The Prison of Time
Confrontations
Captain Potiphar had planned to remain with the king throughout the festival in Memphis. Although the captain had no formal role, he felt toward the king as a father to a son. A conservative hand and wise counsel in the midst of the wild revelry of the celebration were the captain’s contributions to the official appearance.
In the early afternoon, a messenger arrived from The Residence, a surprise to all since so few men had been left behind and none to spare. The young man came straight to the captain with a message from his superior.
The only information that the young man had been ordered to give was that everyone was unharmed – Zelicha was safe and Joseph was in custody - and that all else was well. The bare details were all his commander could convey of the mysterious situation, and the young man knew little personally beyond his instructed words.
With the king’s permission, Potiphar hurried back to Itj-tawy and Zelicha, his closest subordinates his only companions.
Rushing straight to Zelicha’s room when he arrived, the captain found his wife face down on her bed. She turned her head toward him as he entered, her eyes red and her face streaked with black stained tears.
There was no retreat possible at this point. She had been crying with regret at the situation that she had created, but once she had set the cry of attempted rape in motion, there could be no retreat. She must move forward with all the strength that she could muster simply to survive.
Her husband’s concern and sympathy could not spare him from her reservoir of anger of rejection not fully drained by the fury of the morning. The charge was against Joseph, but she effectively redirected it toward the man standing in front of her.
“That Hebrew slave you brought into our house came into my room while you were away. He laughed at me as he forced himself upon me, confident in his strength. Only my cry to the guards saved me from his brutal attack.
“Now it is you who must avenge me. Destroy this creature so that none of us must endure his presence ever again.
“And look, here is the proof, the garment he left behind when he fled in fear that he would be discovered.” She picked up the garment that lay on the floor near the bed.
The captain reached out and accepted the garment without looking at it. He immediately dropped it and embraced his wife. He attempted to calm her with the reassurance and strength of his own body.
Zelicha allowed his embrace and consolation for only a moment before reasserting control.
“They say that you are the most powerful man in Egypt, second only to the king. Show your strength! Take my revenge!”
She pushed him away and threw herself back onto the bed. The tears she sobbed seemed to her husband to be those of anger and revenge. And so they were. That the motivations for these emotions were completely different from what she had charged was unknown to the captain.
Captain Potiphar bent down and picked up the coat with its flowers on the front and on the back. “You will be avenged,” he declared with a determination that was as genuine as the love he still felt for her after all of these years.
He walked out of her room and down into the garden below.
Yes, he was angry, furious. But he was not yet ready to confront Joseph.
He went down into the garden below where the men who came with him awaited his instruction. The officer of the guard who had dispatched the messenger was with them, so that now all knew of the events of the morning and of Zellicha’s charge against Joseph.
The captain realized as he approached the men that they held expectations of him just as did Zelicha, and he must respond. He asked the officer to accompany him to Joseph while the others were to stand as guard within the house for Zelicha’s reassurance.
The walk to The Residence and down into the cellar was too brief to order his thoughts. The logic of the situation was utterly destroyed by the emotions involved with his wife and his most trusted friend. The coming confrontation was as absurd as the charge against Joseph. Nothing made sense.
Joseph was seated on the floor, his back against the wall. He rose as Potiphar approached. The captain ordered the officer to wait outside the closed door.
The captain and Joseph had stood face to face like this often. The power of their respective positions, so heavily weighted toward the captain as master and away from Joseph as slave, had shifted subtly over the years. The bonds of relationship had closed the chasm between them, united them in friendship and purpose. Betrayal was too kind a word if the accusations were true.
The captain held out the torn garment toward Joseph. “Explain.”
As Potiphar held out Joseph’s torn coat, he noticed the tear was along the back panel rather than the front. Would not the front of the garment be torn if his wife had been defending herself?
Even before that moment, he had suspected the truth of the situation.
His command for Joseph to explain had been the same as an accusation. The evidence held forth had been presented to support one version of the story, but now he saw a possible alternative interpretation. Potiphar left it for the accused to accept the accusation, or turn the guilt on the accuser.
Joseph loved Potiphar as a brother, for the man had always treated him as a younger brother, a younger version of himself. He longed to place the blame where it belonged and salvage the bond that was now stretched beyond its breaking point.
The inner voice that had guided him through the events of the morning did not desert him. The words it spoke were not of comfort and safety, however, but of guidance to lasting peace in the only way possible.
To salvage their friendship would be at the cost of Potiphar’s marriage. And even though that marriage was less than it should be, both Zelicha and Potiphar would be destroyed. And Potiphar, as friend and captain, had been Joseph’s greatest champion.
Each side of the triangle must realign itself into a single thread, and any line of the triangle might serve as the first section of that thread:
Zelicha’s charge required Potiphar’s execution of judgment on Joseph;
Potiphar must support the line of his wife or that of Joseph;
Joseph could adhere to truth and destroy a marriage, but maintaining his benefactor’s good will would be nearly impossible; or he could submit to the charge.
The awful irony of the dilemma now came upon Joseph: Truth was captive to the lie.
“What possible defense can a slave have against the charge of his owner’s wife?”
Joseph’s question in response to the captain’s simple command held implications blazing like a star falling from the heavens. Even as it fell, Potiphar saw a brighter light shine through the darkness.
The simple statement neither confirmed nor denied the allegations Zelicha had made.
The captain would maintain the marriage relationship as he aligned himself with his wife.
Implicit was Joseph’s resignation to the judgment that Potiphar would impose, a willingness to align himself with the captain and his wife.
Joseph forfeited his position of delegated power, and he accepted the return of the relationship with Captain Potiphar to the status of owner and slave. The two stood as on that first day when Teyma had brought him to Itj-tawy, except now there was no future for the two men as friends.
This moment was the end of an age.
Had Joseph fought the charge, this would have been the beginning of a war in a world that the captain had felt to have been a heaven.
Before, all had been ma’at. Harmony had reigned.
But some spark of evil had entered unseen, and all was falling down around him in flames.
Yes, the end of an age….
A new age must be created. Relationships must be reordered. Goals must be realigned. A new ma’at must be created from the rubble of the old.
For such a charge, the penalty must be death. But death permitted no better ending to the story.
Exile would be similar, a kind of death, at least for Joseph, for he would be as dead to the Egypt left behind.
As clearly as a written sentence written by Irsu and inscribed on a tablet of stone, “Let the man remain in prison and there his fate will be determined,” was pronounced in Potiphar’s mind.
Yes, death was too final, an end without other possibilities.
Let the one God of Joseph have the opportunity to save His son.
Let ma’at reorder itself with or without Joseph as the gods of Egypt so ordain.
“You offer no defense, and so your silence condemn you, not I.”
The captain dropped the torn garment at Joseph’s feet and left the room.
The door closing behind him sealed the judgment.
Freedom
In the retelling of the story of Joseph, time has not been kind to the other main characters. There are no more words of Zelicha (even her name has disappeared from the story!) and no more mention of “the captain of the guard” (Potiphar’s role has been reduced to one narrow title among many, some reduce him even to head of the kitchen).
The desire to see evil as simply that, a force that negates good and is worthy of blame for whatever we call “bad,” is strong, perhaps even overpowering. Once there is a villain, there is no need to look within the self for some sign of the same negative force at work. The evil is “out there,” not “in here.” We see criminal and victim rather than free moral agents.
