“Bury Me with My Ancestors:” Posthumous Repatriation in the Biblical Story of Jacob

Abstract

Burial location and concepts of belonging are deeply interconnected. This article explores the biblical narrative of Jacob’s death and burial in the final chapters of the book of Genesis, with a focus on this relationship. The analysis engages in dialogue with Osman Balkan’s recent research on Turkish Muslims in Europe, examining factors influencing burial decisions, including the choice between repatriation to countries of origin and local burial. Key themes relevant to the biblical narrative include tensions with the host society, its authorities, and customs, the complex interplay of factors in end-of-life decisions, and the role of burial location as a means of anchoring future generations. In particular, the concept of the dead as an ‘anchor’ provides a useful framework for understanding the contrasting burial wishes of Jacob and his son Joseph. Additionally, considering Joseph as an undertaker adds nuance to his struggle to balance loyalty to local Egyptian customs with his father’s request to be buried among his ancestors in Canaan.

1. Introduction

The Hebrew Bible portrays Jacob, the son of Isaac and Rebekah, as a migrant, and his life story can be understood as one of movement, displacement, and return. He flees from Canaan to escape the wrath of his brother Esau, lives as a refugee with his uncle Laban in Haran, and returns many years later. In Bethel, on his way to Haran, Jacob encounters God in a dream. This is one of the most iconic scenes in the Bible, where Jacob envisions a ladder reaching to heaven and is reassured by God that he will receive protection during his journey. Jacob boldly responds, saying, “If God will be with me and will keep me in this way that I go and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then the Lord shall be my God” (Gen 28:20–21).1

Interestingly, Jacob is well-known as a migrant in the biblical tradition. Deuteronomy 26 contains a credo-like retelling of Israel’s history, opening with a reference to Jacob: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous…” (Deut 26:5). One of Jacob’s journeys thus becomes the traditional foundation for the people of Israel and its identity as a people with a long history of migration. Approaching his death in Egypt, Jacob expresses a desire to return to be buried in the Cave of Machpelah in Canaan, and the repatriation of his body becomes a symbolic anchor for sustaining the ties of later generations to this place. Even today, the graves of the biblical patriarchs at Machpelah, traditionally believed to be in Hebron, are regarded as a sacred site in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions, and remain a place of religious pilgrimage.

Burial location and concepts of belonging are closely interconnected. This article thus examines the biblical narrative of Jacob’s death and burial in the final chapters of the book of Genesis with awareness of this relationship as the focus. While burial and veneration of the dead are common topics in the Hebrew Bible and the ancient world (e.g., Stavrakopoulou 2010; Nabulsi 2017), several themes within these chapters in Genesis resonate with contemporary issues related to burial practices and belonging. Political scientist Osman Balkan has conducted fieldwork among Turkish Muslims in Europe, focusing on the factors influencing decisions regarding burial location and the choice between repatriation to countries of origin or local burial.2 By reading the biblical account of Jacob’s burial in dialogue with Balkan’s research, this article will highlight several important themes, including the tensions between the customs of the host society and migrant burial traditions, the body as an anchor for future generations, and the complex structures that grieving migrants must navigate to fulfill the expectations of deceased family members.

The article begins with an overview of migration themes present in the Jacob story and a review of recent scholarship on Jacob as a migrant. This is followed by an examination of key observations and concepts from Balkan’s fieldwork, which then inform a close reading of Jacob’s final years in Egypt, particularly the burial narrative in Genesis 50:1–14.

2. Migration Themes in the Jacob Story

The life of Jacob as narrated in the book of Genesis can be divided into two larger sections, or cycles, involving a series of movements:

• Chapters 25–35: From Canaan to Haran—and back again
• Chapters 37–50: From Canaan to Egypt—and back again

In the first cycle, Jacob initially flees Beersheba, located in the southern part of Canaan, and, traveling via Bethel, eventually reaches his relatives in Haran, situated in the southern region of modern-day Turkey. He spends approximately twenty years in Haran, working as a shepherd for his uncle Laban, marrying Laban’s daughters, and fathering twelve children. Jacob departs—or more accurately, flees—from Haran after achieving prosperity, but is pursued by Laban, who catches up with him in the mountains of Gilead, near Canaan. After reconciling with his father-in-law, Jacob crosses the ford of the Jabbok River to meet his brother Esau. Following another episode of apparent reconciliation, Jacob returns to Canaan, where he settles in various locations before eventually settling in Hebron, near the place he had initially left, and in close proximity to the family tomb at Machpelah, which his grandfather Abraham had purchased.

