4.3 Beginning the Future
Joseph and the small contingent escorting him arrived at The Residence on a late afternoon.
The chariot had been spotted by a sentry when they were yet half an hour distant. A small crowd stood waiting outside the compound’s entrance, mostly family members of the guards.
Joseph saw Asenath among the others from a distance. She looked different somehow, perhaps because of her simple clothing and her hair arranged less formally, as well. She wore bangs, and her shoulder length hair was pulled behind her ears and then back in front of her shoulders, framing her face beautifully.
The next familiar face he spied was Potiphar’s, the second most important person he wished to greet.
As the chariot pulled in front of Asenath, Joseph passed the reins to one of the men beside him. He dismissed the others and stepped from the chariot without halting the horses.
Smiling, Joseph reached out for Asenath’s hand. He said, “It has been a long time.” Then, reenacting the evening of their wedding, he introduced himself, “I am Joseph.”
She laughed and shook her head saying, “You better remember who I am.”
“You look similar to Asenath, but perhaps grown more beautiful and wiser.”
“Indeed, you have been gone long enough for me to at least grow older. But no matter what happens, that is an area where I cannot catch up with you!”
They laughed and he gave her a light kiss on the lips.
Around them, the soldiers and their families had matched up and begun to move away. Potiphar approached.
Joseph let go his embrace of Asenath and now embraced his friend. “Captain, Good to see you. I hope your travels went well.”
“Yes, they did. And yours?”
It was clear that a perfunctory answer was all that he would get in this setting, so Joseph replied in the same manner.
“Good. The king asked that you come and give an informal report to him. He asked me to bring you to him.”
“Of course.”
To Asenath he said, “I will join you soon,” and gave a light kiss on the cheek.”
Not surprised, she acknowledged as Joseph turned away with Potiphar.
The king was in an informal room waiting for them. After greetings, he asked them to sit and for Joseph to give a summary report of his trip: the highlights, in general, and specifics only where there were potential problems requiring immediate attention.
Joseph dutifully summarized the three chief concerns – the tax and its size, the accuracy of the prediction, and their own best possible outcome. Essentially, they went from denial to examination to preparation. The progression showed that Joseph’s answers were generally accepted.
The governors in two areas, in particular, might be tempted to resist. He suggested that during construction of the storage facilities, a larger armed presence was necessary in these locations to forestall any serious attempt to undermine the overall plan.
The king asked for some additional specifics, but at this stage all appeared to be moving in the right direction. He said that he had called for all members of the group to meet in seven days for an update on the progress in each area. He had been receiving weekly reports in person or by messenger, but a face to face meeting with everyone present for updates was necessary periodically.
The king’s parting comment before dismissing them was spoken in a tone that allowed for no misunderstanding.
“We will not allow avoidance of the tax by any landowner. There will be no exceptions. Even one exception undermines the whole strategy. Do you have any questions or concerns in supporting that order?”
Joseph and Potiphar both accepted the command as being appropriate and necessary.
After hearing of the more important events in Potiphar’s travels, Joseph went to his apartment. His delay of two hours in doing so seemed to have been necessary but, in his present state of mind, unnecessarily long.
A few moments later, Joseph walked through the doorway of their apartment in search of Asenath. She waited in the seat that had unofficially become hers, appearing to have just sat down as if she had expected him at this moment.
“Now you can receive a proper welcome home.”
She rose and gave him an embrace after a short kiss. Letting go, she asked, “Would you like to tell me of your journey, or have you done that enough with Potiphar and the king?”
Joseph responded, “I would much prefer that you tell me of your time in this very different place where you now live.”
“My story will be much shorter and less interesting since you already are familiar with The Residence and many of its people. Please, speak to me of some wonder that you saw, or some interesting person who made an impression upon you. Then I will tell you of my experiences.”
“After telling the captain and the king of my trip, a different subject might be better.”
Joseph came close enough to take her hands in his own. “Let me tell you a truth, a gentle one.”
Asenath turned her head slightly to the side. “Go on,” she said, her voice showing her ambivalence at allowing the revelation of yet another truth.
“You are the perfect bud opening to reveal the beautiful flower you have been destined to become.” He leaned forward and received his kiss.
Asenath broke away. “It is dark and you are no doubt hungry. I had half a melon while I waited.” Gesturing toward a bowl on the table, she said, “You can have the other half.’
Eying the melon, Joseph realized how hungry he was. He accepted the diversion and began to eat, speaking some of his journey between bites of the fruit.
When he had finished, he walked back to his wife and sat close beside her. He took her hands and asked, “May I tell you another gentle truth?”
Asenath moved backward, pulling her hands from his.
“You think by telling me a gentle truth that you always will be rewarded with a kiss.” Joseph looked like a child caught with his hand in the honey jar. “Let me share a gentle truth with you,” she continued.
“You must not take me for granted, that I always will respond in the same manner. I am a woman, and not a mindless creature of habit.”
Joseph was taken back by this assertion on Asenath’s part. As the man and the (considerably) older of the two, he had made two errors (and he now suspected that these would not be his last).
His first error was the incorrect assumption that he was in control.
His second error was underestimating Asenath’s independence. He had paid lip service to her strength, and complimented her intelligence, but now she demanded that she be recognized as an independent entity with a mind of her own.
“Ah! It sounds like the joys of marriage are behind us!”
“No,” Asenath smiled, brushing his cheek with her hand, “but the flower is coming into full bloom and now stands high, no longer bowing to every breath of air. When the wind blows, she will bow of her own volition, not on command.”
“I am glad the transplant of the flower to this place was successful, and that she stands so beautifully tall in her space.”
“Let me assure you that it is not a solitary space, but only one bee is permitted within it. This is a gentle truth,” she added, “and a kiss comes with this one.”
Asenath drew close and took his hands and gave a tantalizing kiss.
Somewhat at a loss, having little experience in negotiating with a woman, Joseph asked, “How am I to know which way the wind blows?”
“The wind is not important. Keep your eyes on your flower, bee.” She pulled his hands around behind her waist and then placed her arms around his neck. She then gave a long kiss to emphasize her point.
(Some) Clarification of the Past
As Joseph and Asenath sat across from one another, engaged in casual conversation, a moment of silence intervened in talk of some changes in the outer garden of The Residence.
Asenath used the opportunity to broach a subject about which she felt both anxious and reluctant. The result of such a conversation would speak either encouragement or devastation as they moved into their joint future.
“One of the more interesting events while you were gone was a conversation with Zelicha.”
“Oh?” Joseph asked. Asenath could tell that she had his attention in spite of his seemingly casual response.
“I have been told a version of her history, but had not wanted to delve into what seemed more like idle gossip than true events. Nasty talk can do a lot of damage in a place like The Residence, a community in which many people remain in close contact with one another for long periods.”
“And what have you heard of Zelicha that you think you should speak to me of her?”
Continuing to maintain her own eyes locked onto Joseph’s, she said, “I have been told that her charge against you caused you to be in prison for three years.”
She saw no need to say more than this flat statement, allowing Joseph more leeway in choosing how he wanted to respond.
Joseph responded simply. “That is true.”
Disappointed at this minimal response, Asenath pressed further, but only slightly. “She did make a charge against you?”
“Yes,” nodded Joseph. He turned and took a few steps from her
Asenath thought she had been as tactful as possible, and her reward was these responses that were hardly more than acknowledgments of the information in her question. Was he playing with her?
Showing some of her exasperation (and surely there must be warnings sounding in Joseph’s mind at this moment), she became more blunt. “I was told that she charged you with attempted rape.”
Realizing that she must be more direct, she continued with a clearly stated question. “Was the charge true?”
“What did Zelicha say about the incident?”
“She did not make reference to it.”
Joseph realized that Asenath was being as brief in her response as he had been.
“You said that you had a conversation. What did you two find to talk about?”
“She spoke my name, and then told me hers. She asked me to be her friend or, if that was not possible, at least not to be her enemy.
“I was very surprised that she came to me and spoke so directly. Since we had not been introduced or even seen each other as far as I am aware, I would have expected an introduction and small talk to get to know one another first.”
Joseph had wondered how Zelicha now might view the events that caused his imprisonment. He smiled slightly at what seemed to him a tentative retreat on her part concerning the allegation.
“How did you reply?”
“I said that considering our husbands’ long and close relationship, our friendship would be only natural.”
Asenath repeated her question to Joseph more firmly. “What about the charge?”
“There was a misunderstanding,” he said, “simply a misunderstanding. I bear her no ill will, and it sounds perhaps that she feels the same. I hope that you will be friends, and there is no reason for you to be enemies.”
“Hmm,” Asenath said, clearly noncommittal to his response. This was not an answer to her question, a question she would have preferred to have had a simple “yes” or “no” response.
Joseph could see his wife was not at all satisfied with how the conversation was – or was not - going. He could understand. If people talked behind Asenath’s back about this supposed crime from Joseph’s past, she could not help but feel uneasy. He must allay her fears.
“Captain Potiphar is Zelicha’s husband, and he is my good friend, as you have seen. If people talk of an event that is past and for which no one now cries for blame to be placed, then perhaps the past should simply stay there.
“The realm of misunderstanding is a large one. That land is filled with grassy fields and with graveyards. I prefer the grassy fields, and I think that is what Zelicha was telling you in her request.”
To emphasize what he was saying, he added, “There is no need to enlarge the graveyard in the land of misunderstanding. There are bodies enough already.”
Asenath saw this response as a clear violation of a doctrine that she held dear: a charge made must have a “yes’ or “no” answer. To leave the question open was not ma’at. Somewhere an imbalance existed. The scales could not be aligned.
Sensing her ambivalence to the issue, Joseph added, “A misunderstanding results from the collision including only a partial truth on one or both sides, the partial meeting of two minds. We must allow the other half of the partial truth, the partial lie, to be disowned without destroying the person.”
Asenath was coming to know the character of Joseph, and she now felt guilty that she had allowed the gossip to form an accusation against him within her. If he were guilty, he could harbor no legitimate animosity toward Zelicha. If he were innocent, but wished to spare both his friend and the friend’s wife, he could harbor no animosity.
The fact that Potiphar had not had Joseph executed – or done the execution himself – spoke more than words could of the truth of the matter.
“That must have been a difficult time,” she said at last. “And three years seems like such a long time.”
“When you get to my age, three years is nothing,” said Joseph, attempting to lighten the atmosphere a little.
Being a bit more serious, he added, “We can see that all that has happened was inevitable if it was to lead us to this moment.”
Asenath shook her head. “I hope that when I get to your age that I will be so calm about such things.”
“You will,” he said. “That is a gentle truth,” he added with a smile.
“Alright. Your young flower accepts this gentle truth.” And she gave him his kiss.
Return to The Fayum
That there were still six days until the meeting of The Stores Council – the name decided upon for those who were to manage preparation for the famine – Joseph went to The Fayum.
In particular, he wanted to visit with Pawara, a friend from so long ago. They had not seen one another for close to five years. Joseph had visited Pawara and his family while Joseph was working nearby on irrigation projects.
Because of Pawara’s personality and work ethic, he had recruited Pawara to work with him, training him in the art of irrigation. This allowed Pawara to transition from the soul draining life of an agricultural laborer to a job that was more rewarding in both pay and variety.
Joseph had seen more aging in Pawara on that visit. The less physically demanding job of supervising the handling of the flood waters may well have saved the man’s life.
Pawara’s wife also had shown the years of hard labor required to keep alive while raising children. At that time, the oldest of their children would soon be cast into the world of working men. Childhood was not easy, but as an adult the boy would be contributing to maintaining himself.
Joseph hoped that these last few years had served Pawara and his family well.
Leaving The Residence for The Fayum, Joseph chose to walk. His months on the chariot or on boats had left him restless, full of stored energy that must be expended.
Time was short, but this was not an official visit requiring the chariot and horses, a symbol of the king riding with him. As a matter of fact, he would rather avoid that recognition. This was more of a personal visit, and its true value would depend on that.
Even were he not to find Pawara, there were other men whom he had met when he was a worker in the fields or later when he was the man in charge of the canal and irrigation. He wanted to connect with these people and understand how they would fare in the face of the predicted famine.
Most of his time since freedom from prison had been in the protected confines of The Residence or traveling among the wealthy of the land. He had had little opportunity to engage casually with people who he believed to be the ones intended to be helped by his interpretation of the dreams of the king. These were the people who had no alternative when the crops failed year after year, people who could not buy more food or travel to a distant land to obtain provisions.
