And it seems that even in the hallowed pages of the Bible, we see echoes of this self-serving behavior.

Let's dive into the story of Joseph, the coat of many colors, and Pharaoh's dream. Remember the chief butler, the one who forgot all about Joseph after Joseph interpreted his dream in prison? Well, something interesting happens much later, as recounted in Bereshit Rabbah.

“The chief butler spoke to Pharaoh, saying: I mention my sins today” (Genesis 41:9). Why today? What prompted this sudden burst of conscience? According to Bereshit Rabbah, the chief butler wasn’t exactly overcome with remorse. The text suggests that as Pharaoh’s soul was “on the verge of departing,” the butler started doing some quick calculations. Uh oh. If Pharaoh dies, will the new king keep me around? Will I still have this cushy job?

“The chief butler spoke” – he said: ‘I have committed two sins. First, I did not perform a favor for Joseph and mention him before you...'" So, there it is. It wasn't just about confessing his wrongdoing; it was about securing his own future. He suddenly remembers Joseph, the Hebrew slave who so accurately interpreted his dream years ago. He realizes that Joseph might be the key to solving Pharaoh's current dream-related woes.

The butler tells Pharaoh, “There with us was a Hebrew lad, a slave of the chief executioner; we told him, and he interpreted our dreams for us; each of us in accordance with his own dream, he interpreted” (Genesis 41:12). Then, he adds, “It was, as he interpreted to us, so it was: Me, he restored to my position, and him, he hanged” (Genesis 41:13).

Notice how he words it? He emphasizes that Joseph's interpretations were accurate, almost as if trying to prove Joseph's reliability before Pharaoh even meets him. It's all very strategic.

And here's where it gets even more interesting. Bereshit Rabbah points out that even in mentioning Joseph, the butler demeaned him, because, and this is key, he knew the prominence Joseph would eventually attain. “There with us was a Hebrew lad…” Immediately, “Pharaoh sent and summoned.”

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers a scathing observation: “Cursed are the wicked, who do not perform complete goodness.” The butler's "good deed" was tainted by his self-interest and his subtle belittling of Joseph. He calls him a “lad” – implying foolishness or inexperience. He labels him “Hebrew” – subtly reminding Pharaoh of Joseph's foreign origins. And finally, he refers to him as a “slave” – a status, the text tells us, that according to Pharaoh's own records, disqualified him from positions of power. The text even adds that in those days, slaves couldn't wear kelidim keli yadayim, bracelets worn by royalty. According to Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, this was a sign of high status and sovereignty.

It’s a fascinating glimpse into human nature. Even when doing something that appears helpful, ulterior motives can lurk beneath the surface. The story reminds us to examine our own intentions. Are we acting out of genuine kindness, or are we calculating the benefits for ourselves? Are we offering help with a full heart, or are we subtly diminishing the person we're assisting?

Perhaps the story of the chief butler serves as a cautionary tale. True goodness, it seems, requires more than just the act itself; it requires purity of intention and a genuine desire to uplift others, without reservation or self-serving calculation. Food for thought, isn't it?