There is evil, of that there is no doubt. The largest parts of what we call evil are the acts of people who have been fooled by the offer to take a bite of fruit from the hand of evil. This was seen in the beginning. Neither Adam nor Eve were themselves evil, although they fell victim to its claws.
Redemption always has been the greater part of the story, even if this part has passed unnoticed, been left unwritten. We must imagine a reconciliation between God and His creations, Adam and Eve, even if the Garden could not be restored.
Omitting the story of redemption is a great loss for those who would benefit from history, the stories meant to give us an understanding of the world as it exists rather than the world that is observed. Without this rebirth, the grace of the Creator is not visible. We would see only the Hand of punishment rather than the Spirit of love.
Every desperate act by a human to achieve some level of control is a plea for assistance. Every insult hurled at another is a vain attempt to bolster our own standing, knowing how low we have fallen.
Every act of Zelicha was an attempt to get help, a plea for revelation of a better way to exist in an imperfect world.
She had offered Joseph’s coat to Potiphar as proof of her fight against her attacker, proof of Joseph’s betrayal of trust.
So Joseph’s brothers had offered Joseph’s coat of many colors, dipped in the blood of a goat, to their father as proof of Joseph’s demise by a wild beast. Although Joseph would not know this misuse of his coat of many colors for many years more, even now he saw how a coat, a gift that he treasured, had been used to convict him, to put an end to his current story.
The woman to her husband, and the half-brothers to their father, sought to make Joseph as one who was dead to the life that he had lived. If they did not physically kill him in their desire to escape the situation, they put an end to the life he had known to that time.
The father might have suspected the evidence of a coat soaked with blood, torn from the body in a manner suspicious, for there was neither flesh nor bone remaining, as if the beast had neatly consumed every last morsel.
So Potiphar might have suspected the evidence of a coat torn from her attacker, but torn in a manner suspicious, not only because of the place of the tear, but also for the integrity of the accused.
The father accepted the story of the remaining sons although he made evident to these sons that they could not replace what he had lost.
The husband accepted the story of the wife before him although the cost was his friend.
When her husband left her room, control shifted from her hands into his hands.
She had been powerless over Joseph, so she demanded that Potiphar force the incident to a conclusion.
Zelicha knew that her husband could exact only the revenge of force, for neither she nor her husband had power over Joseph. Their force could affect his body, but they had not the power to affect his character. She had seen the evidence this morning.
No, these words did not pass through Zelicha’s mind. But the reality of them came to her over time, like the slowly increasing warmth of the rising sun on a December morning.
She wept for the woman she wanted to become.
Think of that, and all must weep with her.
She determined to submit to the husband who gave her a quality of life few women experienced in Egypt, and she would honor that relationship.
These were the steps to take her into a new life, the foundation for a new character.
Zelicha knew that the Asian girl must not return into her house. If evil had a face, hers was that face. The queen and her companions, and Zelicha and her own companions, must not fall under such an influence.
Having stood at the precipice of disaster and been saved from stepping forward, the wife of the second most powerful man in Egypt determined to step into her proper role, to become the woman intended from her birth.
There are no records of this transformation. There is no new birth certificate issued when a person is reborn into a new way of being in an old world. The assertion of good is less newsworthy than the devastation wrought through ignorance.
We will hear of the brothers’ redemption much later, but we never hear of Zelicha’s redemption. That this woman passes quietly from the scene, never to interfere with Joseph’s resurrection to power only a few years hence, speaks to a changed heart and mind.
We hear not again of the captain of the guard in the popular telling of the story, but his path as second to the king must again cross that of Joseph.
Potiphar had been chained in an unequal yoke, and he had accepted the bonds placed upon him. Zelicha’s newly found freedom from her chains released him, as well. By maintaining his faith in her, he freed her to release them both. Such is the yoke of marriage.
Given the events so far, the stories of Captain Potiphar and his wife may have diverged from this point, but Joseph’s character and sacrifice has granted them freedom from the inevitability of separation.
Had Zelicha remained unchanged, had Captain Potiphar been forced to take action, we would have heard her curses and grieved at his ordeal. Such a story must have been published if it had occurred.
But the record is silent, as peaceful as the Egyptian goal of balance and harmony.
We can see their stories becoming intertwined as appropriate for the intimate sharing of gifts and abilities in the service of one another.
We may not know their future course since the reality has no witness, but we can imagine reconciliation both in body and in spirit of the new woman and the old husband.
Prison within Prison
Joseph knew of no prison in Canaan. Those who committed crimes received just punishment for their unjust acts quickly and in proportion to their crimes.
Yes, people were apprehended for their crimes, and if they were not killed in the process, they must await judgment or suffer confinement until they paid the penalty for their particular crime.
Often the penalty was restitution of what was lost or stolen, plus compensation. If a sheep was stolen, a sheep plus some additional amount must be restored.
The penalty for physical harm done to another was equivalent harm, e.g., an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth, and those in power carried out the sentence quickly.
For many crimes, the punishment was death. Adultery was such a crime.
Incarceration was not used as a sentence. There were no physical prisons, no buildings for maintaining a criminal for a period of years or for life.
Egypt was more civilized in many ways than the Canaanites. Some view a more broad minded approach as moral laxity. Others see an increased understanding of the individual man or woman, and a greater readiness for mercy.
But perhaps mercy is too strong a word. Although there were fewer executions, these were often more gruesome, and the punishment requiring loss of a limb or mutilation was both painful and a sentence to a difficult life.
Even in Egypt in those days, however, long term incarceration of those who had broken the law could not be reconciled with ma’at. Harmony and balance required repayment from the unjust to the just, but a person in jail remained forever out of balance, in debt and unable to repay.
Many of those who came to the prison were there only briefly, awaiting judgment and sentence.
Some went to death, some went into exile, and some paid their debt through a life of manual labor in the mines. Very few remained in the prison. And of those few who remained, the only exit from prison was death at the hands of disease or time.
Joseph expected only a death sentence for his alleged offense. This was normal for his supposed crime, and Zelicha’s vehemence must demand her husband vindicate her by imposing the maximum sentence.
Guards took him to the king’s prison, out of sight and out of hearing of The Residence. This was a stone building designed with minimal functionality but maximum restriction. Here was the outward appearance of a fort, a structure for keeping invaders out, but the reality was a structure for keeping prisoners in.
The rooms were much like the space Joseph and Shabaka had shared in his early years in Captain Potiphar’s service. The primary difference was a single door that kept him locked inside at night. Narrow vertical slits in the walls allowed minimal light and ventilation. There was no sleeping in the cool night air of the roof.
There was land around the building, and water available in a canal from the Nile. Prisoners were given work so that they could support themselves and their guards with food, including flax for garments, but the constant turnover of the prison population allowed for no continuity and little coordination of efforts.
This was a place for work, even if nothing significant was accomplished. There were no days off for celebration of feasts of the gods, no dainties from the east, or meat from the herds, or beer to ease one’s wretched existence.
Joseph found himself with less than when he had arrived in Egypt with Teyma almost ten years previously, for he had now lost even the coat given to him by Talia. His mother’s ring remained on his hand, and he had the tunic and sandals that he had worn on his last day of freedom.