After two days of walking, Joseph entered the village where Pawara lived. Dusty from his travels, at first appearance Joseph looked little different from the people who lived in the primitive mud huts that comprised the village.
Pawara’s hut had changed greatly in these last five years. Rooms had been added, and the structure looked as if it recently had been white washed. Colorful decorations hung by the door and a bright colored cloth hung from a window fluttered in the wind.
There was plenty of land around it for the garden that supplemented the barley and emmer wheat from the harvest. He could see vegetables growing on a plot wrapping around the side of the house to the back.
This time there were no small children playing outside. As he would soon learn, two had gone into marriages and the others were almost grown now.
He was glad not to have brought the horses and chariot. Arriving on a chariot would have attracted the attention of everyone within half a mile, but no one paid notice to a solitary dusty stranger on foot. And feeding horses would have seemed an unnatural extravagance in this setting.
He called for Pawara. A woman came from the garden around the back of the house.
Joseph recognized Pawara’s wife, but she did not recognize him immediately. He supposed that he did look somewhat different from those days when he was in charge of handling the water of the flood.
Holding his arms wide as he spoke, “Ana, it is I, Joseph!”
She offered a big smile. “For a moment I suspected that it was you, Joseph. But then I thought, ‘What would he be doing here!’”
She called out to one of her sons to go and get his father as she continued toward Joseph.
“I know my husband will be glad to see you. What is it that brings you to us?”
He laughed and said, “I spent so much time over the years in The Fayum that it was a home away from home. But mostly I miss the people who became my friends.”
By now she was close enough that he could reach out with one arm and give her a hug.
“How are you and Pawara doing?”
“Joseph, good to see you! How are you?” Pawara said as he appeared from around the back corner of their home.
Joseph gave his old friend a full brace. “Good! And I was just asking Ana how you both are doing.”
“We are doing great. Working on irrigation instead of the fields has given us far more food and resources. I appreciate the opportunity to do work that is more rewarding while not killing me so quickly.”
“You do not look like you have aged since I last saw you, so the work must agree with you.”
“Yes, and since I can do more work in the garden and the kids are older, Ana has been helping our neighbors with health issues. She is growing many plants that help them to be well.”
Ana interjected, “Pawara even built a room inside for me to store my herbs and to talk with the people who need my help. This has brought more food to us, as well.”
“It pleases me to hear that you both are prospering,” said Joseph. Gesturing to the house, he said, “I see that you have grown your house, as you say, and it has a very welcoming look to it.”
“Obviously, that is Ana’s touch. She wanted the place to be one that people felt drawn to enter.”
“You did well, Ana.”
“You are probably hungry from your travels, are you not? I have some lentils and leeks prepared for our meal. There is plenty to share.”
“Yes, and many thanks,” said Joseph appreciatively.
“Come into the shade near the house and let us be comfortable,” suggested Pawara, taking Joseph’s arm to head him in the right direction.
Much later, the night air cooler and having brought each other up to date on their personal news, Joseph broached the subject that he most wanted to discuss.
“You have heard of the king’s dreams and the interpretation of the seven good years followed by seven years of famine, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Zaphnath-Paaneah, for so I hear you are now called officially,” said Pawara. “And the king will collect one-fifth of each harvest in the good years and then distribute the grain to those in need in the years of famine. Do I understand correctly?”
Joseph shifted position, clearly uncomfortable with the clarification that he must give.
“Most of what you say is correct, except for the final part. The grain that has been stored will be sold to those who are in need.”
“Yes, that is what I heard. I hoped for something better.” Pawara was silent for a moment before adding, “He will provide the grain for those in need and who are able to pay his price. Is that correct?”
“The simple answer is ‘Yes.’ There is a good reason for what sounds like a callous policy. Think for a moment how things would come to pass if everyone thought the grain would be distributed for free during the famine.”
Joseph was silent for a moment while Pawara considered his words.
“Yes, I understand what you are saying,” he said at last. “But there are many who have no way to prepare for the famine and will have no money to buy when it occurs. What will become of them?”
This was the question that Joseph had been asking himself, and he said this to his friend. “That is the question that I cannot answer. Perhaps we can do no more than to work to make that group of people as small as possible.”
Here Joseph gave Pawara the summary points of his talks with the governors and men of wealth in the south. He said that he knew of nothing more that could be done other than for all of those with the resources for preparing for the famine to do so as much as possible.
“Let me understand, Joseph. The landowners pay a tax of 20% for seven years, and then they are free of any obligation as long as they depend on their own stored food.
“But what am I to do Joseph? Can I store seven years’ supply of food? Where would it all come from and where would I put it?”
He waved his arm toward the other houses nearby. “And where will they all get their supply of food and where will they store it?
“I have been thinking of this ever since we received word of what was to come. For those who cannot store food, how will we buy food when the famine comes? We will have to sell everything we own, finally selling ourselves into slavery.”
Pawara, normally positive and optimistic, seemed to alternate between hopelessness and anger as he spoke. He looked toward his house and Joseph followed his gaze.
He had been proud of the ability to enlarge the space, to create a better place for his family. Joseph could see that he felt all of this was threatened by events too powerful for him to combat.
Pawara’s wife and remaining children – almost grown and holding their own in some unheard conversation with her – sat with their backs against the wall of the house, now laughing at something that had been said. It was a beautiful picture, one that should be preserved.
Joseph was quiet. He was at a loss and knew not what to say. He silently asked God.
Joseph spoke with God many times during any given day. He made requests of Him, and thanked Him for what was given, and often just made observations, starting what seemed like a dialog as thoughts came to him. As he listened, he would have thoughts leading to further observations.
The thoughts that Pawara now expressed had been part of his dialogue with God on many occasions in these last few weeks. He had offered the hypothetical question of how what Pawara had expressed was to be avoided. This topic had always been a one-way conversation, however. He felt there had been no response.
Listening to his friend speak the fears that Joseph knew many others must also feel gave a new sense of urgency to the question.
For the most part, slaves in Egypt were as he had been: foreigners bought or taken as prisoners in war. Slavery – literally owned by another person and having no freedom of movement – was rather rare for native Egyptians. The exception was those unable to repay debts, but there was a limit even to their servitude.
The prospect of a prolonged famine raised the spectre of a large population of people forced to sell themselves to obtain food over a relatively long period of time. When their resources were exhausted, the result would be a very large debt for each person, particularly those with families.
Joseph looked up into the night sky, black but filled with stars, pinpoints of light bringing life to the darkness. Pawara’s questions ran through his mind again and he handed them to God, unfiltered by his own thoughts.
This time there was a response. There was an answer.
“Pawara, listen. God has not waited for a dream, but He has given me a possible way to avoid the dire condition of slavery. Be of good cheer. Watch and see. There is a better solution.”
He had Pawara’s attention. Indeed, his friend had been leaning forward in expectation of a grand revelation only to have his hopes dashed by a plea to wait for some undetermined but long time period.
Pawara shrank back. Joseph’s rationality and assurances could not offset the fear generated by the thoughts of the inevitable results of the seven years of famine.
“Is this alternative a solid hope to which we can cling, or is it a morning cloud that will evaporate under the king’s strong light?”
Joseph realized that he had raised Pawara’s hopes and then given him nothing of substance on which the hopes could be based. Perhaps stating the solution out loud, hearing it spoken himself and also seeing Pawara’s reaction, would be beneficial for both of them.
“Tell me what you think of this possibility.
“The king has required of the landowners one-fifth of their harvest for these seven good years. He has placed a higher tax on them for their own good. These men receive the benefits outlined in the arguments that I mentioned earlier.”
Waving his arm to include the villagers around them, he continued, “And you all receive the same benefits, but you do not have the resources to stockpile your own stores of grain.
“Everyone receives the benefits of the king’s government, those things such as protection from foreigners, and justice, among others. Order is maintained and, until now, all of this has been free for you.
“Your tax has been modest, although there has been the tax of labor. He has at times required your service during the flood months, but that was only when the king had projects near you. Even for these you received food, so you were not unpaid. And as with the canal and irrigation ditches, you have received benefits, too.
“I will propose to the king that those who accept his food during the famine pay the tax of one-fifth of their harvest as repayment for his generosity. This will be paid each year.
"Rather than receive into his service a nation of slaves, he will receive the gratitude of free men who will labor hard for their own interests. He cannot expect such work from slaves leading a life with no hope. He will have the resources to continue his duties, and you will have the benefit of those duties.”
Pawara considered Joseph’s plan. He shook his head.
“I cannot imagine people being pleased to give one-fifth of their harvest to the king. Never have I heard of such a tax on the people. We always have lived free, but what you propose is the beginning of slavery. I agree that it is better than total servitude, but why cannot things be as they have been?”
Joseph said, “We always look back at the past with fond memories, especially those idealized times when we were not yet even born!
“But you have heard of the troubles of not that many generations past. There was a famine, a great famine. The structure of the whole Egyptian society crumbled. Chaos ruled as kings had little power and held the throne for only months. Nobles challenged them and there were internal wars. Thousands starved to death. Justice fell by the wayside.”
Joseph paused before continuing. ”I think of what it will be like in my old home land of Canaan where there are only tribes and small cities. There is no one who looks after them all, and they are distrustful of one another. No one will be there to store the grain, to distribute food when it is needed. There is no one to preserve ma’at.
“We are fortunate in Egypt to have a king who will commit his resources to provide for everyone. Yes, it comes at a cost. But is it better than the alternative, the surrender of ma’at to chaos as happened here in Egypt not so many generations ago?”
Pawara was attentive to the speech, and Joseph could see from his expression that the man’s perspective was changing.
Joseph continued. “I do not paint the picture of a king without any self-interest. Yes, he will benefit. I am sure that he will see that what I propose is the course that will best serve him, just as it is the course that will best serve his people.”
“This solution that you propose, Joseph, this is what will best preserve ma’at?”
“So I believe, Pawara.”
Pawara looked back over to his family, and Joseph’s gaze went there, also. The mother and the three nearly grown children were still talking and laughing about something. Only the laughter could be heard, the words too softly spoken to carry over the distance.
But words do not really matter.
Both men knew the picture before them, carefree moments of joy that included no fear or worry, was how life should be. Times would change but moments such as this should always be possible. Indeed, every moment should be as this one.
Perhaps Joseph’s solution was not too high a price to pay.
Review
The crops were growing by the time Joseph went to the delta. And construction of the king’s granaries for storing the surplus was well under way. Part of Joseph’s mission was to again encourage the wealthy to store their surplus, and the other part was to ensure the granaries would meet their requirements.
The delta was a very different place from Upper Egypt. This was true both in terms of geography and of the people living in each region.
As the boat traveled down river, the low flat expanse of the delta stood in contrast to his trip to the south with its stretches of cliffs and increasingly hilly terrain. The rich vegetation was more luxurious here, the flooded areas stretching farther from the river.
Upper Egypt had its share of Nubians, clearly identified by their darker skin. The term was all inclusive for the black nations below Egypt, including Kush and the areas south and west of that nation. These were not a significant part of the population of Egypt compared to the Asiatics who traveled through the delta region almost as an extension of their own lands. The beard was the distinguishing characteristic of these foreigners.
Upriver or downriver, some things were constant. The crocodile and hippopotamus shared all parts of the river. Regardless of whether in a boat or on the edge of the water, a watchful eye was always in order. A barge the size of this one was safe from crocodiles, but startling a largely submerged hippo could result in an overturned boat and possible death from either the hippo or a crocodile.
Joseph’s plan was to follow the route Potiphar had taken through Lower Egypt when Joseph had traveled Upper Egypt. Likewise, Potiphar was now duplicating Joseph’s route through that region.
The barge followed the most westward of the several large streams diverging from the Nile in their journey to the great sea.
Because the water levels of the Nile were falling, they would make their way across the delta on foot. At flood, they might have been able to traverse the delta following a zigzag series of branches connecting the streams. At this point, water levels might not be high enough even in this year of a good flood.
Four weeks allowed time for visits to the northernmost districts before heading south toward the main Nile again. Zoan was to be the location of the granary dedicated to foreign sales, and it was near this small village on the eastern side of the delta that they would meet the royal barge. The location was on the second of the many branches into which the Nile divided and far enough into Egypt to provide some measure of additional security.
The barge would soon approach Khem, capital of the second district of Lower Egypt. He must gather his thoughts.
