The Book of Exodus begins with the statement that there was a new Pharaoh who did not know Joseph. Basically, he was denying Egyptian history. This is what those who wish to do evil do. They deny their own history when it does not suit their plans.
Parashat Shemot – “The Pharaoh Who Did Not Know Yosef”
At the very beginning of this week’s parashah, the Torah tells us: “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Yosef.”
That single phrase raises a major question among the commentators. Who exactly was this Pharaoh?
Was he a completely new ruler from a new dynasty?
Was he the son of the previous Pharaoh?
Or was he the very same Pharaoh who knew Yosef well—but chose to erase him from memory?
Whichever answer we accept, the message is the same: this Pharaoh denied Egypt’s own history. He denied that there had ever been a man named Yosef—someone who saved the entire country from famine, stabilized the economy, and brought Egypt prosperity.
This kind of historical denial is not unique. Totalitarian regimes throughout history have always erased facts that do not fit their narrative. Think of the Soviet Union, where people were literally removed from photographs when they fell out of favor. There’s a famous image of Stalin originally standing next to Trotsky—until Trotsky was erased. The editors forgot one detail: Stalin was still standing next to an extra pair of shoes.
When ideology matters more than truth, facts become dangerous.
There’s a famous quote attributed to Oliver Cromwell. When he commissioned a portrait of himself, he told the painter: “Paint me as I am—warts and all.” That is how history must be told. Not selectively. Not sanitized.
The Torah itself insists on this honesty. It does not hide our failures. The story of Yehudah and Tamar is included. The story of David and Bat-Sheva is included—front and center. Midrash even tells us that David asked God to leave that episode out, and God refused. Why? Because people learn not only from greatness, but from mistakes—and from growth after failure.
That is how a nation matures.
The Pharaoh who “did not know Yosef” set Egypt on a destructive path. A society that lies about its past eventually destroys itself. We’ve seen this in modern history as well. After World War I, Germany could not accept defeat. Instead of acknowledging economic collapse and military failure, they embraced the myth of being “stabbed in the back.” That denial became one of the seeds of World War II.
History denied does not disappear—it returns, louder and more destructive.
The Torah teaches us the opposite approach. We lost the Beit HaMikdash not because our enemies were stronger, but because of what we did wrong—how we treated one another. That painful truth is recorded so we can learn from it: treat each other with dignity, act as a community, act as a nation.
And that, perhaps, is the most important lesson of that single phrase: “A Pharaoh who did not know Yosef.”
We must not be that Pharaoh.
We must remember the good that others have done for us.
We must remember our own failures.
And we must learn from both—so we can become better people and better Jews.
Something to think about.
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