He might have expected his time to be short, ending in death, but the recent dream of the future implied that this challenge also would pass. In the dream, he had endured three days and nights of waiting in the pit. Thus it was to be three years in this above ground version of the pit.
Within his first hour at his new home, Joseph was added to the prisoners working in the field. That is, Joseph was added to the long chain of rope binding one prisoner to another.
And his ankles were bound with ropes, as well, the length between permitting only a shuffling gait. Running, or even a fast walk, was impossible.
The work of the moment was to clear an irrigation ditch. The water had been blocked at its tap on a larger branch, but the soil beneath the surface was still wet and heavy. The humidity in the ditch and the heat from the sun brought Joseph to a sweat within minutes.
This was to be the work of summer, the height of the flood: work on the irrigation ditches. Then the year of the farmer would begin as the waters receded.
Joseph recalled Shabaka’s lament of the year of the farmer so long ago. He had tasted each season at some point – planting, growth (weeding and water carrying), and harvest. Shabaka had omitted the season of irrigation work during the flood.
He worked with his worn, blunt wooden shovel on the silt that had settled in the ditch. Dig into the muck, lift and throw, and do it again.
At times like these he remembered his simple life in Canaan - the variety of the days, numerous light tasks, and the occasional burden to bear. All of this had been an easy coexistence with the living creatures and vegetation in which the shepherd was immersed. There was a giving and taking that must exemplify that truest form of the Egyptian ma’at, harmony and balance.
This work on the irrigation ditch was not ma’at. These prisoners performed their tasks sloppily, and the guards (for they were in no way the overseers of proper work) gave no guidance. All they required was that the prisoners do the work, that they strain and sweat, and they not try to escape.
Perhaps this was a part of the prisoner’s punishment, a sentence to experience imbalance and disharmony. Indeed, within an hour the senselessness of the work grated on Joseph’s soul.
Yes, useless work was a second sentence, a second prison, within the sentence of a prisoner bound in ropes behind stone walls.
When they were given a break for water, Joseph looked down the ditch, now empty of the men who had been assaulting the earth. Yes, assault is the correct term, for there was no cooperation among man and tool and earth.
Joseph had worked on irrigation long enough to know a good canal, a good ditch. If all work was done in the manner of these prisoners, they would be returning to every area frequently to restore the water’s flow as sides slid back into the water and debris clogged the channel.
Attempts at conversation with the one man to whom he was tied (for he was on the end of the rope) were discouraged with grunts and curses.
These first hours of his labor as a prisoner of the king were the most discouraging to his spirit of any of his labors in Egypt. At least with the farming tasks of planting, weeding, carrying water, and harvest, all had contributed to the result of food and clothing.
His work on the canal and the irrigation ditches had always had the effect of increasing the supply of living water onto a dead land, giving birth to life.
This prison work contributed only to a minimal supply of produce, poor irrigation, and the assurance of returning to patch over poor work with more poor work.
And he did not know when someone might come for him and execute the sentence for attacking the wife of a high official, and that sentence must surely be death.
Such was his experience of the king’s prison during the working hours during the first day of his confinement.
The first evening was short, as were those that followed.
Meals were grain, perhaps some vegetables at dinner, perhaps some fruit in the morning. The absence of women (who were housed elsewhere) and children gave the evening air an emptiness that nothing could fill.
No one had the energy or inclination for pleasantries beyond minimal conversation. Hopelessness was the dominant emotion for those here a long time, and fear was dominant for new arrivals.
That first evening, lying on his sleeping mat waiting for elusive sleep to finally settle, Joseph asked God why this must happen. Surely there was a reason!
The vision came as a dream in a sleep so light that he would have sworn that his eyes never closed.
He saw a bird. The bird’s plumage was full and bright, the eyes painted and elongated in the style of the Egyptians. Crumbs of food were upon his breast. He was smiling in the company of a small flock of multi-colored birds who applauded his greatness.
Further from him were colorless birds, small and weak, scratching in dirt where there was no food. These were poor creatures: the fatherless, those without mates, the sick, and the maimed. He saw the hungry in all of their variations.
And he saw farther in the distance the rolling hills of Canaan, and a nest, empty but for one aged bird. Brown feathers (what were left of them) and weak wings adorned this ancient looking creature. A mourning call arose from a dry beak.
Joseph realized the first light of morning was now appearing through the thin slits of window. There was no transition from his dream to the morning, from sleeping to waking. There was only the realization that he had fallen once again into the state of that youth who proudly wore a coat of many colors, secure in his position while unaware of the world around him. Again he had been a peacock focused on self.
Joseph wept.
All was one, and that one weighed heavily upon him.
He rose as the door to his cell opened, releasing him into a new day in what was once again a new world. At his first opportunity, he used the mud from the irrigation ditch to remove his eye makeup, then washed all away with the dirty water.
Joseph gradually learned something of the men with whom he worked, but most were there for only days, few for more than a week.
Most lay under the threat of bodily punishment, whether the loss of life, or the loss of a limb, nose or ear. The severity of the punishment was to balance the effects of the crime – ma’at again.
Although there was a great desire for vengeance, the law permitted retaliation only against the criminal, and not his family or village.
Joseph saw men come and go quickly. And these were ruled more by fear, the expectation of punishment - at least pain, and possibly death – arriving at any moment.
In some ways, these people were different from those of the areas of The Residence or the Fayum.
The transient ones, those who stayed only for hours or a few days before their punishment was exacted, never had an opportunity to adjust to their new surroundings.
Those few who became permanent residents of the Place of Confinement ranged from angry to sullen at first. Only as they felt assured that they had escaped death or mutilation did they reconcile themselves to this new life.
At this point, even with the hopelessness of the future, they were vulnerable to the incentives of even small rewards. And the negative incentives offered by the guards could be used, if necessary.
Joseph began to see these permanent prisoners as the core for an efficient work force.
Time passed.
There was an overseer of the prison but, like the guards, he was a military man.
Give him a battle, a fight to be won, and he would do well.
Give him prisoners to guard, to keep them until their punishment was completed, and his training allowed him to do his duty.
But give him a farm to maintain, and he could only go through the motions of what he imagined farming to be.
Joseph asked the guards for an opportunity to talk with their commander since no amount of talk accomplished anything with them. But any words to the guards were met with harsh rebuke before the plea was made. They were not permitted to show any sympathy toward a prisoner lest they be charged with accepting a bribe.
Escape from Prison within Prison
Weeks passed and the season of planting had begun.
In accordance with the inefficiency of the work in the prison, this was done entirely by hand using worn tools and with little planning or organization. Again, this may have been considered as part of the punishment, but Joseph saw this as a missed opportunity.
The overseer of the prison did make inspections on occasion, rounds of the prison and farm, to see that all was well. But approaching the overseer or speaking to him uninvited resulted in the lash, if not a more sound beating with a cane.
Nevertheless, one day the overseer walked down the line of men that included Joseph, strolling as if he were on a fine afternoon walk, pleased to be out in the fresh air. Joseph took the opportunity to speak.
The officer was younger than himself, and no doubt saw the position as overseer of the prison as only a stepping stone to greater appointments.
