They're…complicated, to say the least. : Cain and Abel, Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Joseph and his brothers. Talk about a mixed bag! So, when the Song of Songs (8:1) says, "If only you were like my brother, who nursed [at my mother's breast]," who exactly are we talking about here?
That's the question the Pesikta DeRav Kahana (a collection of homiletic interpretations of the Hebrew Bible) wrestles with. It quickly dismisses the obvious candidates. Like Cain? Please! He killed Abel. Ishmael? He hated Isaac, plain and simple. Esau? Same story with Jacob. And Joseph's brothers? They sold him into slavery!
So, who's left? Surprisingly, the Pesikta suggests: Joseph himself! But wait a minute… wasn't he the victim in that story? Absolutely. But the Pesikta highlights Joseph’s incredible response to his brothers after their father Jacob dies, found in Genesis 50:21: "And now, do not be afraid. I will sustain you and your little ones. And he comforted them and spoke to their hearts."
Rabbi Simlai, a sage of the Talmudic period, offers a beautiful interpretation. He imagines Joseph telling his brothers, "You are the head, and I am the body. If the head is taken away, what good is the body?" In other words, Joseph saw their fates as intertwined; their well-being was bound to his own.
But the Pesikta doesn't stop there. It offers a whole series of "another interpretation" (davar acher) exploring the depth of Joseph's actions. He tells them they will be likened to the dust of the earth, the sand of the sea, and the stars of the heavens – symbols of countless blessings. According to the text, Joseph implies that he's ready to fight for them like he fought for the Egyptians, and if he can do it for them, he can certainly do it for his own brothers.
One powerful interpretation imagines Joseph thinking, "Shall I become an adversary to my father? My father begets, and I bury?" He wouldn’t undermine his father’s legacy by harming his sons. Another one asks, "Shall I become an adversary to the Holy One, Blessed be He? The Holy One blesses, and I diminish?" Joseph recognizes that taking revenge would be acting against God’s very nature.
There’s even an interpretation that touches on the order of the world – the twelve hours of the day and night, the twelve months, the twelve constellations, the twelve tribes. Joseph wonders if he could possibly abolish such a fundamental structure. According to the Pesikta, Joseph is demonstrating that destroying his brothers would disrupt the natural order of things.
Then there's a practical consideration: before the brothers arrived in Egypt, Joseph was treated like a slave. Their arrival elevated his status, so why would he risk that by harming them? And finally, Joseph worries about what the Egyptians would think. If he killed his brothers, they'd assume he was treacherous and couldn't be trusted.
All these interpretations, layered one upon another, build a powerful picture of Joseph’s incredible capacity for forgiveness and compassion. He doesn't just forgive his brothers; he actively seeks their well-being. He comforts them, and he speaks to their hearts.
And that brings us to the final point. The Pesikta concludes by drawing a parallel between Joseph's comforting words to his brothers and God's promise to comfort Jerusalem, quoting Isaiah 40:1: "Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God."
The logic is simple, yet profound: If Joseph, a mere mortal, could offer such solace to those who wronged him, how much more so will the Holy One, Blessed be He, comfort Jerusalem?
This passage from the Pesikta DeRav Kahana reminds us that even in the face of betrayal and pain, forgiveness and compassion are always possible. And, perhaps even more importantly, it reminds us that God's capacity for comfort and love surpasses even our greatest human examples. It invites us to consider our own relationships, our own capacity for forgiveness, and the promise of ultimate comfort that awaits us.