Whose Justice?

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18–47:27

By Dave Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA

The beginning of Parashat Vayigash is the climax of the story of Joseph and his brothers. The narrative tension is at its highest point, as it appears that Benjamin will be enslaved by his not-yet-revealed brother, Joseph, and the brothers will be sent home to break the news to their now twice-bereaved father.

Then Judah went up to him and said, “Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are the equal of Pharaoh. (Gen 44:18)

Judah goes on to recount the story up to this point, giving the reader his perspective. I always took the words of his monologue at face value, hearing in them a pleading, humble tone. But Rashi makes an unexpected comment on the phrase “do not be impatient” (or “do not be angry”). He says, “We learn from this that Judah now spoke harshly to Joseph.” And Rashi does not stop there, even suggesting that “you who are the equal of Pharaoh” is a veiled threat: “If you annoy me any further I will kill you and your master [Pharaoh] too.”

Rashi, following midrashic sources, hears a barely-concealed anger under the surface of Judah’s words. To someone who has read this story from childhood, knowing that Joseph is about to reveal his identity, this is unexpected. But this reading is surprisingly well attested in the rabbinic sources. Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, in her spectacular work, The Beginning of Desire: Reflections on Genesis, helps to flesh out this reading: 

In this passage, Rashi understands the obviously conciliatory tone of Judah’s rhetoric as the plain meaning of the text, with the menacing, reproachful notes detected by the midrash as undertones. Ramban elaborates on this idea, which possibly originates in the midrashic comment that Judah spoke “both softly and harshly” . . . in Ramban’s view, there is anger hidden in Judah’s words, though he dare not express it unambiguously.

 This reading is at odds with the common reading of this story where Joseph is the righteous orchestrator of his brothers’ repentance. But perhaps Joseph has some residual anger, or is indecisive, or confused about his identity—perhaps it’s more comfortable to keep his old life at arm’s length than to deal with forgiveness and long-buried emotional trauma.  

If so, then Joseph needs Judah to call him out, to break the dam of his reticence, to rip off his mask.

If we follow this interpretation, what accounts for Judah’s anger? A hint may lie in the exchange right before this, at the end of the previous parasha: 

Judah replied, “What can we say to my lord? How can we plead, how can we prove our innocence? God has uncovered the crime of your servants. Here we are then, slaves of my lord, the rest of us as much as he in whose possession the goblet was found.” But [Joseph] replied, “Far be it from me to act thus! Only he in whose possession the goblet was found shall be my slave; the rest of you go back in peace to your father.” (Gen 44:16–17, emphasis added)

Zornberg suggests that it’s these last words, “go in peace (‘alu leshalom),” that set Judah off. Shalom, peace, is a motif weaving its way throughout the story of Joseph and his brothers. The word is broader than the English word “peace,” however, to include wholeness, completion, safety, and health. In Judah’s mind, returning without Benjamin to the death of his father and a permanently fractured family, is no kind of shalom. 

Joseph has claimed to be a God-fearing man (42:18), and we get the sense that he takes pride in acting justly. The cup was found in Benjamin’s bag, so only Benjamin will be punished. Judah’s suggestion that all the brothers remain as slaves is laughed off. Far be it from him to act thus! This is Egypt, cradle of civilization! Nobody does law and order like us! We only punish the guilty. But Judah sees through him. “Go in peace” employs a narrow vision of shalom. It is a platitude, a joke.  

This is why Judah is livid. 

What we have here are two different conceptions of justice. Joseph cares about justice, certainly. He likely sees this whole charade as a kind of justice for how his brothers treated him. As a boy he was a tattletale (37:2), and it seems he may have grown up with a tattletale’s sense of justice.  

This conception of justice we detect in Joseph is well-represented in our contemporary culture. This justice is fair, mechanical, and punitive. An eye for an eye, meted out on the individual caught with a hand in the cookie jar (or a goblet in his sack). According to this conception of justice, letting a criminal go free is a miscarriage of justice. Brothers who have done wrong need to be punished, and even if they have repented, they must prove it.  

Judah’s justice, on the other hand, is nuanced, empathetic. It’s the justice of the rabbis, who while acknowledging the concept of “an eye for an eye” and capital punishment, organized their legal system in a way that made them impractical and irrelevant. Judah’s justice is oriented toward shalom. Instead of punitive, it is restorative.

Justice, as the word is used in English, does often carry this sense of retribution. In that sense, Joseph’s justice might seem more natural to many of us. This kind of justice is about the right people being punished for crimes. But in the Jewish tradition the dominant aspect of justice (tzedek) is redistributive justice, hence the Hebrew word tzedakah meaning charity, or obligatory giving of money to the poor. 

Justice in our tradition, then, is not preoccupied with crime and punishment, but is focused on shalom, restoration, and wholeness, and finds its ultimate embodiment in Yeshua, who like Judah, was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of restoration, regardless of whether it was fair.

In a feat of profound self-control, Judah avoids the pitfalls of his righteous anger, however, and while subtly calling out Joseph, he tells a story designed to arouse his empathy. In his case, the story succeeds beyond his wildest expectations because, well . . . you know how it ends. 

Today the true meaning of justice is no academic point. In the United States, for example, much of the legal system takes Joseph’s approach to justice. Because laws accrete over time, we now live subject to a vast corpus of law, which is impossible for a citizen to fully know. James Duane, an American law professor writes: 

Legal experts now agree that just about everybody in the nation, whether they know it or not, is guilty of numerous felonies for which they could be prosecuted. One reliable estimate is that the average American now commits approximately three felonies a day. (You Have the Right to Remain Innocent, p. 22)

Because the breadth of statutory “law” is so expansive, the American system of justice has a certain flexibility in how it can be wielded. The law can entrap us all, but only certain people are policed in a way where those unknown felonies are used against them. And the legal system is experienced very differently by those with the (mostly economic) resources to navigate its labyrinthine halls. 

The results are clear enough: For example, a cursory look at incarceration rates by race or ethnicity in American jails shows wild imbalances (Black Americans make up 40% of the prison population, but only 13% of the total population). Nearly half of Americans have experienced a family member incarcerated, but that half is overrepresented in more vulnerable communities. Families are separated and communities hollowed out when fathers and brothers spend much of their lives in prison. 

Judah worried about sending his father, Jacob, “down to Sheol in sorrow” (44:29). Just as today, Benjamin’s captivity would have an impact extending far beyond just the presumed guilty party. 

Joseph, in his position of power, portrays himself and his government as just. We do fair punishments! Only the guilty are punished! Indeed, some of us may say the same of our own legal system. But Judah sees past such platitudes. Systems are not inherently just, and systems established by power tend to protect the powerful. We know well that Egypt was not in fact a shining example of justice. Fortunately Joseph could hear the voice of his powerless brothers giving him correction. 

Bryan Stevenson, who has committed much of his life to giving voice to prisoners, writes in Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption: 

I've come to believe that the true measure of our commitment to justice, the character of our society, our commitment to the rule of law, fairness, and equality cannot be measured by how we treat the rich, the powerful, the privileged, and the respected among us. The true measure of our character is how we treat the poor, the disfavored, the accused, the incarcerated, and the condemned. We are all implicated when we allow other people to be mistreated.

 Perhaps it is time for us to put aside our platitudes about justice as well and listen carefully to the stories of the accused.

Citations of Tanakh are from the JPS translation.