The Strategy of Surrender

Joseph as Virtuoso

Joseph could no longer control himself (lo yachol Yosef l’hitapek) before all his attendants, and he cried out, “Have everyone withdraw from me!” So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. (Genesis 45:1)

He could not bear that the Egyptians should stand by him witnessing how his brothers would be put to shame when he made himself known to them. (Rashi)

It appears from this wording that the courtiers around Joseph became gradually more inclined to side with Yehuda in that argument, something that Joseph was not prepared to tolerate. This is why he ordered them out of his presence, calling out: “remove everyone from my presence!” (Rabeinu Bachya)

And the reason for the removal is that he expelled them from there so that they should not hear when he mentions the matter of the sale to his brothers because it would be a source of distress to them and also to himself, for the servants of Pharaoh and the Egyptians will say of them: “These are treacherous people who must not live in our land, nor tread in our palaces. They have acted treacherously against their brother, and also dealt treacherously with their father. What will they do to the king and his people?” They would also no longer believe in Joseph. (Ramban)

Joseph tells the Egyptian courtiers to leave his chamber so that he can address his brothers, alone. But commentators are divided as to the reasoning. Rashi follows a tradition that he doesn’t want to shame his brothers in the eyes of the Egyptians. Meanwhile, another tradition suggests that Joseph dismisses the Egyptians because he can’t stand that they are taking his brother’s side of the argument. The two needn’t be mutually exclusive—the Egyptians don’t know the whole story. Joseph may be conflicted: he may want to protect his brothers from Egyptian judgment and be frustrated that his own entourage is beginning to side against him. Ramban hits upon another point—Joseph’s own reputation may be tarnished by association with his brothers. If his brothers are revealed to have committed treachery in the past, who is to say Joseph himself isn’t just like them?

As we can see from these various angles on the same scene, the moments before Joseph’s revelation are fraught not just with deep emotion , but with political and rhetorical concern. The dramatic question is not just whether and how Joseph will reconcile with his brothers, whether and how we will forgive them and save them, but how he will do it as a public figure. Joseph’s dismissal of the Egyptians works only partially. After all, “His sobs were so loud that the Egyptians could hear, and so the news reached Pharaoh’s palace.” (45:2)

We have seen stories of reconciliation before in the Torah, but we have not yet seen the combination of two roles in one: Joseph is both a proxy of imperial power and a member of a family, a little brother. When we meet Abraham, we don’t meet him as a sibling or a child. The psychological dynamics are dramatic enough without the political layer, but what the Torah offers us in parashat Vayigash is a new question: How do you speak to your brothers when you are also their ruler? How do you speak to your fellows when strangers are eavesdropping? How do you balance the logic of grand strategy with the duties of the heart? What are the conversations that can only be had amongst family members or amongst co-religionists? And what do you do if you are perceived to be like a Pharaoh; how do you step outside the persona to show that you are not just a person with power, but a peer?

I don’t find a set prescription to this line of questioning, but I do appreciate the Torah’s rendering of some of the paradoxes that arise from the fact that our identities are complex. In Greek tragedy it’s an either/or choice: Polis vs. Oikos, state vs. family. Antigone chooses her family. Creon chooses the state. Agamemnon chooses to sail to Troy, and sacrifices his daughter, which in turn leads to his wife to murder him. In the case of Joseph, we see someone who flickers between the political and the familial.

In his book on Strategy, Luttwak suggests that military strategy requires the element of surprise. To surprise the enemy, one must do that which is seemingly illogical and even, at times, self-destructive. For example, in war, the bad path can be good, while the good path can be bad. Another paradox: winning a battle can be be bad for the war effort, while losing it can be good. With this in mind, Joseph’s grand strategy remains deliberately inscrutable, both before he reveals who he is and even afterwards. It is also unclear who Joseph’s enemy is: Is it his brothers? The Egyptians? Himself? Joseph’s gambit of taking Benjamin hostage makes sense within a framework of Grand Strategy because it is unpredictable. But the most unpredictable thing Joseph does is “lose control”— “lo yachol l’hitapek.”

In a paradoxical way, his most honest moment is also his most strategic. How does Joseph know what to do? Has he been planning this moment for decades? Fantasizing about it during his time in jail? Whether we imagine Joseph as a prophet who orchestrates his miraculous ascent, or as a mere believer to whom fortuitous events occur, the irony is that Joseph knows it is time to bring his plan to culmination only at the very moment when he no longer has control of the situation. Whether we think of that lack of control in terms of emotion or reason or both, his successful moment of reunification emerges not from following a script, but from doing that which appears neither advisable nor inadvisable. In answer to the question of how a person can be both a brother and a vizier the Torah doesn’t give a playbook; it says that a person can do it by not having one.

Joseph’s grand strategy is to be both in control and not in control at the same time, which is fitting for someone with conflicting objectives: to project power and confidence, on the one hand, and to project fraternity and love, on the other.

In the story of Cain and Abel, Abel proves to be just a victim, Cain a perpetrator. But in the case of Joseph, we have someone who is both a victim and a ruler. This flip leads Yehuda, who was once a perpetrator to find himself in the position of supplicant. Genesis ends with the truth that the world doesn’t typically divide neatly into good and evil. There is no inherent righteousness in victimhood, nor inherent evil in sovereign power. Yet the experience of victimhood, we hope, makes rulers wiser. The affirmation of sonship and brotherhood, in Joseph’s case, strengthens his leadership and keeps him from becoming a tyrant.

Joseph, by revealing his identity to his brothers, shows us that we don’t need to choose between being persecuted outcasts and being persecuting members of a tribe. We can belong and not belong at the same time. Surrender is not weakness. And so Joseph achieves the apex of his power when he allows himself to cry.

Shabbat Shalom,

Zohar Atkins

Etz Hasadeh