The first visits on this trip - with Menna, the governor, and Hakore-ankh, the priest - had gone somewhat as he had expected.
Menna had received Zaphnath-Paaneah and Captain Potiphar in much the same state of mind as they had left him a couple of months earlier. The tax still galled the man, but that was less the issue from Joseph’s perspective. The man would yield to pressure eventually, protesting but surrendering the grain.
The primary issue was whether the man would recognize his own best interest and store his own grain.
After having their defenses rebuffed, Joseph and the captain had patiently listened to a rather long harangue against the tax levied by the king, a rant that at times bordered on treasonous talk of insurrection. Menna had had sufficient time to prepare his counter attack (weak though it was) to their justifications for the tax.
Having at last spent his anger and energy, he gave a grunt of disgust. “But I suppose there is no way to avoid the inevitable.
“At least, if what you say is true, there will be a good yield and perhaps we will not be that much worse for the tax.”
Shaking a finger at the captain, to whom most of his words had been directed, he said, “But if the flood is low and the yield is low, we will know he is a poor prophet.” During the last part of the statement, Menna made a gesture toward Joseph, but he only briefly took his eyes off Potiphar.
“I will admit that this year’s flood appears to be setting the stage for a good harvest. Time will tell, and one good flood may be due as much to luck as to a genuine string of seven good years followed by famine.”
Concluding he stated flatly to Potiphar, “I hold you responsible if he has deceived us.” This time, his eyes did not follow the arm pointing toward Joseph.
The captain had been remarkably restrained after his initial counter arguments were rejected, and Menna had continued to rail unopposed against the injustice he was to suffer. Potiphar waited for a moment before replying so that he was sure Menna was finished.
Perhaps knowing the man all of these years had led the captain to understand that bluster and bluff were a part of the man’s character, and rising to his bait was unnecessary. The captain made his response calmly and briefly.
“If the harvest does not meet expectations, you will have no tax to pay. I say this to allay your fears, and also to assert our confidence.”
Potiphar looked at Joseph. “As the representatives of the king, we have concerns for all of Egypt, just as you have concerns for the people whose daily food comes from your land.
“Have you storage facilities to prepare for the coming famine?”
Menna shifted uneasily in his chair and oriented himself so that he was addressing both of his visitors.
“Yes, I have begun construction of a couple of new granaries now that I see the harvest may be good. But I am not committing any more resources until I see more of what the harvest will be, whether there will be enough grain to justify them after your exorbitant tax.”
The captain said, “You are wise to see your self-interest in the preparations for years of good followed by years of bad. Irsu will ensure that you have scribes available to assist you in organizing and recording the yields.”
“I have scribes of my own, and yours will not be necessary.” Menna smiled before continuing, “But I am sure you are telling me that your scribes will be here, regardless of my wishes, to ensure that the tax is accurately stolen from me.”
“The king would have the tax fairly calculated so that neither you nor he is unduly penalized in the amount due him.” Potiphar did not challenge the man further. Menna had yielded already.
There had been more to the exchange, but this had been the gist of it. Joseph’s primary contribution had been to assure Menna that Menna’s interest was also the king’s interest: starving people were not beneficial to either man.
Joseph had concluded the unpleasant part of the discussion.
“And as you see the crops growing in the fields following a favorable flood, so you will see your prosperity rise. And just as we now conserve the flood waters so that they last longer and inundate more fields for longer periods to produce better yields, so conserving your surplus will draw out the availability of food to maintain a content and productive people who are dependent upon you.”
Joseph hoped that this pattern would continue for the rest of his journey alone through the delta as Potiphar traveled alone through Upper Egypt.
The visit with Hakore-anke at the temple in Memphis had gone well. Of course, the priests had no tax to pay, so there was little reason for contention.
The promise to Hakore-anke that he would succeed his father came directly from the king through Zaphnath-Paaneah, so Joseph’s esteem had been established in the eyes of the priest. The visit went at least as well as expected, and Joseph doubted there would be a problem at any temple.
Teyma’s counsel on serving your master’s interest came to mind again. Because the king (and the others who knew of the dreams’ interpretation, including Joseph and Potiphar) required the cooperation of the landowners to provide a hedge against the famine, some degree of control had passed from the king to the landowners, particularly the governors.
This thought put into words something that he had understood but never been able to verbalize: Wanting something makes you the slave of the person who can provide it.
As nomads, his father’s family had relatively few wants. Their needs were largely met by God through their flocks and nature around them. Wants tended to come from interactions with other men and women. These others could provide additional goods and services beyond strict needs. Wants and desires were added on top of needs and their existence stemmed from interaction with other people.
Yet God created a community when He added Eve to Adam’s human solitude, the absence of anyone like himself. God created us for interaction with Himself and with others. As a result we can neither ignore our needs that accompany being human, nor can we neglect the needs of others in their humanity.
How does one negotiate the shoals of solitude, a free but lonely existence, and community, living in a sea of needs and wants? How does one find balance, the ma’at, that lies between extremes?
Thinking of Zelicha as she had been three years ago, and of her relationships with Potiphar and Joseph, he added the thought that you are also a slave to the one who can sow destruction by confusing wants and needs.
She had upset the natural balance that existed between herself and her husband: independent and free, but also interdependent and chained by the bonds of mutual respect and love.
Trying to achieve a new balance through Joseph’s affection, she had destroyed the ma’at of all three, an imbalance with repercussions upon all three of them plus their friends and co-workers.
And now there was Joseph’s dependence of Asenath. Indeed, she was becoming his other half, as if he had been split down the middle like Adam to create this other self, this part of him that was him but also was separate from him.
This thought brought a smile to Joseph’s heart, both because of his feelings for her and for the truth that continually was being spoken to him. That truth was a simple statement, but one that by its nature could never be wholly owned:
Every relationship includes the act of constantly reconciling two sets of wants and needs. This requires both offering and accepting, both giving and receiving, and both granting and requesting. Balance is never achieved within either mind, but only in the hearts that prohibit the scribe from entering.
He returned to thoughts of this next meeting, drawing closer even as the dock upon which he would soon step came into view. Yes, a scribe would definitely be required in relationships such as these!
The barge docked and unloading began. The men accompanying Joseph as guard did what unloading was necessary, and prepared his horse and chariot.
Joseph looked at the king’s ring on his hand, and then at the chariot just as the horses had been harnessed. He felt as though he again was beginning a performance, the dialogues requiring no rehearsal since their substance was essentially the same.
But if this performance was required to escape the consequences of the famine, then it was a small price to pay.
When all had been unloaded and the soldiers stood waiting for their orders, Joseph stepped forward. He was prepared for his first solo visit in the delta. Much had happened since his entrance as a slave and an easterner with Teyma!
Final Meeting
Five weeks later, the trip through the delta was almost over. There were two final meetings scheduled in the city of On. There he would meet the district’s governor, and then he would have a formal interview with the priest of On, Asenath’s father. Of all the scheduled meetings, this was the only one about which he was unsure, the only meeting that would deviate from the topic that was at the top of every other landowner’s and priest’s list.
The city was reputed to be the oldest in Egypt, and was considered the site where creation itself had taken place. Joseph had heard much about the god, Atum, who was the original god from whom all others came. The very name gave the impression of totality, completeness. Why were more gods necessary?
Ptah had done the physical work begun in the mind of Atum. And so the multitude of gods had their beginning.
At some point, the sun had become such an important deity that he was merged with Atum to become Atum-Ra, two great powers merged into one.
And thus did Potiphera (meaning “gift of Ra”), high priest of On, stand in high esteem throughout all Egypt.
The temple for Atum-Ra was an appropriately grand tribute for the united gods. And the symbolism of the union of upper and Lower Egypt here in the union of the two gods was not lost on the people.
Although this structure predated the Temple of Ptah in Memphis, substantial additions and adornments testified to the unified deity’s current significance.
In Canaan, awe of God existed without grand edifices made by the hands of men. Particularly when alone in the landscape of nature – be it mountain, valley, or wilderness – the handiwork of the Creator God was sufficiently grand. An ebeneezer or altar were memorials to God’s gifts, not substitutes to be worshipped in His stead.
In that aloneness with God, whether on a mountain or on a grassy plain, loneliness was not possible. There always existed the presence of the Other. He was – is - the Companion who desired continuous communion, literally, in the sense of “union with,” the One who desired re-union, also literally, in the sense of continually sharing the life that flowed from Him and returned to Him in a never ending stream.
The rearranged jumble of broken pieces of rock fashioned into an artificial form actually spoke to Joseph of the limitations of the human hand. In praise of a man-made god, a man-made structure perhaps was appropriate after all.
The reality of God had been transformed into pieces of broken stone and reassembled as idols created by the hands of men. God’s creation had been refashioned by mankind into a temple fit for the gods created by the hands of men.
Beliefs originating in the mind often trump beliefs that come from the heart. And so we create gods in our imagination rather than experience the holy in respectful awe and reverence.
The temple’s large double doors, similar to those of Ptah’s residence, were open. The gaping darkness, promising escape from the heat of the day, reminded Joseph of the Egyptian asp. That snake’s broad face and neck dominated by an inordinately large mouth extending open to envelope its prey.
One of the guards approached and took the horses’ reins from joseph unasked.
Joseph must reorder his thoughts and properly address Potiphera, both a priest and the father of Asenath.
And so, into the den.
Walking up the steps, he saw on the rim of the darkness a man clad in priestly robes watching. The man simultaneously stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
“Welcome, Zaphnath-Paaneah,” the man said with a bow. With appropriate reverence, he commanded, “The high priest of On will receive you. Follow me.”
The man turned and walked into the darkness. Joseph followed.
Just inside, the priest commanded, “Wait here to be summoned.”
A moment was necessary for Joseph’s eyes to adjust from the glaring sun to the shaded interior.
A series of columns was all that separated the area where Joseph stood from the cavernous room that consumed most of the building’s interior. As with the Temple of Ptah, numerous rooms were entered from this one room.
Streams of light entered through high windows, but without the intensity of the unfiltered rays outside. The coolness was welcome, as were these moments to regather his thoughts.
Some minutes elapsed before the priest returned. Again he commanded, “Follow me,” and turned to walk in the opposite direction.
The priest led Joseph to a room intended for interviews with guests to the temple. Potiphera was seated behind a table. He did not motion to Joseph to sit on one of the several stools across the table from him. Joseph remained standing like a servant called before his master for a scolding.
Only the sound of the retreating priest’s footsteps could be heard as Joseph and Potiphera viewed one another across the empty table. Joseph was not interested in beginning the visit with some battle of wills, so he spoke into the silence.
“Greetings from your king, Potiphera, high priest of Atum-Ra. His majesty wishes you health and a long life.
“Your daughter also sends her greetings and the report that all is well with her.”
Joseph concluded with a slight bow, “And greetings from the husband of your daughter.”
Although Joseph had envisioned a range of possibilities for his visit with his father-in-law (and most of them predicting a very negative exchange), he had not prepared himself for silence.
In the silence, Joseph imagined the words that were spoken in the mind of the priest. The words could have been no plainer had they been written. The anger could not have been plainer had it been spoken. The desire to cast Joseph out could have not been plainer had the man risen and grabbed Joseph by his cloak and dragged him to the door. Or perhaps this was all just his imagination.
More seconds passed and the priest seemed to relax. He finally spoke, his voice controlled and restrained.
“I have much to say to you, Zaphnath-Paaneah, but you did not come to hear my thoughts.
“You drive the king’s chariot, and you wear the king’s ring. You wear the robe that has come from the king, and you wield the power given to you by the king.”
He paused and then asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“Yes, you see only the externals, the symbols. I expressed my purpose poorly, so let me reveal the intention,” stated Joseph.
“I bring the king’s interest in the well-being of both you and the people in your service.
“I bring the message of your daughter, the love that she bears for you.
“And I bring my services to your door, that I may be of use to you as you in your high office serve the people.”
“Well spoken, and with very little accent for an Asiatic.
“But who are you to speak of love from my daughter? You have stolen my daughter twice: once through the king’s command that she marry you; and again when you forced the revelation that she was not my daughter but was truly an Asiatic like yourself!
“Was it really necessary to reduce her to your level and to destroy the image of me as her father?”
The man’s emotions had crept into this last statement. The priest averted his eyes, perhaps to hide the glisten of the tears filling them.
Joseph tread softly. “You have raised a daughter both beautiful and intelligent. The man and woman who created her are less relevant than the man and woman who raised her, the couple who Asenath knew as her parents.
