Judah didn’t expect the quick nods of agreement from each brother.
“We will treat him as we always have,” Gad said, his words dripping with scorn.
“Or worse,” Simeon agreed.
Laughter grew among them, and they slapped each other on the back. Camaraderie as they had not known before this night drew them together against a common threat. Joseph. He would remain their nemesis, and no matter what their father chose to do, they would not be dissuaded. Let him have Joseph. They wanted nothing to do with the boy—ever again.
Joseph awoke with a start, blinking to clear his head. Benjamin still lay sleeping at his side and seemed unaware of his movement. Joseph crept quietly from the tent and hugged his arms to his chest against the sudden chill. The stars hung in brilliant patterns above him, with no clouds to hide them.
Adonai? What does it mean?
He’d dreamed of a field of wheat where he and his brothers had worked together bundling the crop—something they had not done together ever before. Why would he dream of something he’d never done? The servants harvested the wheat. His brothers handled the flocks. He managed the household. Something like that would never happen—or had yet to happen.
Was God showing him that they would one day come together and reconcile and work side by side? The thought warmed him, for he longed to be close to them—something he had rarely known. But why would his sheaf stand and theirs bow before it? Were his brothers destined to fall somehow? Was he going to be the only one left once his father passed from the earth?
Adonai, please don’t let that happen!
Despite all of their faults, he couldn’t bear to think of his brothers sent away or ruined or killed or having any harm befall them. The dream must have another meaning. Surely dreams meant something. His father had often told him of his dream of the ladder reaching to the heavens and how God had spoken to him after he’d awakened.
Do You want to tell me something?
Joseph stared at the heavens, but no thought came to him. No voice spoke, whether in a whisper or thunder. All was quiet and cold and peaceful. He would get no answers from God this night.
He returned to his mat and wrapped his old cloak around him, for he could not bring himself to sleep in the new one. In the morning he would share the dream with his brothers. Perhaps God would speak to him through them.
When Joseph awoke the second time that day, light spilled through the slightly opened door and Benjamin was no longer sleeping on his mat near him. Dinah must have come for him. How long had he remained asleep?
He hurriedly dressed, donned his sandals, and walked toward the central fire, where his brothers still lingered over a morning bowl of porridge. They would rush off now that he was here, so he glanced at his father and then approached them.
They did not look up from eating, though he knew they sensed his presence. He cleared his throat. “Listen to this dream I had last night,” he said. “We were out in the field, tying up bundles of grain. Suddenly my bundle stood up, and your bundles all gathered around and bowed low before mine!” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I tried to make sense of it and thought perhaps you could help me do so.”
Judah straightened, flicked his gaze over the others, then glared at Joseph. “So you think you will be our king, do you? Do you actually think you will reign over us?”
Joseph’s jaw dropped, and he wondered why he hadn’t seen what they would see. Had he been too tired in the night to think clearly? “I didn’t think that,” he said slowly, searching for more to say.
Before he could speak another word, Judah jumped to his feet, his brothers doing the same, leaving their bowls on the stones where they sat. Judah took one step closer to Joseph. “You will never rule over us,” he said through clenched teeth. “Dreamer!” He stalked off, and the rest followed.
Joseph felt as if he’d been slapped. What a fool he had been. He should never have said a word to them. Defeated, he slowly turned around and moved to sit next to his father.
“What did you say to them?” Jacob asked.
“I told them my dream,” Joseph said.
“Tell me.”
Joseph shook his head. “It was nothing. Just a foolish dream.” He stood. “I must get to work, Father.”
“You’ve eaten nothing. Come, sit. Eat and talk to me.” His father’s pleading moved him, but he could not shake the sting of Judah’s words.
“Perhaps later,” he said, turning to go. “I’m sorry, Father. I just need time to think.”
He hurried toward the steward’s tent in the opposite direction of his brothers. Was it the way he had spoken? The tone in his voice? Or was he simply that naive not to think of the conclusion his brothers would come to? Why had he missed it?
Because you cannot imagine ruling over them. They will not be ruled by anyone.
The thought did not comfort.
Light poured into Joseph’s tent as he was in the middle of tying his sash. His father lifted the tent flap and let it fall behind him. “Tell me you plan to join us this morning. You cannot avoid your family forever.”
Joseph averted his gaze and bent to tie his sandals. He’d spent the past several days eating alone behind his tent rather than sit with his brothers’ silence. He looked up as the last strap was tied. “I don’t want to avoid you, Father. But my brothers cannot speak a kind word to me. Rather than cause more discord, for now I would rather eat alone.”
“But I miss you, as does your grandfather, not to mention Benjamin and even Dinah. Not everyone disapproves of you, my son. They are simply jealous. It will pass.” Jacob motioned with his hand for Joseph to leave the tent ahead of him.
They walked together toward the central fire, where his brothers were finishing their morning meal. The women had gathered to collect their plates and then take their fill when Jacob finally took his seat.
Joseph greeted Isaac and sat beside his father. He did not look up or at his brothers until he heard them rise and leave the area. Not one of them looked back at him.
“How are you today, Joseph?” Isaac asked him once his brothers were out of earshot.
“I am well, Sabba. It is I who should be asking after your health.” Guilt nudged him as he thought of how his absence of late might make his grandfather feel.
“My sleep was peaceful, Joseph. Though I ache a little more each morning. My time on this earth grows short, I believe,” Isaac said.
“You thought the same many years ago, Father,” Jacob said. “We cannot know how long God has for us.”
“True, true.” Isaac nodded, took a piece of flatbread, and dipped it into his porridge.
Jacob faced Joseph. “Tell me what is really troubling you, my son. I will speak to your brothers again if I must. There is nothing to fear from them. They are simply being stubborn because you are Rachel’s son.”
Joseph felt the pang of missing his mother all over again. He accepted a bowl of porridge from a servant. “Do I provoke them? Other than the fact of my birth, which I cannot change?”
Jacob stroked his beard a moment and looked over the compound. “Only you know what is discussed between you and your brothers when I am not near. I have not heard you say anything to make them angry, my son.” He tapped Joseph’s knee. “Do not fear. Come back to dine with us each meal and let them see that you are no threat to them.”