D’var Torah Vayechi (01/03/26)

Dear Friends,

This past Shabbat, we were treated to a very unique and insightful D’var Torah by Benjamin Mordechai Strongin, son of our dear friends, Shlomo and Ronni. As a public defender in Michigan, Ben has firsthand knowledge of our courts and correctional/penal institutions, and feels it’s his mission to speak out against the injustices of the system in order to create a better one. Noting the instances of justice, lawful and unlawful, that occur in the last chapters of Genesis, Ben enlightens us on how our correctional facilities and judges could learn from Joseph and Judah. This D’var Torah is lengthy but definitely worth your time.

Enjoy,

R’ Neil

I, like so many Jews, am a lawyer. Specifically, I used to be a lawyer for folks on death row in Georgia and Alabama. Now I’m a public defender in Michigan’s State Appellate Office. What drove me to do this work, like so many of the Jewish lawyers before me, are the values instilled in all of us Hebrews from birth. Like all of you, I care deeply about tzedek – righteousness. Tikkun olam, repairing the world, is, of course, of paramount importance. But to me, tikkun olam isn’t enough. I don’t want to just fix the world, I want to build a better world. That’s why I am deeply driven by what I believe is the most important of all the kitschy Jewish terms for doing right: mishpat.

Misphat can mean the sentence a judge hands down, and it literally translates to “Justice.” But misphat does not necessarily mean following the law – it means real justice: the active pursuit of doing the most morally right thing.

Okay great. How does that relate at all to what we’ve just read?

For the past four weeks, we have read about Joseph, and, if you count learning his name for the first time, it’s actually been five weeks – the story of Joseph is considered the longest continuous narrative in the Torah. There’s only one brief interruption in the whole story. And I think Joseph’s long narrative, at least as much as any other segment of the Torah, can teach us something about the morality of justice and punishment.

What I intend to present is the complete story of Joseph, the sentenced. Because if we look back to see how often and how harshly Joseph was convicted and sentenced for doing nothing, and how he responded to those charges, I think there’s something worth saying. Because I’ll be covering five parshot to tell this story, I’m going to do it like the least engaged aunt at a Passover seder, quickly and with a lot of skipping, so bear with me.

Immediately upon our introduction to Joseph, we learn he’s no fun to be around. His father loved him more than anyone, and Joseph was not humble about it. Before he knew he could interpret dreams, he was telling his brothers, and then his parents, a story about how they’d bow down to him. Yeesh.

And for the crime of being annoying, Joseph’s brothers seek to punish him. Joseph has already been convicted by the time he meets his brothers in the wilderness. Their duty is to determine his sentence, and the Torah informs us that they arrive at a sentence unanimously. All but one brother determines that Joseph’s crime warrants a death sentence, but Reuben—the oldest—objects, and the brothers instead agree to a term of solitary confinement in a dry well.

We learn that Joseph’s time in the well is not unlike solitary confinement in real life. Joseph snaps almost immediately, screaming for help—this is a lot different, people are often left in solitary confinement for days or weeks before they snap—but like real life, Joseph’s pleas go ignored by his jailers. See, when I worked on improving solitary confinement conditions in Georgia, we were fighting against the following practices: people being locked in a small cell for 23 hours a day, seven days a week. Sometimes the remaining hour would be spent in a small cage outside for “yard time,” and sometimes in a shower. That’s it. No pencil or paper, no programming, no human interaction. It makes people go crazy.

But I’m supposed to be talking about Joseph, so let’s get back to that.

We learn that Reuben left his brothers for some reason. Reuben was the sole objector to the death sentence, notably only because he feared the punishment he would face from his father if Joseph was harmed. With him gone, the brothers intend to follow through on the execution. Here now, it is Judah who speaks decisively to save his brother’s life. Judah argues that it’s better to sell Joseph into slavery than put him to death. The brothers agree, and they are rewarded with 20 silver pieces for the sale of Joseph.

Again, allow me a brief pause to compare Joseph to the incarcerated person today. Our carceral system, like the slave system Joseph was sold into, is designed to do two things: do away with the undesirable and help certain people profit from the convicts’ labor. In Georgia and Alabama, prisoners are made to work for free. In New York, people make something like 35-65 cents per hour, depending on the work they do. Yet, the state makes a killing off the labor of those prisoners. According to an ACLU report published in 2022, incarcerated workers produce $11 billion in goods and services. That is why I call myself a prison abolitionist. Prisons are a continued form of slavery.

Returning to the Torah: After Joseph is sold, we get the only interlude in Joseph’s tale, which I think is an important story that I’d like to discuss later. After the interlude, we return to Joseph, now a slave. We don’t know his whole journey or how he got to be where he is, but we learn, at least when the story picks up, that he’s doing pretty well for himself. Until he’s accused of coming on to his master’s wife and imprisoned for the offense. Joseph, now a recidivist, has again been punished for being himself. His only crime, according to the Torah, was being handsome. We do not learn of any consequences for the wife’s lie about Joseph.

While in prison, he interprets the dreams of a cupbearer, who he exhorts not to forget him when he is released.

The parsha Vayeishev ends with the line “Yet the cupbearer did not think of Joseph; he forgot him.”