Joseph said, not looking at the uniformed man walking past him, but more as if he were speaking only to himself, “What great soil there is here! If we but had some good tools, we could have more produce than we could eat.”
“What did you say, slave?” asked the overseer, who called every prisoner “slave,” for so they were now.
“Your Excellency, I was merely observing what fine soil for growing grains and vegetables, but these tools are so dull and we have nothing with which to sharpen them.”
“As if you would be given anything with a sharp blade, slave. We cannot have you cutting your ropes!””
The overseer turned to the guard following him. “Give this slave 5 lashes for insolence,” and proceeded on his pleasant stroll.
“Would not your commander honor you and give you a higher rank if you not only fed your slaves, but supplied his men with a surplus of barley for beer and flax for clothing?”
The words were barely out of Joseph’s mouth before the guard had grabbed him and thrown him to the ground. The prisoner roped to him stumbled but caught himself, moving as far away from Joseph as the rope would allow.
The overseer walked a few steps more and the guard stepped backward, unfurling his whip. Joseph turned his back to receive his punishment.
The overseer stopped and turned, calling to the overseer, “Wait,” before the first lash was struck.
“You are this Joseph, miracle man of the canal, are you not? What miracle will you perform for me?”
“Your excellency, miracles come in different sizes and types depending upon your needs,” Joseph said respectfully. “And I must confess that the God who grants them responds according to the willingness of the petitioner to participate as coworker in the miracle.”
“What! You would have me as a miracle worker, also?” the overseer scoffed.
“You desire a garden that grows an abundance, and He has provided the water of the Nile.
“You desire a flow of water to your crops, and He has granted your wishes with the slaves He has given to dig the ditches that carry His water.
“You desire the continued flow of His water to grow your crops, and He has given stones and reeds. Were they available to the slaves that He has given you, they would line the ditches to keep them flowing freely.
“Your garden is as green and large as you desire, the abundance overflowing to your credit, without cost to you, but with great return according to the use of the gifts that God has given to you.”
The guard ran his fingers through the strands of his whip, waiting impatiently for the command to perform his duty.
The overseer, also impatient, barely held back his curses during the long speech, but the final appeal to his ambition kept him curious as to how this might come to reality.
“You are a prisoner, but you speak to your master as if you held power. But all power has been stripped from you because of your offense.”
“I came to Egypt as a slave, and I am as a slave now. If what I have learned is of service, let it be to your benefit. Any power that I have is only that which you grant to me for your purposes, not my own.”
The overseer glanced over at the other five men roped together in a line stretching away from Joseph. They watched intently to see what would happen. This was a bad precedent.
“If he says anything more, give him five lashes,” he said to the guard and continued on his walk, satisfied with the example set for the others, but also thinking beyond the limited scope of his assignment to greater possibilities.
The guard stood ready to obey, waiting for Joseph’s response. Joseph silently resumed his work, as did the other five prisoners to whom he was tied.
Joseph was disheartened, but he must wait and allow some opportunity to be given to him. Patience, again.
The wait was not long, however.
As Joseph stood eating his small breakfast the second morning after the incident, a guard came for him and escorted Joseph to the overseer’s workroom.
The room was hardly better than Joseph’s cell, little larger and sparsely furnished, although there was a table with a chair on the longer sides. The best feature was large windows, opened to the outside world and allowing plenty of light and air.
The overseer sat behind his table. There were several pieces of papyrus stacked on one end of the table, but most of the tabletop appeared to be nothing more than a place for the overseer to rest his folded hands.
Joseph stood on the other side of the table, his feet tied with the small length of rope, a reminder of his position and the limitations placed upon him.
“Your speech yesterday was very critical of the manner in which the prison is run. Speaking in that manner before the other prisoners, I should have had you soundly beaten on the spot.”
The overseer paused, allowing Joseph to realize his utter powerlessness and vulnerability. Seeing no change in Joseph’s countenance, he gestured toward a second chair on the side of the table.
“Sit down so I do not have to strain my neck looking up at you.” Disdain had been the original tone, but that was somewhat softened now. Joseph felt the unequal balance of power shifting, fading into the background.
“You may be one of the lucky ones, Joseph. Apparently your accusers have forgotten about you. That they have not imposed a sentence means that you will be here for a while.”
The Overseer paused, but Joseph was silent, waiting to hear the reason for his summons.
“My name is Neferhotep. I joined the king’s army and was trained to fight, but we have no war at the moment and I find myself stationed here.” He waved an arm across the bare room toward the door into the prison yard.
“You made a suggestion on improvements to the work that prisoners do here. My commander had told me to make use of you if I could.”
Neferhotep paused. “I am to run the Place of Confinement, a prison, not a farm. This is not a place for men to better their living conditions and enjoy festivals. It is a place for punishment for those who have disobeyed the law.
“They must produce the food necessary for their own lives. What is more, they must contribute to the state they have offended and yet who still has them in its care. They owe a debt that must be repaid.”
He required a response from the silent Joseph, “Do you understand the dilemma?”
“All who have been sentenced rightfully for their crimes must be thankful for the mercy of the state and to those like yourself to whom their care is entrusted.
“The lives of those who do not serve others are wasted, and their fellow men receive no benefit. If their work does not reflect to your credit, then you are the poorer for it.
“You have the resources of good land, water, and labor that costs only the food they require. You can put those to good use as they produce more than enough food, but all must be managed toward the end of allowing the dirt to yield what it holds by giving what it requires.”
“They do not put farmers in my position, Joseph. I am a scribe, as well as a soldier. Do not make a speech. Tell me what you need to make the land productive. As long as it does not conflict with my orders for imprisoning those who are sent here, you will have what you need.”
“Allow me to walk the land, to see the ditches bringing the water, and to inspect the men who will be allotted to my work crew. When I have seen those things, give me papyrus, a pen, and ink. Then you will have your list.”
They talked some of what was best grown, the tools generally required for the work to be done, and such things. Joseph ended each topic that any answer might vary somewhat based on what he saw.
Neferhotep called the guard into the room and said that the three of them would walk the prison grounds.
And so they went throughout the compound and its gardens. Joseph described how the pieces fit together and what he would need to make best use of each part.
And so Joseph became again a master of the irrigation works and of the crops, although now the scale was much smaller.
He worked first with the men who had indefinite sentences and had been in prison for some time. The goal was to train them so that they were the backbone of the teams. And from these he would choose team leaders.
Larger rations would come only when they produced more. They were limited now because of how little they had produced previously.
The secondary reward was productive work. This was not an incentive for everyone, but the guards provided sufficient negative incentive for not being productive if positive incentives failed.
Of course, all rewards were based on performance. And if one of the crew were injured and missed work due to the negative rewards offered by the guards, the whole team would suffer. Self-government of their small group through ensuring each did their share was in everyone’s best interests.
The prisoners passing through for only a few days were spread equally over the teams, providing manual labor requiring nothing more than direction and muscles.
And so the prison, or Place of Confinement, as it was more formally known, began to shift in nature.
The overseer saw Joseph’s effect not only in the quality of the irrigation and the flow of water, but also in the spirit of the prisoners, their willingness to work.
And so Joseph’s first year as prisoner passed with some improvement in his situation, if not his title and continued confinement.
And then two additional prisoners were brought to the Place of Confinement at this time, men who became a significant part of Joseph’s story.
