He lifted his face toward the heavens, his heart crying, Adonai, please help me!
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Help me!” he called, hoping one of his brothers was near enough and would take pity on him. “Please! Don’t leave me here. Whatever you want from me, please let me have the chance to do it.”
He heard their continued laughter. Had they heard him? Were they laughing at his plight or over something else? But he knew. Deep in his spirit, he knew they were laughing at his expense. They did not care what became of him or they would not have done this.
The realization that not one of his older brothers cared for his life hit him like a fist to his gut. That bone-crushing feeling of loss could never be erased. Even if he should live through this, he would never look at them again with love, not even with compassion. They had always hated him. Hadn’t he known it deep in his soul?
Numbness settled over him. Though he continued to cry out, he knew they would not answer.
Reuben glanced at his brothers where they sat on stones they’d placed in a circle and ate the toasted grain and handfuls of dates and nuts they always carried when they traveled with the flocks. He longed to join them, to watch them to make sure they didn’t harm the boy more than they already had. But he’d glimpsed two of the lambs wandering away from the group, and someone had to go after them. He should send one of the younger brothers, but they hadn’t seen the direction the lambs had gone, and he knew these lambs better than most, as they had been in his care since their birth.
Joseph’s cries from the nearby pit felt like someone had punched him, but Reuben could not have stopped the frenzied taste for blood his brothers had any other way. Throwing the boy in the pit was better than killing him. But walking away even for a moment worried Reuben. Surely Joseph would be safe in the pit for the short time it would take him to rescue the two lambs.
He approached Judah, whose laughter had just erupted at a crude joke Simeon had made about Joseph. Reuben held back a grimace. “I’m going after a couple of the sheep that wandered off. Don’t do anything foolish while I am gone.” He met Judah’s gaze with a stern one of his own. He might be the disgraced firstborn of Jacob, but he was still the oldest and they needed to listen to him.
Judah waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t act so worried, Brother. Go after the sheep. Joseph isn’t going anywhere.” He laughed again, with all of his brothers joining in.
Reuben turned and headed off in the direction the lambs had gone. His brothers had better listen to him. But by Judah’s response, he had no confidence that they wouldn’t do something more to hurt the boy before he returned. He quickened his pace, searching, nearly praying that he would be swiftly successful.
Judah heard the camels and noise of a caravan before his brothers did. He looked west toward the road to Egypt when the sound of the caravan coming from the north finally caught the attention of them all.
“Who do you suppose is coming?” Levi asked after taking a drink from his flask and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
Simeon stood and held a hand to his eyes. “Looks like Ishmaelite traders. They’re probably making a trip to Egypt.”
Judah watched as the caravan grew closer, his mind spinning. Where was Reuben? He glanced behind him in the direction of the sheep, but there was no sign of his brother. The lambs he sought must have gone farther than he’d expected.
The bells on the camels’ harnesses rang louder the closer they came, and the sound of male voices with foreign accents grew more distinct. Slaves in chains were attached to the camels with a length of cord, forcing each man to either run with hindered steps to keep up or fall and be pulled by his neck the whole way. The traders risked death to their captives, but perhaps they didn’t care. Shackles bound the slaves’ ankles.
What if the brothers sold Joseph to the traders? It would answer all of their problems! They wouldn’t have to kill him, and he wouldn’t be able to return to their father—should someone come and rescue him—and tell him what they had done to him. Jacob would be furious with the way they had treated his favorite son. But if he didn’t know, he couldn’t punish them for treachery.
Suddenly, guilt hit him square in the gut, and the rashness of their act against Joseph caused his heart to pound. Panic filled him. What would their father do to them? Reuben had lost his position as firstborn for sleeping with Bilhah, but if they were to harm Jacob’s heir, the son he intended to lead the rest of them . . . would he send them all away or strip them of any inheritance?
Judah looked again at the caravan as his brothers talked among themselves.
“We should have just killed him—could still kill him,” Dan said, as though he had also realized the state they were in. “If we don’t, he will surely tell Father what we have done.”
“He will die of hunger in the pit,” Asher said. “Why think of killing him when we already know he will die?”
“What if someone comes when we leave this place and rescues him and returns him to Father?” Levi asked. “You know we will pay dearly if that happens.”
Judah turned from the caravan, which was nearly beside them now, to his brothers. “What will we gain by killing our brother? We’d have to cover up the crime. Instead of hurting him, let’s sell him to those Ishmaelite traders. After all, he is our brother—our own flesh and blood.”
As the words left his lips, he was not prepared for the swift agreement from his brothers.
“That’s exactly what we should do. Then we will be free of him without shedding his blood,” Levi said.
Judah stood, glanced again in the direction Reuben had gone, and still saw no sign of him. He smoothed his robe and walked toward the Ishmaelite traders, waving them down.
The caravan slowly came to a halt, and the leader of the clan approached.
“Where are you headed?” Judah asked, hoping the man understood him.
“We carry gum, balm, and myrrh to sell in Egypt and in other stops along the way.” The man’s words carried the deep accent of the Ishmaelites, who lived in the wilderness of Paran and bore Egyptian blood.
“And these slaves?” Judah nodded in the direction of the closest bound man.
“They were sold to us to sell in the markets of Egypt. Why? Are you in need of one?” The man laughed. “They will cost you.” His wide smile showed even, white teeth in his tanned face, and his clothes spoke of wealth. Obviously this man had done well in his travels.
Judah returned his laugh. “No, no. I do not need a slave. But I have a man to sell to you if you are interested. He is young and strong.”
The man sobered. “Let me see this ‘young and strong’ man.” He rubbed his bearded chin.
“Let me get him.” Judah hurried to where his brothers waited, motioned for Simeon and Levi to join him, grabbed some rope they used to rescue the more wayward sheep, and returned to the pit, where Joseph had grown quiet.
At his approach, Judah heard Joseph’s cries of “Help me!” coming from below. He looked toward the caravan master, who had turned his attention to speaking to another man.
The Ishmaelites would not be coming to help Joseph. Hope flared that Judah might finally be free of his nemesis. Ignoring the guilt that accompanied that thought, he lowered the rope to the pit, unwilling to imagine what fate awaited this hated little brother.