“Like the parents who created her and gave her a new future that was founded in you, Potiphera, so you must release her to a new future as mother to your grandchildren.
”You sheltered her and made her to know this temple and the rituals of this god. She admired you and would follow in your footsteps, or would go as wife to whomever you sent her. She would be a priestess, or the wife of a priest. Such was her world until recently.
“She has a new role to play, a role in a larger world. For this future she requires a larger horizon.
“This does not negate the role of a father, nor does it undermine the role of being a servant of the creator god. Both roles require growth.
“The girl loves her father and comes to recognize in him what she will expect and find in her husband. And in the same way, she views a god remotely as an image of what she will find when she matures in understanding.
“Our parents prepare us to move beyond the boundaries of our youth and find the place intended for us in that larger world that seems to have no borders.”
“You speak in riddles, Zaphnath-Paaneah. Is it thus that you have fooled the king with interpretations of a dream?”
Potiphera leaned forward with his elbows on the table, not expectant of an answer, but to press his argument forward.
“Her future was assured already,” Potiphera complained. “She was promised, her future already existed. What right did even a king have to interfere with the daughter of the High Priest of On, servant of Atum-Ra?”
Joseph thought Potiphera would continue, but he did not. His gaze now firmly fixed on Joseph, he waited for an answer.
Joseph weighed how he should answer. He wanted to identify Atum as the one God, complete and without the need for others gods. But another voice spoke to him and said the words would not be received. Teyma’s counsel on the insufficiency of logic and words and the necessity for example and experience came to mind.
“We struggle to understand the course laid out before us. We expect a straight and narrow line leading to a fixed place, but we find the line bends and reverses, charting an uneven course to some destination that is not always visible.”
Here he felt permission to expand a bit. “Men think that they choose a destination and establish the path they travel. And the paths of men collide and no path stays straight.
“I believe that the hand of the Creator God establishes our path before us, constantly correcting and reestablishing that path as we allow.
“You know Asenath’s heritage. Does her marriage to one of her own, a man who is in a position of power in Egypt, not seem preordained by some hand mightier than our own?”
Potiphera’s expression had softened as he heard this testimonial and translated it into his own framework of understanding.
“So you believe the hand of Atum-Ra is in these two events, the king’s dream of the years of famine and Asenath’s marriage to you?”
“I believe the one God who created all to be at the core of all that is good.” Joseph knew further clarification would be meaningless.
Potiphera stood, seemingly fully recovered from his emotional lapse and ready to face the world – and Joseph – in his priestly capacity.
“I accept that you are Asenath’s husband as you give me assurance that you will always refer to me as her father.”
“As I have done in this conversation with you, so I will affirm that you have been the father who raised her and have been the foundation for her character.”
Potiphera nodded. “That is acceptable.”
Motioning for Joseph to be seated, Potiphera sat down again.
“You know that Captain Potiphar came and told us of the king’s plans of preparation for the famine. The king has said that the estates of the temples are exempt from his tax. Now, what is your business here, Zaphnath-Paaneah?”
Joseph smiled, “As you pointed out, I am here as a representative of the king. My purpose is to offer his encouragement in preparation for the famine so that you and your servants will not be dependent upon him. He offers support, as well as encouragement, should you have any needs in accomplishing this goal.”
Joseph added in a more conversational tone, “And I come to obtain the blessing of my father-in-law. Circumstances did not seem favorable for this at the time of our introduction. I had hoped to prove worthy by my character. Because we have not known one another, I will accept that you may see the king’s confidence as a proper testimonial.”
“I admit that I was angry when the king stole my daughter away from the promise that she marry the son of the high priest of Thebes. Perhaps my anger was greatest because I was given no choice in the matter.” He added with the hint of a compliment in his tone, “The king was quite heavy handed on your behalf.
“But now that I have heard you speak and have a sense of who you are, I will tell you something confidential, as father to son. Will you honor that?”
“Of course,” replied Joseph.
“You will be a much better husband to Asenath than that young boy in Thebes. Yes,” he nodded, “I think this will all work out for the best.”
Joseph could almost hear the calculations of benefits to Potiphera himself, but this was only a beginning. Relationships come with time.
At this point, the priest was completely relaxed in Joseph’s presence. The conversation was easy and relatively unguarded as they exchanged histories, although Joseph withheld details regarded as unnecessary, as did the priest, no doubt.
The priest finally offered Joseph dinner and a place to stay for the night. Giving evidence of his full embrace of Joseph as husband to his daughter, he offered food and lodging to the men accompanying Joseph, as well.
An Old Friend in Memphis – an Interlude
Joseph and the men with him began their journey back to The Residence from On. They traveled on the royal barge back to Memphis, arriving almost at dark. Too late to make the trip to The Residence, they all stayed in the royal palace at Memphis, planning to leave early in the morning for home.
The morning sun rose bright as ever on a new day. Joseph rose early and went outside to the garden, a quiet place to give thought to a new day.
The noise of the front gate opening in the distance drew his attention from the quiet beauty of the garden in the early morning light. There was no one waiting at the gate to leave, but the hour was much too early to have visitors.
Curious, Joseph walked toward the gate. He saw the guard welcoming a solitary traveler as if he were an old friend. Only seconds later did Joseph recognize the man as Teyma.
Joseph practically ran to his old friend. “Teyma,” he called. “What brings you to this palace so early?”
Teyma looked in the direction of the voice. He would have known Joseph’s voice anywhere.
“And I might ask you what you are doing in the garden so early, Joseph.”
“Good to see you. You are looking fit!” Teyma had aged in the intervening years, but time had been kind, so the compliment was not undeserved.
“Good to see you, also, my son. The years have been good to you, also. Although I know a few of them were unkind, they appear to have done no harm.”
“I am well. But what brings you here and so early? There are usually few people here that I would have thought you might visit.”
“Well, I came to see you, Joseph. I heard that the royal barge arrived last evening and hoped you might have been on it and stayed here.
“You remember my friend Ti, the shopkeeper in Memphis who sold us your first Egyptian clothes? I am afraid that he is in a bad way. Time has not been kind to him, and I seek your help.”
“You know that I am no doctor, Teyma. I have no medical training, and I have no skills that would help a man approaching death.”
“I cannot explain why, but seeing him as though on his death bed, something spoke to me of you. I knew that you were being called to him, though I admit I do not know the reason.”
“Then what is it that I can do to help you and Ti?”
“If your schedule permits, please come and see him. Just come with me and visit with him. Perhaps then we shall understand the reason for your presence.”
Other than word that he would return to The Residence on about this day (and there were always uncertainty in travel), he had no schedule. There was no reason he could not go with Teyma to see Ti and still return to The Residence today.
“I am at your disposal. Let us go see Ti.”
Teyma and Joseph made their way through the streets of Memphis to Ti’s shop. The hour was early enough that the streets were not crowded. Joseph suggested they stop for a piece of flatbread and fish from a street vendor since neither of them had eaten.
In response to Joseph’s enquiry, Teyma said his daughter, Miriam, was well. She had married and had a son and lived in Canaan. His son, Kedar, was well and would most likely follow in Teyma’s footsteps. He seemed to have a knack for the business.
Joseph began to speak of the surprise of Asenath as his niece and wife, but they were near their destination and Teyma just laughed and said they would talk afterwards.
Arriving at the shop, they found Ti’s son preparing for the day, sweeping what appeared to be an already clean floor.
“Merenra, this is my friend, Joseph,” said Teyma almost before they had crossed the threshold.
Merenra stopped sweeping and set his broom aside. “Since you are Teyma’s friend, you are mine, also.”
To Teyma, he said, “Ti is having a very good morning. He has revived and is doing well.”
As he spoke, Ti could be heard descending the steps from his room above. Joseph saw the passage of time had not been kind to the old shopkeeper. The skin covering his frame concealed no muscle, and barely softened the angles of his bones.
“The ginger you suggested has worked wonders, Teyma. You have definitely eased my discomfort, and most likely saved my life. At last I can take a little food.”
He made his way to a stool and sat down.
Teyma put an arm around Joseph and urged him forward a step. “Ti, do you remember my friend, Joseph? It has been a long time, perhaps ten years or more, since I brought him for you to give him some Egyptian clothes.”
The old man squinted as he looked at Joseph, but offered no sign of recognition. Joseph said, “You might remember the coat I was wearing. It had a dahlia and a poppy on it.”
Ti shook his head, but then his eyes brightened and he smiled. “Yes, I do remember! You were that Asiatic boy.” He nodded, “Yes, yes.”
“Ah, you do remember me. We had a nice talk while Teyma went to get payment for the things he had bought for me.”
“Yes, yes,” the old man nodded, still smiling.
“I had thought that Joseph might be able to lend some assistance as you struggled with your illness, but you seem much better,” said Teyma.
“Oh, yes. Much better. You have already corrected what was wrong.”
Teyma looked at Joseph. “I do not know what to say. That voice that told me you should come is never wrong. Why don’t we visit for a few minutes, and then you can be on your way back to The Residence.”
Merenra brought some tea from the back. “This is tea from the mint that you brought for my father’s illness. We each had a cup last night, and I enjoyed it as much as Ti. I hope you will like it, also.”
Each took one of the four cups and sat on stools around Ti. The day was not yet hot, and the tea had cooled almost to room temperature. Joseph felt it settle well on his stomach.
They talked of general things for a while and then, as Mrenra stood up in preparation for returning to his duties, the subject of the likelihood of a very good harvest arose.
Ti said, “You know, Merenra, we must complete the details of that purchase of grain.”
“Yes, father, but I am still unclear why we must buy grain from the east when it appears that we will have such a good harvest in Egypt.”
Something seemed to click in Merenra’s mind. Turning back to Joseph, he asked, “Are you Zaphnath-Paaneah, the vizier of the king who foretold of the years of good and the ears of famine?”
Joseph was a little embarrassed at his formal identity being revealed in this most informal setting. He rose, as did Teyma beside him. “Yes, but I am Joseph to my friends.”
“You could have made a better introduction of our guest, Teyma!” he chided. “This is a man of great notoriety!”
“As Joseph said, this is a visit among friends, not a meeting to do with the affairs of state,” Teyma said in self-defense.
Ti, apparently somewhat invigorated after drinking his tea, rose and inserted himself into the circle the other three had formed. “But affairs of state have much to do with our business!”
The old man moved so that he stood squarely in front of Joseph. “Your tax on the production of grain, plus what some of the wealthy landowners will hold back for themselves, will turn a great harvest into a year bordering on scarcity. They appear to be having a good year in the east, and those Asiatics have reduced the price of grain considerably. So we are going to buy!”
“This all seems like a gamble, father. What if prices here do not go up and we pay the same price for Asiatic grain plus the cost of transportation. That does not sound like good business.”
“Son, in twenty years when you have seen as many harvests as I have seen, you will be thinking differently than you are now. Trust me.”
Merenra shook his head. “You are the owner!”
“Yes, I am. So that is settled.”
Teyma said, “This reunion has been most delightful, but I know that Joseph must return to his duties. I am elated to see you so well, Ti. And thank you for both for your hospitality.”
Joseph paid his respects, as well, and after a few more words the two visitors departed.
When they a bit away from the shop, Teyma apologized again for bringing Joseph and what appeared to have been an unnecessary trip. “But perhaps there is a reason we do not yet know,” he added. “Sometimes events occur and it is only long afterward that we understand their true significance.”
“As perhaps with Asenath, eh?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, as with Asenath,” laughed Teyma. “There was a purpose for the events of her discovery in Canaan, for she had a home waiting for her here in Egypt. That her presence also provided you with a wife from your own people was just a side benefit, luck, perhaps.”
“I do not think that you believe much in luck, Teyma. Yes, you know that time and chance do their work, but there is a larger hand at work in all events.”
“Yes, you are right on that, of course. There is a larger hand at work, but we often must wait to see where it has directed us.”
Their conversation continued on news and events until they reached the Memphis palace, and here they parted ways, Joseph went in to the palace garden, and Teyma back to his family and his next trading opportunity.
For Joseph, it seemed that little of the morning had passed as he went from the garden back into the palace. He passed where he had been sitting in the garden earlier and saw again the chamomile plant with its many flowers, white petals surrounding a golden center.
He sat down and smelled the blooms, closing his eyes as the relaxing fragrance filled him. Surely this had been a plant of Eden!
But he came back to the present and the call of the duties of the day. Much time had elapsed and they must return.