Three weeks ago, we returned to Joseph, and we learn he’s been in prison for two years. We also learn the cupbearer is still in the service of the Pharaoh, whose bad dreams finally cause the cupbearer, in shame, to remember Joseph and the promise he had forgotten.

This leads directly to Joseph’s knighting as second-in-command of Egypt. He spent two extra years in prison because it took the cupbearer two whole years to remember him. But we hear no more of the cupbearer; we learn of no mishpat for the “offenses” he committed against Joseph for his forgetfulness.

You know the familiar story of the dream interpretation, which we learn happened 13 years after Joseph was first imprisoned by his brothers.

Joseph literally ends world hunger, which brings him back into contact with his brothers. In his first encounter with them, Joseph doles out the only punishment he ever metes, and it’s really more of a trial or even a prank than a dose of misphat. Regardless, Joseph forces his brothers into a “guardhouse,” which I’ll liken to a jail.

For all the harm the brothers have caused Joseph and their father, Jacob, the only opprobrium they face is this three-day jail sentence. I pause here to note that people have spent much longer in jail for much lesser crimes than human trafficking. For example, in the 2003 case Ewing v. California, the United States Supreme Court upheld a lifetime sentence for a man who stole three golf clubs from a pro shop.

California had recently passed a three-strike law, making anyone who commits a third felony eligible for life imprisonment. Mr. Ewing had previously committed a few felonies, mostly petty theft and check forgery, so he was given a life sentence. But for literally enslaving Joseph, the 10 brothers get three days in jail.

Interestingly, even though they don’t recognize Joseph, the brothers do acknowledge that they’re being punished, karmically, for locking up Joseph and ignoring his cries for help. Hearing this reaction from his brothers, Joseph feels enough remorse about locking them up that he cries.

I should say Benjamin was not on this journey to Egypt, but Joseph—still not revealing his true identity—requested to see him. After the three days are up, we get a saga about getting Benjamin to Egypt. For my d’var’s purposes, all you need to know is that Benjamin does eventually come, and Joseph frames him for stealing a nice goblet.

As punishment, Joseph says he’ll enslave Benjamin but let the other brothers go. This was actually a really generous offer, since it would have been lawful and proper for Joseph to arrest all the brothers for Benjamin’s trespass.

But Judah offers himself instead, begging Joseph to let him take the punishment, not Benjamin.

This makes Joseph so emotional that his cries sound out across Egypt, and he reveals himself as Jacob’s son. Immediately, he tells his brothers not to “be distressed” or “reproach” themselves for selling him into slavery.

The brothers are invited to live in Egypt, along with Jacob, and it seems life is good for everyone.

Finally, we arrive at this week’s portion, Vayechi. The parsha first tells of the end of Jacob’s life: On his deathbed, he first blesses Joseph’s two sons as though they were his own, then “blesses” his 12 sons. Many of the blessings are actually pretty mean. There may be some mishpat in that.

I’ll say more about the blessings later, but what I want to draw our attention to is what happens after Jacob dies. We learn that after their father’s death, Joseph’s brothers fear that there’s no reason for Joseph to continue to treat his brothers well—they fear that without the restraint of wanting to keep his father happy, he’ll finally unleash their punishment. In fact, they are so fearful of Joseph that it seems they make up a lie, which they have their servants deliver to Joseph, saying that Jacob encouraged Joseph to forgive his brothers. This is likely a lie because we have no reason to believe Jacob ever learned how the brothers turned against Joseph.

Joseph’s brothers here fear a type of misphat that I posit is identical to the criminal legal system we have today. They worry of a powerful system, restrained by nothing but its own whims, and judges those less fortunate than the person in power. A system that encourages people to lie, rather than act honestly, for fear of the punishment that honesty might bring. The brothers fear an “adversarial system” that admits no room for reconciliation.

But this is not the mishpat they get. Joseph is actually upset that his brothers still do not trust him, even though it is clear that they do feel remorse for their actions. The brothers prostrate themselves before Joseph and exclaim that they are prepared to be his slaves, which is honestly an equal punishment for selling Joseph into slavery. But Joseph rejects their offer and instead says, “Al tirauh! Ki hatachart Elochim ani?” “Have no fear! Am I a substitute for God?” Joseph emphasizes that God, not man, is to judge one another.

From the age of 17 onward, Joseph is wronged over and over and over again. And yet he never seeks to carry out a sentence against any of the people who wronged him, despite having had both the power and perhaps even moral justification to do so. Maybe that’s because things seem to have worked for him, all in all.

But I don’t think that’s the case. Joseph had some rough times. Just take one small example: the two years he spent in prison. Were he in a United States prison, he’d have suffered immensely. Every year in prison takes two years off a person’s life expectancy. Prison food is riddled with maggots. Prisons are the only places where a patient can be treated by medical “professionals” who either never received or lost their board certifications and licenses. Prisons have such close quarters that disease and violence wait around every corner. And surely the United States—the bastion of civil liberties, democracy, and equality—has better prison conditions than ancient Egypt! Right…? So Joseph’s time must have been tough.

