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For more commentary on this week's readings, see the Reflections on the Lectionary page. For full-text access to all articles, subscribe to the Century.
Reuben is the only one among Joseph’s many brothers who thinks twice about killing him. He says, “let us not take his life,” and then again, as if for emphasis, “shed no blood,” and a third time, “lay no hand on him.” While Reuben does not reveal to his brothers his plan to rescue Joseph, he does make his fundamental wish clear: Don’t kill him.
Reuben’s advocacy may well be what saves Joseph’s life. And yet, Joseph still ends up sold into enslavement. I find myself wondering whether there is more Reuben could have done. What does effective advocacy look like? And how might reflecting on Reuben’s side of the story shape our own efforts to confront injustice in our world today?
After the brothers throw Joseph into the pit, Reuben goes off somewhere else. He is nowhere to be found when the other brothers are eating lunch together—which is when they see the Ishmaelite traders and decide to sell Joseph. Reuben only later returns to the cistern, greatly distressed upon finding it empty. “Where can I turn?” he asks.
It’s not clear that Reuben actually cares about Joseph’s wellbeing. He does not say, I can’t believe you all sold Joseph into enslavement. That’s going to be terrible for him. Don’t you have any empathy? Reuben cares about the culpability he might carry as the eldest brother. And perhaps he cares for his father’s wellbeing, too: When he thinks about saving Joseph, he’s thinking, I’d better return him to our father.
However flawed Reuben’s motives might have been, perhaps the situation would have benefited from a more direct confrontation. If Reuben had shared his specific concerns with his brothers, giving them reasons to spare Joseph’s life rather than simply telling them to do so, would the brothers have seen things differently? Might they have thought twice before selling Joseph into enslavement behind Reuben’s back?
We don’t know. But it’s possible things would have gone better for Joseph if Reuben had gotten more fully in touch with what Ally Henny might call his “Holy Hell No”: that is, as she writes in I Won’t Shut Up, “a boundary we ardently assert and don’t allow anyone to violate without experiencing our wrath.” What if Reuben had set a boundary like that? If he had spoken firmly not only against murder, but for Joseph to be returned to their father unharmed?
In advocating more strongly, Reuben might have taken on more risk for himself. But this is what advocacy often costs. As Angela Garbes writes in Essential Labor: “True allyship lives in relationships,” and “true solidarity requires giving up some comfort, material resources, and power—and sharing it with others.”
We do not go into advocacy lightly. But we do, I hope, find it to be worth the cost. And as we seek to advocate effectively, we might find ourselves moving from support to solidarity. “Support can be occasional,” bell hooks reflects in Feminist Theory. “It can be given and just as easily withdrawn. Solidarity requires sustained, ongoing commitment.” We move from support to solidarity, and perhaps also from allyship into accompliceship. Effective accomplices, Mikki Kendall writes in Hood Feminism, “put aside their egos and their need to be centered.” Reuben continues to center himself; he doesn’t ask what Joseph wants or needs, how he could be made safe. Reuben’s support is inconsistent, unsustained.
As we examine Reuben’s story, we might find new possibilities for our own advocacy. We learn to engage in more direct confrontation when needed. We stay in the struggle and do not wander off, leaving others to do harm in our absence. We consider the wellbeing of those being harmed, first and foremost, above our own culpability or guilt.
We learn to become accomplices, to embody solidarity. We consider the cost of allyship and decide that honoring the dignity of all humans is worth it. We learn from Reuben—and we might learn, together, to do better than he did.
