What is a brother?

The people and the book: The question 'who is my brother?' is a version of the question 'what I am?'.

By JOSH FEIGELSON
torah (do not publish again) (photo credit: avi katz)
torah (do not publish again)
(photo credit: avi katz)
The Torah portion Vayeshev (Genesis 37:1-40:23) is read on Shabbat, November 27
GENESIS IS A STORY OF BROTHERS: CAIN AND ABEL, Abraham and Lot (the son of Abraham’s brother), Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers. It is also a story of sisters, particularly Rachel and Leah. And it turns out that one of the most challenging words in Genesis is the word ach, brother.
In Leviticus (chapter 18) the Torah distinguishes between sisters by one’s mother or one’s father, teaching us that being someone’s sibling connotes at least one common parent. But further on in Leviticus (chapter 25) the term ach is used to denote a more general kinsman – a fellow Israelite, towards whom we have obligations even though we do not share biological parents.
So ach can carry a specific biological meaning, or it can carry a broader ethical meaning, depending on the case.
In his famous St. Crispin’s Day speech, Shakespeare’s Henry V reflects on this elasticity, offering a means by which two men might become brothers: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.”
In this conception, brotherhood is achieved by shared suffering. But it also denotes social standing: Members of the gentry are brothers, as are commoners, and a commoner can become a gentleman when they shed blood together.
These multiple definitions of brotherhood animate the tensions of the book of Genesis, and in particular the story of Joseph.
Joseph sees his brothers as achim, despite the fact that they do not share a mother: “Joseph, a young man of seventeen, was tending the flocks with his brothers, the sons of Bilhah and the sons of Zilpah, his father’s wives.” (Gen. 37:2) As the story unfolds, Jacob’s favoritism leads the brothers to harbor true hatred towards him: “Now Israel loved Joseph more than any of his other sons, because he had been born to him in his old age; and he made an ornate robe for him. When his brothers saw that their father loved him more than any of them, they hated him and could not speak a kind word to him.” (Gen. 37:3-4) Eventually, the brothers will not even acknowledge him as their brother, instead referring to him, mockingly, as “the dreamer.” Having come this far, they seriously entertain the thought of killing him.
Crucially, at the moment that Judah suggests selling Joseph instead of killing him, he refers to him as their brother: “What will we gain if we kill our brother and cover up his blood? Come, let’s sell him to the Ishmaelites and not lay our hands on him; after all, he is our brother, our own flesh.” (Gen. 37:26-27) For a fleeting but essential moment, Judah brings the brothers to recognize that Joseph is not only a human being, but an ach, someone with whom they share a basic biological identity. While the mob mentality still holds, and the brothers cannot take this recognition to its logical conclusion and raise Joseph out of the pit, they do spare his life – and in the process, of course, they save their own.
It pays us to revisit Shakespeare at this point, because Henry’s conception of shared suffering – specifically, shedding blood – evokes Judah’s observation that “he is our brother, our flesh.” Despite all their anger and resentment, despite the manner in which they dehumanize Joseph – at this moment the brothers demonstrate compassion. While they clearly do not fully recognize Joseph as their brother, they see in him something of themselves – the suffering of their own flesh and blood – and they have pity. Human decency has not been driven from them completely, even if the crime of selling Joseph into slavery is only one rung up the moral ladder from fratricide.
I remember my teacher and colleague, Michael Brooks, longtime Hillel director at the University of Michigan, observing that “most questions worth asking are questions of membership.” Who is in and who is out? What is at the center and what at the periphery? The question of “who is my brother?” is thus a yet more succinct version of the famous questions of Hillel the Elder: If I am not for myself, who will be for me? When I am for myself, what am I?
This is an eternal quest, summed up best by Joseph himself. When the stranger asks him on the road, “What do you seek?” Joseph answers, “I seek my brothers.” (37:15-16)
Rabbi Josh Feigelson is campus rabbi at Fiedler Hillel at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.