In the second cycle, Jacob has become an elderly man. His favorite son, Joseph, has arrived in Egypt after being sold into enslavement by his brothers. Twenty years later, a worldwide famine forces the brothers to journey to Egypt to buy food, where they are reconciled with Joseph, now serving as Pharaoh’s viceroy. Joseph invites his brothers and their father, Jacob, to come and live with him in Egypt. Jacob agrees, and the entire family settles in the isolated region of Goshen, where they can maintain their way of life as herdsmen—a lifestyle apparently despised by the local Egyptians according to the biblical story. After seventeen years abroad, Jacob’s death approaches. He requests to be buried in the land of his ancestors, and upon his death, all his sons accompany his body to Canaan, where they bury him in the ancestral grave at Machpelah. As a family tomb, this is an important site which was legally bought and paid for by ancestor Abraham and which in the story as a whole serves as a permanent anchor for the otherwise wandering family (see Genesis 23).

Jacob’s literary character is that of a migrant, constantly on the move, and his story reflects central questions about home, belonging, and religious identity that migrants of the past and present may also share. In biblical scholarship, there is growing attention to migration and repatriation within the Jacob narratives (e.g., Burt 2020, chp. 5; Naumann 2023, para. 3.1). Among the emerging studies that examine Jacob as a migrant, particularly relevant to this article are the works by Casey Strine and Amy Chase.

In a recent article, Casey Strine (2018; see also 2021) employs contemporary studies of involuntary migration as a hermeneutical lens through which to interpret the biblical story of Jacob. He creatively applies social-scientific approaches and terms from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) to understand the text. He aims to ‘read the story differently,’ enabling readers to discern new insights in a familiar narrative. Strine (2018, p. 487) argues that “Genesis 25–33 presents a full ‘lifecycle’ of involuntary migration,” dividing it into three stages: Jacob as an involuntary migrant fleeing persecution and death (25:19–29:14a); Jacob as a refugee seeking asylum in a distant land (29:14b–32:1); and Jacob as a return migrant, who after two decades, returns to a ‘home’ that feels different from his memories (Gen 32:2–33:20) (Strine 2018, p. 487).

Amy Chase (2019) explores Jacob’s time in Egypt in the final section of Genesis, paying attention to the contrasting attitudes of Jacob, Joseph, and his brothers toward migration and belonging. Drawing on Mikhail Bakhtin’s theory of ‘many-voicedness,’ Chase (2019, p. 93) highlights the ambivalence inherent in diasporic existence. She also emphasizes the significance of Jacob’s request to be buried ‘back home’ as a central element in his story, which plays a crucial role in determining where his family truly belongs:

Choosing a burial plot signifies identity, an ultimate marker of home. Jacob’s desire to be buried in Canaan is not a mere afterthought or a faintly held preference. […] Besides reinforcing Jacob’s Hebrew identity, requiring his family to fulfill this wish would also bring them back to the land, where they might remain.

(Chase 2019, p. 104).

In continuation of the works of Strine and Chase, this article explores the topic of posthumous repatriation within the Jacob narrative. As noted, the Jacob story has two instances of return migration. The first involves Jacob’s return from Haran after twenty years of exile and his purported reconciliation with his brother Esau. While this instance of return migration falls outside the scope of the current study, it will be revisited in the concluding section. The article’s primary focus is on the second instance of Jacob as a returning migrant, which is the posthumous repatriation of his body to Canaan. This final journey, as described in the latter chapters of Genesis, carries profound significance not only for Jacob’s personal story but also for the broader themes of migration and belonging that resonate throughout the biblical text. Jacob’s body, transported back to Canaan for burial in the Cave of Machpelah, marks a symbolic act of closure and connection with the ancestral land.

This act of posthumous return underscores the importance of burial as an essential part of identity and cultural continuity, as Chase indicates, especially for migrant communities. In order to ‘approach the story differently,’ as Strine encourages, I will interpret the Jacob story in conversation with contemporary research by Osman Balkan on burial practices among migrants today.

3. Methodological Considerations

One might ask: why consider insights from modern ethnographic fieldwork when analyzing a biblical text?3 The short answer is that such insights provide comparative data for studying the ancient world. The account of Jacob’s repatriation to Canaan following his death is quite unique within the Bible, leaving few comparable examples; the bones of his son Joseph, for instance, are eventually repatriated in Canaan but this occurs many years after his death (see below), This presents a broader challenge in the study of the ancient world, where the scarcity of texts, sources, and evidence is a fundamental problem. One approach to addressing this challenge is to draw upon social-scientific models and cross-cultural evidence to bridge some of the gaps. Ethnographic fieldwork is particularly helpful in this regard, as the researcher, by making use of observation, interviewing, and conversation, has much better opportunities to illuminate a given phenomenon.