Continue reading
Joseph and the small contingent escorting him arrived at The Residence on a late afternoon.
The chariot had been spotted by a sentry when they were yet half an hour distant. A small crowd stood waiting outside the compound’s entrance, mostly family members of the guards.
Joseph saw Asenath among the others from a distance. She looked different somehow, perhaps because of her simple clothing and her hair arranged less formally, as well. She wore bangs, and her shoulder length hair was pulled behind her ears and then back in front of her shoulders, framing her face beautifully.
The next familiar face he spied was Potiphar’s, the second most important person he wished to greet.
As the chariot pulled in front of Asenath, Joseph passed the reins to one of the men beside him. He dismissed the others and stepped from the chariot without halting the horses.
Smiling, Joseph reached out for Asenath’s hand. He said, “It has been a long time.” Then, reenacting the evening of their wedding, he introduced himself, “I am Joseph.”
She laughed and shook her head saying, “You better remember who I am.”
“You look similar to Asenath, but perhaps grown more beautiful and wiser.”
“Indeed, you have been gone long enough for me to at least grow older. But no matter what happens, that is an area where I cannot catch up with you!”
They laughed and he gave her a light kiss on the lips.
Around them, the soldiers and their families had matched up and begun to move away. Potiphar approached.
Joseph let go his embrace of Asenath and now embraced his friend. “Captain, Good to see you. I hope your travels went well.”
“Yes, they did. And yours?”
It was clear that a perfunctory answer was all that he would get in this setting, so Joseph replied in the same manner.
“Good. The king asked that you come and give an informal report to him. He asked me to bring you to him.”
“Of course.”
To Asenath he said, “I will join you soon,” and gave a light kiss on the cheek.”
Not surprised, she acknowledged as Joseph turned away with Potiphar.
The king was in an informal room waiting for them. After greetings, he asked them to sit and for Joseph to give a summary report of his trip: the highlights, in general, and specifics only where there were potential problems requiring immediate attention.
Joseph dutifully summarized the three chief concerns – the tax and its size, the accuracy of the prediction, and their own best possible outcome. Essentially, they went from denial to examination to preparation. The progression showed that Joseph’s answers were generally accepted.
The governors in two areas, in particular, might be tempted to resist. He suggested that during construction of the storage facilities, a larger armed presence was necessary in these locations to forestall any serious attempt to undermine the overall plan.
The king asked for some additional specifics, but at this stage all appeared to be moving in the right direction. He said that he had called for all members of the group to meet in seven days for an update on the progress in each area. He had been receiving weekly reports in person or by messenger, but a face to face meeting with everyone present for updates was necessary periodically.
The king’s parting comment before dismissing them was spoken in a tone that allowed for no misunderstanding.
“We will not allow avoidance of the tax by any landowner. There will be no exceptions. Even one exception undermines the whole strategy. Do you have any questions or concerns in supporting that order?”
Joseph and Potiphar both accepted the command as being appropriate and necessary.
After hearing of the more important events in Potiphar’s travels, Joseph went to his apartment. His delay of two hours in doing so seemed to have been necessary but, in his present state of mind, unnecessarily long.
A few moments later, Joseph walked through the doorway of their apartment in search of Asenath. She waited in the seat that had unofficially become hers, appearing to have just sat down as if she had expected him at this moment.
“Now you can receive a proper welcome home.”
She rose and gave him an embrace after a short kiss. Letting go, she asked, “Would you like to tell me of your journey, or have you done that enough with Potiphar and the king?”
Joseph responded, “I would much prefer that you tell me of your time in this very different place where you now live.”
“My story will be much shorter and less interesting since you already are familiar with The Residence and many of its people. Please, speak to me of some wonder that you saw, or some interesting person who made an impression upon you. Then I will tell you of my experiences.”
“After telling the captain and the king of my trip, a different subject might be better.”
Joseph came close enough to take her hands in his own. “Let me tell you a truth, a gentle one.”
Asenath turned her head slightly to the side. “Go on,” she said, her voice showing her ambivalence at allowing the revelation of yet another truth.
“You are the perfect bud opening to reveal the beautiful flower you have been destined to become.” He leaned forward and received his kiss.
Asenath broke away. “It is dark and you are no doubt hungry. I had half a melon while I waited.” Gesturing toward a bowl on the table, she said, “You can have the other half.’
Eying the melon, Joseph realized how hungry he was. He accepted the diversion and began to eat, speaking some of his journey between bites of the fruit.
When he had finished, he walked back to his wife and sat close beside her. He took her hands and asked, “May I tell you another gentle truth?”
Asenath moved backward, pulling her hands from his.
“You think by telling me a gentle truth that you always will be rewarded with a kiss.” Joseph looked like a child caught with his hand in the honey jar. “Let me share a gentle truth with you,” she continued.
“You must not take me for granted, that I always will respond in the same manner. I am a woman, and not a mindless creature of habit.”
Joseph was taken back by this assertion on Asenath’s part. As the man and the (considerably) older of the two, he had made two errors (and he now suspected that these would not be his last).
His first error was the incorrect assumption that he was in control.
His second error was underestimating Asenath’s independence. He had paid lip service to her strength, and complimented her intelligence, but now she demanded that she be recognized as an independent entity with a mind of her own.
“Ah! It sounds like the joys of marriage are behind us!”
“No,” Asenath smiled, brushing his cheek with her hand, “but the flower is coming into full bloom and now stands high, no longer bowing to every breath of air. When the wind blows, she will bow of her own volition, not on command.”
“I am glad the transplant of the flower to this place was successful, and that she stands so beautifully tall in her space.”
“Let me assure you that it is not a solitary space, but only one bee is permitted within it. This is a gentle truth,” she added, “and a kiss comes with this one.”
Asenath drew close and took his hands and gave a tantalizing kiss.
Somewhat at a loss, having little experience in negotiating with a woman, Joseph asked, “How am I to know which way the wind blows?”
“The wind is not important. Keep your eyes on your flower, bee.” She pulled his hands around behind her waist and then placed her arms around his neck. She then gave a long kiss to emphasize her point.
(Some) Clarification of the Past
As Joseph and Asenath sat across from one another, engaged in casual conversation, a moment of silence intervened in talk of some changes in the outer garden of The Residence.
Asenath used the opportunity to broach a subject about which she felt both anxious and reluctant. The result of such a conversation would speak either encouragement or devastation as they moved into their joint future.
“One of the more interesting events while you were gone was a conversation with Zelicha.”
“Oh?” Joseph asked. Asenath could tell that she had his attention in spite of his seemingly casual response.
“I have been told a version of her history, but had not wanted to delve into what seemed more like idle gossip than true events. Nasty talk can do a lot of damage in a place like The Residence, a community in which many people remain in close contact with one another for long periods.”
“And what have you heard of Zelicha that you think you should speak to me of her?”
Continuing to maintain her own eyes locked onto Joseph’s, she said, “I have been told that her charge against you caused you to be in prison for three years.”
She saw no need to say more than this flat statement, allowing Joseph more leeway in choosing how he wanted to respond.
Joseph responded simply. “That is true.”
Disappointed at this minimal response, Asenath pressed further, but only slightly. “She did make a charge against you?”
“Yes,” nodded Joseph. He turned and took a few steps from her
Asenath thought she had been as tactful as possible, and her reward was these responses that were hardly more than acknowledgments of the information in her question. Was he playing with her?
Showing some of her exasperation (and surely there must be warnings sounding in Joseph’s mind at this moment), she became more blunt. “I was told that she charged you with attempted rape.”
Realizing that she must be more direct, she continued with a clearly stated question. “Was the charge true?”
“What did Zelicha say about the incident?”
“She did not make reference to it.”
Joseph realized that Asenath was being as brief in her response as he had been.
“You said that you had a conversation. What did you two find to talk about?”
“She spoke my name, and then told me hers. She asked me to be her friend or, if that was not possible, at least not to be her enemy.
“I was very surprised that she came to me and spoke so directly. Since we had not been introduced or even seen each other as far as I am aware, I would have expected an introduction and small talk to get to know one another first.”
Joseph had wondered how Zelicha now might view the events that caused his imprisonment. He smiled slightly at what seemed to him a tentative retreat on her part concerning the allegation.
“How did you reply?”
“I said that considering our husbands’ long and close relationship, our friendship would be only natural.”
Asenath repeated her question to Joseph more firmly. “What about the charge?”
“There was a misunderstanding,” he said, “simply a misunderstanding. I bear her no ill will, and it sounds perhaps that she feels the same. I hope that you will be friends, and there is no reason for you to be enemies.”
“Hmm,” Asenath said, clearly noncommittal to his response. This was not an answer to her question, a question she would have preferred to have had a simple “yes” or “no” response.
Joseph could see his wife was not at all satisfied with how the conversation was – or was not - going. He could understand. If people talked behind Asenath’s back about this supposed crime from Joseph’s past, she could not help but feel uneasy. He must allay her fears.
“Captain Potiphar is Zelicha’s husband, and he is my good friend, as you have seen. If people talk of an event that is past and for which no one now cries for blame to be placed, then perhaps the past should simply stay there.
“The realm of misunderstanding is a large one. That land is filled with grassy fields and with graveyards. I prefer the grassy fields, and I think that is what Zelicha was telling you in her request.”
To emphasize what he was saying, he added, “There is no need to enlarge the graveyard in the land of misunderstanding. There are bodies enough already.”
Asenath saw this response as a clear violation of a doctrine that she held dear: a charge made must have a “yes’ or “no” answer. To leave the question open was not ma’at. Somewhere an imbalance existed. The scales could not be aligned.
Sensing her ambivalence to the issue, Joseph added, “A misunderstanding results from the collision including only a partial truth on one or both sides, the partial meeting of two minds. We must allow the other half of the partial truth, the partial lie, to be disowned without destroying the person.”
Asenath was coming to know the character of Joseph, and she now felt guilty that she had allowed the gossip to form an accusation against him within her. If he were guilty, he could harbor no legitimate animosity toward Zelicha. If he were innocent, but wished to spare both his friend and the friend’s wife, he could harbor no animosity.
The fact that Potiphar had not had Joseph executed – or done the execution himself – spoke more than words could of the truth of the matter.
“That must have been a difficult time,” she said at last. “And three years seems like such a long time.”
“When you get to my age, three years is nothing,” said Joseph, attempting to lighten the atmosphere a little.
Being a bit more serious, he added, “We can see that all that has happened was inevitable if it was to lead us to this moment.”
Asenath shook her head. “I hope that when I get to your age that I will be so calm about such things.”
“You will,” he said. “That is a gentle truth,” he added with a smile.
“Alright. Your young flower accepts this gentle truth.” And she gave him his kiss.
Return to The Fayum
That there were still six days until the meeting of The Stores Council – the name decided upon for those who were to manage preparation for the famine – Joseph went to The Fayum.
In particular, he wanted to visit with Pawara, a friend from so long ago. They had not seen one another for close to five years. Joseph had visited Pawara and his family while Joseph was working nearby on irrigation projects.
Because of Pawara’s personality and work ethic, he had recruited Pawara to work with him, training him in the art of irrigation. This allowed Pawara to transition from the soul draining life of an agricultural laborer to a job that was more rewarding in both pay and variety.
Joseph had seen more aging in Pawara on that visit. The less physically demanding job of supervising the handling of the flood waters may well have saved the man’s life.
Pawara’s wife also had shown the years of hard labor required to keep alive while raising children. At that time, the oldest of their children would soon be cast into the world of working men. Childhood was not easy, but as an adult the boy would be contributing to maintaining himself.
Joseph hoped that these last few years had served Pawara and his family well.
Leaving The Residence for The Fayum, Joseph chose to walk. His months on the chariot or on boats had left him restless, full of stored energy that must be expended.
Time was short, but this was not an official visit requiring the chariot and horses, a symbol of the king riding with him. As a matter of fact, he would rather avoid that recognition. This was more of a personal visit, and its true value would depend on that.
Even were he not to find Pawara, there were other men whom he had met when he was a worker in the fields or later when he was the man in charge of the canal and irrigation. He wanted to connect with these people and understand how they would fare in the face of the predicted famine.
Most of his time since freedom from prison had been in the protected confines of The Residence or traveling among the wealthy of the land. He had had little opportunity to engage casually with people who he believed to be the ones intended to be helped by his interpretation of the dreams of the king. These were the people who had no alternative when the crops failed year after year, people who could not buy more food or travel to a distant land to obtain provisions.
