Rabbi 360

In the climatic moment of the Joseph story that we read this week in our Torah reading, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers. The man the brothers thought was the vizier of Egypt—the government official who was in charge of food distribution during a great famine—turned out to be the brother they had sold into slavery years ago.

We began reading this famous story two weeks ago. Joseph was the favored child of Jacob since he was the first born son of Jacob’s favored wife Rachel. He was given special attention and gifts, including a fancy garment, and he had dreams that indicated he would one day rise above his 11 brothers. Because of all this his brothers came to hate him.

At first the brothers sought to kill Joseph, but then decided to sell him into slavery and tell their father he was dead. Joseph thus became the servant to Potiphar, a high Egyptian official, and after being falsely accused of assault by Potiphar’s wife, he was put in jail. There he met two of Pharaoh’s attendants, and when they had dreams, he was able to successfully interpret them.

A few year later, Pharaoh had a series of disturbing dreams and Joseph was summoned to interpret. He predicted a cycle of plenty followed by famine, and urged Pharaoh to institute a system by which Egypt would store food during the full years to distribute during the lean years. Pharaoh appoints Joseph to oversee this operation, and he takes on the role and new identity.

When the famine hits, Joseph’s family in Canaan are also affected, so the brothers go down to Egypt to procure food. When they stand in front of Joseph, he recognizes them, but they do not recognize him. He decides to test them, first by forcing them to return home and bring back his brother Benjamin (Jacob held Benjamin back since he was the “surviving” son of Rachel), then planting goods in Benjamin’s provisions and accusing him of stealing. When the brothers stand up for Benjamin, Joseph decides that they have changed. And we read:

Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, “Have everyone withdraw from me!” So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. His sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear, and so the news reached Pharaoh’s palace. Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still well?” But his brothers could not answer him, so shocked were they on account of him. (Genesis 44:1-3)

The family is reunited, and eventually move down to Egypt to be with Joseph. It’s an emotional story of family dysfunction and reconciliation, of the choices we make and the sometimes unexpected ways our lives unfold.

The climax of the story hinges on the fact that when the brothers arrive in Egypt, Joseph is able to recognize them but they don’t recognize him. We may question how this is possible. Yes, it has been over a decade since the brothers sold him into slavery, and yet, we would think that we would recognize our close family members even after not seeing them for a while. Even though Joseph was wearing the clothes and effects of an Egyptian ruler and not a Canaanite shepherd, we might think he looked the same.

In reading this story this year, what strikes me is that perhaps the reason the brothers didn’t recognize their brother is that when they looked upon Joseph they didn’t see a person, rather they saw a role, a position. When Joseph revealed himself, they were once again able to see the whole person who was behind the facade.

This has resonated with me this year since—in the spirit of the late Jimmy Carter who said he would “never knowingly lie” to the American people—I will be honest with you and share that 2024 was an extraordinarily difficult year to be a rabbi.

And I say this not only because of the continued atrocities in Gaza, the ongoing captivity of the hostages, the prevalence of antisemitism (that I particularly experience on social media), the hard turn to the right in the American government, and most recently the spate of politically-motivated violence in New York, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. All those have been weighing deeply on my soul.

I say it too because through it all I have been made to feel time and time again that I was simply a role, a position, and not a person. My views and opinions have at times been assumed based on the job I hold rather than actually reading anything I write or hearing anything I say. My years-long pastoral relationships have been pushed aside because of things I have more recently said or not said. I have been subject to litmus tests by those who are not even a part of the congregational community that I serve.

I say this not to complain, but simply as an honest observation. I recognize that this is the life I have chosen, and recognize that rabbis are often seen as “symbolic exemplars” rather than individuals. (Rabbis can become objects for all types of reasons as one might imagine.) At the same time, I share this because I think this is unfortunately something that continues to infect our overall discourse. In order to solidify our own positions we end up objectifying others, even those with whom we may been in allyship. We qualify participation in community, which is by definition diverse. We have created situations in which the lines are so distinct that even if you don’t use the right word or the right terms you are seen as suspect or cancelled or not a true ally.  

Earlier in the story, before he has revealed his true identity, Joseph invites his brothers to dine at his house. In that part of the story there is a detail that I have generally overlooked but now jumps out of the scroll at me:

They served him by himself, and them by themselves, and the Egyptians who ate with him by themselves…. (Genesis 43:42)

Joseph eats alone! He does not feel himself to be one of the Egyptians because of his identity, nor does he feel at this moment to be of his brothers, the Hebrews, because of his job. He feels out of place in either group, and therefore isolated and alone–a feeling that sometimes feels familiar to me. When Joseph broke down in tears after revealing his true self to his brothers, it might not have been just because they were reunited, but because he can, for the first time in over 10 years, be a person and not just a position.

We are entering a new year in which we need less isolation, not more. As the new American administration prepares to take office, as the future of Israel and Palestine continues to head down a destructive path, we will need to join together to advocate for a just society, for the end of oppressive systems, for freedom and the laying down of arms, and for the rights and dignity and safety of all peoples.

And it starts by not dehumanizing and objectifying each other, but seeing each other as the full people that we are.