The Torah tells us, "All his sons and all his daughters arose to console him, but he refused to be consoled; he said: For I will descend mourning to the grave, to my son. His father wept for him” (Genesis 37:35). But wait a minute... "All his sons and all his daughters"? How many daughters did Jacob actually have?
The commentators jump on this right away. The simplest answer, according to Bereshit Rabbah 84, is that Jacob only had one daughter, Dinah. The phrase "daughters" must include daughters-in-law. You know, how we sometimes refer to our sons-in-law as "sons" and daughters-in-law as "daughters." It’s a common way of speaking, even today.
But then, Bereshit Rabbah offers another, more intriguing possibility. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that each of Jacob's sons was born with a twin daughter. This idea, also found in Bereshit Rabbah 82:8, implies that the tribes married their half-sisters—daughters of Jacob from different mothers. Now, before you raise an eyebrow, remember that according to the Noahide Laws, marriage to a half-sister from a different mother was permissible. So maybe Jacob did have a whole host of daughters!
But back to the real issue: Jacob's grief. "But he refused to be consoled." A noblewoman once challenged Rabbi Yosei with a fascinating question. She pointed out that while Judah, one of Jacob's sons, was eventually consoled after the loss of his own sons and wife (Genesis 38:12), Jacob, the father of them all, remained inconsolable. And the verse even says, "For Judah prevailed over his brothers" (I Chronicles 5:2). Doesn't that imply Judah was an example to follow?
Rabbi Yosei's response is insightful: "One is consoled for the dead, but one is not consoled for the living." You see, Judah knew his loved ones were gone. But Jacob believed Joseph was dead, and that belief fueled his unending sorrow. It's a different kind of pain, isn't it?
And what about the last line: "His father wept for him”? Who is "his father" here? It's Isaac, Jacob's father, weeping for Joseph!
Rabbi Levi and Rabbi Simon offer a poignant image: when Jacob was with Isaac, he would weep openly. But when he left, Isaac would bathe and anoint himself with oil. This suggests a hidden knowledge. According to this tradition, Isaac was a prophet and knew the truth about Joseph. So, why didn't he reveal it to Jacob?
His reasoning, according to Rabbi Simon, was, "Anyone for whom one mourns, one mourns with him." This is based on the principle that if a close relative is in mourning, we share in their sorrow (Moed Katan 20b). Isaac, despite his prophetic insight, chose to share in his son's pain, even if he knew the truth.
Isn’t that remarkable? Isaac prioritized empathy and shared grief over revealing a truth that might alleviate suffering. It begs the question: Is there a time when comforting someone means joining them in their sorrow, even when you know something they don’t? Sometimes, just being present in someone's pain is the most profound act of love and support. It's a powerful reminder that grief, in all its complexity, is a shared human experience.