The Strength of Being Seen: Miketz 5786

This devar Torah was first published in Hanassi Highlights, 18 December 2025. You can also read it in Hebrew by clicking here.

The interaction between Yosef and Pharaoh is one of the more surprising encounters in Sefer Bereishit. Yosef is summoned from prison after two long years of silence and disappointment and brought before the most powerful ruler of his time. He faces what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to secure his future. How might we expect him to act?

One might imagine that Yosef would try to blend in. At the very least, to soften the edges of his difference. To speak in a way that sounds familiar, acceptable and safe. After all, we know that Esther, generations later, conceals her Jewish identity in the Persian palace. Survival, it would seem, sometimes requires discretion.

Yet Yosef does nothing of the sort.

From his very first response to Pharaoh, Yosef marks himself as different. When asked if he can interpret dreams, he replies without hesitation: “Bil’adai—it is not me; God will answer Pharaoh’s welfare.” He does not credit his own brilliance, nor does he translate his faith into neutral terms. Yosef speaks openly, in a distinctly Jewish register, naming God without apology or calculation.

What is striking is how Pharaoh responds. Rather than recoiling from this difference, he is drawn to it. Yosef’s clarity, integrity, and rootedness inspire confidence. He is elevated not in spite of his identity, but alongside it. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks zt”l once captured this dynamic succinctly: “Non-Jews respect Jews who respect Judaism.” Yosef does not seek legitimacy by erasing who he is; he earns it by standing firmly within it.

This theme resonates powerfully as we approach Chanukah. The mitzvah of lighting the Chanukiah is centered in the Jewish home, yet placed where its light can be seen. Pirsumei nisa emerges not from the public square, but from a place of rooted identity. Chanukah affirms a Judaism that is visible because it is lived, not because it is proclaimed.

The symbol of Chanukah is oil, and Chazal famously compare Am Yisrael to the olive. Oil does not mix. No matter how vigorously it is shaken, it always rises to the top and separates again. For generations, Jews believed that perhaps this time we could fully blend in, finally fit in, finally disappear into the surrounding culture. History has taught us, repeatedly, that this was an illusion.

Even in our own days, recent tragic events have reminded us how fragile acceptance can be, and how quickly ancient hatreds resurface. The response cannot be confined to fear and retreat. It must be quiet strength and dignified confidence.

Yosef embodies a Jewish identity that is neither concealed nor apologetic. His faith is visible, his values intact, his presence grounded and confident. Like olives, we may be pressed, and at times deeply shaken—yet we endure. And across Jewish history, often in the most painful of moments, it has been precisely this quiet fidelity—rooted in who we are and in our trust in Hashem—that has sustained us.

Shabbat Shalom and Chanukah Sameach!