Is this my life now, Adonai? Am I to be held captive in Egypt the rest of my days and never see my family again?
The thought brought intense anguish, and with it came the memories he could not shake, the utter disdain in Judah’s eyes. Perhaps he could have accepted the hatred from the others. But Judah . . . Judah had befriended him after his mother died in childbirth. Judah, like Dinah, had been kind—though his kindness had lasted for only a brief moment. Still, Joseph had felt somewhere deep within him that Judah had cared.
Obviously he’d been very wrong.
The noise of the city drew his attention away from his melancholy thoughts, and he darted glances where he could, all while trying not to trip over the cobbled streets. They walked on for what seemed a long time, but soon they turned onto a lane with a locked gate, which the master quickly opened. The lane led to an estate where manicured foliage lined the path and a large Egyptian house appeared in the distance.
As they came close to the estate, the likes of which Joseph had never seen, he noticed outbuildings that could house slaves or animals and fields and vineyards that stretched beyond.
The servant followed his master to the main doors, where he abruptly stopped. The master climbed the steps to the door, but the servant waited at ground level. The master turned and tossed the key to the servant, who missed and had to pick it up from the dirt. Joseph watched the master enter the estate while the servant walked him to the back of the estate to one of the outbuildings.
Joseph was led inside the dark interior, shown a mat on the floor, and forced to face the servant. The man put the key in the lock and removed the collar from Joseph’s neck. Relief swelled through him. He drew a deep breath but did not release it as fully as he would have if he were alone.
“This is where you will sleep,” the Egyptian said in the Hebrew tongue.
“You speak my language.” Joseph stared at the young man who seemed more like a boy, but he was probably older than he looked. Without a beard, which Joseph was used to seeing on all the men in his family, even the master seemed a younger man. But who could tell?
“Yes. I was sold to Egypt several years ago from Mesopotamia. Our tongues are not very different, and I learned to speak your language when my master needed me to interpret the words of other slaves for him. I learn quickly.” He took a step back and assessed Joseph. “My name is Hamid. If you work hard and obey Master Potiphar, things will go well for you here. He is a kind master, but he is also the captain of Pharaoh Amenemhat III’s elite palace guard and in charge of the king’s prison, so he is quick to punish when he needs to. Be on your guard and do your work well, and you will find your needs met here.”
He turned to go, then looked back with a passing nod. “Do not try to escape. Those who do . . .” He let the sentence die, and Joseph could imagine what these people might do to those who attempted to disobey them. Was there no hope, then, of ever going home?
“I was kidnapped,” Joseph dared to say. “I don’t belong here. I am the son of a wealthy man who would gladly pay for my return.” Should he have said so—trusted this man so easily?
Hamid’s look held empathy. “Many of us were kidnapped from families who would want nothing more than to find us. But if I were you, I would not mention this again to anyone. If our master or any of his high officials find this out, they could hold you for ransom and your family could face extortion. I say this as a friend.”
Joseph nodded, searching his gaze. He’d been a fool to open his mouth. This “friend” might be one to tell the captain, and then Jacob could lose all he had to the man.
“I won’t tell anyone then,” Joseph said. “I trust you won’t either.”
Hamid laughed. “No one would believe a slave’s word. Trust me, I would gain nothing in betraying your confidence.” He turned and walked to the door. At the entrance, he touched the doorframe and spoke one more time. “I will send a servant to take you to the bathhouse and get you dressed in the way of the Egyptians.” He pointed to his chin. “They will shave your beard and clean you up before I present you again to Captain Potiphar.”
He walked away as Joseph touched his dusty beard. He’d only begun to grow it a year or so ago, but he had never trimmed it. His father’s beard was long and gray, and his brothers all had full beards. He would look nothing like them after today.
He tried to imagine that this was a good thing.
Hours later, as the sun began its descent toward its resting place in the west, Hamid led Joseph into an antechamber in the house where Captain Potiphar lived. They waited in a cool, intricately designed alcove where blue and white tiles lined the floor and colorful tapestries hung from light brown stone walls.
Joseph had spent the day enduring a cleansing dip in the Nile River, a branch of which flowed some distance behind Potiphar’s house. Another slave, one of lesser rank than Hamid, had helped Joseph wash his body and hair and cut off his beard, trimmed his long hair, and shaved even the mustache from his face. He was dressed now in a white linen half tunic that covered him only from the waist down, with a matching belt to hold it together. No robe covered the tunic, and Joseph wondered what would cover him as he slept on the thin mat at night. Memories of the coat his father had made for him surfaced. His heart ached as his mind filled with images of the day his father had given it to him so proudly. But the more vivid memory of his brothers ripping the coat from him came swiftly, replacing the joy of that day.
He studied his feet and the ground beneath him. Footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see the captain enter the alcove.
The captain spoke to Hamid in words Joseph could not understand. Hamid turned to Joseph. “He asks your name.”
“Joseph ben Jacob,” Joseph responded.
Hamid passed the information on to the captain, who nodded. More words were exchanged with the captain and the servant, and at last the captain gave Joseph a brief nod and left.
“He said that you are to work in the vineyards to start. He wants you to help with the pruning,” Hamid said. “You do know how to prune, don’t you?”
Joseph nodded. “Actually, I know livestock—sheep in particular—better than vineyards, but I’ve been trained to know how to care for and account for vineyards, grain fields, and animals. I was in charge of my father’s affairs.”
Hamid crossed his arms. “Keep this information to yourself. As you prove yourself to our master, he will see that you can take on more, and you may rise to power—even over me—in this house.”
Joseph raised a brow. “I don’t expect to rule over anyone or rise in rank, especially in this place. My only hope is to one day regain my freedom and return to my father.”
“Keep that to yourself as well,” Hamid reminded him. “Right now only I can understand your tongue, but one day you will be fluent in Egyptian and have no need of an interpreter. The less you say, the more likely the master will look on you with favor.”
“I will do as you say,” Joseph said.
They left the estate and moved to the servants’ quarters for the night. Joseph could not foresee a day when he would be in charge of anything. His dreams of ruling over his family were meant for Hebron, not Egypt. So why had God allowed him to be sent here?