Finding Kindness (Miketz/Channukah)
Joseph, beloved by his father and resented by his brothers, is cast into the abyss of human cruelty. A dreamer and messenger of God’s visions, he shared dreams foretelling his rise — a future where his brothers would bow to him. Their resentment grew unbearable, and they sold him into slavery.
From there, Joseph’s path was riddled with trials. Sold to Potiphar in Egypt, falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, and cast into prison, Joseph continued to interpret dreams, revealing divine messages to an imprisoned butler and a baker. His interpretations were precise: the baker would die, and the butler would be restored to Pharaoh’s service. Yet even after helping the butler, Joseph was forgotten until Pharaoh’s own dreams cried out for understanding. Dreams in the Torah are divine whispers. Pharaoh’s visions of impending plenty and famine bring Joseph out of the depths and Joseph’s facility with dreams elevate him to Viceroy over all of Egypt.
When the foretold famine does strike, Egypt’s storehouses became the world’s sustenance. Joseph’s brothers arrived, seeking food, failing to recognize the sibling they had discarded. But Joseph, now a man transformed in body and bearing, knew them instantly. Here, his dreams come to life: his brothers bow before him. Yet, he does not reveal his identity. Instead, he conceals himself, testing them, and the narrative grew intense, layered, and perplexing.
Why did Joseph hide his identity? Why not rise and say, “It is I, your brother Joseph”? Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev offers an answer, suggesting that by not revealing himself, Joseph spares his brothers the humiliation of confronting their past cruelty. He allows them to believe they were bowing to an Egyptian ruler, not the brother they had wronged. This interpretation, while beautiful, raises questions. Is Joseph’s deception an act of kindness, or does it prolong pain? Could it have been both?
Perhaps Joseph was aching for connection, as his later tears reveal. Perhaps he sought healing and reunion but struggled with how to extend dignity to his brothers, especially after the pain they had caused him. Kindness is complicated. It demands awareness of others’ needs and a willingness to withhold even when our hearts long to give, and the readiness to give anyway when they do not.
This season, as Chanukah approaches, we find echoes of this complexity in our own lives. Chanukah, a holiday rooted in the fierce defense of identity and Jewish pride, has been shaped over time by the cultural context in which we live. Especially in North America, Chanukah has absorbed elements of its season — like gift-giving — as it dialogues with the surrounding culture. While neither Christmas’ nor Channukah’s origin is about kindness, this season often invites us to think about light, generosity, and the needs of others.
So, let us pause with Joseph. Let us see his restraint as an invitation to kindness, even if it’s not the whole story. Let us remember that healing — for Joseph, his brothers, and for us — is rarely straightforward. And let us imagine what the world might look like if we approached each other with gentleness, if we considered others’ needs before asserting our own.
Kindness is not simple. It is not always easy. But isn’t it worth striving for? Let us carry that intention forward today and into tomorrow. Let us fill our days with light, sweetness, and love. Let us sing, send our hearts eastward, and bless one another with kindness. May this invitation to kindness ripple outward, shaping our lives and our world for the better.