The Brothers Appear Before Joseph

Famine drives the brothers to Egypt 22 years after selling Joseph. They are starving. He is thriving. They are dressed in rags. He adorned in gold. Part 6 of the Joseph story.

Pharaoh's tailors draped Joseph in purple. They fastened jewels around his neck. He caught his reflection in the brass plate and asked himself, Who is that man?

Joseph rode the royal chariot with the driver bellowing, "Make way! Make way! Joseph comes. Second only to Pharaoh." Me? Second to Pharaoh?

Pharaoh continued his whirlwind ways by granting Joseph the Egyptian name, Zaphnath-Paneah. It means, ‘he who feeds the world.’ What is God doing with me?

Finally, Pharaoh blessed him with an Egyptian wife named Asenath, a deeply joyful and spiritual woman who was the daughter of Potiphera, priest of On. Asenath loved her Egyptian gods but was also intrigued by Joseph’s singular God. At last! A partner, a friend, a confidant. Someone who also loves God.

Joseph's prediction of prosperity proved accurate. The Nile overflowed its banks and thick, midnight-black silt blanketed hundreds of square miles. Olive branches bowed, groaning under their fruit, tomato plants climbed as tall as a man, and head-heavy wheat etched semi-circles into the ground. Joseph met with the commissioners of each city and directed them to build towering oval silos made of mud bricks to store the fifth of the harvest.

Months later, Joseph could barely remember the cramped, straw-stuffed prison cot he used to sleep on or the despair that gnawed at his gut. God seemed to be moving in him and through him and around him … in a way he didn’t truly understand, but in a way that felt … deliberate.

But then the old life came crashing in. Potiphar appeared.

Joseph had called for the Captain of the Guard to check on a farmer who wasn’t giving his fifth of the harvest. He didn’t know that Potiphar was still captain. So, there he stood before Joseph, in the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on the floor, his shoulders slumped.

How ironic, Joseph thought, this flip-flop of roles, me up here, him down there. He studied Potiphar for a while, recalling the stale, wine-drenched breath and the words, ‘Off to the dungeon you go!’ What should I do with him now? Should I force him to confess? Make him choke out the truth?

Joseph descended the steps to Potiphar and stopped before him. “You knew, didn’t you.”

Potiphar’s gaze remained rooted to the ground.

“Do you know what it was like in there? All those cold, dark nights in that place.”

Potiphar didn’t flinch.

Joseph shouted, “Do you know what that was like?!?” Then he stepped closer and whispered, “I could have died in there, you know.” This close to Potiphar he could smell the man—sweat mixed with leather—and he was filled with nostalgia and anger. It was under this man that he learned how to lead and went from Hebrew slave to headmaster. But it was also under this man that he was reminded of betrayal.

Joseph saw himself thundering at Potiphar, ripping away his title, dragging his name before Pharaoh. But just before he unleashed his fury, he wavered. He turned away, lowering his head. Is this what God wants … me to do this?

He resolved to speak with Asenath first. That night, her response was, “I know you want to; I know you believe it will scrape away the pain.”

Joseph was in a haze, playing with the thought of retribution, of finally reclaiming his dignity.

“But don’t. It won’t satisfy you. Revenge is a never-ending cycle that reduces you to his level. And most of all, it crowds out God. That’s what you’ve taught me about your God, that vengeance belongs to him.”

Joseph felt the pit of guilt in his gut. She was right. He had almost taken on God’s role. Ugh! What if I’d done it … taken vengeance myself … after all God has done for me. He shuddered, his stomach churned, his lips trembled, “I came so close … I came so close.”

By year three, the silos groaned under the weight of heaving grain stores. Joseph ordered, “Build more silos.”

Soon he held a son in his arms, whom he named Manasseh. The name means ‘forgotten.’ Joseph had chosen to bury much of his past.

A second son was placed in his arms, and he named him Ephraim. The name means ‘twice fruitful.’ God had blessed him with sons and a country to take care of.

