I'm talking about Joseph, of course, and his brothers.
We know the story: Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, rises to power in Egypt, and then, years later, fate brings his brothers before him, begging for food during a famine. The reconciliation is powerful, a testament to forgiveness. But what comes next? How do they all live together after that?
Well, according to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, the story doesn't end with a happy embrace. As Joseph was returning from burying his father Jacob in the Cave of Machpelah – the ancestral burial place – he passed the pit where his brothers had thrown him so long ago. He looked into it and said, "Blessed be God who permitted a miracle to come to pass for me here!"
Now, you might think that's a pretty straightforward expression of gratitude. But Joseph's brothers? They interpreted it as a sign. A sign that Joseph was still dwelling on the past, on the evil they had done. They feared that now that their father, the glue holding them together, was gone, Joseph would finally seek his revenge.
And there was more. They noticed that since their father's death, Joseph had stopped inviting them to dine with him. This, they believed, was further proof of his simmering hatred.
But here's the twist. Joseph wasn't acting out of malice at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. As Legends of the Jews tells us, it was out of respect! "So long as my father was alive," Joseph thought, "he bade me sit at the head of the table, though Judah is king, and Reuben is the first-born. It was my father's wish, and I complied with it. But now it is not seemly that I should have the first seat in their presence, and yet, being ruler of Egypt, I cannot yield my place to any other." So, he chose to dine separately to avoid any perceived slight to his elder brothers.
Can you see the irony? His brothers were terrified of his anger, while he was bending over backward to show them honor!
Driven by fear, the brothers concocted a story. They sent Bilhah to Joseph with a fabricated deathbed message from Jacob, pleading with Joseph to forgive their transgression. According to Ginzberg, Jacob had said nothing of the kind. It was all a desperate attempt to appease Joseph.
Joseph, however, saw right through their ruse. He realized they only spoke thus because they feared his retribution. And he wept. He wept because they had so little faith in his love for them.
When they finally appeared before him, prostrating themselves and offering to become his slaves, Joseph responded with incredible gentleness. "Be not afraid," he reassured them. "I will do you no harm, for I fear God." He went on to explain that his actions were motivated by respect, not hatred.
He even used a beautiful analogy, drawing from the natural order. "Ye are like unto the dust of the earth, the sand on the sea-shore, and the stars in the heavens. Can I do aught to put these out of the world?" He reminded them that they were twelve tribes, a fundamental part of the world's structure, and that he, as their brother, needed them just as much as they needed him. "You are the trunk and I am the head—of what use the head without the trunk?"
Joseph’s magnanimity shines through. He understood that their well-being was intertwined with his own. As Ginzberg phrases it, "It is to my own good that I should treat you with fraternal affection." He even recognized that their actions, though painful, had ultimately elevated him. "Before your advent, I was looked upon as a slave in this country—you proved me a man of noble birth."
Beyond his family, Joseph also proved to be a wise and benevolent ruler. After Pharaoh's death, some Egyptians wanted to make Joseph king, but others objected to a foreigner on the throne. So, Pharaoh’s son, Magron, became king, but Joseph remained the true power behind the throne, acting as viceroy and even ruling over lands extending to the Euphrates. He was beloved by the people, both Egyptians and those of conquered lands, who brought him tribute and gifts.
For forty years, Joseph reigned, and his brothers lived peacefully in Goshen, thriving in their service to God. Joseph even lived to see his grandsons circumcised.
Interestingly, Joseph's life was cut short compared to his brothers. Legends of the Jews attributes this to a seemingly minor offense: allowing his brothers to refer to his father, Jacob, as his "servant" in his presence without protest. "Dominion buries him that exercises it," the text says.
So, what can we take away from this extended epilogue to the Joseph story? It’s a powerful reminder that forgiveness isn't just a one-time act. It's a continuous process, requiring empathy, understanding, and a willingness to look beyond our own hurt. It also shows us that leadership isn't just about power; it's about responsibility, respect, and recognizing the inherent worth of every individual. Even those who have wronged us.
Perhaps Joseph's story isn't just about him. Maybe it's about us, and how we choose to navigate the complexities of family, forgiveness, and leadership in our own lives.