After two days of walking, Joseph entered the village where Pawara lived. Dusty from his travels, at first appearance Joseph looked little different from the people who lived in the primitive mud huts that comprised the village.
Pawara’s hut had changed greatly in these last five years. Rooms had been added, and the structure looked as if it recently had been white washed. Colorful decorations hung by the door and a bright colored cloth hung from a window fluttered in the wind.
There was plenty of land around it for the garden that supplemented the barley and emmer wheat from the harvest. He could see vegetables growing on a plot wrapping around the side of the house to the back.
This time there were no small children playing outside. As he would soon learn, two had gone into marriages and the others were almost grown now.
He was glad not to have brought the horses and chariot. Arriving on a chariot would have attracted the attention of everyone within half a mile, but no one paid notice to a solitary dusty stranger on foot. And feeding horses would have seemed an unnatural extravagance in this setting.
He called for Pawara. A woman came from the garden around the back of the house.
Joseph recognized Pawara’s wife, but she did not recognize him immediately. He supposed that he did look somewhat different from those days when he was in charge of handling the water of the flood.
Holding his arms wide as he spoke, “Ana, it is I, Joseph!”
She offered a big smile. “For a moment I suspected that it was you, Joseph. But then I thought, ‘What would he be doing here!’”
She called out to one of her sons to go and get his father as she continued toward Joseph.
“I know my husband will be glad to see you. What is it that brings you to us?”
He laughed and said, “I spent so much time over the years in The Fayum that it was a home away from home. But mostly I miss the people who became my friends.”
By now she was close enough that he could reach out with one arm and give her a hug.
“How are you and Pawara doing?”
“Joseph, good to see you! How are you?” Pawara said as he appeared from around the back corner of their home.
Joseph gave his old friend a full brace. “Good! And I was just asking Ana how you both are doing.”
“We are doing great. Working on irrigation instead of the fields has given us far more food and resources. I appreciate the opportunity to do work that is more rewarding while not killing me so quickly.”
“You do not look like you have aged since I last saw you, so the work must agree with you.”
“Yes, and since I can do more work in the garden and the kids are older, Ana has been helping our neighbors with health issues. She is growing many plants that help them to be well.”
Ana interjected, “Pawara even built a room inside for me to store my herbs and to talk with the people who need my help. This has brought more food to us, as well.”
“It pleases me to hear that you both are prospering,” said Joseph. Gesturing to the house, he said, “I see that you have grown your house, as you say, and it has a very welcoming look to it.”
“Obviously, that is Ana’s touch. She wanted the place to be one that people felt drawn to enter.”
“You did well, Ana.”
“You are probably hungry from your travels, are you not? I have some lentils and leeks prepared for our meal. There is plenty to share.”
“Yes, and many thanks,” said Joseph appreciatively.
“Come into the shade near the house and let us be comfortable,” suggested Pawara, taking Joseph’s arm to head him in the right direction.
Much later, the night air cooler and having brought each other up to date on their personal news, Joseph broached the subject that he most wanted to discuss.
“You have heard of the king’s dreams and the interpretation of the seven good years followed by seven years of famine, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Zaphnath-Paaneah, for so I hear you are now called officially,” said Pawara. “And the king will collect one-fifth of each harvest in the good years and then distribute the grain to those in need in the years of famine. Do I understand correctly?”
Joseph shifted position, clearly uncomfortable with the clarification that he must give.
“Most of what you say is correct, except for the final part. The grain that has been stored will be sold to those who are in need.”
“Yes, that is what I heard. I hoped for something better.” Pawara was silent for a moment before adding, “He will provide the grain for those in need and who are able to pay his price. Is that correct?”
“The simple answer is ‘Yes.’ There is a good reason for what sounds like a callous policy. Think for a moment how things would come to pass if everyone thought the grain would be distributed for free during the famine.”
Joseph was silent for a moment while Pawara considered his words.
“Yes, I understand what you are saying,” he said at last. “But there are many who have no way to prepare for the famine and will have no money to buy when it occurs. What will become of them?”
This was the question that Joseph had been asking himself, and he said this to his friend. “That is the question that I cannot answer. Perhaps we can do no more than to work to make that group of people as small as possible.”
Here Joseph gave Pawara the summary points of his talks with the governors and men of wealth in the south. He said that he knew of nothing more that could be done other than for all of those with the resources for preparing for the famine to do so as much as possible.
“Let me understand, Joseph. The landowners pay a tax of 20% for seven years, and then they are free of any obligation as long as they depend on their own stored food.
“But what am I to do Joseph? Can I store seven years’ supply of food? Where would it all come from and where would I put it?”
He waved his arm toward the other houses nearby. “And where will they all get their supply of food and where will they store it?
“I have been thinking of this ever since we received word of what was to come. For those who cannot store food, how will we buy food when the famine comes? We will have to sell everything we own, finally selling ourselves into slavery.”
Pawara, normally positive and optimistic, seemed to alternate between hopelessness and anger as he spoke. He looked toward his house and Joseph followed his gaze.
He had been proud of the ability to enlarge the space, to create a better place for his family. Joseph could see that he felt all of this was threatened by events too powerful for him to combat.
Pawara’s wife and remaining children – almost grown and holding their own in some unheard conversation with her – sat with their backs against the wall of the house, now laughing at something that had been said. It was a beautiful picture, one that should be preserved.
Joseph was quiet. He was at a loss and knew not what to say. He silently asked God.
Joseph spoke with God many times during any given day. He made requests of Him, and thanked Him for what was given, and often just made observations, starting what seemed like a dialog as thoughts came to him. As he listened, he would have thoughts leading to further observations.
The thoughts that Pawara now expressed had been part of his dialogue with God on many occasions in these last few weeks. He had offered the hypothetical question of how what Pawara had expressed was to be avoided. This topic had always been a one-way conversation, however. He felt there had been no response.
Listening to his friend speak the fears that Joseph knew many others must also feel gave a new sense of urgency to the question.
For the most part, slaves in Egypt were as he had been: foreigners bought or taken as prisoners in war. Slavery – literally owned by another person and having no freedom of movement – was rather rare for native Egyptians. The exception was those unable to repay debts, but there was a limit even to their servitude.
The prospect of a prolonged famine raised the spectre of a large population of people forced to sell themselves to obtain food over a relatively long period of time. When their resources were exhausted, the result would be a very large debt for each person, particularly those with families.
Joseph looked up into the night sky, black but filled with stars, pinpoints of light bringing life to the darkness. Pawara’s questions ran through his mind again and he handed them to God, unfiltered by his own thoughts.
This time there was a response. There was an answer.
“Pawara, listen. God has not waited for a dream, but He has given me a possible way to avoid the dire condition of slavery. Be of good cheer. Watch and see. There is a better solution.”
He had Pawara’s attention. Indeed, his friend had been leaning forward in expectation of a grand revelation only to have his hopes dashed by a plea to wait for some undetermined but long time period.
Pawara shrank back. Joseph’s rationality and assurances could not offset the fear generated by the thoughts of the inevitable results of the seven years of famine.
“Is this alternative a solid hope to which we can cling, or is it a morning cloud that will evaporate under the king’s strong light?”
Joseph realized that he had raised Pawara’s hopes and then given him nothing of substance on which the hopes could be based. Perhaps stating the solution out loud, hearing it spoken himself and also seeing Pawara’s reaction, would be beneficial for both of them.
“Tell me what you think of this possibility.
“The king has required of the landowners one-fifth of their harvest for these seven good years. He has placed a higher tax on them for their own good. These men receive the benefits outlined in the arguments that I mentioned earlier.”
Waving his arm to include the villagers around them, he continued, “And you all receive the same benefits, but you do not have the resources to stockpile your own stores of grain.
“Everyone receives the benefits of the king’s government, those things such as protection from foreigners, and justice, among others. Order is maintained and, until now, all of this has been free for you.
“Your tax has been modest, although there has been the tax of labor. He has at times required your service during the flood months, but that was only when the king had projects near you. Even for these you received food, so you were not unpaid. And as with the canal and irrigation ditches, you have received benefits, too.
“I will propose to the king that those who accept his food during the famine pay the tax of one-fifth of their harvest as repayment for his generosity. This will be paid each year.
"Rather than receive into his service a nation of slaves, he will receive the gratitude of free men who will labor hard for their own interests. He cannot expect such work from slaves leading a life with no hope. He will have the resources to continue his duties, and you will have the benefit of those duties.”
Pawara considered Joseph’s plan. He shook his head.
“I cannot imagine people being pleased to give one-fifth of their harvest to the king. Never have I heard of such a tax on the people. We always have lived free, but what you propose is the beginning of slavery. I agree that it is better than total servitude, but why cannot things be as they have been?”
Joseph said, “We always look back at the past with fond memories, especially those idealized times when we were not yet even born!
“But you have heard of the troubles of not that many generations past. There was a famine, a great famine. The structure of the whole Egyptian society crumbled. Chaos ruled as kings had little power and held the throne for only months. Nobles challenged them and there were internal wars. Thousands starved to death. Justice fell by the wayside.”
Joseph paused before continuing. ”I think of what it will be like in my old home land of Canaan where there are only tribes and small cities. There is no one who looks after them all, and they are distrustful of one another. No one will be there to store the grain, to distribute food when it is needed. There is no one to preserve ma’at.
“We are fortunate in Egypt to have a king who will commit his resources to provide for everyone. Yes, it comes at a cost. But is it better than the alternative, the surrender of ma’at to chaos as happened here in Egypt not so many generations ago?”
Pawara was attentive to the speech, and Joseph could see from his expression that the man’s perspective was changing.
Joseph continued. “I do not paint the picture of a king without any self-interest. Yes, he will benefit. I am sure that he will see that what I propose is the course that will best serve him, just as it is the course that will best serve his people.”
“This solution that you propose, Joseph, this is what will best preserve ma’at?”
“So I believe, Pawara.”
Pawara looked back over to his family, and Joseph’s gaze went there, also. The mother and the three nearly grown children were still talking and laughing about something. Only the laughter could be heard, the words too softly spoken to carry over the distance.
But words do not really matter.
Both men knew the picture before them, carefree moments of joy that included no fear or worry, was how life should be. Times would change but moments such as this should always be possible. Indeed, every moment should be as this one.
Perhaps Joseph’s solution was not too high a price to pay.
Review
The crops were growing by the time Joseph went to the delta. And construction of the king’s granaries for storing the surplus was well under way. Part of Joseph’s mission was to again encourage the wealthy to store their surplus, and the other part was to ensure the granaries would meet their requirements.
The delta was a very different place from Upper Egypt. This was true both in terms of geography and of the people living in each region.
As the boat traveled down river, the low flat expanse of the delta stood in contrast to his trip to the south with its stretches of cliffs and increasingly hilly terrain. The rich vegetation was more luxurious here, the flooded areas stretching farther from the river.
Upper Egypt had its share of Nubians, clearly identified by their darker skin. The term was all inclusive for the black nations below Egypt, including Kush and the areas south and west of that nation. These were not a significant part of the population of Egypt compared to the Asiatics who traveled through the delta region almost as an extension of their own lands. The beard was the distinguishing characteristic of these foreigners.
Upriver or downriver, some things were constant. The crocodile and hippopotamus shared all parts of the river. Regardless of whether in a boat or on the edge of the water, a watchful eye was always in order. A barge the size of this one was safe from crocodiles, but startling a largely submerged hippo could result in an overturned boat and possible death from either the hippo or a crocodile.
Joseph’s plan was to follow the route Potiphar had taken through Lower Egypt when Joseph had traveled Upper Egypt. Likewise, Potiphar was now duplicating Joseph’s route through that region.
The barge followed the most westward of the several large streams diverging from the Nile in their journey to the great sea.
Because the water levels of the Nile were falling, they would make their way across the delta on foot. At flood, they might have been able to traverse the delta following a zigzag series of branches connecting the streams. At this point, water levels might not be high enough even in this year of a good flood.
Four weeks allowed time for visits to the northernmost districts before heading south toward the main Nile again. Zoan was to be the location of the granary dedicated to foreign sales, and it was near this small village on the eastern side of the delta that they would meet the royal barge. The location was on the second of the many branches into which the Nile divided and far enough into Egypt to provide some measure of additional security.
The barge would soon approach Khem, capital of the second district of Lower Egypt. He must gather his thoughts.
