The thought irritated him, sending away the guilt he’d briefly felt. He believed in his father’s God. Just not in the same way as Joseph did. Joseph just wanted to please their father to gain his favor.
“So what are we to do? Are we really going to stay away indefinitely? Father will want to know when we will return,” Levi said after the commotion had died down. He looked from Reuben to Judah.
Judah raised a hand high. “We will tell Father what we need to in order to appease him. We will head to Shechem tomorrow and then decide where to go from there.”
“What if the people in the surrounding towns remember us? Things did not go well when we lived there. Remember what they did to Dinah.” Simeon’s dark brows furrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“We killed the whole town and took the women and children. No other town will mistreat us. They will fear us,” Levi said, lifting his square chin in defiance. He and Simeon had massacred the town of Shechem after their sister’s rape, and his father had had to contend with sending some of the women and children to other towns, while others remained as servants. Their household had never been the same.
“What if Father doesn’t want us to go back there or take the sheep so far from him? They are his flocks, after all.” Reuben stepped higher up the rise in the ground to stand above his brothers. “As firstborn, I think we need to be cautious with this. Father will think we are doing something he wouldn’t like. And so soon after Joseph’s dreams.”
“Don’t even speak his name!” Judah growled. “The dreamer can remain in the dark about our plans. We will wait until we can speak to Father alone and assure him that we know how to keep his flocks. He will listen. He has to. He cannot act as if we don’t exist, even if he wants to flaunt his favorite son.” Anger bubbled within him, and he felt heat rise in his face. His hands clenched of their own accord. If Joseph had been standing there, he knew without a doubt he would have knocked him to the ground.
“All right,” Reuben conceded, meeting Judah’s gaze. “We will do as you suggest, but we leave it to you to tell our father. You want to go as soon as tomorrow?”
Judah glanced at the sky, then looked from brother to brother. “Yes. We will go tomorrow. For now, take the sheep to their normal pasture. I need time to consider how I will counter any objections our father may raise.” He stepped down from the rise and passed through the crowd of brothers, who began again to all talk at once. “And pack enough to last a while,” Judah said over his shoulder. If he had his way, they would be gone for a long time.
Joseph walked through the quiet camp, feeling a sense of loss. Except for Dinah and Benjamin, none of his siblings remained in the camp. Some of his brothers had wed a few of the women of Shechem, but the women rarely came anywhere near him. Even though he had had nothing to do with the destruction of their city, the women and even a few of the older children of Shechem seemed to hold the same hostility toward Joseph that his brothers did. And most of them still clung to their gods, though Jacob had commanded everyone to be rid of them before they had traveled to Bethel.
The evening meal had ended hours ago, and the sun nearly touched the edge of the horizon, showing off its glory in a blaze of orange, red, and yellow hues. Joseph stopped near his tent and startled when Dinah emerged and nearly bumped into him.
“Joseph!” She whispered his name and held a finger to her lips. “I just got Benjamin to sleep. Perhaps wait a little longer before you go in there.”
He nodded. “I can walk around the camp for a time.” He couldn’t hold back the sorrow in his tone.
“Would you like company?” She gave him an empathetic look. “I’m a good listener.”
He nodded and moved toward the trees where they had often spoken before. She followed in silence. Once far enough from his tent, he turned to face her. “I wish there were some way to change things. Our family will never be united or civil to each other if I can’t do something to change the way our brothers think of me.” Joseph ran a hand through his hair, dislodging his turban. He left it off and held it.
Dinah’s gaze skipped beyond his as if trying to find an answer in the foliage or the trees. “I know it is hard for you, Joseph,” she said at last. She searched his face, her expression filled with compassion. “I would help you if they would listen to me. But even when I try to appeal to them—even when my mother appeals to them—they raise a hand to stop our words and stalk off. They accuse us of favoring you and our father over them. It is their anger that we cannot appease, and I do not think they are simply angry at you or Father.”
Joseph gave her a curious look. “There is no one else and nowhere else to direct their anger to. What do you mean? If they are upset with my mother or that I was born, they have no cause to hate the dead.”
Dinah shook her head. “Dear Joseph, don’t you see? You, who love our God as our father and grandfather do, who counseled me the way I am counseling you, should realize that our brothers’ real hatred is against our God. They are rebellious in many ways that have nothing to do with you or me. They have not embraced the ways of the God of Israel.”
Joseph slowly nodded. In the silence, crickets chirped and the wings of night owls flapped in the branches above them. Joseph looped Dinah’s arm through his and walked them a little closer to the camp. “I just want to do something, anything, to make this right.”
“But you can’t, Joseph. Surely you can see that.” Dinah gripped his forearm.
“Why not? What if I appealed to them? Apologized for the dreams? Gave away the coat Father gave me? Would they not see that as an act of reconciliation?” He scrunched his turban, his mind whirling as it often did, especially since his brothers had left the area with the sheep. He knew they had gone to Shechem because of him. There was no other reason for them to leave.
“None of that would do any good,” she said. “They would ask you if you no longer believed the dreams happened. And to whom would you give the coat? You would hurt Father if you refused to wear it. He is already sad when he does not see it on you every day.”
“He’s never said so.” Joseph stopped walking just out of earshot of his tent now.
“He wouldn’t. But I can see it in his eyes when he watches you enter the central court without it.” She patted his hand.
“I can’t wear it all the time. It is too fine a cloak, and I don’t want to ruin it.” He searched her face, trying to make sense of her words and his conflicting feelings.
“I know it is a fine cloak. I made it, remember? Our brothers do not appreciate that fact, so if it is any consolation, they are not happy with me either.” She smiled. “But they will get over their pouting moods. Wait until they return and have had time to think about their actions. They will miss our family, and they will stop blaming you for things that are beyond your control. You need to do the same.” She paused. “As you have told me I also need to do.” She lowered her gaze.
Shechem would always represent the worst time of Dinah’s life. For her brothers to take the sheep there had to have upset her as much as it did their father. Had they done so on account of their hatred of him? Or of God? Or of something he could not see?