The reason for drawing on Balkan’s research lies not only in its focus on posthumous repatriation but also in its nuanced presentation of end-of-life decisions among contemporary migrants. This work offers a detailed exploration of the complexities faced by grieving migrant families today, shedding light on the subtle ambiguities and decisions they must navigate. For me as a biblical researcher, this complex picture encourages the formulation of new and relevant questions that can be applied to the biblical text, thereby expanding the scope of my historical imagination.

However, this exercise is not without its risks. It is crucial to remain aware of the significant differences between the two contexts: Balkan’s fieldwork pertains to contemporary European migrant communities, while the book of Genesis is a literary universe of stories written at a distance from what is being narrated. It is important to clarify that I do not assert any direct or organic connection between the biblical figure of Jacob and Turkish migrant workers in Europe. Instead, reading the ethnographic study in dialogue with the biblical narrative functions as a ‘heuristic device’—a method of thinking that allows us to identify and interpret aspects of the ancient text that may otherwise go unnoticed.

4. Posthumous Repatriation and Turkish Migrants in Europe

In his book, Dying Abroad: The Political Afterlives of Migration in Europe, published in 2023, Osman Balkan investigates ways minoritized communities navigate end-of-life decisions in foreign contexts. Drawing on years of ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Berlin and Istanbul, the book demonstrates how questions about citizenship, home, and belonging impact practices surrounding death, burial, and repatriation.

In one of the chapters, “Burial and Belonging,” Balkan (2023, chp. 4) reflects on the question of burial location to illuminate the different reasons motivating family decisions to repatriate to countries of origin or to bury locally. The chapter is based on fieldwork from 2013 and 2015 among Turkish Sufi-Muslims living in Germany. One main point emerging from the ethnographic material is that there are often incongruities or conflicts between state-level burial laws and Islamic funerary traditions. As an example, Muslims are usually expected to be buried within twenty-four hours after their deaths, after ritual washing and shrouding, without a coffin and facing the Qibla in Mecca. According to German law, however, the use of a coffin is prescribed, and there is a forty-eight-hour waiting period between death and burial. This clash between the norms of the majority community and minority traditions may create tensions between host authorities and migrants. At the same time, it calls for some flexibility and adaptation in managing practical challenges and efforts to navigate the different structures and burial traditions. Interestingly, Balkan (2023, p. 192) shows that, in practice, Islamic burial laws and religious norms are less consequential with respect to end-of-life decisions than one would initially assume. This is particularly the case for those who end up transporting their dead to their countries of origin. According to many of these interlocutors, “getting the body ‘back home’ [is] more important than ensuring rapid burial” (Balkan 2023, p. 190).

Another critical point is that different reasons are at play for ‘where and how to bury’. The act of burial is itself a profoundly symbolic practice that reveals a complex mixture of notions about attachment, belonging, and loyalty. Rather than laws circumscribing the treatment of the dead, ideas about the soil and family ties play a more significant role in burial decisions. Balkan (2023, p. 191) highlights three factors impacting such choices, such as territorial attachments to ‘home’ and ‘host’ countries; religious affiliation; and family attachments via kinship ties. Furthermore, experiences of alienation, discrimination, and social exclusion in the host countries—the failure to be fully accepted by the place of residence—may urge people to posthumous repatriation. On the other hand, a recognition that Turkish families have become permanent members of German society may create a stronger sense of belonging to the host country and thereby inform the decision to bury locally.

Given the significance of family ties and ideas about the soil, Balkan (2023, pp. 194–95) further points to the body’s function as an anchor—its ability to connect family members across generations to specific locations. In some cases, the dead are anchored by their children. First-generation migrants in Berlin, whose children and grandchildren are now part of German society, might consider local burial so their descendants can visit and tend to their graves more easily. In other cases, the dead can anchor future generations. First-generation migrants may want to be buried in their countries of origin so that children and grandchildren are encouraged to maintain some connection to their ancestral soils.

In both cases, the grave’s location can create a sense of belonging across time and space. Repatriation of the dead for burial in the country of origin may assist in preserving genealogical continuity and historical memory in a migratory context because it maintains people’s ties to the country and soil of their ancestors. According to one of the informants, an elderly Kurdish man, the question of soil is of particular significance for his thoughts about burial place:

‘I was born in that soil and I will return to it. That’s my own view at least. That’s where I was born. Sometimes my wife will tell me, let’s get buried here [in Germany] if that’s what our kids want. But I say, forget about it, bring us back to the homeland. When I die I want to be brought back to the homeland so that when I rot, when I’m eaten, it’s the bugs and the ants from my village that eat me. That’s what I always say.’