The first visits on this trip - with Menna, the governor, and Hakore-ankh, the priest - had gone somewhat as he had expected.
Menna had received Zaphnath-Paaneah and Captain Potiphar in much the same state of mind as they had left him a couple of months earlier. The tax still galled the man, but that was less the issue from Joseph’s perspective. The man would yield to pressure eventually, protesting but surrendering the grain.
The primary issue was whether the man would recognize his own best interest and store his own grain.
After having their defenses rebuffed, Joseph and the captain had patiently listened to a rather long harangue against the tax levied by the king, a rant that at times bordered on treasonous talk of insurrection. Menna had had sufficient time to prepare his counter attack (weak though it was) to their justifications for the tax.
Having at last spent his anger and energy, he gave a grunt of disgust. “But I suppose there is no way to avoid the inevitable.
“At least, if what you say is true, there will be a good yield and perhaps we will not be that much worse for the tax.”
Shaking a finger at the captain, to whom most of his words had been directed, he said, “But if the flood is low and the yield is low, we will know he is a poor prophet.” During the last part of the statement, Menna made a gesture toward Joseph, but he only briefly took his eyes off Potiphar.
“I will admit that this year’s flood appears to be setting the stage for a good harvest. Time will tell, and one good flood may be due as much to luck as to a genuine string of seven good years followed by famine.”
Concluding he stated flatly to Potiphar, “I hold you responsible if he has deceived us.” This time, his eyes did not follow the arm pointing toward Joseph.
The captain had been remarkably restrained after his initial counter arguments were rejected, and Menna had continued to rail unopposed against the injustice he was to suffer. Potiphar waited for a moment before replying so that he was sure Menna was finished.
Perhaps knowing the man all of these years had led the captain to understand that bluster and bluff were a part of the man’s character, and rising to his bait was unnecessary. The captain made his response calmly and briefly.
“If the harvest does not meet expectations, you will have no tax to pay. I say this to allay your fears, and also to assert our confidence.”
Potiphar looked at Joseph. “As the representatives of the king, we have concerns for all of Egypt, just as you have concerns for the people whose daily food comes from your land.
“Have you storage facilities to prepare for the coming famine?”
Menna shifted uneasily in his chair and oriented himself so that he was addressing both of his visitors.
“Yes, I have begun construction of a couple of new granaries now that I see the harvest may be good. But I am not committing any more resources until I see more of what the harvest will be, whether there will be enough grain to justify them after your exorbitant tax.”
The captain said, “You are wise to see your self-interest in the preparations for years of good followed by years of bad. Irsu will ensure that you have scribes available to assist you in organizing and recording the yields.”
“I have scribes of my own, and yours will not be necessary.” Menna smiled before continuing, “But I am sure you are telling me that your scribes will be here, regardless of my wishes, to ensure that the tax is accurately stolen from me.”
“The king would have the tax fairly calculated so that neither you nor he is unduly penalized in the amount due him.” Potiphar did not challenge the man further. Menna had yielded already.
There had been more to the exchange, but this had been the gist of it. Joseph’s primary contribution had been to assure Menna that Menna’s interest was also the king’s interest: starving people were not beneficial to either man.
Joseph had concluded the unpleasant part of the discussion.
“And as you see the crops growing in the fields following a favorable flood, so you will see your prosperity rise. And just as we now conserve the flood waters so that they last longer and inundate more fields for longer periods to produce better yields, so conserving your surplus will draw out the availability of food to maintain a content and productive people who are dependent upon you.”
Joseph hoped that this pattern would continue for the rest of his journey alone through the delta as Potiphar traveled alone through Upper Egypt.
The visit with Hakore-anke at the temple in Memphis had gone well. Of course, the priests had no tax to pay, so there was little reason for contention.
The promise to Hakore-anke that he would succeed his father came directly from the king through Zaphnath-Paaneah, so Joseph’s esteem had been established in the eyes of the priest. The visit went at least as well as expected, and Joseph doubted there would be a problem at any temple.
Teyma’s counsel on serving your master’s interest came to mind again. Because the king (and the others who knew of the dreams’ interpretation, including Joseph and Potiphar) required the cooperation of the landowners to provide a hedge against the famine, some degree of control had passed from the king to the landowners, particularly the governors.
This thought put into words something that he had understood but never been able to verbalize: Wanting something makes you the slave of the person who can provide it.
As nomads, his father’s family had relatively few wants. Their needs were largely met by God through their flocks and nature around them. Wants tended to come from interactions with other men and women. These others could provide additional goods and services beyond strict needs. Wants and desires were added on top of needs and their existence stemmed from interaction with other people.
Yet God created a community when He added Eve to Adam’s human solitude, the absence of anyone like himself. God created us for interaction with Himself and with others. As a result we can neither ignore our needs that accompany being human, nor can we neglect the needs of others in their humanity.
How does one negotiate the shoals of solitude, a free but lonely existence, and community, living in a sea of needs and wants? How does one find balance, the ma’at, that lies between extremes?
Thinking of Zelicha as she had been three years ago, and of her relationships with Potiphar and Joseph, he added the thought that you are also a slave to the one who can sow destruction by confusing wants and needs.
She had upset the natural balance that existed between herself and her husband: independent and free, but also interdependent and chained by the bonds of mutual respect and love.
Trying to achieve a new balance through Joseph’s affection, she had destroyed the ma’at of all three, an imbalance with repercussions upon all three of them plus their friends and co-workers.
And now there was Joseph’s dependence of Asenath. Indeed, she was becoming his other half, as if he had been split down the middle like Adam to create this other self, this part of him that was him but also was separate from him.
This thought brought a smile to Joseph’s heart, both because of his feelings for her and for the truth that continually was being spoken to him. That truth was a simple statement, but one that by its nature could never be wholly owned:
Every relationship includes the act of constantly reconciling two sets of wants and needs. This requires both offering and accepting, both giving and receiving, and both granting and requesting. Balance is never achieved within either mind, but only in the hearts that prohibit the scribe from entering.
He returned to thoughts of this next meeting, drawing closer even as the dock upon which he would soon step came into view. Yes, a scribe would definitely be required in relationships such as these!
The barge docked and unloading began. The men accompanying Joseph as guard did what unloading was necessary, and prepared his horse and chariot.
Joseph looked at the king’s ring on his hand, and then at the chariot just as the horses had been harnessed. He felt as though he again was beginning a performance, the dialogues requiring no rehearsal since their substance was essentially the same.
But if this performance was required to escape the consequences of the famine, then it was a small price to pay.
When all had been unloaded and the soldiers stood waiting for their orders, Joseph stepped forward. He was prepared for his first solo visit in the delta. Much had happened since his entrance as a slave and an easterner with Teyma!
Final Meeting
Five weeks later, the trip through the delta was almost over. There were two final meetings scheduled in the city of On. There he would meet the district’s governor, and then he would have a formal interview with the priest of On, Asenath’s father. Of all the scheduled meetings, this was the only one about which he was unsure, the only meeting that would deviate from the topic that was at the top of every other landowner’s and priest’s list.
The city was reputed to be the oldest in Egypt, and was considered the site where creation itself had taken place. Joseph had heard much about the god, Atum, who was the original god from whom all others came. The very name gave the impression of totality, completeness. Why were more gods necessary?
Ptah had done the physical work begun in the mind of Atum. And so the multitude of gods had their beginning.
At some point, the sun had become such an important deity that he was merged with Atum to become Atum-Ra, two great powers merged into one.
And thus did Potiphera (meaning “gift of Ra”), high priest of On, stand in high esteem throughout all Egypt.
The temple for Atum-Ra was an appropriately grand tribute for the united gods. And the symbolism of the union of upper and Lower Egypt here in the union of the two gods was not lost on the people.
Although this structure predated the Temple of Ptah in Memphis, substantial additions and adornments testified to the unified deity’s current significance.
In Canaan, awe of God existed without grand edifices made by the hands of men. Particularly when alone in the landscape of nature – be it mountain, valley, or wilderness – the handiwork of the Creator God was sufficiently grand. An ebeneezer or altar were memorials to God’s gifts, not substitutes to be worshipped in His stead.
In that aloneness with God, whether on a mountain or on a grassy plain, loneliness was not possible. There always existed the presence of the Other. He was – is - the Companion who desired continuous communion, literally, in the sense of “union with,” the One who desired re-union, also literally, in the sense of continually sharing the life that flowed from Him and returned to Him in a never ending stream.
The rearranged jumble of broken pieces of rock fashioned into an artificial form actually spoke to Joseph of the limitations of the human hand. In praise of a man-made god, a man-made structure perhaps was appropriate after all.
The reality of God had been transformed into pieces of broken stone and reassembled as idols created by the hands of men. God’s creation had been refashioned by mankind into a temple fit for the gods created by the hands of men.
Beliefs originating in the mind often trump beliefs that come from the heart. And so we create gods in our imagination rather than experience the holy in respectful awe and reverence.
The temple’s large double doors, similar to those of Ptah’s residence, were open. The gaping darkness, promising escape from the heat of the day, reminded Joseph of the Egyptian asp. That snake’s broad face and neck dominated by an inordinately large mouth extending open to envelope its prey.
One of the guards approached and took the horses’ reins from joseph unasked.
Joseph must reorder his thoughts and properly address Potiphera, both a priest and the father of Asenath.
And so, into the den.
Walking up the steps, he saw on the rim of the darkness a man clad in priestly robes watching. The man simultaneously stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
“Welcome, Zaphnath-Paaneah,” the man said with a bow. With appropriate reverence, he commanded, “The high priest of On will receive you. Follow me.”
The man turned and walked into the darkness. Joseph followed.
Just inside, the priest commanded, “Wait here to be summoned.”
A moment was necessary for Joseph’s eyes to adjust from the glaring sun to the shaded interior.
A series of columns was all that separated the area where Joseph stood from the cavernous room that consumed most of the building’s interior. As with the Temple of Ptah, numerous rooms were entered from this one room.
Streams of light entered through high windows, but without the intensity of the unfiltered rays outside. The coolness was welcome, as were these moments to regather his thoughts.
Some minutes elapsed before the priest returned. Again he commanded, “Follow me,” and turned to walk in the opposite direction.
The priest led Joseph to a room intended for interviews with guests to the temple. Potiphera was seated behind a table. He did not motion to Joseph to sit on one of the several stools across the table from him. Joseph remained standing like a servant called before his master for a scolding.
Only the sound of the retreating priest’s footsteps could be heard as Joseph and Potiphera viewed one another across the empty table. Joseph was not interested in beginning the visit with some battle of wills, so he spoke into the silence.
“Greetings from your king, Potiphera, high priest of Atum-Ra. His majesty wishes you health and a long life.
“Your daughter also sends her greetings and the report that all is well with her.”
Joseph concluded with a slight bow, “And greetings from the husband of your daughter.”
Although Joseph had envisioned a range of possibilities for his visit with his father-in-law (and most of them predicting a very negative exchange), he had not prepared himself for silence.
In the silence, Joseph imagined the words that were spoken in the mind of the priest. The words could have been no plainer had they been written. The anger could not have been plainer had it been spoken. The desire to cast Joseph out could have not been plainer had the man risen and grabbed Joseph by his cloak and dragged him to the door. Or perhaps this was all just his imagination.
More seconds passed and the priest seemed to relax. He finally spoke, his voice controlled and restrained.
“I have much to say to you, Zaphnath-Paaneah, but you did not come to hear my thoughts.
“You drive the king’s chariot, and you wear the king’s ring. You wear the robe that has come from the king, and you wield the power given to you by the king.”
He paused and then asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“Yes, you see only the externals, the symbols. I expressed my purpose poorly, so let me reveal the intention,” stated Joseph.
“I bring the king’s interest in the well-being of both you and the people in your service.
“I bring the message of your daughter, the love that she bears for you.
“And I bring my services to your door, that I may be of use to you as you in your high office serve the people.”
“Well spoken, and with very little accent for an Asiatic.
“But who are you to speak of love from my daughter? You have stolen my daughter twice: once through the king’s command that she marry you; and again when you forced the revelation that she was not my daughter but was truly an Asiatic like yourself!
“Was it really necessary to reduce her to your level and to destroy the image of me as her father?”
The man’s emotions had crept into this last statement. The priest averted his eyes, perhaps to hide the glisten of the tears filling them.
Joseph tread softly. “You have raised a daughter both beautiful and intelligent. The man and woman who created her are less relevant than the man and woman who raised her, the couple who Asenath knew as her parents.