But okay, maybe things worked out all right for Joseph. Yet, I would posit that Joseph never actually escaped incarceration from the day he was put in the well. “What!?” You’re all saying. Didn’t this Joseph fellow literally become as important and powerful as the Pharaoh? Well, yeah, but maybe that’s the problem. We learn this week that when Joseph sought to take his father, Jacob, back to the Land of Israel to bury him, Pharaoh allowed Joseph to make the trip but sent along a literal army, as well as “all the officials and senior members” of the royal court. Is this a compliment to Joseph? I don’t think so. This was Joseph’s father, a shepherd; there was no need for all the royalty to attend. Nor is there any indication that the journey from Egypt to Canaan was dangerous; Joseph’s brothers made the journey several times. I think, instead, there’s sufficient evidence in the Torah to believe that Joseph was not, in fact, permitted to leave Egypt, and that the large parade of soldiers and leaders who followed Joseph were there for the purposes of ensuring he returned. In fact, the text gives reason to suspect that Joseph wasn’t even sure Pharaoh would let him leave to go to his own father’s funeral in the first place. This demonstrates a man lacking the fundamental freedom to travel—to exist—freely.

And here, too, I see parallels between Joseph and the modern American defendant. Like Joseph, he is ensnared in an inescapable trap. See, even when people leave prison, they typically continue to serve a term of probation, supervised release, or—in some states—parole. These are all traps that make it nearly impossible to progress beyond a prior conviction. Want to get a job? Well, make sure the hours don’t conflict with your probation supervision times. Warrants? Don’t apply when you’re on probation. Want to chill out with a drink? That might be enough to get you locked up. Want to hang out with your friends? Better make sure that your plans comply with the terms of your probation—especially because one term is usually not to associate with other “felons.” And when whole peoples from similar backgrounds are overpoliced and overconvicted, it makes it quite difficult not to associate with other ‘felons’.

Anyway, I emphasize that not Joseph’s brothers, nor Potifar’s wife, nor the cupbearer, nor anyone who wronged Joseph is ever punished in any way. Despite all Joseph’s suffering! Now, this isn’t Christian Sunday School, and I’m not saying the lesson we should take from this is to turn the other cheek. In fact, I don’t actually think that Joseph’s lead is the one to follow here. Joseph, perpetually sentenced, is just as imprisoned by God’s plan as he is by the Pharaoh’s. See, Joseph knows not to blame his woes on those people who wronged him. Everything went according to God’s plan for him, so the brothers, the wife, and the cupbearer are all blameless. And Joseph knows that those who are blameless should not be punished.

Instead, I want to bring our attention to that interlude I skipped over. It’s about Judah and his daughter-in-law, Tamar. We learn that Tamar was married to Judah’s oldest son, who ends up displeasing the Lord and is smitten. As was customary, Judah then permits his next son to marry Tamar, who also displeases the Lord and also dies.

Judah, fearful that Tamar is the problem, refuses to let her marry his next son, in essence condemning her to the life of a spinster. Tamar devises a plan: She dresses up as a prostitute and, disguised, sleeps with Judah, and becomes pregnant.

Judah learns that Tamar is pregnant, which means she’s defiled his house with her adultery. Naturally, she needs to be punished, and that punishment is having her burned to death.

But just before mishpat is carried out via burning, Tamar slyly reveals to Judah that the father of her child was Judah himself. Upon learning that he was the father and seeing that Tamar was kind enough to uncover the truth covertly, to avoid publicly shaming him, Judah recognized that he was wrong to keep Tamar from remarrying. Judah has a change of heart and admits, “She is more righteous than I.”

There you have the only instance in this saga of a person making a judgment, actually listening to the alleged offender rather than haphazardly imposing a sentence. And by listening, we learn that both parties have been wronged, and in fact, it is Judah who has wronged Tamar more than the other way around. Because Judah actually stops to hear Tamar out, there is healing and reconciliation, and the crimes are forgiven without traditional punishment. To me, this is mishpat. It is very different from the adversarial system that Joseph’s brothers thought they would face.

And notably, in this week’s parshah, we hear Jacob bless Judah with the best blessing of any of the brothers. Judah, who would become the namesake of our people: Yehudaim. Whose lineage would go on to produce our great Kings David and Solomon. Yehuda, who three times retreated from a mishpat based purely on vindictive retributivism. Who admitted twice that he was wrong and remorseful. If Jacob’s blessings are to be believed, it is Judah’s ethics we should follow.

But our criminal legal system does not embody the values of Judah. Because I do not believe we are operating under a system in which mishpat is served, my personal mishpat demands that I come before you to give this d’var, highlighting some of the injustices that are right under our noses.

The carceral system helps no one; it solely harms people, particularly the already marginalized. It also hinders victims of crime from obtaining the closure Tamar received, or at the very least, recompense. And its existence, and misphat, demands that I implore you to think of Joseph, ever the prisoner, whenever you think someone deserves to go to prison. And think of Judah and Tamar whenever you are wronged or when you wrong another.

Because we would all benefit from a system of reconciliation, emphasizing remorse, forgiveness, and closure, rather than a system of pure punishment.

Thank you.

Ben Mordechai-Strongin