After each birth, he thought of his family. His father would never know that Manasseh’s middle name was Jacob. Dinah would never know that he almost named his second child Daniel, the masculine version of her own name, so he would think of her every time he looked at his son. The thought of leading his family never crossed his mind.

Joseph pleaded with Pharaoh, “Please let me visit my family in Canaan.”

Pharaoh agreed, but when he realized how effective Joseph was at getting things done, the right time never arrived—no matter how often he asked.

Then famine struck. Neighboring countries, including Canaan, Joseph’s homeland, felt it as much as Egypt. When they heard of Egypt’s overflowing silos, they caravaned there with silver in their hands.

One day, a group of ten hollow-cheeked men shuffled into the Hall of Meeting, where Joseph met with foreign parties.

Joseph’s fingers clenched the armrest when he caught something familiar in those dusty brown robes … in the way they clustered together … like brothers.

The lead man murmured in Hebrew, “Come on, brothers, let’s pull ourselves together.”

A memory flared—that voice. Simeon! His heart hammered as he scanned their faces. Then Simeon’s eyes locked with his. Does he see me? Does he know?

Simeon looked away and Joseph exhaled. Then all ten men dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground. Joseph’s breath caught as the dream from his youth blazed to life—Sheaves bowing down … Could this be—?

He thundered in Egyptian, “You are spies! You’ve come to see where our land is weak!”

After the interpreter echoed his words, Simeon stepped forward, once stiff-necked and boastful, now gaunt and sun-worn. “No, my lord, your servants have come to buy food. We are honest men, not spies.”

Simeon raised his trembling hand. “We were twelve brothers, my lord, the sons of one man who lives in the land of Canaan. The youngest is back with our father.” He hesitated, dropping his gaze before softly adding, “And one brother … he is no more.”

Joseph’s stomach clenched at the words ‘he is no more.’ That’s me.

He shoved that thought aside and zeroed in on Benjamin. “You will not leave this place until I see your youngest brother. Send one of you to fetch him, and the rest will stay in prison until I know you are telling the truth.”

Later that night, Asenath urged him to send all but one of the brothers back home with food, so their families wouldn’t starve.

Joseph agreed. Three days later, he summoned them.

Judah muttered, “We’re being punished because of Joseph. We saw how tormented he was when he begged for his life, but we wouldn’t listen.”

Joseph flinched at the sound of his own name, his throat tightening, tears burning behind his eyes.

Reuben groaned, “Didn’t I tell you not to sin against him? But you wouldn’t listen! Now we must reckon with his blood.”

Joseph’s legs went weak. He turned away, pressing his lips together, but the tears pushed through. When he blinked them away, he fixed his gaze on Simeon.

Then Simeon stepped forward. “I’ll stay,” he said softly. “Send my brothers home.”

Simeon? Simeon?

The Egyptian grain sustained Joseph’s family for a year. But the unyielding famine forced them to return with Benjamin in tow.

When Joseph caught sight of Benjamin among the weary travelers, his heart leapt. He turned to his steward and ordered, “Take these men to my house, slaughter a goat, and prepare a feast for noon.”

When Joseph appeared, gifts from his brothers lined the table. Hidden behind a large clay jar of honey was Benjamin, his long-lost full brother. Joseph studied him and saw in him his mother’s green eyes and curly, reddish hair. He remembered his mom’s last words: “Look out for this boy. Be for him what I can’t.” Suddenly he felt her presence, as if she were right there, reminding him of her words. With a throat so constricted he could barely speak, he whispered in Egyptian,

"The Lord bless you…

…and keep you.

May his face shine upon you…

…and be gracious to you.”

Benjamin’s green eyes flickered, drinking in these foreign words, as if he knew exactly what they meant, as if he knew exactly who was saying them, as if he knew how his mom was repeating them from heaven.

Tears welled up in Joseph and he ran to a side room so he could weep. After refreshing himself with Asenath by his side, he said, “I don’t know why, but I can’t tell them who I am yet … it just doesn’t feel like the right time.”

“I agree,” she said. “You’ll know it. You’ll know when the time is right.”