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Confrontations
Captain Potiphar had planned to remain with the king throughout the festival in Memphis. Although the captain had no formal role, he felt toward the king as a father to a son. A conservative hand and wise counsel in the midst of the wild revelry of the celebration were the captain’s contributions to the official appearance.
In the early afternoon, a messenger arrived from The Residence, a surprise to all since so few men had been left behind and none to spare. The young man came straight to the captain with a message from his superior.
The only information that the young man had been ordered to give was that everyone was unharmed – Zelicha was safe and Joseph was in custody - and that all else was well. The bare details were all his commander could convey of the mysterious situation, and the young man knew little personally beyond his instructed words.
With the king’s permission, Potiphar hurried back to Itj-tawy and Zelicha, his closest subordinates his only companions.
Rushing straight to Zelicha’s room when he arrived, the captain found his wife face down on her bed. She turned her head toward him as he entered, her eyes red and her face streaked with black stained tears.
There was no retreat possible at this point. She had been crying with regret at the situation that she had created, but once she had set the cry of attempted rape in motion, there could be no retreat. She must move forward with all the strength that she could muster simply to survive.
Her husband’s concern and sympathy could not spare him from her reservoir of anger of rejection not fully drained by the fury of the morning. The charge was against Joseph, but she effectively redirected it toward the man standing in front of her.
“That Hebrew slave you brought into our house came into my room while you were away. He laughed at me as he forced himself upon me, confident in his strength. Only my cry to the guards saved me from his brutal attack.
“Now it is you who must avenge me. Destroy this creature so that none of us must endure his presence ever again.
“And look, here is the proof, the garment he left behind when he fled in fear that he would be discovered.” She picked up the garment that lay on the floor near the bed.
The captain reached out and accepted the garment without looking at it. He immediately dropped it and embraced his wife. He attempted to calm her with the reassurance and strength of his own body.
Zelicha allowed his embrace and consolation for only a moment before reasserting control.
“They say that you are the most powerful man in Egypt, second only to the king. Show your strength! Take my revenge!”
She pushed him away and threw herself back onto the bed. The tears she sobbed seemed to her husband to be those of anger and revenge. And so they were. That the motivations for these emotions were completely different from what she had charged was unknown to the captain.
Captain Potiphar bent down and picked up the coat with its flowers on the front and on the back. “You will be avenged,” he declared with a determination that was as genuine as the love he still felt for her after all of these years.
He walked out of her room and down into the garden below.
Yes, he was angry, furious. But he was not yet ready to confront Joseph.
He went down into the garden below where the men who came with him awaited his instruction. The officer of the guard who had dispatched the messenger was with them, so that now all knew of the events of the morning and of Zellicha’s charge against Joseph.
The captain realized as he approached the men that they held expectations of him just as did Zelicha, and he must respond. He asked the officer to accompany him to Joseph while the others were to stand as guard within the house for Zelicha’s reassurance.
The walk to The Residence and down into the cellar was too brief to order his thoughts. The logic of the situation was utterly destroyed by the emotions involved with his wife and his most trusted friend. The coming confrontation was as absurd as the charge against Joseph. Nothing made sense.
Joseph was seated on the floor, his back against the wall. He rose as Potiphar approached. The captain ordered the officer to wait outside the closed door.
The captain and Joseph had stood face to face like this often. The power of their respective positions, so heavily weighted toward the captain as master and away from Joseph as slave, had shifted subtly over the years. The bonds of relationship had closed the chasm between them, united them in friendship and purpose. Betrayal was too kind a word if the accusations were true.
The captain held out the torn garment toward Joseph. “Explain.”
As Potiphar held out Joseph’s torn coat, he noticed the tear was along the back panel rather than the front. Would not the front of the garment be torn if his wife had been defending herself?
Even before that moment, he had suspected the truth of the situation.
His command for Joseph to explain had been the same as an accusation. The evidence held forth had been presented to support one version of the story, but now he saw a possible alternative interpretation. Potiphar left it for the accused to accept the accusation, or turn the guilt on the accuser.
Joseph loved Potiphar as a brother, for the man had always treated him as a younger brother, a younger version of himself. He longed to place the blame where it belonged and salvage the bond that was now stretched beyond its breaking point.
The inner voice that had guided him through the events of the morning did not desert him. The words it spoke were not of comfort and safety, however, but of guidance to lasting peace in the only way possible.
To salvage their friendship would be at the cost of Potiphar’s marriage. And even though that marriage was less than it should be, both Zelicha and Potiphar would be destroyed. And Potiphar, as friend and captain, had been Joseph’s greatest champion.
Each side of the triangle must realign itself into a single thread, and any line of the triangle might serve as the first section of that thread:
Zelicha’s charge required Potiphar’s execution of judgment on Joseph;
Potiphar must support the line of his wife or that of Joseph;
Joseph could adhere to truth and destroy a marriage, but maintaining his benefactor’s good will would be nearly impossible; or he could submit to the charge.
The awful irony of the dilemma now came upon Joseph: Truth was captive to the lie.
“What possible defense can a slave have against the charge of his owner’s wife?”
Joseph’s question in response to the captain’s simple command held implications blazing like a star falling from the heavens. Even as it fell, Potiphar saw a brighter light shine through the darkness.
The simple statement neither confirmed nor denied the allegations Zelicha had made.
The captain would maintain the marriage relationship as he aligned himself with his wife.
Implicit was Joseph’s resignation to the judgment that Potiphar would impose, a willingness to align himself with the captain and his wife.
Joseph forfeited his position of delegated power, and he accepted the return of the relationship with Captain Potiphar to the status of owner and slave. The two stood as on that first day when Teyma had brought him to Itj-tawy, except now there was no future for the two men as friends.
This moment was the end of an age.
Had Joseph fought the charge, this would have been the beginning of a war in a world that the captain had felt to have been a heaven.
Before, all had been ma’at. Harmony had reigned.
But some spark of evil had entered unseen, and all was falling down around him in flames.
Yes, the end of an age….
A new age must be created. Relationships must be reordered. Goals must be realigned. A new ma’at must be created from the rubble of the old.
For such a charge, the penalty must be death. But death permitted no better ending to the story.
Exile would be similar, a kind of death, at least for Joseph, for he would be as dead to the Egypt left behind.
As clearly as a written sentence written by Irsu and inscribed on a tablet of stone, “Let the man remain in prison and there his fate will be determined,” was pronounced in Potiphar’s mind.
Yes, death was too final, an end without other possibilities.
Let the one God of Joseph have the opportunity to save His son.
Let ma’at reorder itself with or without Joseph as the gods of Egypt so ordain.
“You offer no defense, and so your silence condemn you, not I.”
The captain dropped the torn garment at Joseph’s feet and left the room.
The door closing behind him sealed the judgment.
Freedom
In the retelling of the story of Joseph, time has not been kind to the other main characters. There are no more words of Zelicha (even her name has disappeared from the story!) and no more mention of “the captain of the guard” (Potiphar’s role has been reduced to one narrow title among many, some reduce him even to head of the kitchen).
The desire to see evil as simply that, a force that negates good and is worthy of blame for whatever we call “bad,” is strong, perhaps even overpowering. Once there is a villain, there is no need to look within the self for some sign of the same negative force at work. The evil is “out there,” not “in here.” We see criminal and victim rather than free moral agents.
