History’s oldest lie: ‘We don’t know Joseph’

Sometimes history doesn’t change with a roar, but with a shrug. Not with loud hatred, but with quiet denial. People don’t always turn against others, they simply decide to forget them.

Parshas Shemot opens with a verse that feels unsettling at best, and truthfully quite shocking: “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.”

Not a king who disliked Joseph, or one who opposed Joseph. But one who did not know Joseph.

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How could that be?

Joseph was Egypt’s hero. He saved the country from famine, reshaped its economy and elevated it to global power. These are not accomplishments one simply forgets.

The truth is that Pharaoh’s problem was not ignorance of Joseph’s résumé. Pharaoh knew exactly who Joseph was. What he chose to forget was that Joseph was a Jew.

Pharaoh chose to erase Joseph’s identity.

As long as Joseph was seen as a brilliant statesman, he could be tolerated, even admired. But once Joseph was remembered as a Jew with values, loyalty and a

spiritual mission beyond Egypt, he became inconvenient. So Pharaoh rewrote the narrative: Joseph the Jew disappeared, and with him, the legitimacy of the Jewish people.

This was not merely a failure to appreciate Joseph’s contributions to Egypt. It was an intentional denial of who Joseph truly
was.

History has seen this pattern repeat itself again and again. Jews are welcomed for what they contribute — until their Jewishness becomes too visible, too principled, or too uncomfortable. Then suddenly, society says, “We don’t know you anymore.”

A story I recently heard illustrates this painfully well. After Oct. 7, a Jewish professional noticed that colleagues who had warmly praised his work for years suddenly avoided eye contact. Nothing about his competence had changed. The one thing
that had changed: They now saw him as Jewish.

Joseph was remembered … until he was remembered as Joseph the Jew.

Pharaoh did not say, “I hate Jews”; he said, “I don’t know Joseph.” And history knows where that leads.

Once Joseph the Jew is forgotten, the Jewish people becomes vulnerable. That erasure leads directly to slavery.

That is until Moses enters the story and receives a very different message from G-d.

Years later, Moses encounters the burning bush. G-d sends him to Pharaoh, and Moses hesitates. He asks the questions any reluctant leader would ask. Then he poses a question that cuts to the core: “When they ask me Your Name, what should I
tell them?”

G-d answers: “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh” — “I will be what I will be.”

Rashi explains that G-d was telling Moses: I am with them in this suffering, and I will be with them in every future
challenge.

Not a one-time rescue or a distant historical memory, but a constant presence in their lives.

That message feels especially urgent today.

We are living in a time when Jews are again being told — explicitly and implicitly — to hide their identity, soften their visibility, or apologize for existing. Jewish students are made to feel unsafe on campuses. Israel is erased from maps. Israel’s contributions to the tech world and many other advancements are denied or “forgotten.” Jewish history is distorted or denied.

People are praised, until they are recognized as Jews.

Parshas Shemot reminds us that when the world forgets the Jew, G-d does not. When identity is challenged, G-dly presence and pride become our greatest strength.

This is not ancient history. It is today’s reality and today’s calling.

When the world forgets, we must remember. When others try to erase, we must stand taller. Our Jewish pride, our visibility, and our strength are not merely acts of defiance, but as we saw in Egypt and will see again, they are the very path to redemption. PJC

This dvar Torah is dedicated in loving memory of my dear friend and classmate, Rabbi Eli Schlanger HYD, and the other precious lives taken in Sydney, Australia, while celebrating Chanukah, openly and proudly as Jews. May their memory strengthen the message that when the world forgets, we must remember; when others try to erase Jewish identity, we stand taller. Through living proudly and visibly as Jews, we honor their legacy. We remember.

Rabbi Mendy Schapiro is the director of Chabad of Monroeville. This column is a service of the Vaad Harabonim of Greater Pittsburgh.