World War II was so cataclysmic that even now, when someone says “The War,” no one has to ask them which one they mean. The villains of that dreadful conflict—Germany and Japan—unleashed horrors that defied human imagination, leaving entire countries, including their own, in ruins. Millions died, and millions more had their lives shattered.

The Allies won, but just barely—and not before being brought to their knees, literally, by blitzkriegs, kamikaze pilots, and some of the most heinous war crimes and terrifying military strategies ever devised. Unsurprisingly, the victory celebrations didn’t last long. As the world exhaled a collective sigh of relief, one daunting question lingered: What now?

The last time the world tried to clean up after a global war in 1919, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. The Treaty of Versailles didn’t just punish the Germans; it humiliated them, grinding the nation into groveling submission, saddling them with crippling debt and a national identity crisis.

Unsurprisingly, Versailles backfired—spectacularly. Instead of licking their wounds and learning their lesson, Germany doubled down. Within a generation, they’d elected a violent psychopath who promised to restore their pride and lead them back to dominance.

By 1939, the Germans were back in uniform, goose-stepping straight into chaos and dragging the rest of the world along for the ride. So, in 1945, the Allies faced a big question: Should they repeat the mistakes of Versailles or try something completely different?

U.S. President Harry S. Truman, now the undisputed leader of the free world, was no softie. This was the man who dropped not one, but two atomic bombs on Japan to end World War II. He knew exactly what it meant to be tough. But Truman also understood something else—winning the war was only half the job. The real challenge was winning the peace.

With his Secretary of State, the famously humble George C. Marshall, Truman set out to rebuild what the devastating war had torn apart. Both men instinctively knew that grinding defeated enemies into the dirt might feel good in the moment, but in the long run, it was a recipe for resentment, instability, and—eventually—more war.

So, instead of punishment, they chose partnership. And instead of vengeance—which no one could deny was justified—they chose vision. The result? The Marshall Plan—a bold, almost utopian investment in Europe’s recovery that turned former enemies into future allies.

Meanwhile, over in Japan, General Douglas MacArthur—the military genius with a flair for dramatic poses and a love of corncob pipes—took charge of the occupation. And he did much more than oversee the country rebuild – he practically rewrote Japan’s playbook. With sweeping reforms, a new constitution, and a total overhaul of the country’s political and economic systems, MacArthur turned a defeated imperial power into a peaceful, thriving democracy.

Cleverly, he left Emperor Hirohito, who had nominally led the country during its war with the Allies, in place as head of state. And remarkably, it worked. Like the Marshall Plan, the idea wasn’t to punish but to empower, ensuring that former enemies wouldn’t become future threats. It was bold, risky, and surprisingly effective.

Both Truman and MacArthur played the long game. They understood that real leadership isn’t about humiliating enemies—it’s about turning them into allies. Truman proved he could be tough when it was necessary—his drastic decision to drop the atomic bomb made that abundantly clear. But he also recognized that securing the future required vision and partnership, not just brute force.

MacArthur took a similar approach, combining strength with strategy to transform Japan—not by crushing its spirit, but by reshaping its identity. And that brings us to Joseph, whose treatment of his brothers, especially in Parshat Vayigash, feels like a case study in strategic reconciliation.

Joseph had every right to make his brothers squirm. After all, they had sold him into slavery and left him for dead. He had done nothing to harm them, yet they conspired against him, sentencing him to what should have been a slow and miserable end. Although he survived slavery, he endured years of hardship—separated from his beloved father and locked away in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

But when the moment of reckoning arrived, Joseph didn’t crush his brothers. Instead, he orchestrated an emotional roller coaster designed to wake them up, force them to confront their guilt, and—most importantly—show them a way forward.

Joseph was tough, but he was also tender—equal parts drill sergeant and therapist. He wasn’t interested in an apology. He wanted a transformation. Like Truman and MacArthur, Joseph understood that the real victory wasn’t revenge and submission—it was redemption.

Joseph’s actions, as Ramban explains, weren’t about revenge or vindication. Instead, they were carefully calibrated to lead his brothers through a process of self-reflection and growth. Joseph wasn’t trying to break them—he was trying to rebuild them. By recreating a scenario that echoed their original betrayal, he allowed them to confront their guilt and prove they had changed. But Joseph’s brilliance didn’t stop there.

As Sforno points out, Joseph’s ultimate goal wasn’t to shame his brothers but to lift them up and empower them. He reframed their actions within a larger divine plan, assuring them that despite their wrongdoing, God had used the situation for good—to save lives and secure their family’s survival. And now, Joseph invited them to consciously step into that plan, turning past failures into a foundation for future success.

What Joseph intuitively understood was that crushing people under the weight of their mistakes might feel justified, but it’s ultimately counterproductive. True leadership means showing people how they can rise above their past and step into a better future.

And that’s the trick, isn’t it? Whether you’re rebuilding nations or repairing fractured relationships, the goal isn’t to keep score—it’s to move forward. Whether it’s Joseph in the biblical narrative or dealing with a defeated enemy in the modern world, the best way to win is to make sure everyone gets to share in the victory. Because the only thing better than defeating your enemies is turning them into your allies.

The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.

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