Self-help books reshape the way I read the Torah. This week’s portion describes the manipulative and emotionally fraught way Joseph is reunited with the brothers who once sold him into slavery. But I keep wondering: if Joseph lived in today’s self-help era, absorbing the wisdom of Brené Brown and Mel Robbins, what would they teach him about handling this moment?
Let’s start with Brené Brown. Her work rests on courage, vulnerability, shame, empathy, and the protective strategies we develop to survive trauma. Brown would immediately notice Joseph’s armored behavior: his disguise, his accusations, his tests. These are the coping mechanisms of someone who endured profound betrayal and is not yet ready to risk being hurt again.
When the brothers arrive in Egypt seeking food, they don’t recognize him, but he recognizes them. Joseph responds not with instant forgiveness, but with restraint. He imprisons them for three days, which is a harsh move, yet far more humane than what they had once done to him. Brown would say Joseph is moving at a human pace. Forgiving too quickly would risk spiritual bypassing, the attempt to leap over one’s pain instead of moving through it.
Brown is a champion of self-compassion, and she would honor the sheer courage it took for Joseph to even remain in the same room as his brothers. She would help him understand that boundaries are not barriers to love but containers for safety. Joseph’s hesitancy isn’t vindictiveness; it’s vulnerability in disguise. In Brown’s telling, Joseph would learn to own his story rather than let his trauma dictate it.
And beautifully, the Genesis narrative already mirrors Brown’s teachings. Before Joseph offers forgiveness or theological meaning, he weeps. He removes his armor slowly. He feels first, then interprets. Only after the emotional work is done does he reframe the story with the famous line, “God meant it for good.” Brown would likely affirm that sequence: emotional honesty before meaning making; tears before theology.
Mel Robbins, however, would give Joseph a different kind of push. Her “Let Them” theory is the idea that we should stop trying to control other people’s choices, reactions, and redemption arcs. That would certainly shake up Joseph’s strategy.
Robbins might say: “Joseph, you’re carrying too much emotional labor. Let them be who they are. Stop scripting their repentance. Stop running psychological experiments to determine whether they’ve changed.”
Joseph’s elaborate disguises and tests are attempts to force clarity before he risks vulnerability. Robbins would challenge that: “Let them show you who they are now. Let them feel their guilt. Let them own whatever remorse or growth they have or haven’t achieved. That work belongs to them, not to you.”
Importantly, “Let Them” doesn’t mean “trust blindly.” Robbins would emphasize that Joseph can set boundaries, stand in his truth, and still stop micromanaging the outcome. Her key question to him would be: “Who do you want to be in this moment?” Joseph cannot undo his past by coercing his brothers into proving they’ve changed. What he can do is choose how he shows up now and then let them respond.
Robbins might also challenge Joseph’s testing as a way of avoiding the deeper fear: revealing himself. If he told them, “I am Joseph,” he would have to risk being rejected, dismissed, or wounded again. The tests buy him emotional distance. “Let Them” would mean relinquishing that illusion of control: reveal the truth, offer relationship, offer resources, and let their reactions be their own.
And again, this is precisely where Genesis leads him. Eventually, Joseph drops the tests. He sends out his attendants, reveals himself, and weeps so loudly that the entire palace hears. He stops managing the outcome and steps into authenticity. Robbins would argue that this is the moment Joseph becomes truly free, not from prison or slavery, but from the burden of controlling a story that was never his alone to control.
In the end, Brené Brown helps us see the depth of Joseph’s emotional process, appreciating his courage, his boundaries, and his vulnerability. Mel Robbins helps us know the liberation in releasing what we cannot control. Together, they offer a modern lens on an ancient story: that healing requires both feeling our pain and letting go of the need to choreograph other people’s repentance. Joseph learns both, and in doing so, he steps into a deeper kind of power—the power of choosing who he will be.
Rabbi Evan J. Krame
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