As the Book of Genesis draws to a close, we are left with a haunting question: Did Joseph ever actually forgive his brothers for selling him into slavery? The Torah presents us with tears, embraces, and reassurances—but never records the words “I forgive you.” This silence has resonated through the ages, generating profound debate among commentators about the nature of forgiveness itself.

The Unresolved Narrative

After Jacob’s death, the brothers panic. Perhaps Joseph’s kindness had been mere deference to their father’s wishes. Now, with Jacob gone, they fear retribution. They send a message—possibly fabricated—claiming Jacob’s dying wish was that Joseph forgive them. The scene is emotionally charged: “Joseph wept when they were speaking to him” (Genesis 50:17). Yet the Torah never explicitly states that he forgave them.

Competing Traditions: Did Joseph Forgive?

The sources themselves are divided on this fundamental question. A midrashic tradition, cited in the Resp. Chaim B’Yad of R. Chaim Palagi, (# 57), maintains that Joseph did indeed forgive his brothers. Sefer Chasidim(section 11) presents Joseph as the paradigmatic “chasid”, one who transcends strict entitlement by forgiving completely despite possessing full power to retaliate. When wrongdoers return ashamed and remorseful, willing to accept any consequence, the true chasid forgives wholeheartedly and inflicts no harm. This embodies the divine attribute described in Jeremiah (3:12): “I will not cast My face upon you, for I am ‘chasid’. “ Joseph’s conduct after his brothers’ plea—embracing them, reassuring them, providing for them—exemplifies this ideal of living lifnim mishurat hadin, beyond the letter of the law.

Yet other sources paint a darker picture.

Rabbeinu Bachya’s Position

Rabbeinu Bachya (Bereishit 50:17) offers a striking observation: “The Torah is not on record anywhere that Joseph did forgive his brothers.” This omission, he argues, is not incidental but consequential. The Talmud (Bava Kama 92a) teaches that when one person wrongs another, even sincere repentance and behavioral change do not achieve divine forgiveness until the offender seeks pardon from the victim. If Joseph never forgave his brothers, their sin remained unatoned.

And indeed, Rabbeinu Bachya notes, this unresolved transgression had catastrophic consequences: the *aserah harugei malchut*, the ten martyrs tortured by Rome, suffered as delayed justice for the sale of Joseph. The very fact that such punishment came in later generations demonstrates, in his view, that genuine forgiveness never occurred.

Some have questioned this proof. The Resp. Teshuvot V’Hanhagot (5:186) raises an counterargument: Perhaps the punishment in later generations stemmed not from Joseph’s lack of forgiveness, but from dimensions of the sin that Joseph had no power to forgive. The brothers’ offense wasn’t only against Joseph personally—it was also against their father Jacob, whose decades of anguish over his lost son Joseph could not absolve. Similarly, the Chida in Brit Olam suggests that later punishments may have resulted from sins against Heaven, such as the desecration of God’s name (Chilul Hashem) caused by Joseph’s kidnapping. These elements transcend interpersonal forgiveness and remain subject to divine justice even if Joseph forgave what was his to forgive.

The Resp. Chaim B’Yad, after citing the midrash that Joseph did forgive, proceeds to raise numerous difficulties with this position, acknowledging the textual and theological tensions. A discussion in the Shiurei Leil Shishi (vol. 2, p. 554) explores whether Rabbeinu Bachya’s position is purely procedural—that forgiveness must be explicit to count—or whether he assumes Joseph remained angry at heart. The former reading would treat forgiveness almost like a monetary claim requiring clear waiver; the latter suggests something deeper about Joseph’s emotional state.

The Question of Explicit Forgiveness

This raises a fundamental question: whether forgiveness must be verbally articulated. There is a dispute on this matter, with some authorities maintaining that forgiveness cannot be established through inference from conduct, contrasting it with monetary obligations that might be waived through demonstrated intent (see Resp. Yam Simchah, 95).

This issue has tremendous relevance to the question of Joseph and his brothers. Genesis 45:15 records that after Joseph revealed himself to his brothers, “he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them.” A responsum of Rashi (no. 245) discusses a man who swore never to forgive someone who had attacked him. When he later wished to forgive, could the oath be voided as contrary to the Torah’s prohibition against bearing grudges? Rashi ruled that not only did the oath remain binding, but the man could not even kiss or speak kindly to his antagonist: “since he hugs and kisses him, there’s no bigger forgiveness than this.”

