, Joseph tells his children to bury him in Egypt and then to bring his remains to Canan only when the entire nation left Egypt. Joseph'strectif served as a powerful message to the generations of Israelites who
would live their entire lives in Egypt. Joseph knew that, just as he had done, the Israelites would feel like strangers in Egypt, and they would long to return to their homeland at first, but eventually the Israelites would adapt to their new home, and then they would actually find it hard to leave. We get used to every situation, don't we. We adapt to our surroundings. No, that was Joseph's fear. He didn't want his people to adapt to life in Egypt. He wanted them to remember always that
they were destined to go home to Israel. So by being buried in Egypt while making his descendants promise to move his remains in the future. Joseph made sure that the Chosen People always would remember that Egypt was not home. Joseph's grave became a point of clarity for the Jewish people because it was temporary, it kept them focused on the future and on their ultimate goal of returning to their home, to the Holy Land, to Israel, where I'm speaking to you from right now. Genesis fifty is more
than a family's final farewell. It's the finale of a foundational narrative, but it's just the prelude to a grander saga, a drama that spans millennia. In Joseph's dying wish, we see a glimpse of a future, hope that he will not be buried in the sands of Egypt, but.
That he'll rise.
His bones will rise, carried by the children of his way towards a promised land. It's here in this last chapter of Genesis that we uncover one of the deepest truths that sometimes the end is just the beginning. From the dust of Egypt to the foot of Sinai, from the wandering in the wilderness to the walls of Jericho. Joseph's story reminds us that every ending is a beginning to God's ultimate plan and a promise that God is
with us even in the darkest valleys. Genesis points us forward to a future brimming with hope and restoration, to a world where the story of Joseph intersects with our own lives, where we too carry the promise of redemption in our hearts. To speak more on this as our good friend, Bishop Lanier.
Thank you so much.
Child.
Well, here we are in this final chapter of the first book of the Bible, the first book of Toron, the Book of Genesis, book of beginnings, and it's our final conversation in this extraordinary life of our Joseph. You know, I suppose that coat of many colors, as we've come to call it, is really quite symbolic of his remarkable life,
isn't it. There are there are moments of brilliant and the requieter moments of blending, and the more painful moments of brokenness with his brothers, and then there are the blessed moments when God restores and revives see him. Can I say this in closing to you, to me, to us, what you and I do with the greatest betrayals suffered in our lives, will greatly determine the measure of the greatest blessings in our lives. Sure, you can sit alone on the drum, if that's what you choose, or you
can be celebrated by other people. We just have to learn how to navigate the glory of the Lord and to discern the hand of Heaven in the midst of us. And when we can do this, everything can be restored, like we see in the life of Joseph. And even more. You'll recall there were thirteen of them. There was a father, Jacob,
and twelve sons. But in time there's going to be seventy come knocking on the door, and there'll be food in the famine, and there'll be wealth in the want, and soon a ghostan will appear, and there'll be this moment when Jacob not only lays his hand on his son Joseph, but on his grandsons. So generations these trans will be counted among the sons, with tribes and an inheritance beyond their position. But this is what you.
And I must know.
You're so much more than the coat they stole from you. You've got to learn to live with what you know, and even more sometimes with what we don't know. Please don't lose yourself in the accusations of another. They can steal your coat and try to use it as evidence, but they can't prove something that never happened. So just go to your cell in peace and wait on the Lord. And as God promotes you and blesses you, use that coat of privilege to bless not the blame. You got
a right to get vengeance, that didn't make it right. Instead, this is what I'm asking think generationally, speak redemptively. I aked in the covenant way for you. See, those can remain your kidnappers, or they can return as.
Brothers.
Your father can remain dead to you, or you can see his face once more. You can embrace your Benjamin or remain oblivious to him. There's a time for disguising and the time for disclosing, both for the sake of restoration.
We all have a choice when we encounter an ending, when we're fired from a job or a relationship that comes to an end. We could choose to believe that it's the end and be sad, or that it's the beginning. Of another story, we can choose that it's closer to what God ultimately has destined to us. The Jewish people have a beautiful custom that I want to share with you.
Each week when the Bible the Torah is read in synagogue, when we complete one of the five Books of Moses, the whole congregation calls out three Hebrew words, hazak hazak venitrazikh, And so the person who's reading from the Torah says the last words of one of the five books of Moses, and then everyone in the congregation answers loudly with these three words. I'm going to say it again, razak razakh venitraseik. It means be strong, be strong, and we shall be
strengthened together. Because we've just ended our study in the Book of Genesis, I'd like to end this episode with those three words. Razakrasak venitrazik, be strong, be strong, and we shall be strengthened together. Todain Rabah, my friends, thank you so much for listening and for joining me in this journey so far. We have so many more stories to share and lessons to learn in our Bible study. Together as God's chosen people, makes us all so much stronger.
So stay tuned, and let's move on to the next book. And let's move on to the second of five Books of Moses.
You can listen to The Chosen People with the Isle Eckstein add free by downloading and subscribing to the pray dot Com app today. This Prey dot Com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Gattina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabarger and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of The Chosen People with Yil Eckstein,
edited by Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Coltofianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith, written by Bree Rosalie and Aaron Salvato. Special thanks to Bishop Paul Lanier, Robin van Ettin, kayleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, and the team
at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. You can hear more Prey dot Com productions on the Prey dot Com app available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed The Chosen People with Yile Eckstein, please rate and leave a review.