From Pit to Palace: The Power of Seeing Another's Pain

The story of Joseph and his brothers is often hailed as one of literature's greatest, its timeless grip on our imagination rooted in the raw, core dramas of life depicted with unflinching biblical intensity.

I recall years ago, at the Wallace Collection in London, encountering a painting by the 17th-century Spanish master Bartolomé Esteban Murillo. His depiction of the scene was so vivid that, for the first time, I could truly envision the despair in Joseph’s expression as his brothers cast him into the pit.

A profoundly moving verse captures the brothers’ later reckoning. Under duress, and accused of being spies in Egypt, they confess: “Alas, we are being punished on account of our brother, because we saw his anguish and paid no heed as he pleaded with us” (Genesis 42:21). The renowned commentator Nachmanides astutely highlights that this admission does not focus on the physical crime of selling Joseph into slavery. Instead, it indicts their moral failure: their utter lack of sensitivity to his suffering and their profound indifference to his desperate pleas.

Contrast this searing self-reproach with Joseph’s own conduct later in the narrative. Despite having been falsely accused and languishing in prison, he demonstrates remarkable empathy. He notices two of Pharaoh’s courtiers in custody with him and asks, “Why do you appear downcast today?” (Genesis 40:7). This simple act of compassion—of seeing another’s pain even while burdened by his own—earns their trust. One of those courtiers eventually becomes instrumental in securing Joseph’s release and his meteoric rise to the viceroyalty of Egypt.

It is this specific trait—the capacity to feel and act upon another's distress—that lies at the heart of the Jewish spirit. It is the hallmark of our identity, the enduring legacy of our people, and our perpetual gift to humanity.