(Balkan 2023, pp. 198–99).

Notably, the interviewee stresses the central role of the soil and everything in it in his decision for posthumous repatriation. His desire to return after his death can be seen as a search for ‘regrounding’. Balkan (2023, p. 199) writes: “If migratory processes are understood as cyclical, then the return of the dead body to its natal soil seems to offer some sort of resolution and closure.” For migrants, repatriation for burial may also be a response to individual and existential questions posed by death out of place.

As was mentioned, potential conflicts between burial regulations in the host country and funerary traditions among migrants demand negotiation. In an earlier article, “Between Civil Society and the State” (2016), published some years before the appearance of his book, Balkan investigates the role of undertakers as intermediaries between immigrant families and the host authorities based on an ethnographic study of Turkish funeral homes and the Islamic funeral industry in Berlin. According to Balkan (2016, p. 149), the undertakers’ “ability to navigate the regulatory defining structures of the German bureaucracy and the cultural expectations of their customers is a defining feature of their occupational identity and a principal source of their professional authority”. As political brokers and cultural translators they are experts in moving between different structures and traditions. Their job is to advise and mediate religious disputes, being aware of Islamic traditions and burial laws.

As mediators, these Muslim undertakers engage in intercultural negotiations, assisting families in making decisions about disposal, such as burial, cremation, or alternatives. Furthermore, they help them make choices about the funeral site in the country of origin, in the host country, or in both places. This job is far from easy because it requires detailed knowledge about German law and the handling of corpses regulated by the state, as well as maintaining a ‘bedside manner’ that informs grieving family members of these rules while attempting to fulfill their wishes. One of the interviewees, Ertan, a thirty-five-year-old undertaker born in Berlin as a third-generation Turkish migrant, explains:

‘Of course, since the customer knows everything, they say, when you pick up the corpse, let’s just fax the paper to the Standesamt. I tell them, it’s not that simple. I have to go to five different government bureaus first. When they hear that they are really surprised. Our people think that when there’s a funeral, you can bury it within two hours or whatever, just like in the village. But this is Germany! There are bureaucratic procedures we have to do. But our people don’t know this. Or they know it and don’t want to admit it. And because of these situations, we are under a lot of stress. Our work isn’t easy.’

(Balkan 2016, p. 154).

A central part of the work carried out by Muslim undertakers in Berlin is this political and cultural mediation. On the one hand, they must anticipate and manage the expectations of their customers. On the other hand, they must guide them through German funerary laws. Occasionally, they also appear in the role of a spokesperson in situations where they must counter and dispel stereotypes in German bureaucracy about Muslims and Islam. Importantly, intercultural negotiations around death and dying do not end with the death of a migrant because the relatives are left with difficult decisions to make between post-mortem procedures of the host country and ancestral burial traditions.

5. The Death and Burial of Jacob

Balkan’s work resonates with several themes found in the narrative of Jacob’s death and burial in the final part of the book of Genesis. These themes include tensions with the host society, its authorities, and customs; the complex interplay of factors involved in end-of-life decisions; and the significance of burial location as a means of anchoring future generations. Moreover, as I will argue, Joseph plays a role in fulfilling his father’s request for posthumous repatriation that parallels the work of Muslim undertakers, who routinely navigate between cultural expectations and societal regulations.

In the last chapters of Genesis, Jacob’s relationship with Canaan is portrayed as emotionally profound and enduring. He expresses reluctance to leave it in favor of Egypt, doing so only after receiving divine assurance that his family will prosper there and that he himself will eventually return. While in Egypt, Jacob appears to have minimal interaction with Egyptian culture, possibly also due to his advanced age. His repeated insistence on being buried ‘back home’ among his ancestors strongly emphasizes Canaan as his family’s cultural and religious homeland—at least from his perspective.

5.1. “Do Not Bury Me in Egypt” (Genesis 47:29–31)

After seventeen years in Egypt, Jacob, at the age of one hundred thirty-seven, is approaching the end of his life and prepares to die. The first time that readers encounter reflections on his future burial is at the end of chapter 47 (notice that Jacob is called Israel in this passage):

When the time of Israel’s death drew near, he called his son Joseph and said to him, If I have found favor with you, put your hand under my thigh and promise to deal loyally and truly with me. Do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my ancestors, carry me out of Egypt and bury me in their burial place.’ He answered, ‘I will do as you have said.’ And he said, ‘Swear to me,’ and he swore to him. Then Israel bowed himself on the head of his bed.

