American Jewry’s Goshen moment - The Jewish Standard

Did the Hebrews cause their own enslavement?

Shemot Rabbah, a 12th-century compilation of midrashic commentary, makes a startling suggestion. In analyzing the Exodus story, it cites a verse from Proverbs: “He who spares the rod hates his son.” This framing suggests the enslavement was not just a tragedy, but a form of divine discipline.

What did the Hebrews do to warrant such devastating consequences?

While some argue it was punishment for selling Joseph into slavery, that interpretation is flawed. Joseph himself noted that his arrival in Egypt fulfilled a divine plan to save lives, and the brothers already had endured their own grueling penance. Instead, we must look at a different culprit: the societal consequences of the Hebrews’ self-isolation in the land of Goshen.

When Joseph interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams and successfully managed Egypt’s grain reserves through a historic famine, his strategy saved the region from starvation. But it came at a staggering societal cost. To survive, ordinary Egyptians were forced to sell their livestock, their land, and eventually their own bodies to Pharaoh. They became serfs in their own country.

The primary beneficiary of Joseph’s ingenuity was an autocrat who used a humanitarian crisis to consolidate absolute control. Joseph was granted immense authority, but it was ultimately used to strengthen the regime rather than protect the vulnerable.

Joseph’s motivations were well-intentioned — he wanted to protect his family. Pharaoh offered a deal: continue serving the throne, and the Hebrews could live in the prosperous, protected province of Goshen.

While Joseph’s family “ate the fat of the land,” ordinary Egyptians starved outside Goshen’s gates. Perhaps the Hebrews didn’t see the suffering, or perhaps they believed they were immune to it. They were wrong. The unseen cost of Joseph’s bargain was that his family became the face of Pharaoh’s tyranny — and the natural target for the public’s bubbling resentment.

When a “new king” arose in Egypt, he did not have to manufacture hatred toward the Hebrews; he merely exploited a deep-seated economic and social animosity that already existed. Shemot Rabbah even suggests that the Egyptian public forced a reluctant Pharaoh into oppressing the Hebrews.

The echoes in our time are profound. Prior to October 7, 2023, American Jewry enjoyed an era of unprecedented prosperity and political influence. We built our own modern-day Goshens — beautiful, comfortable, insular communities in places like the Five Towns and Teaneck.

When October 7 occurred, the ensuing wave of antisemitism caught American Jews by surprise. We had failed to see what was happening around us. That the world outside was burning.

For decades, millions of ordinary Americans have watched their wages stagnate and their opportunities shrink due to globalization and automation. Many justifiably feel that our modern economy is a rigged game, and that the American promise remains unfulfilled. American Jews, however, enjoyed a remarkably prosperous run. We lived in our Goshens, oblivious to hardship just blocks away.

This was not born of malice. The Jewish community is famously generous, but also intensely focused inward. Like our ancestors in Egypt, centuries of historical persecution taught us self-reliance over interdependence. To prioritize ourselves over partnerships because no one else would be there for us when we needed them.

But that posture is no longer sustainable. Our gilded Goshens are a dangerous mirage; they blind us to the systemic threats metastasizing around us until they catch us by surprise.

I recently considered this when reading conservative columnist Bret Stephens’ address at the 92NY. Stephens argued that fighting antisemitism through external philanthropy is a wasted effort, claiming, “They hate us because of our virtues and successes.” His solution? Turn inward, focus entirely on ourselves, and “if there is no room at the table, build your own table.”

While I agree that traditional anti-bias campaigns have failed, Stephens’ call to retreat further inward is dangerously wrong. Historically, isolation has never protected a minority. More importantly, we cannot “become better Jews” by abandoning the societal role so central to Jewish identity.

Our strategy must shift. We must look beyond the walls of our Goshens and recognize that Jewish security, and the ultimate antidote to hatred, lies not in superficial campaigns designed to “win the world’s love” but in our willingness to see, and help repair, the fractured world outside.

Yigal Gross of Teaneck is an attorney and community organizer. All his opinions here are expressed in his personal capacity.

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