Suddenly we discover that during the entire narrative, the floods of words have but one purpose: to cover the silence. And that this silence in fact is the dominant theme. And also that the story is more beautiful than it appeared, and Joseph—the axis around whom everything revolves—more mysterious than he appeared.

The question that has been haunting us remains: In what way was Joseph the Tzaddik worthy of his title?

• • •

In the Midrash the answer is simple: because Joseph was able to overcome his sexual urges. Despite the atmosphere of overt sensuality that prevailed in Egypt, he resisted adulterous wives, Potiphar’s and others: Day after day Joseph saw a number of princesses and courtesans, some covered with jewels, others with perfume, still others . . . with nothing at all; and every one of them was seductive. But Joseph remained chaste.

Another text offers this image: When Joseph went in and out of the royal palace, the princesses stood at their windows and threw him their jewels, earrings and bracelets, to attract his attention—but he never even looked up. For our ancient sages, that evidently was reason enough to crown him Tzaddik.

Not for me. I readily admit that a Tzaddik should be able to resist temptations, but I would prefer to see the concept enlarged to include temptations beyond those inherent in sexuality.

First let us define the term Tzaddik. In Arabic it means friend. In Hebrew it is the opposite of Rasha, wicked. Rasha is he who sins against man, not necessarily against God. He who deserts his community is a Rasha. He who harms his friends is a Rasha. To betray one’s comrades, to flout one’s people, those are acts of a Rasha.

Conversely, the term Tzaddik is defined by relationships between men, not necessarily between man and God. A Tzaddik is he who resists temptations, not necessarily tests. Tests imply God; temptations are human. Abraham, tested by God, was not a Tzaddik. Joseph was.

Joseph had to overcome inner obstacles not in order to come closer to God, but to his fellow-men. His own brothers. He had good reasons to repudiate them, to hate them, to drive them from his house and memory; for him they represented a source of grief and evil.

He had equally good reasons to distrust women; the most beautiful and powerful among them caused him to be thrown into prison.

He had every reason to distrust people in general. He even had reasons to feel bitter toward his father.

• • •

Let us go back once more to the incident at Shechem. Joseph went there to meet his brothers, unaware that they were lying in ambush for him, ready to kill him. But who had sent him? Jacob. The visit had been his idea. He was the one who had asked Joseph to go and see his brothers, just like that, for no particular reason. At that crucial moment, while his brothers were binding him and throwing him to the ground, Joseph tried to understand, to remember. And suddenly a searing, terrifying thought crossed his mind: Was it possible that his father knew, and had sent him here because he wanted this to happen? Because he wanted him to be killed? The motive? Still the Akeda. The memory of Mount Moriah. At Peniel, Jacob had wanted to imitate Isaac; here he could be wishing to emulate Abraham by sacrificing a son, his favorite son.