(Gen 47:29–31)

Jacob’s statement expresses a great concern about being buried in the land of his ancestors. Even though it is a conversation between father and son, the tone is remarkably formal: “If I have found favor with you…” It might be out of respect for Joseph’s prestigious office as viceroy of Pharaoh and thereby an acknowledgment of Joseph’s power to potentially realize his dying father’s request. Moreover, the deferential style and Jacob’s appeal that Joseph makes a solemn oath and remains loyal to him underline how much this request matters to him (Wenham [2000] 2015, p. 450).

The phrase “Do not bury me in Egypt” clearly expresses Jacob’s reservation towards his current residence, and it is possible to interpret it as an act of resistance. If so, we should imagine an old and disillusioned first-generation migrant, alienated and isolated, who feels that the society in which he now lives has never fully accepted him. On the other hand, Jacob is surrounded by his sons and their presence can be interpreted as a way younger family members ‘shelter’ elderly members of the group, assisting them in negotiating life in the host country. Nevertheless, Jacob’s reason to avoid might also have to do with religious attachment insofar as his command could be seen as an attempt to avoid the local cult and its burial customs (Berman 2006, p. 20). Furthermore, his desire to be reunited with his ancestors and to be buried in their burial place suggests the concept of ‘regrounding’ that Osman Balkan introduced (“I was born in that soil and I will return to it”). Jacob has spent so many years on the move. He understands his entire life to have been “an earthly sojourn” (47:9). Repatriating his body to the area where he was born would indeed bring this lifelong migratory cycle to an end. Finally, the mention of ancestors indicates the concern for preserving genealogical continuity and maintaining the ties of his descendants to the ancestral land. This motif is clearly at stake in the next passage.

5.2. “Bury Me with My Ancestors” (Genesis 49:29–33)

A second time, Jacob carefully instructs all of his sons to bury him among his forefathers. These are the very last words of one of the main characters in the book of Genesis and concern his repatriation after death:

Then [Jacob] charged [his twelve sons], saying to them, ‘I am about to be gathered to my people. Bury me with my ancestors in the cave in the field of Ephron the Hittite, in the cave in the field at Machpelah, near Mamre, in the land of Canaan, in the field that Abraham bought from Ephron the Hittite as a burial site. There Abraham and his wife Sarah were buried; there Isaac and his wife Rebekah were buried; and there I buried Leah. The field and the cave that is in it were purchased from the Hittites.’ When Jacob ended his charge to his sons, he drew up his feet into the bed, breathed his last, and was gathered to his people.

(Gen 49:29–33)

In contrast to Genesis 47, all of the sons are gathered at the deathbed of their father, and all of them are charged with his last will. The message is clear: “Bury me with my ancestors!”, highlighting the location of the grave and other family members having been entombed there. The description of the family tomb is remarkably detailed, as Jacob uses no less than fifty-two words in Hebrew to describe it. The syntax is rather clumsy, and there are a lot of repetitions. Nevertheless, the style is likely deliberate in emphasizing the importance of the family grave in the eyes of the dying Jacob.

There is an exact identification of its location—the cave in the field at Machpelah, near Mamre, in the land of Canaan—and even a mention of its previous owner. Twice, however, Jacob emphasizes the family’s legal rights to the tomb. It has been bought and paid for and is therefore legitimately a permanent holding of the patriarch. At the same time, there is an emotional element due to the careful listing of family members resting there. These include Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Leah.4 In other words, Jacob wants to be buried among those he feels he belongs to, and posthumous repatriation would imply reconciliation with parents and grandparents.

In light of Balkan’s fieldwork, it is interesting that all key factors that impact burial decisions are at play here. Considering territorial attachment, the ancestral land is construed as the true home of Jacob, as the detailed description of the location of the grave demonstrates. Family attachments via kinship ties are highlighted by the listing of deceased family members. With regard to religious affiliation, the reference to the land of Canaan is significant. In the ideology of Genesis, Canaan is the land God promised to Jacob’s family, beginning with his grandfather Abraham. The land is a divine gift; accordingly, the family is profoundly bound to its soil. At least in Jacob’s opinion, the descent into Egypt is no more than temporary, and the future for his family is in Canaan, not in Egypt. His choice of a final resting place is therefore also a symbolic act in which he attempts to anchor future generations of his family to the land of his ancestors. I return to this below.

