The Story of Joseph’s Angel
You Are What You Wear
Tachat ha-Shemesh – Under the Sun
Weekly Torah Insights from Miami
We have many categories of angels. Some are universal like Gabriel and Uriel. We obscure their angelic nature by referring to them as Gravity and Electromagnetism, but by any name they are omnipresent, constant in their mission, and without them the natural world could not exist.
We also have guardian angels. Each has a unique name and a unique mission. They are assigned to every element of creation. As Rabbi Shimon says in Midrash Rabbah (Gen. 10:6): There is not a single blade of grass that does not have an angel in the heavens that influences it and says to it: ‘Grow.’ Because guardian angels are constantly with us, they are most often taken for granted and their presence is obscured.
Sometimes, as in the narrative of Jacob, guardian angels are assigned for each stage of a person’s life. Sometimes, as in the case of Joseph, a guardian angel might be assigned at birth and remain on station throughout a lifetime. Following is a tale of such an angel and such a lifetime.
It is worth noting that we can create angels. We can initiate them. A story, a tale, a piece of music, a work of art may become an angel. Each has its impact on the world, sometimes miniscule, sometimes enduring for generations. Even the angel we initiate has an angel that inspired it. We call that angel a muse, and because we have a seemingly rational name for it, its angelic nature is obscured. Only after a lifetime of experience is the presence of angels likely to become salient.
This tale is offered with gratitude to my angels.
Joseph’s Tailor
So, young master, what would you like? Your father said you could have anything you want.”
“A special coat,” Joseph said. “Something worthy of being second-in-command to my father. Something with stripes and colors. With sleeves that flair toward the wrist. A collar like this to frame my hair. Something to stop the girls in their tracks, to fill the guys with envy.”
“I know just the thing.”
The tailor took Joseph’s measurements. Two fittings, and the coat was done.
“A coat like this,” the tailor said, “will be the envy of all who see it. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
Joseph was sure.
That was the coat Joseph wore when he traveled north to check on his brothers at his father’s request. That was the coat his brothers stripped from him before they threw him into the pit. That was the bloodied coat the brothers set before their father, the coat that caused Jacob to rend his clothes, presuming his beloved Joseph had been torn by beasts in the field.
#
Sold into slavery, acquired by Potiphar to be in charge of his household, Joseph needed appropriate clothes. Potiphar sent him to the finest tailor in all of Egypt.
“So, young master, what would you like? In whose house will you be serving?”
“Do I know you? Have we met?”
“Have you been to Cairo before?”
“My first time. I need a jacket worthy of being second-in-command in a cabinet minister’s home. A steward’s jacket, but something with style. Suitable for formal occasions, but something I can wear daily. Athletic cut, please, to show me off well.”
“I know just the thing.”
The tailor took Joseph’s measurements. Two fittings, and the jacket was done.
“A jacket like this, and every woman will look at you twice. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
Joseph was sure.
That was the coat he left in the hands of Potiphar’s wife when she attempted to seduce him. That was the coat presented as evidence that landed Joseph in prison.
#
“What size? Small, medium, or large?”
“Do I know you? Have we met before?”
“Have you ever been in jail? Medium. You’re a medium.”
“Do you have anything less coarse?”
“You think you get Egyptian cotton in an Egyptian prison? You’ll take what you get or wear nothing at all.”
Drab fabric. Drab colors.
The tailor watched him turn before the mirror. “You think you look good? If so, it’s not the clothes, that’s for sure. This is one place clothes don’t make the man.”
#
Four years passed before Joseph saw the tailor again. Four years in confinement, learning to appreciate the simple elements that sustained life, for the simple elements were all he had. A crust of bread. A cup of water. An occasional word with a prisoner or guard.
The words were few. He cherished them, both those he heard and those he spoke. He learned to shape his words, refine them, so they rose up from the dungeon floor and elevated his surroundings. The warden heard of him, brought him to his office, raised him to second-in-command of the entire prison compound.
“So, what can I get for you?” the tailor asked.
“I remember you from before,” Joseph said. “You’re still here.”
“You’re the one who got the promotion, not me. What should the second-in-command of a prison be wearing?”
Joseph fingered his worn-through clothes. “If these are beyond repair, perhaps you could replace them with the same. Size medium.”
“Size medium,” the tailor said, taking a uniform off the rack. “You sure you don’t want something finer?”
“This is fine,” Joseph said.
Another four years would pass before he saw the tailor again.
#
Joseph continued to cherish words. He learned to hear the words behind the words and lift words from great depth. Prisoners, guards, even officers began to confide in him. As second-in-command he supervised state prisoners who had offended those in high government office. They shared with Joseph their deepest thoughts, their gravest concerns, their profound dreams. Joseph learned from them the intricacies of the government of Egypt, for they withheld nothing from him.
One, the Minister of the Interior, returned to government service as Joseph had foretold from a dream. The minister promised to speak on Joseph’s behalf. But two years passed before Joseph was summoned to appear before Pharaoh.
“You can’t go looking like that,” the tailor said. “What would you like to wear?”
“What’s the simplest thing I can wear and not be offensive to Pharaoh?”
“All I have are the clothes prisoners have left behind. Here’s a minister’s robe, a merchant’s jacket, a servant’s tunic.”
“The servant’s tunic,” Joseph said.
“Not exactly a coat of many colors.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Just that it fits the person you’ve become quite nicely. When will I see you again?”
“Four years seems likely,” Joseph said.
“Four days, more likely,” the tailor said, but Joseph did not hear him.
Three days Joseph waited. The fourth day he was brought before Pharaoh.
“So, you’re the interpreter of dreams,” Pharaoh said. “Let’s see what you do with these.”
Pharaoh spoke his dreams. Joseph responded with words, no more than necessary, each weighed for substance and truth. Pharaoh took the measure of the man before him, quizzed him on matters of government. Joseph responded to everything, honestly and accurately.
“I’ve never before found such a man,” he announced. He elevated Joseph to second-in-command in all of Egypt and summoned the royal tailor to dress him properly.
“I’ve seen you before,” Joseph said. “In prison four days ago. Are you that one?”
“I’m just a simple soul,” the tailor said. “What would you like? In whose house will you be serving?”
“The house of . . . I’m sure you’ve asked me this before. I’ll be serving in the house of Pharaoh. Second-in-command. I have no idea what I should wear. I leave it in your hands.”
The tailor took Joseph’s measurements. Two fittings, and the clothes were done.
#
Joseph served Pharaoh through years of plenty and years of famine. He reconciled himself with his family and was blessed to be with his father through his old age. After a great many years, Joseph fell ill. His life neared its end.
He summoned the tailor.
“So, master, what would you like? In whose house will you be serving?”
Joseph smiled. “In the house of my Master,” he said. “What should I be wearing?”
“Leave it to me,” the tailor said. He measured Joseph and sewed the shrouds.
When Joseph died, the tailor himself wrapped the shrouds around the body, a perfect fit, the finest of Egyptian cotton.
“Just right for where you are going,” the tailor said, “for there you will also be second-in-command.”
The National Havurah Committee (NHC) is a network of diverse individuals and communities dedicated to Jewish living and learning, community building, and tikkun olam (repairing the world). For more than 40 years, the NHC has helped Jews across North America envision a joyful grassroots Judaism. The NHC is nondenominational, multigenerational, egalitarian, and volunteer-run.