There is evil, of that there is no doubt. The largest parts of what we call evil are the acts of people who have been fooled by the offer to take a bite of fruit from the hand of evil. This was seen in the beginning. Neither Adam nor Eve were themselves evil, although they fell victim to its claws.
Redemption always has been the greater part of the story, even if this part has passed unnoticed, been left unwritten. We must imagine a reconciliation between God and His creations, Adam and Eve, even if the Garden could not be restored.
Omitting the story of redemption is a great loss for those who would benefit from history, the stories meant to give us an understanding of the world as it exists rather than the world that is observed. Without this rebirth, the grace of the Creator is not visible. We would see only the Hand of punishment rather than the Spirit of love.
Every desperate act by a human to achieve some level of control is a plea for assistance. Every insult hurled at another is a vain attempt to bolster our own standing, knowing how low we have fallen.
Every act of Zelicha was an attempt to get help, a plea for revelation of a better way to exist in an imperfect world.
She had offered Joseph’s coat to Potiphar as proof of her fight against her attacker, proof of Joseph’s betrayal of trust.
So Joseph’s brothers had offered Joseph’s coat of many colors, dipped in the blood of a goat, to their father as proof of Joseph’s demise by a wild beast. Although Joseph would not know this misuse of his coat of many colors for many years more, even now he saw how a coat, a gift that he treasured, had been used to convict him, to put an end to his current story.
The woman to her husband, and the half-brothers to their father, sought to make Joseph as one who was dead to the life that he had lived. If they did not physically kill him in their desire to escape the situation, they put an end to the life he had known to that time.
The father might have suspected the evidence of a coat soaked with blood, torn from the body in a manner suspicious, for there was neither flesh nor bone remaining, as if the beast had neatly consumed every last morsel.
So Potiphar might have suspected the evidence of a coat torn from her attacker, but torn in a manner suspicious, not only because of the place of the tear, but also for the integrity of the accused.
The father accepted the story of the remaining sons although he made evident to these sons that they could not replace what he had lost.
The husband accepted the story of the wife before him although the cost was his friend.
When her husband left her room, control shifted from her hands into his hands.
She had been powerless over Joseph, so she demanded that Potiphar force the incident to a conclusion.
Zelicha knew that her husband could exact only the revenge of force, for neither she nor her husband had power over Joseph. Their force could affect his body, but they had not the power to affect his character. She had seen the evidence this morning.
No, these words did not pass through Zelicha’s mind. But the reality of them came to her over time, like the slowly increasing warmth of the rising sun on a December morning.
She wept for the woman she wanted to become.
Think of that, and all must weep with her.
She determined to submit to the husband who gave her a quality of life few women experienced in Egypt, and she would honor that relationship.
These were the steps to take her into a new life, the foundation for a new character.
Zelicha knew that the Asian girl must not return into her house. If evil had a face, hers was that face. The queen and her companions, and Zelicha and her own companions, must not fall under such an influence.
Having stood at the precipice of disaster and been saved from stepping forward, the wife of the second most powerful man in Egypt determined to step into her proper role, to become the woman intended from her birth.
There are no records of this transformation. There is no new birth certificate issued when a person is reborn into a new way of being in an old world. The assertion of good is less newsworthy than the devastation wrought through ignorance.
We will hear of the brothers’ redemption much later, but we never hear of Zelicha’s redemption. That this woman passes quietly from the scene, never to interfere with Joseph’s resurrection to power only a few years hence, speaks to a changed heart and mind.
We hear not again of the captain of the guard in the popular telling of the story, but his path as second to the king must again cross that of Joseph.
Potiphar had been chained in an unequal yoke, and he had accepted the bonds placed upon him. Zelicha’s newly found freedom from her chains released him, as well. By maintaining his faith in her, he freed her to release them both. Such is the yoke of marriage.
Given the events so far, the stories of Captain Potiphar and his wife may have diverged from this point, but Joseph’s character and sacrifice has granted them freedom from the inevitability of separation.
Had Zelicha remained unchanged, had Captain Potiphar been forced to take action, we would have heard her curses and grieved at his ordeal. Such a story must have been published if it had occurred.
But the record is silent, as peaceful as the Egyptian goal of balance and harmony.
We can see their stories becoming intertwined as appropriate for the intimate sharing of gifts and abilities in the service of one another.
We may not know their future course since the reality has no witness, but we can imagine reconciliation both in body and in spirit of the new woman and the old husband.
Prison within Prison
Joseph knew of no prison in Canaan. Those who committed crimes received just punishment for their unjust acts quickly and in proportion to their crimes.
Yes, people were apprehended for their crimes, and if they were not killed in the process, they must await judgment or suffer confinement until they paid the penalty for their particular crime.
Often the penalty was restitution of what was lost or stolen, plus compensation. If a sheep was stolen, a sheep plus some additional amount must be restored.
The penalty for physical harm done to another was equivalent harm, e.g., an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth, and those in power carried out the sentence quickly.
For many crimes, the punishment was death. Adultery was such a crime.
Incarceration was not used as a sentence. There were no physical prisons, no buildings for maintaining a criminal for a period of years or for life.
Egypt was more civilized in many ways than the Canaanites. Some view a more broad minded approach as moral laxity. Others see an increased understanding of the individual man or woman, and a greater readiness for mercy.
But perhaps mercy is too strong a word. Although there were fewer executions, these were often more gruesome, and the punishment requiring loss of a limb or mutilation was both painful and a sentence to a difficult life.
Even in Egypt in those days, however, long term incarceration of those who had broken the law could not be reconciled with ma’at. Harmony and balance required repayment from the unjust to the just, but a person in jail remained forever out of balance, in debt and unable to repay.
Many of those who came to the prison were there only briefly, awaiting judgment and sentence.
Some went to death, some went into exile, and some paid their debt through a life of manual labor in the mines. Very few remained in the prison. And of those few who remained, the only exit from prison was death at the hands of disease or time.
Joseph expected only a death sentence for his alleged offense. This was normal for his supposed crime, and Zelicha’s vehemence must demand her husband vindicate her by imposing the maximum sentence.
Guards took him to the king’s prison, out of sight and out of hearing of The Residence. This was a stone building designed with minimal functionality but maximum restriction. Here was the outward appearance of a fort, a structure for keeping invaders out, but the reality was a structure for keeping prisoners in.
The rooms were much like the space Joseph and Shabaka had shared in his early years in Captain Potiphar’s service. The primary difference was a single door that kept him locked inside at night. Narrow vertical slits in the walls allowed minimal light and ventilation. There was no sleeping in the cool night air of the roof.
There was land around the building, and water available in a canal from the Nile. Prisoners were given work so that they could support themselves and their guards with food, including flax for garments, but the constant turnover of the prison population allowed for no continuity and little coordination of efforts.
This was a place for work, even if nothing significant was accomplished. There were no days off for celebration of feasts of the gods, no dainties from the east, or meat from the herds, or beer to ease one’s wretched existence.
Joseph found himself with less than when he had arrived in Egypt with Teyma almost ten years previously, for he had now lost even the coat given to him by Talia. His mother’s ring remained on his hand, and he had the tunic and sandals that he had worn on his last day of freedom.
