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My brothers I seek: Thoughts on Parashat Vayyeshev - Rabbi David Goodman
(טז) וַיֹּ֕אמֶר אֶת־אַחַ֖י אָנֹכִ֣י מְבַקֵּ֑שׁ...
(16) My brothers I seek.
Joseph is rambling about, unable to find his brothers, when a man encounters him in a field and asks him, “What are you looking for?” Joseph replies that he is in search of his brothers. He had been sent on an errand to check on his brothers’ wellbeing and the condition of the flock, a mission that nearly cost him his life. Over the course of history, the sentence “My brothers I seek” has become a watchword of solidarity with our Jewish brothers and sisters in distress.
It may be that Joseph is acting out of naivete and thus falls into a trap. Simple Joseph is searching for his brothers while they are plotting to kill him. Joseph does not know why he enters into the quest for his brothers, and while he is motivated by brotherhood, those feelings of brotherhood are one-sided. “My brothers I seek”—How does that simple, straightforward desire become a palpable threat?
Alternatively, we may say that Joseph was not naïve and did not anticipate that his brothers would greet him peaceably. Joseph knew that his brothers were a threat to him, that they hated him, but that did not prevent him from going out on their trail and seeking to ascertain that all was well with them. The commentary Siftei Ḥakhamim, following Rashi, adds a new dimension to the encounter between Joseph and the unnamed man in the field who told him that “They have moved on from this [place]”: “They have moved on from what you are saying, that ‘it is my brothers I am seeking.’
(א) הסיעו עצמן מן האחוה.
(1) They have removed themselves from brotherhood.
The man is warning Joseph, telling him to be cautious in his search for his brothers, since his brothers have already abandoned their fraternal feelings toward him. If you continue to search for them, says the man in the field, you could get hurt, because those whom you consider your brothers are not really that anymore.
Joseph’s brothers hated him. They regarded him as a slanderer and a conceited dreamer. So great was their enmity that they were unable to exchange a civil word with him. Joseph was aware of all this, but he was not prepared to give up on his involvement with his brothers. They had long ago moved on from fraternal relations, but Joseph still says “My brothers I seek.”
The warning from the man in the field did not dissuade Joseph and did not cause him to turn back from his mission. Even though the brothers had already moved past brotherhood, Joseph does not desist from seeking them out. From this we may learn an important lesson about solidarity and social cohesion—a solidarity whose source is not in straightforward simplicity and a surfeit of optimism, but in a solid understanding of hard reality. Facing those for whom fraternal relations with us are a thing of the past, to maintain our solidarity and ask how we can make our way back toward closeness. Joseph’s solidarity is that stance that chooses dialogue with a group that does not want to promote one’s own welfare. For if such a conversation does not continue to exist, we lose that which is most precious to us, the place in which we live.
In our time too, we cry out, “My brothers I seek.”
As human rights activists who promote values of peace, justice, and human rights in this difficult period, there will be those who spit on us, who curse us in talkback forums and social media, using language that would make your hair stand on end. There will be those who consider us slanderers and “enemies within.” There will be those who describe us as haughty and out of touch.
All of those people have long ago moved beyond fraternal feelings. Nonetheless, we must not allow them to divert us from our important mission. It isn’t easy, and along the way there will be those who will try—successfully at times—to throw us into the pit. But we will not stop telling about our dreams and acting to bring them to fruition. We will continue to raise a Jewish and humanistic voice of brotherhood and sisterhood, a voice of partnership between the communities and individuals who live in this place, a voice of rights for every human being and of social justice.
And finally, we will offer a prayer for our brothers and sisters snatched from their homes, from fields, and from the dance space, who have persevered under miserable conditions for over 400 days already. May they soon return home safely. — “My brothers I seek.”
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David Goodman is the rabbi of Kehilat Moreshet Avraham in Jerusalem, in partnership with his wife, Rabbi Amirit Rosen. In addition to his rabbinic duties, he is a research student at the University of Haifa. His research explores the philosophical foundations of contemporary theology, focusing on Jacques Derrida's thought. David is a board member of Rabbis for Human Rights and is involved in interfaith dialogue both in Israel and abroad.