“Like the parents who created her and gave her a new future that was founded in you, Potiphera, so you must release her to a new future as mother to your grandchildren.
”You sheltered her and made her to know this temple and the rituals of this god. She admired you and would follow in your footsteps, or would go as wife to whomever you sent her. She would be a priestess, or the wife of a priest. Such was her world until recently.
“She has a new role to play, a role in a larger world. For this future she requires a larger horizon.
“This does not negate the role of a father, nor does it undermine the role of being a servant of the creator god. Both roles require growth.
“The girl loves her father and comes to recognize in him what she will expect and find in her husband. And in the same way, she views a god remotely as an image of what she will find when she matures in understanding.
“Our parents prepare us to move beyond the boundaries of our youth and find the place intended for us in that larger world that seems to have no borders.”
“You speak in riddles, Zaphnath-Paaneah. Is it thus that you have fooled the king with interpretations of a dream?”
Potiphera leaned forward with his elbows on the table, not expectant of an answer, but to press his argument forward.
“Her future was assured already,” Potiphera complained. “She was promised, her future already existed. What right did even a king have to interfere with the daughter of the High Priest of On, servant of Atum-Ra?”
Joseph thought Potiphera would continue, but he did not. His gaze now firmly fixed on Joseph, he waited for an answer.
Joseph weighed how he should answer. He wanted to identify Atum as the one God, complete and without the need for others gods. But another voice spoke to him and said the words would not be received. Teyma’s counsel on the insufficiency of logic and words and the necessity for example and experience came to mind.
“We struggle to understand the course laid out before us. We expect a straight and narrow line leading to a fixed place, but we find the line bends and reverses, charting an uneven course to some destination that is not always visible.”
Here he felt permission to expand a bit. “Men think that they choose a destination and establish the path they travel. And the paths of men collide and no path stays straight.
“I believe that the hand of the Creator God establishes our path before us, constantly correcting and reestablishing that path as we allow.
“You know Asenath’s heritage. Does her marriage to one of her own, a man who is in a position of power in Egypt, not seem preordained by some hand mightier than our own?”
Potiphera’s expression had softened as he heard this testimonial and translated it into his own framework of understanding.
“So you believe the hand of Atum-Ra is in these two events, the king’s dream of the years of famine and Asenath’s marriage to you?”
“I believe the one God who created all to be at the core of all that is good.” Joseph knew further clarification would be meaningless.
Potiphera stood, seemingly fully recovered from his emotional lapse and ready to face the world – and Joseph – in his priestly capacity.
“I accept that you are Asenath’s husband as you give me assurance that you will always refer to me as her father.”
“As I have done in this conversation with you, so I will affirm that you have been the father who raised her and have been the foundation for her character.”
Potiphera nodded. “That is acceptable.”
Motioning for Joseph to be seated, Potiphera sat down again.
“You know that Captain Potiphar came and told us of the king’s plans of preparation for the famine. The king has said that the estates of the temples are exempt from his tax. Now, what is your business here, Zaphnath-Paaneah?”
Joseph smiled, “As you pointed out, I am here as a representative of the king. My purpose is to offer his encouragement in preparation for the famine so that you and your servants will not be dependent upon him. He offers support, as well as encouragement, should you have any needs in accomplishing this goal.”
Joseph added in a more conversational tone, “And I come to obtain the blessing of my father-in-law. Circumstances did not seem favorable for this at the time of our introduction. I had hoped to prove worthy by my character. Because we have not known one another, I will accept that you may see the king’s confidence as a proper testimonial.”
“I admit that I was angry when the king stole my daughter away from the promise that she marry the son of the high priest of Thebes. Perhaps my anger was greatest because I was given no choice in the matter.” He added with the hint of a compliment in his tone, “The king was quite heavy handed on your behalf.
“But now that I have heard you speak and have a sense of who you are, I will tell you something confidential, as father to son. Will you honor that?”
“Of course,” replied Joseph.
“You will be a much better husband to Asenath than that young boy in Thebes. Yes,” he nodded, “I think this will all work out for the best.”
Joseph could almost hear the calculations of benefits to Potiphera himself, but this was only a beginning. Relationships come with time.
At this point, the priest was completely relaxed in Joseph’s presence. The conversation was easy and relatively unguarded as they exchanged histories, although Joseph withheld details regarded as unnecessary, as did the priest, no doubt.
The priest finally offered Joseph dinner and a place to stay for the night. Giving evidence of his full embrace of Joseph as husband to his daughter, he offered food and lodging to the men accompanying Joseph, as well.
An Old Friend in Memphis – an Interlude
Joseph and the men with him began their journey back to The Residence from On. They traveled on the royal barge back to Memphis, arriving almost at dark. Too late to make the trip to The Residence, they all stayed in the royal palace at Memphis, planning to leave early in the morning for home.
The morning sun rose bright as ever on a new day. Joseph rose early and went outside to the garden, a quiet place to give thought to a new day.
The noise of the front gate opening in the distance drew his attention from the quiet beauty of the garden in the early morning light. There was no one waiting at the gate to leave, but the hour was much too early to have visitors.
Curious, Joseph walked toward the gate. He saw the guard welcoming a solitary traveler as if he were an old friend. Only seconds later did Joseph recognize the man as Teyma.
Joseph practically ran to his old friend. “Teyma,” he called. “What brings you to this palace so early?”
Teyma looked in the direction of the voice. He would have known Joseph’s voice anywhere.
“And I might ask you what you are doing in the garden so early, Joseph.”
“Good to see you. You are looking fit!” Teyma had aged in the intervening years, but time had been kind, so the compliment was not undeserved.
“Good to see you, also, my son. The years have been good to you, also. Although I know a few of them were unkind, they appear to have done no harm.”
“I am well. But what brings you here and so early? There are usually few people here that I would have thought you might visit.”
“Well, I came to see you, Joseph. I heard that the royal barge arrived last evening and hoped you might have been on it and stayed here.
“You remember my friend Ti, the shopkeeper in Memphis who sold us your first Egyptian clothes? I am afraid that he is in a bad way. Time has not been kind to him, and I seek your help.”
“You know that I am no doctor, Teyma. I have no medical training, and I have no skills that would help a man approaching death.”
“I cannot explain why, but seeing him as though on his death bed, something spoke to me of you. I knew that you were being called to him, though I admit I do not know the reason.”
“Then what is it that I can do to help you and Ti?”
“If your schedule permits, please come and see him. Just come with me and visit with him. Perhaps then we shall understand the reason for your presence.”
Other than word that he would return to The Residence on about this day (and there were always uncertainty in travel), he had no schedule. There was no reason he could not go with Teyma to see Ti and still return to The Residence today.
“I am at your disposal. Let us go see Ti.”
Teyma and Joseph made their way through the streets of Memphis to Ti’s shop. The hour was early enough that the streets were not crowded. Joseph suggested they stop for a piece of flatbread and fish from a street vendor since neither of them had eaten.
In response to Joseph’s enquiry, Teyma said his daughter, Miriam, was well. She had married and had a son and lived in Canaan. His son, Kedar, was well and would most likely follow in Teyma’s footsteps. He seemed to have a knack for the business.
Joseph began to speak of the surprise of Asenath as his niece and wife, but they were near their destination and Teyma just laughed and said they would talk afterwards.
Arriving at the shop, they found Ti’s son preparing for the day, sweeping what appeared to be an already clean floor.
“Merenra, this is my friend, Joseph,” said Teyma almost before they had crossed the threshold.
Merenra stopped sweeping and set his broom aside. “Since you are Teyma’s friend, you are mine, also.”
To Teyma, he said, “Ti is having a very good morning. He has revived and is doing well.”
As he spoke, Ti could be heard descending the steps from his room above. Joseph saw the passage of time had not been kind to the old shopkeeper. The skin covering his frame concealed no muscle, and barely softened the angles of his bones.
“The ginger you suggested has worked wonders, Teyma. You have definitely eased my discomfort, and most likely saved my life. At last I can take a little food.”
He made his way to a stool and sat down.
Teyma put an arm around Joseph and urged him forward a step. “Ti, do you remember my friend, Joseph? It has been a long time, perhaps ten years or more, since I brought him for you to give him some Egyptian clothes.”
The old man squinted as he looked at Joseph, but offered no sign of recognition. Joseph said, “You might remember the coat I was wearing. It had a dahlia and a poppy on it.”
Ti shook his head, but then his eyes brightened and he smiled. “Yes, I do remember! You were that Asiatic boy.” He nodded, “Yes, yes.”
“Ah, you do remember me. We had a nice talk while Teyma went to get payment for the things he had bought for me.”
“Yes, yes,” the old man nodded, still smiling.
“I had thought that Joseph might be able to lend some assistance as you struggled with your illness, but you seem much better,” said Teyma.
“Oh, yes. Much better. You have already corrected what was wrong.”
Teyma looked at Joseph. “I do not know what to say. That voice that told me you should come is never wrong. Why don’t we visit for a few minutes, and then you can be on your way back to The Residence.”
Merenra brought some tea from the back. “This is tea from the mint that you brought for my father’s illness. We each had a cup last night, and I enjoyed it as much as Ti. I hope you will like it, also.”
Each took one of the four cups and sat on stools around Ti. The day was not yet hot, and the tea had cooled almost to room temperature. Joseph felt it settle well on his stomach.
They talked of general things for a while and then, as Mrenra stood up in preparation for returning to his duties, the subject of the likelihood of a very good harvest arose.
Ti said, “You know, Merenra, we must complete the details of that purchase of grain.”
“Yes, father, but I am still unclear why we must buy grain from the east when it appears that we will have such a good harvest in Egypt.”
Something seemed to click in Merenra’s mind. Turning back to Joseph, he asked, “Are you Zaphnath-Paaneah, the vizier of the king who foretold of the years of good and the ears of famine?”
Joseph was a little embarrassed at his formal identity being revealed in this most informal setting. He rose, as did Teyma beside him. “Yes, but I am Joseph to my friends.”
“You could have made a better introduction of our guest, Teyma!” he chided. “This is a man of great notoriety!”
“As Joseph said, this is a visit among friends, not a meeting to do with the affairs of state,” Teyma said in self-defense.
Ti, apparently somewhat invigorated after drinking his tea, rose and inserted himself into the circle the other three had formed. “But affairs of state have much to do with our business!”
The old man moved so that he stood squarely in front of Joseph. “Your tax on the production of grain, plus what some of the wealthy landowners will hold back for themselves, will turn a great harvest into a year bordering on scarcity. They appear to be having a good year in the east, and those Asiatics have reduced the price of grain considerably. So we are going to buy!”
“This all seems like a gamble, father. What if prices here do not go up and we pay the same price for Asiatic grain plus the cost of transportation. That does not sound like good business.”
“Son, in twenty years when you have seen as many harvests as I have seen, you will be thinking differently than you are now. Trust me.”
Merenra shook his head. “You are the owner!”
“Yes, I am. So that is settled.”
Teyma said, “This reunion has been most delightful, but I know that Joseph must return to his duties. I am elated to see you so well, Ti. And thank you for both for your hospitality.”
Joseph paid his respects, as well, and after a few more words the two visitors departed.
When they a bit away from the shop, Teyma apologized again for bringing Joseph and what appeared to have been an unnecessary trip. “But perhaps there is a reason we do not yet know,” he added. “Sometimes events occur and it is only long afterward that we understand their true significance.”
“As perhaps with Asenath, eh?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, as with Asenath,” laughed Teyma. “There was a purpose for the events of her discovery in Canaan, for she had a home waiting for her here in Egypt. That her presence also provided you with a wife from your own people was just a side benefit, luck, perhaps.”
“I do not think that you believe much in luck, Teyma. Yes, you know that time and chance do their work, but there is a larger hand at work in all events.”
“Yes, you are right on that, of course. There is a larger hand at work, but we often must wait to see where it has directed us.”
Their conversation continued on news and events until they reached the Memphis palace, and here they parted ways, Joseph went in to the palace garden, and Teyma back to his family and his next trading opportunity.
For Joseph, it seemed that little of the morning had passed as he went from the garden back into the palace. He passed where he had been sitting in the garden earlier and saw again the chamomile plant with its many flowers, white petals surrounding a golden center.
He sat down and smelled the blooms, closing his eyes as the relaxing fragrance filled him. Surely this had been a plant of Eden!
But he came back to the present and the call of the duties of the day. Much time had elapsed and they must return.
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