דוקא בימים האלה, של חושך בתוך החושך, כשאין כמעט ירח והימים הם הקצרים בשנה, אנחנו קוראים על יוסף במצרים 

שבת שלום.

Precisely in these days—darkness within darkness—when there is almost no moon and the days are the shortest of the year, we read about Joseph in Egypt and his moving encounter with his brothers. Judah, the shepherd, in a shepherd’s cloak, perhaps a bit worn, in sandals made of rope, his staff in his hand, his head bowed—humbled, modest, torn, confessing their mistakes. And before him stands his younger brother, dressed in Egyptian court garments—shining, formal, adorned—secure in the exalted position he has reached, ruling over almost everything, understanding and knowing almost everything.

Joseph sees kingship. He sees how what he learned and dreamed in his father’s house can influence the entire world. He is the original “provider to the consumer,” supplying food for the mightiest empire in the world. In his father’s home, where everyone “counted sheep,” he saw sheaves, the sun, the moon, and the stars—“a light unto the nations,” a whole world.

Judah’s dreams we do not know. We can only guess at them through his actions—if he ever had time to dream at all. He lived in the realm of family, responsibility, loyalty, mutual obligation—lessons he learned firsthand. A shepherd must focus on the here and now: where to take the flock today, tomorrow, in this season. And the world? Who knows. We will do our part, and “from Zion shall go forth Torah.”

And yet.

In the heart of the powerful ruler, Pharaoh’s viceroy—there are tears.
And in Judah’s heart—pride, strength, commitment, and confidence.

Beyond the story of then, we can see in them representations of different approaches that exist within us, and beneath their exchange, this is what they are grappling with:

Joseph the Righteous, whose father makes him a special coat and who “curls his hair,” is not an indulged child with delusions of grandeur, as he is sometimes mistaken to be. In his view, in order to carry forward the vision and blessing given to Abraham—“and all the families of the earth shall be blessed through you” (Genesis 12:3)—one must go out into the world, descend specifically into the darkness of exile, and there ignite light; one must go to the great and powerful empire, the global grain center, and there bind sheaves, save the world from famine, disaster, and death—and through that salvation, bring the way of life, the values, and the Torah of the children of Jacob, the children of Israel, to the world.

Judah’s approach is, first of all, to build ourselves—and from that, to create a strong center that will radiate outward. If Joseph symbolizes a “universal” Judaism, Judah is the man of “Torat Yisrael for Am Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael.”

Now the importance of their meeting becomes even clearer. They are not merely brothers “making peace” after more than 20 years, out of “no choice,” due to hunger and various pressures, but the sons of Israel, the man who wrestled with God and people and prevailed. And they understand that it is not despite but precisely because of the great differences between them—differences that seem almost impossible to bridge—that they must be together.

Judah cannot live alone in the land, cut off from the world. He needs the “supply in Egypt” to generate new opportunities that he could not have known from his vantage point in the land. Joseph, in Egypt, succeeds—almost—in everything, but he recognizes the dangers of a disconnected exile. He and Asenath raise their sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, in the Egyptian palace to be part of the tribes of Israel, to one day ascend to the land and join the family.

How to conduct this discussion—to listen and be heard, to weep together, embrace, and build a shared path—this is still our question today as well.

Shabbat Shalom.