Dreams are meant for great people. Small people do not dream. Dreams create new realities – ones initially perceived as impossible. The biblical encounter between Pharaoh and Joseph is, first and foremost, a meeting between dreamers. That alone is a powerful opening for a bilateral relationship – and for the possibility of creating shared dreams between people of different faiths.
Joseph and Pharaoh share three defining characteristics: they dream dreams, they act upon the interpretation of those dreams, and they both believe in God. Joseph repeatedly emphasizes that the interpretation of dreams belongs to God: “What God is about to do, He has told Pharaoh” (Genesis 41:25). Pharaoh, in turn, is deeply impressed and asks his servants, “Can we find anyone like this man, one in whom is the spirit of God?” (Genesis 41:38).
In Egypt, Joseph recognizes his brothers, but they do not recognize him. They are unable to dream. The Torah tells us that they saw him from afar – they could not draw close to his dream or to the expansive vision he carried. By contrast, the covenant that emerges between Joseph and Pharaoh becomes an interfaith coalition aimed at saving society. Both understand that they need one another to realize their dreams – and that neither has a future alone.
In Pharaoh’s time, Egypt was not antisemitic. Antisemitism emerged only later, with “a new king who did not know Joseph.” Viewing the relationship between Joseph and Pharaoh through the lens of global citizenship – of equal human beings forming bonds to confront crisis – offers a compelling framework for our own time. We cannot confront antisemitism alone.
It is true that antisemitism has deep psychological and pathological dimensions. Yet beyond legislation and law enforcement, one effective response lies in the creation of interfaith coalitions within different countries. Ahmed, the Muslim man who leapt to save Jews during the horrific massacre at Bondi Beach in Australia, understood this intuitively. As a citizen and as a moral human being, he knew he had to act – barehanded if necessary to save fellow human beings simply because they were human.
For more than a decade, together with Professor Emerita Suzanne Rutland of the University of Sydney, I have led a comprehensive research project in Australian government schools examining Special Religious Education (SRE). Under Australian law, every child may receive half an hour of religious education per week if their parents consent, with instruction provided by representatives of the various faith communities.
Religious bullying and violence occur in schools across Australia
Our research focuses on six religious groups: Muslims, Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Bahá’ís, and Hindus. One of our central findings is deeply troubling: religious bullying and violence exist in government schools across several faith groups. While Buddhist and Bahá’í students experience relatively low levels of such violence, the most severe and persistent forms are directed toward Jewish students.
We have presented these findings four times to the Parliament of New South Wales and submitted formal reports to the government. A core insight from our work is that if we truly want to combat antisemitism, we must think beyond conventional frameworks and build coalitions with members of other faiths.
Accordingly, in our reports and peer-reviewed publications, we deliberately shifted the discourse from a singular “fight against antisemitism” to a broader struggle against religious bullying. This shift proved strategically significant. After my parliamentary address last year, several members of parliament told me candidly that in the aftermath of October 7, it was politically difficult to advance antisemitism alone as a legislative issue. However, when data on religious violence affecting multiple faith communities are presented, attitudes change. Lawmakers become more open to meaningful regulation and intervention.
Throughout this research journey, I have met with senior religious leaders from diverse communities. I encountered attentive listeners and sensed the emergence of a new horizon. My meeting with the Chief Imam of Australia was particularly formative: I met a thoughtful man with dreams, willing – under certain conditions – to continue thinking and dreaming together.
In another meeting with Christian and Hindu leaders alongside a member of parliament, it was striking to observe how the parliamentarian listened differently when antisemitism was articulated by non-Jewish religious leaders. Solidarity, it turns out, changes the moral and political equation.
For 28 years, I have facilitated dialogue groups between Arab and Jewish students at Bar-Ilan University, and I founded an interfaith Beit Midrash that brings together imams and rabbis for the shared study of Islamic and Jewish texts. I believe deeply that encounters among religious leadership open pathways to shared dreams and shared responsibility.
When I read this week’s Torah portion and reflected on the coalition between Joseph and Pharaoh, echoes from Sydney and from the interfaith Beit Midrash resonated within me. I face significant opposition to my interfaith work – many dismiss it as naïve or accuse me of daydreaming. Yet when I read the reflective journals of Jewish and Arab students at the end of my dialogue courses, I know that change is possible.
When Jacob prepared to meet Esau, he prepared in three ways: prayer, war, and gifts. Many know how to fight. Many know how to pray. Few know how to practice diplomacy – and diplomacy deserves a chance.
Our reality is bleeding, and patience for interfaith possibilities is scarce. Yet Parashat Miketz reminds us that when dreamers meet as equals, grounded in faith and shared responsibility, societies can flourish. I invite us to reread this story and reflect on what becomes possible when dreamers dare to dream together.
The writer is the head of the Sal Van Gelder Center for Holocaust Instruction and Research at Bar-Ilan University.