ONE NIGHT, AT THE BEGINNING of the spring harvest, Joseph had a dream: he and his brothers were out in a field binding barley sheaves, and suddenly his sheaf stood up, and their sheaves formed a ring around it and bowed down to it in allegiance.
As soon as he woke up, he knew that the dream was of the utmost importance.* He could have kept it to himself and mused on it, instead of blurting it out to his brothers, but because he projected his own delight onto them, he didn’t hesitate to let them know. It was a true dream, after all; that is, it was a dream that would someday come true, a dream of salvation, and it just so happened that he was at the center of it. (It was only right, of course, that he should be at the center.) What they needed to be saved from, he didn’t bother to ask. The point was the salvation, which was for them all, the whole family. His brothers would be as thrilled as he was!
Early that morning, before they all went out with the flocks and herds, Joseph sent word that they should meet him behind his father’s tent. The sun had risen, the birds were singing, and though there was still a nip in the air, the day was going to be a warm one. When they had all arrived (Issachar was the last to straggle in, yawning), Joseph told them he had dreamed a marvelous dream. He laughed as he described it to them, and when he was finished, he looked as if he expected them to clap their hands and rejoice with him.
The brothers were shocked. Then their shock turned into dismay, their dismay into a dull rage. Unbelievable, they thought, the brazenness of this arrogant little shit as he rubs his superiority in our faces.
“So you’re supposed to rule over us?” Simeon sneered. “Is that what your dream means?”
What’s the matter with him? Joseph thought. This dream is very good news.