5.3. Joseph, the Undertaker (Genesis 50:1–14)

The first half of chapter 50 narrates the burial of Jacob in Canaan. Joseph plays a key role in planning the logistics of the repatriation of his father’s body and the entombment in the family grave. In doing so, Joseph needs to manage and negotiate norms and differences between the Egyptian society and the cultural heritage of his migrant family. Joshua Berman (2006) points to Joseph’s dual commitments to his father and to Pharaoh and the struggle to fulfill the obligations of both parties. This task requires rhetorical tact and knowing what to say in each situation. Moreover, in dialogue with Balkan (2016), one can also view Joseph as a kind of undertaker, mediating between immigrant families and the host society. As the beloved son of Jacob and the viceroy of Pharaoh, Joseph is aware of both worlds and is compelled to use this knowledge to negotiate divergent burial traditions. Perhaps Jacob’s expectations for a rapid and modest burial in Canaan are impossible to realize, and it remains an open question whether Joseph entirely fulfills what his father has asked for (Berman 2006, p. 22). In any case, my reading of the passage will highlight some of the ambiguities and potential conflicts concerning the repatriation of Jacob’s body.

The chapter opens with Joseph’s dramatic and affective response to his father’s death. He throws himself on his face, weeps over him, and kisses him. Then, he instructs the physicians in his service to embalm his father. Embalmment or mummification in Ancient Egypt was a long and intricate process only performed for prominent people (Westermann 1982, pp. 224–25). The brain and organs were removed, and the body was filled with aromatic spices, rolled up in fine linen, and placed in a human-shaped coffin. It was intertwined with religious beliefs and prepared the body for the afterlife so the soul could continue its journey after death. The process involved rituals and prayers, occasionally performed by priests in sacred temples. Was this foreign religious act really what dying Jacob wished for?

Joseph’s motive thus remains ambiguous. On the one hand, it may be Joseph’s way of honoring Jacob’s high standing in the eyes of the Egyptians as the father of the successful viceroy of Pharaoh. He thereby adheres to the host society’s cultural expectations and religious customs. On the other hand, the embalmment may be a purely practical necessity for transporting the body on the long way from Egypt to Canaan. As Berman (2006, p. 23) proposes, both options might be complementary: “To command to embalm the patriarch would signal different things to different audiences.” Egyptians will think Joseph respects local burial traditions, while Joseph’s family will know it is carried out for mere practicalities.

Another issue concerns the period of mourning. According to the narrative, the process of embalming takes forty days and is followed by seventy days of mourning (alternatively, the forty days are part of the seventy days). The length of these periods probably follows Egyptian custom and thereby shows Joseph’s eagerness to secure compliance with the norm. Perhaps Jacob expected to be repatriated immediately after his death, but this was simply not possible, and, according to these regulations in the host society, the grieving family must accept a delay of at least one hundred and ten days in addition to the travel time from Egypt to Canaan.

A central question involves where Jacob is to be buried. His request to be carried off and buried in Canaan might be very different from the cultural expectations of the Egyptians. At any rate, Joseph needs Pharaoh’s approval, that is, the approval of the host authorities, and he must use all his skills in court diplomacy to avoid potential conflicts:

When the days of weeping for him were past, Joseph addressed the household of Pharaoh, ‘If now I have found favor with you, please speak to Pharaoh as follows: My father made me swear an oath; he said, ‘I am about to die. In the tomb that I hewed out for myself in the land of Canaan, there you shall bury me.’ Now therefore let me go up, so that I may bury my father; then I will return.’ Pharaoh answered, ‘Go up and bury your father, as he made you swear to do.’

(Gen 50:4–6).

First, Joseph waits until the period of mourning is over. This is another sign of his adherence to the local norms. Notably, he approaches Pharaoh indirectly, that is, through intermediaries or high-ranking courtiers from his household. Perhaps he was not allowed to appear before Pharaoh because of mourning rituals. Or perhaps he is aware that he is requesting something extraordinary and is afraid of Pharaoh. In light of the experiences of Ertan, the Muslim undertaker in Berlin cited above, this communication also could point to different levels in the Egyptian bureaucracy, sometimes complicating the process (“I have to go to five different government bureaus first”). Joseph’s inquiry is strikingly deferential and court-like, reflecting his competencies in navigating the system (“If now I have found favor with you…”).

Several scholars notice that Joseph tactfully manipulates his father’s words in his retelling of Jacob’s request (Westermann 1982, pp. 225–26; Berman 2006, p. 26; Turner 2009, p. 212). He deliberately leaves out phrases that could indicate a lack of commitment to the host society (e.g., “Do not bury me in Egypt”). Rather than referring to the burial place of their forefathers or any ancestral heritage, Joseph highlights that his father has prepared a tomb for himself while still alive—an end-of-life practice that would be understandable to any Egyptians. Moreover, Joseph sincerely promises that he will return. Apparently, this would be a crucial consideration for Pharaoh, and elements in the rest of the passage suggest an Egyptian effort to ensure that Joseph and his brothers would not repatriate to Canaan.