He might have expected his time to be short, ending in death, but the recent dream of the future implied that this challenge also would pass. In the dream, he had endured three days and nights of waiting in the pit. Thus it was to be three years in this above ground version of the pit.
Within his first hour at his new home, Joseph was added to the prisoners working in the field. That is, Joseph was added to the long chain of rope binding one prisoner to another.
And his ankles were bound with ropes, as well, the length between permitting only a shuffling gait. Running, or even a fast walk, was impossible.
The work of the moment was to clear an irrigation ditch. The water had been blocked at its tap on a larger branch, but the soil beneath the surface was still wet and heavy. The humidity in the ditch and the heat from the sun brought Joseph to a sweat within minutes.
This was to be the work of summer, the height of the flood: work on the irrigation ditches. Then the year of the farmer would begin as the waters receded.
Joseph recalled Shabaka’s lament of the year of the farmer so long ago. He had tasted each season at some point – planting, growth (weeding and water carrying), and harvest. Shabaka had omitted the season of irrigation work during the flood.
He worked with his worn, blunt wooden shovel on the silt that had settled in the ditch. Dig into the muck, lift and throw, and do it again.
At times like these he remembered his simple life in Canaan - the variety of the days, numerous light tasks, and the occasional burden to bear. All of this had been an easy coexistence with the living creatures and vegetation in which the shepherd was immersed. There was a giving and taking that must exemplify that truest form of the Egyptian ma’at, harmony and balance.
This work on the irrigation ditch was not ma’at. These prisoners performed their tasks sloppily, and the guards (for they were in no way the overseers of proper work) gave no guidance. All they required was that the prisoners do the work, that they strain and sweat, and they not try to escape.
Perhaps this was a part of the prisoner’s punishment, a sentence to experience imbalance and disharmony. Indeed, within an hour the senselessness of the work grated on Joseph’s soul.
Yes, useless work was a second sentence, a second prison, within the sentence of a prisoner bound in ropes behind stone walls.
When they were given a break for water, Joseph looked down the ditch, now empty of the men who had been assaulting the earth. Yes, assault is the correct term, for there was no cooperation among man and tool and earth.
Joseph had worked on irrigation long enough to know a good canal, a good ditch. If all work was done in the manner of these prisoners, they would be returning to every area frequently to restore the water’s flow as sides slid back into the water and debris clogged the channel.
Attempts at conversation with the one man to whom he was tied (for he was on the end of the rope) were discouraged with grunts and curses.
These first hours of his labor as a prisoner of the king were the most discouraging to his spirit of any of his labors in Egypt. At least with the farming tasks of planting, weeding, carrying water, and harvest, all had contributed to the result of food and clothing.
His work on the canal and the irrigation ditches had always had the effect of increasing the supply of living water onto a dead land, giving birth to life.
This prison work contributed only to a minimal supply of produce, poor irrigation, and the assurance of returning to patch over poor work with more poor work.
And he did not know when someone might come for him and execute the sentence for attacking the wife of a high official, and that sentence must surely be death.
Such was his experience of the king’s prison during the working hours during the first day of his confinement.
The first evening was short, as were those that followed.
Meals were grain, perhaps some vegetables at dinner, perhaps some fruit in the morning. The absence of women (who were housed elsewhere) and children gave the evening air an emptiness that nothing could fill.
No one had the energy or inclination for pleasantries beyond minimal conversation. Hopelessness was the dominant emotion for those here a long time, and fear was dominant for new arrivals.
That first evening, lying on his sleeping mat waiting for elusive sleep to finally settle, Joseph asked God why this must happen. Surely there was a reason!
The vision came as a dream in a sleep so light that he would have sworn that his eyes never closed.
He saw a bird. The bird’s plumage was full and bright, the eyes painted and elongated in the style of the Egyptians. Crumbs of food were upon his breast. He was smiling in the company of a small flock of multi-colored birds who applauded his greatness.
Further from him were colorless birds, small and weak, scratching in dirt where there was no food. These were poor creatures: the fatherless, those without mates, the sick, and the maimed. He saw the hungry in all of their variations.
And he saw farther in the distance the rolling hills of Canaan, and a nest, empty but for one aged bird. Brown feathers (what were left of them) and weak wings adorned this ancient looking creature. A mourning call arose from a dry beak.
Joseph realized the first light of morning was now appearing through the thin slits of window. There was no transition from his dream to the morning, from sleeping to waking. There was only the realization that he had fallen once again into the state of that youth who proudly wore a coat of many colors, secure in his position while unaware of the world around him. Again he had been a peacock focused on self.
Joseph wept.
All was one, and that one weighed heavily upon him.
He rose as the door to his cell opened, releasing him into a new day in what was once again a new world. At his first opportunity, he used the mud from the irrigation ditch to remove his eye makeup, then washed all away with the dirty water.
Joseph gradually learned something of the men with whom he worked, but most were there for only days, few for more than a week.
Most lay under the threat of bodily punishment, whether the loss of life, or the loss of a limb, nose or ear. The severity of the punishment was to balance the effects of the crime – ma’at again.
Although there was a great desire for vengeance, the law permitted retaliation only against the criminal, and not his family or village.
Joseph saw men come and go quickly. And these were ruled more by fear, the expectation of punishment - at least pain, and possibly death – arriving at any moment.
In some ways, these people were different from those of the areas of The Residence or the Fayum.
The transient ones, those who stayed only for hours or a few days before their punishment was exacted, never had an opportunity to adjust to their new surroundings.
Those few who became permanent residents of the Place of Confinement ranged from angry to sullen at first. Only as they felt assured that they had escaped death or mutilation did they reconcile themselves to this new life.
At this point, even with the hopelessness of the future, they were vulnerable to the incentives of even small rewards. And the negative incentives offered by the guards could be used, if necessary.
Joseph began to see these permanent prisoners as the core for an efficient work force.
Time passed.
There was an overseer of the prison but, like the guards, he was a military man.
Give him a battle, a fight to be won, and he would do well.
Give him prisoners to guard, to keep them until their punishment was completed, and his training allowed him to do his duty.
But give him a farm to maintain, and he could only go through the motions of what he imagined farming to be.
Joseph asked the guards for an opportunity to talk with their commander since no amount of talk accomplished anything with them. But any words to the guards were met with harsh rebuke before the plea was made. They were not permitted to show any sympathy toward a prisoner lest they be charged with accepting a bribe.
Escape from Prison within Prison
Weeks passed and the season of planting had begun.
In accordance with the inefficiency of the work in the prison, this was done entirely by hand using worn tools and with little planning or organization. Again, this may have been considered as part of the punishment, but Joseph saw this as a missed opportunity.
The overseer of the prison did make inspections on occasion, rounds of the prison and farm, to see that all was well. But approaching the overseer or speaking to him uninvited resulted in the lash, if not a more sound beating with a cane.
Nevertheless, one day the overseer walked down the line of men that included Joseph, strolling as if he were on a fine afternoon walk, pleased to be out in the fresh air. Joseph took the opportunity to speak.
The officer was younger than himself, and no doubt saw the position as overseer of the prison as only a stepping stone to greater appointments.
Joseph said, not looking at the uniformed man walking past him, but more as if he were speaking only to himself, “What great soil there is here! If we but had some good tools, we could have more produce than we could eat.”