If an embrace constitutes the ultimate demonstration of forgiveness, how could Joseph’s brothers still be seeking pardon in chapter 50, after Joseph had already kissed them in chapter 45?

Some authors suggest the brothers suspected his earlier warmth was temporary, like Esau’s kiss of Jacob, a fleeting reconciliation that might evaporate a moment later. The Chavatzelet HaSharon (p. 718) offers a different resolution with significant implications for how the forgiveness process works: Joseph’s embrace in chapter 45 occurred before any explicit request for forgiveness was made. This observation connects to a broader discussion in halakhic literature about whether forgiveness granted before a proper appeal and request can be effective. If forgiveness requires not just the victim’s willingness but also the offender’s acknowledgment through a formal request, then Joseph’s kiss, however warm, may not have constituted full forgiveness in the absence of such a request. According to this approach, there is no contradiction to Rashi’s position: an embrace accompanied by a request demonstrates complete forgiveness, but an embrace alone, before any request is made, may lack the necessary bilateral structure of genuine reconciliation.

Must the Heart Match the Words?

If we accept that Joseph never granted forgiveness, an important question emerges: Why not? Even if he kissed them before they asked, surely when they finally did ask, through a messenger after Jacob’s death, he could have granted it then.

This question has occupied numerous authorities, including Rabbi Aharon Leib Shteinman and others. One possibility is that the victim’s emotional reality matters; forgiveness is not merely a legal mechanism but a healing of relationship. What if Joseph didn’t truly feel it in his heart? Can forgiveness be valid when granted without genuine internal release of resentment?

If Joseph’s tears reflected ongoing pain, if his heart still carried the wound of betrayal despite his words of reassurance, could his “forgiveness” accomplish anything? Perhaps Joseph recognized that speaking words he did not feel would be hollow, even counterproductive. The text’s ambiguity may reflect the impossibility of truly knowing another’s heart, and the integrity required to withhold forgiveness one cannot genuinely offer.

A Different Understanding of the Three-Time Limit

The Talmud (Yoma 87a) teaches that one must not request forgiveness more than three times, deriving this principle from the brothers’ entreaty to Joseph: “Please forgive… for they did evil to you. Now please forgive” (Genesis 50:17), which actually contains versions of the word for ‘please’ three times.

The Maharsha asks the glaring question: If Joseph forgave them, why use this as the source for the law? Perhaps they only asked three times because that was sufficient in this case. He answers that Joseph actually forgave after the first request, making subsequent appeals unnecessary—the three-time maximum was thus demonstrated, though not invoked.

However, the other possibility creates an equally challenging, if not more so, question. What if Joseph never forgave them, as Rabbeinu Bachya maintains? This creates a severe difficulty with Maimonides’ formulation in Hilchot Teshuvah (2:9): “The person who refuses to grant forgiveness is the one considered as the sinner.” If this is true, then after three requests the moral burden shifts entirely to the victim; the offender has fulfilled his obligation and any continued unforgiveness becomes the victim’s sin. Yet according to Rabbeinu Bachya, even after three requests (and indeed, many years later), the brothers remained unforgiven, and divine punishment eventually came upon their descendants. How can we derive the three-time rule from a case where the victim’s continued unforgiveness, even after three requests, led to catastrophic consequences generations later? This appears to be a complete contradiction.

One could suggest a fundamentally different understanding of the three-time limit, one that might resolve this difficulty. Perhaps Rabbenu Bachya would understand differently than Maimonides: maybe the limitation exists not primarily to limit the offender’s responsibility, but to protect the victim from harassment when the circumstances are not appropriate for forgiveness.

Consider the victim’s perspective. Someone has wounded you deeply. The offender approaches, seeking forgiveness. But you are not ready: the pain is too fresh, the betrayal too deep. Or perhaps you sense that the repentance is incomplete, that the offender hasn’t truly internalized the harm caused, hasn’t achieved genuine transformation. To demand that you grant forgiveness prematurely would compound the original injury. And to have the offender return again and again, pressuring you, pleading with you, making you relive the trauma repeatedly—this becomes its own form of violation.

The three-time limit, then, protects the victim’s dignity when the process has been incomplete or the circumstances are not right. After three requests, the offender must cease. Continued entreaties cross the line from repentance into harassment—there comes a point where the victim’s process must be respected, where pressure must end, even if forgiveness has not yet been granted.

