Everyone knows the story of Joseph and his brothers. Joseph is Jacob's favorite son, spoiled and a little obnoxious, a tattletale and a braggart. His brothers are jealous and dislike him intensely. When the opportunity presents itself, they sell him as a slave and convince their father he has been killed by a wild animal. In Egypt, Joseph is a stellar success. He rises to the position of viceroy, second only to Pharaoh, in charge of the food program during the years of widespread famine.

Joseph's brothers come to Egypt to buy food; he recognizes them, but they don't recognize the brother they last saw 22 years earlier. Joseph insists that when they next come to buy food, they must bring their youngest brother, Benjamin. In spite of Jacob's reluctance, the brothers bring Benjamin, now their father's favorite, to Egypt, and Joseph springs his trap. He arranges to frame Benjamin for theft and then appears to be magnanimous — he tells the brothers he will keep Benjamin as his slave, but the rest of them may return to their father in peace.

It is here that this week's parsha begins, with Yehuda's response. He approaches the Egyptian viceroy and says, Let me take his place as your slave, for he is our father's favorite and his loss will break our father's heart. Let me take his place, for I cannot cause my father such pain.

Most commentators focus on Yehuda's action, on his spiritual and moral growth, his teshuva. Rambam describes teshuva gemura, complete repentance, as the case when the opportunity presents itself to the offender to repeat the offense and he refrains because of his repentance and not out of fear or physical inability.

Remember, it was Yehuda who first proposed selling Joseph into slavery. Now, 22 years later, he is faced with the same opportunity. He could have left Benjamin as a slave in Egypt, returned home, and told Jacob that Benjamin was being justly punished for his theft. But he didn't; this time, his father's pain was of paramount importance. Yehuda and the other brothers have changed; they have done teshuva.

Obviously, this is a matter of great importance, one of the Torah's primary moral lessons, but we should also look at the other party, at Joseph. The rabbis call Joseph Hatzadik, the righteous one, primarily because he resisted the advances of Potiphar's wife but also because of his response to his brothers: "Do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me here; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you…. It was not you who sent me here, but God." That is, you intended evil, but God turned it to good.

Joseph might have reacted quite differently. He could have said that even though God turned your action to good, you are still guilty for your action undertaken with evil intent. He could have wallowed in resentment and used his power to torture them for what they had done. But he didn't.

We have no way of knowing what was in Joseph's heart and mind during his years in Egypt, how he felt about his brothers, whether he indulged in daydreams of revenge. What we do know is what he actually did at the moment he revealed himself to his brothers. He told them, "I am Joseph your brother, whom you sold into Egypt." You did it, and I certainly haven't forgotten that you did it. But "do not be distressed or reproach yourselves."

None of us reaches adulthood or gets through the rest of life without having done some things we wish we hadn't done. But, of course, no one can change the past. At best, we can learn from our experience, do teshuva, and resolve never to repeat our past mistakes.

This is what Joseph told his brothers: You did a terrible thing to me and I haven't forgotten it, but it's over. You've done teshuva, resisted the temptation to do it again. So, what's important is what happens from now on. God has turned your action to good, and that good — my being in Egypt to provide food not only for you, but for many others as well — would not have come about if you had not done what you did.

Every one of us is the sum total of all of our past experiences, the good and the bad. You can't change the past, but you can come to terms with it, learn from it. The Torah teaches us this message of hope — people can change and learn and can, as God commands us, choose life, goodness, and blessing.