“What did you say, slave?” asked the overseer, who called every prisoner “slave,” for so they were now.
“Your Excellency, I was merely observing what fine soil for growing grains and vegetables, but these tools are so dull and we have nothing with which to sharpen them.”
“As if you would be given anything with a sharp blade, slave. We cannot have you cutting your ropes!””
The overseer turned to the guard following him. “Give this slave 5 lashes for insolence,” and proceeded on his pleasant stroll.
“Would not your commander honor you and give you a higher rank if you not only fed your slaves, but supplied his men with a surplus of barley for beer and flax for clothing?”
The words were barely out of Joseph’s mouth before the guard had grabbed him and thrown him to the ground. The prisoner roped to him stumbled but caught himself, moving as far away from Joseph as the rope would allow.
The overseer walked a few steps more and the guard stepped backward, unfurling his whip. Joseph turned his back to receive his punishment.
The overseer stopped and turned, calling to the overseer, “Wait,” before the first lash was struck.
“You are this Joseph, miracle man of the canal, are you not? What miracle will you perform for me?”
“Your excellency, miracles come in different sizes and types depending upon your needs,” Joseph said respectfully. “And I must confess that the God who grants them responds according to the willingness of the petitioner to participate as coworker in the miracle.”
“What! You would have me as a miracle worker, also?” the overseer scoffed.
“You desire a garden that grows an abundance, and He has provided the water of the Nile.
“You desire a flow of water to your crops, and He has granted your wishes with the slaves He has given to dig the ditches that carry His water.
“You desire the continued flow of His water to grow your crops, and He has given stones and reeds. Were they available to the slaves that He has given you, they would line the ditches to keep them flowing freely.
“Your garden is as green and large as you desire, the abundance overflowing to your credit, without cost to you, but with great return according to the use of the gifts that God has given to you.”
The guard ran his fingers through the strands of his whip, waiting impatiently for the command to perform his duty.
The overseer, also impatient, barely held back his curses during the long speech, but the final appeal to his ambition kept him curious as to how this might come to reality.
“You are a prisoner, but you speak to your master as if you held power. But all power has been stripped from you because of your offense.”
“I came to Egypt as a slave, and I am as a slave now. If what I have learned is of service, let it be to your benefit. Any power that I have is only that which you grant to me for your purposes, not my own.”
The overseer glanced over at the other five men roped together in a line stretching away from Joseph. They watched intently to see what would happen. This was a bad precedent.
“If he says anything more, give him five lashes,” he said to the guard and continued on his walk, satisfied with the example set for the others, but also thinking beyond the limited scope of his assignment to greater possibilities.
The guard stood ready to obey, waiting for Joseph’s response. Joseph silently resumed his work, as did the other five prisoners to whom he was tied.
Joseph was disheartened, but he must wait and allow some opportunity to be given to him. Patience, again.
The wait was not long, however.
As Joseph stood eating his small breakfast the second morning after the incident, a guard came for him and escorted Joseph to the overseer’s workroom.
The room was hardly better than Joseph’s cell, little larger and sparsely furnished, although there was a table with a chair on the longer sides. The best feature was large windows, opened to the outside world and allowing plenty of light and air.
The overseer sat behind his table. There were several pieces of papyrus stacked on one end of the table, but most of the tabletop appeared to be nothing more than a place for the overseer to rest his folded hands.
Joseph stood on the other side of the table, his feet tied with the small length of rope, a reminder of his position and the limitations placed upon him.
“Your speech yesterday was very critical of the manner in which the prison is run. Speaking in that manner before the other prisoners, I should have had you soundly beaten on the spot.”
The overseer paused, allowing Joseph to realize his utter powerlessness and vulnerability. Seeing no change in Joseph’s countenance, he gestured toward a second chair on the side of the table.
“Sit down so I do not have to strain my neck looking up at you.” Disdain had been the original tone, but that was somewhat softened now. Joseph felt the unequal balance of power shifting, fading into the background.
“You may be one of the lucky ones, Joseph. Apparently your accusers have forgotten about you. That they have not imposed a sentence means that you will be here for a while.”
The Overseer paused, but Joseph was silent, waiting to hear the reason for his summons.
“My name is Neferhotep. I joined the king’s army and was trained to fight, but we have no war at the moment and I find myself stationed here.” He waved an arm across the bare room toward the door into the prison yard.
“You made a suggestion on improvements to the work that prisoners do here. My commander had told me to make use of you if I could.”
Neferhotep paused. “I am to run the Place of Confinement, a prison, not a farm. This is not a place for men to better their living conditions and enjoy festivals. It is a place for punishment for those who have disobeyed the law.
“They must produce the food necessary for their own lives. What is more, they must contribute to the state they have offended and yet who still has them in its care. They owe a debt that must be repaid.”
He required a response from the silent Joseph, “Do you understand the dilemma?”
“All who have been sentenced rightfully for their crimes must be thankful for the mercy of the state and to those like yourself to whom their care is entrusted.
“The lives of those who do not serve others are wasted, and their fellow men receive no benefit. If their work does not reflect to your credit, then you are the poorer for it.
“You have the resources of good land, water, and labor that costs only the food they require. You can put those to good use as they produce more than enough food, but all must be managed toward the end of allowing the dirt to yield what it holds by giving what it requires.”
“They do not put farmers in my position, Joseph. I am a scribe, as well as a soldier. Do not make a speech. Tell me what you need to make the land productive. As long as it does not conflict with my orders for imprisoning those who are sent here, you will have what you need.”
“Allow me to walk the land, to see the ditches bringing the water, and to inspect the men who will be allotted to my work crew. When I have seen those things, give me papyrus, a pen, and ink. Then you will have your list.”
They talked some of what was best grown, the tools generally required for the work to be done, and such things. Joseph ended each topic that any answer might vary somewhat based on what he saw.
Neferhotep called the guard into the room and said that the three of them would walk the prison grounds.
And so they went throughout the compound and its gardens. Joseph described how the pieces fit together and what he would need to make best use of each part.
And so Joseph became again a master of the irrigation works and of the crops, although now the scale was much smaller.
He worked first with the men who had indefinite sentences and had been in prison for some time. The goal was to train them so that they were the backbone of the teams. And from these he would choose team leaders.
Larger rations would come only when they produced more. They were limited now because of how little they had produced previously.
The secondary reward was productive work. This was not an incentive for everyone, but the guards provided sufficient negative incentive for not being productive if positive incentives failed.
Of course, all rewards were based on performance. And if one of the crew were injured and missed work due to the negative rewards offered by the guards, the whole team would suffer. Self-government of their small group through ensuring each did their share was in everyone’s best interests.
The prisoners passing through for only a few days were spread equally over the teams, providing manual labor requiring nothing more than direction and muscles.
And so the prison, or Place of Confinement, as it was more formally known, began to shift in nature.
The overseer saw Joseph’s effect not only in the quality of the irrigation and the flow of water, but also in the spirit of the prisoners, their willingness to work.
And so Joseph’s first year as prisoner passed with some improvement in his situation, if not his title and continued confinement.
And then two additional prisoners were brought to the Place of Confinement at this time, men who became a significant part of Joseph’s story.
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