Finally, Joseph and his brothers are ready to go up and bury their father as they promised. But they are far from alone. All sorts of Egyptian officers and dignitaries, servants and soldiers, join them—“a very great company” (50:9). Again, if Jacob had wished for a quiet and rapid repatriation, this was clearly impossible. Instead, a pompous and ceremonial procession enacts “the grandest state funeral recorded in the Bible” (Wenham [2000] 2015, p. 488). At first sight, the eagerness of the host authorities to assist a migrant family in repatriating a deceased family member to their country of origin is charming and exemplary. The purpose of the armed escort, however, is probably also to make sure that Joseph and his brothers return, just like the children and flocks left behind serve as a guarantee of the adults’ reappearance.

Probably across from Jericho, close to the border of Canaan, “they held there a very great and sorrowful lamentation, and [Joseph] observed a time of mourning for his father seven days” (50:10). The setting apart of Joseph from the rest of the group indicates the observance of two divergent funerary practices. While the great and sorrowful lamentation of the horde—together with the mourning periods recorded early in the story—could reflect Egyptian tradition, Joseph’s isolated mourning of seven days could reflect the standard length of Hebrew-Israelite mourning rite (Berman 2006, p. 30). If so, this is another attempt made by Joseph to follow the burial customs of his ancestral culture. Nevertheless, ironically, the locale Canaanite inhabitants cannot differentiate between the Egyptians and Jacob’s family (50:11). To them, they all take part in an Egyptian event, even the migrants returning from abroad to bury their father.

At this final stage, only Joseph and his brothers continue into the land of Canaan to perform the actual burial. All others are left at the border, while Jacob’s sons bury him in the cave at Machpelah just as he had instructed them. There is a point in this: The border to the ancestral land also marks a limit to the influence of the host authorities, and at the burial site itself, only members of the repatriated migrant’s own family are present. Jacob’s return is permanent, while Joseph and his brothers return to Egypt once their father has been entombed.

5.4. Who Anchors Who?

Balkan highlights the ability of the grave’s location to create a sense of belonging across generations. Posthumous repatriation of deceased family members to their country of origin can sustain the ties of subsequent generations to the places their parents and grandparents were born. This seems to be a central factor in Jacob’s request for this burial place. Rather than simply an individual search for ‘regrounding’ and existential redemption after a long and stressful life on the move, his eagerness to be buried at Machpelah in Canaan also encompasses a concern for preserving the connection of his children and grandchildren to his ancestral land. In a word, Jacob hopes that his dead body can anchor future generations in Canaan.

Behind Jacob’s request for repatriation is a sincere reluctance towards living in Egypt, never accepting its culture and customs (Chase 2019). Again and again, he insists upon connection to his Hebrew heritage. This is different from Joseph (Poulsen forthcoming). He achieves success and rises to the highest office as viceroy of Pharaoh. Several aspects of his portrayal reflect his profound integration into Egyptian culture. He is given an Egyptian name, Zaphenath-paneah, marries Aseneth, the daughter of an Egyptian priest, and adopts local customs such as divination and swearing by Egyptian oaths. In contrast to his father, his attachment to the host country is much stronger and likely impacts his decision on burial.

Regarding the question of Joseph’s future burial place, two minor passages are of relevance. The first one narrates a brief and somewhat isolated conversation between Joseph and Jacob at the imminence of his death (notice that Jacob once again is referred to as Israel):

Then Israel said to Joseph, ‘I am about to die, but God will be with you and will bring you again to the land of your ancestors. I now give to you one portion more than to your brothers, the portion that I took from the hand of the Amorites with my sword and with my bow’.

(Gen 48:21–22).

Initially, Jacob passes on what he considers a central element of his family’s religion: God will bring all his descendants back to Canaan, where they truly belong according to the patriarch. Then, Jacob mentions a part of the land to be given to Joseph. The Hebrew term describing this land literally means ‘shoulder’ (shekem), presumably referring to a portion (of land), a mountain slope, or even the place name Shechem in Canaan. Perhaps Joseph has become too Egyptian in Jacob’s eyes, and this piece of land is assigned to him to maintain a lasting connection to the ancestral land (Wenham [2000] 2015, p. 466). Later in the history of Israel, according to the biblical account, Joseph’s bones are taken from Egypt and reinterred at Shechem (Josh 24:32).5 Therefore, by giving this portion of land to Joseph, Jacob is in fact trying to impact the location of Joseph’s future burial spot.