This approach might also explain an otherwise puzzling detail: if the elements of genuine repentance are lacking, if the brothers are motivated primarily by fear rather than moral transformation, if their understanding of their wrong remains incomplete, then repeated requests serve no purpose. They cannot manufacture forgiveness through persistence. The three-time limit acknowledges this reality: there are situations where continued pleading helps no one, where both parties must live with the unresolved nature of their relationship.

Two Dimensions of Reconciliation

Uri V’Yishi offers a nuanced resolution to the conflicting sources of whether or not Joseph forgave by distinguishing two aspects of appeasement. First, there is an obligation toward the victim, a part of making the injured party whole, addressing the victim’s pain and restoring relational dignity. Second, there is the dimension that belongs to the offender’s personal process of repentance: the internal work of transformation, moral reckoning, and genuine teshuvah.

Joseph controlled only the first dimension. His responses of tears, embraces, reassurances, and material provision, addressed his brothers’ immediate fear and their standing before him. He released them from interpersonal obligation insofar as it was his to release. But the text suggests their motivation remained rooted in fear rather than complete moral transformation. They had not fully internalized their wrongdoing or achieved the depth of repentance necessary for complete atonement before God.

Therefore, while Joseph may have granted what forgiveness he could offer as a victim making his offenders whole, their incomplete repentance left them vulnerable to later divine judgment. The victim can forgive what belongs to him; he cannot absolve what belongs to Heaven. This explains how both traditions might be true: Joseph forgave in one dimension while the brothers remained unforgiven in another, leading to consequences in future generations.

The Enduring Question, the Challenge and the Hope for the Future

Perhaps the Torah’s silence is itself the message. The Book of Genesis ends with Joseph’s reassurance—“Do not fear, for am I in place of God?” (50:19)—but never with explicit forgiveness. We are left in the tension between Joseph’s extraordinary kindness and the possibility that some wounds never fully heal, that some forgiveness never fully comes.

This uncertainty has profound implications. It suggests that interpersonal reconciliation is more complex than a simple transaction, that the victim’s dignity includes the right to an unrushed process, that genuine forgiveness cannot be compelled or faked. It reminds us that reconciliation can be a long, demanding process.

But that should not lead to despair, but rather to more sincere efforts in repair. We can close with the words of a scholar who believed that Joseph did forgive, Rabbi Yosef Patzanovski who closed his classic commentary “Pardes Yosef” to Genesis (published in 1930) with poignant words that are highly resonant for this moment:

The Talmud in Sanhedrin 110a teaches that Joseph concealed three treasures: one was revealed in the days of Korah, another during the era of Antoninus, and the third awaits discovery in the future. The meaning of this enigmatic passage is that we derive three profound moral lessons from Joseph's life.

The first lesson teaches that when someone is chosen by Heaven for greatness, the efforts of his enemies and adversaries to thwart him through various schemes will prove futile. If God has decreed it, His counsel shall stand. Thus it was decreed that Joseph would rule and his brothers would bow before him. Though he was cast into a pit and sold into slavery, he ultimately reigned over them. This treasure was recalled and reiterated in the days of Korah, who challenged Moses and Aaron and sought to depose them from their positions of leadership. All his efforts came to naught, for what God decrees comes to pass; what He commands endures.

The second lesson from Joseph's life demonstrates that differences in faith and religion need not divide those who are bound together. Even people of different faiths, or two distinct nations, can maintain friendship and affection. The claim of Israel's enemies that religious difference causes hatred toward the Jewish people is therefore baseless. We see that Joseph never abandoned his righteousness, yet maintained a covenant of friendship with Pharaoh, his ministers, and his wise men. This treasure was recalled and reiterated in the days of Antoninus, whom Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi loved with great and faithful devotion, despite their belonging to different faiths.

The third lesson teaches that fraternal hatred does not endure forever. A time will inevitably come when such enmity ends, for they remain brothers with the same blood flowing in their veins. The proof lies in Joseph and his brothers, who wished to kill him with a hatred so intense, yet ultimately achieved peace and unity. This serves as a sign for us as well: though there exists hatred among brothers and various factions have multiplied, particularly in times of world wars, such division will not last forever. This truth will be revealed in the future, when God will remove each person's envy of his brother, and love will come to all who are created in the divine image. May it be so speedily, amen.