The second passage of relevance occurs at the very end of the story. Joseph, just as his father did, gathers his ‘brothers’, or likely relatives and descendants more broadly, at his deathbed and utters his last will:

Then Joseph said to his brothers, ‘I am about to die, but God will surely come to you and bring you up out of this land to the land that he swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.’ So Joseph made the Israelites swear, saying, ‘When God comes to you, you shall carry up my bones from here.’ And Joseph died, being one hundred ten years old; he was embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt.

(Gen 50:24–26).

Apparently, Joseph’s last concern is the fulfillment of the divine promise. One day, God will bring all of them to Canaan, the land given to their ancestors, and future generations shall carry his bones with them from Egypt. After Joseph has died, he is embalmed, that is, turned into a mummy, and placed in a coffin. It is the only coffin mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, highlighting the contrast between Jacob’s and Joseph’s end-of-life decisions: While Jacob was repatriated in the family tomb, Joseph’s body is put in a box and stored in Egypt.

Why is Joseph not buried with his father and other family members at Machpelah? A traditional and theological answer to this question would be that the family must wait for God to act, or, they must become a great nation before God can bring them out of Egypt (Turner 2009, p. 217). In light of Balkan’s fieldwork, however, a key factor could be Joseph’s close attachment to the host society, which guides his decision to bury locally (cf. Chase 2019, pp. 104–105). Moreover, Joseph is anchored by his children and grandchildren who live and thrive in Egypt as second- and third-generation migrants. At the same time, his body anchors them, rendering the impression that they are accepted as members of the Egyptian society. Joseph still venerates the religious tradition of his beloved father, namely the promise of returning to the land of their ancestors. However, this return journey is conveniently deferred to a distant future, known only to God. Until then, ‘we’ shall prosper here. Joseph’s embalmed body in an Egyptian coffin thereby becomes an anchor for future generations living in Egypt.

6. Concluding Reflections

Reading Jacob’s burial narrative in dialogue with Balkan’s ethnographic studies opens new perspectives on a biblical story studied exhaustively for centuries. The concepts introduced by Balkan offer an analytical framework for identifying new connections between the different passages about Jacob’s request for posthumous repatriation and reflecting on the factors that impact his end-of-life decision. The concept of the dead as an ‘anchor,’ in particular, proved helpful in approaching Jacob’s and Joseph’s contrasting wishes for burial locations. Finally, considering Joseph as an undertaker adds nuance to his struggle to navigate between loyalty to local Egyptian customs and fulfilling his father’s request to be buried among his ancestors in Canaan.

As mentioned in the introduction, Jacob’s death and burial are the second major instance of return migration in his story. The first occurs decades earlier and concludes the first cycle from Canaan to Haran and back again (Gen 25–35). While this part of the story falls outside the scope of this article, I would like to conclude with some ideas for a future study of these chapters, particularly how current studies of post-conflict returns might inform a reading of the biblical text:

Jacob’s return from Haran to Canaan is narrated in Gen 30:25–33:20. It unfolds in two stages: first, leaving the ‘hostland’ represented by the house of Laban, his father-in-law (Gen 30:25–32:2), and then returning ‘home’ to encounter ‘those who remained,’ represented by his brother Esau (32:3–33:20). In the first stage, Jacob is eager to obtain enough resources to be able to return; there is a repeated emphasis on economic resources and the wages that Laban is expected to pay him. The competition for resources results in growing hostility and distrust from his ‘hosts’ (the sons of Laban), leading to a lack of security. Interestingly, Jacob’s decision to leave is not solely his own, as he also involves his wives, Leah and Rachel, and awaits their approval. This points to the importance of household decision-making in migration. In the second stage, Jacob prepares to meet Esau after twenty years of absence. The narrative highlights Jacob’s anxiety and fear, reflecting his profound insecurity about his brother’s mood and intentions. He worries that the old rivalry between brothers might escalate into a larger conflict, involving the killing of families. The encounter with Esau seems to result in reconciliation, but they ultimately go their separate ways and settle in different locations rather than living together.

Recent studies on post-conflict return migration, such as those in ex-Yugoslavia, Rwanda, and South Africa, would be relevant here (e.g., Chimni 2002; Newbury 2005; Schwartz 2019). What motivates people to return to their home communities after conflict? And what strategies for embedding are at play in refugees’ attempts to resettle in their countries of origin? Studies of return migration in Kosovo (Joireman 2017) highlight the issue of security, as the violence and insecurity that caused people to flee must be absent before a household considers returning. In contrast, Jacob leaves Haran without knowing the state of the place he returns to. Moreover, people who return after violent conflict tend to settle in ethnic enclaves, just as Esau and Jacob do. While this kind of isolation may not be desirable for fostering reconciliation between ethnic groups, the need to feel secure in one’s daily environment often takes precedence.