Chapter 12

Genesis 37:8

Closing his eyes, Zaphenath drew a great gulping breath and plunged beneath the water, his wake rippling out in wobbling arcs. He surfaced again with a splash, whipping his head back and scattering droplets like stars across the sloshing murmurs of the pool. Running his fingers through his hair, tiny streams trickling down his skin, he sank into the water again up to his neck. The private outdoor pool was guarded within the garden of his walled estate, situated near the gray-barked fig trees, with their great outstretched branches quivering in the slight evening breeze.

Dipping his head back into the water, Zaphenath closed his eyes. The deadening weight lapped into his ears, magnifying the world beneath the ripples. In his mind, he could hear the king’s voice, as if in echo.

You seem agitated, Zaphenath.

He let his body sink beneath the surface.

“You take it too personally,” Judah said.

His younger brother Joseph walked beside him, arms crossed in brooding contemplation. “Shouldn’t I?”

“Simeon is jealous.” Judah shrugged. “That’s just his way.”

The brothers were strolling back toward the edge of their father’s camp, the open plains glowing gently in the fading light. The other brothers had returned to the camp earlier, but Joseph stayed behind to help Judah round up a pair of lambs that had wandered away from the flock and were bleating piteously when the brothers finally came upon them. Now the lambs scampered out ahead, kicking up tiny clouds of spreading dust with each hoof strike against the dry earth, eager to be reunited with their mothers.

“We’ll have to move the flocks before long,” Judah mused when Joseph didn’t respond.

Joseph glanced over. “Father won’t want me to go.”

Judah shook his head. “It’s not that. He needs one of us to stay here.”

“But if I never go,” Joseph said, “I don’t see how anyone will ever—”

“They’ll respect you when they have to,” Judah said. “They’ll have no choice.”

Joseph looked down, smoothing the front of the robe their father had given him, Jacob’s decision of who would be his heir made visible to all. “They think Father means to make me something I wouldn’t be without this.”

Judah glanced at his brother. “The rivalry is older than you are.” He looked back toward the setting sun. “It’s a lot of years to undo.”

Joseph watched the two scraggly lambs, trotting now, slowing as one swished his tail. “Do you think it would be this way if my mother were still alive?”

Judah shrugged. “Reuben and Simeon and some of the others may go their own way eventually.”

“You think they’d leave us?”

“The way Father’s brother, Esau, did.” Judah shrugged again. “Why not?”

Joseph shook his head. “Reuben was the birthright son before I was.”

Judah smiled tightly. “Father doesn’t trust him.” He kicked at the dirt, scattering a loose cluster of pebbles. “However much Father loves any one of us”—he watched the breath of dust rise up from the ground—“he loves this family most of all. He wants to protect his people.” He glanced back at Joseph. “You were raised apart from us in so many ways—I can see why Father would choose you. You’re—different from the rest of us. It’s better.”

Joseph was quiet for a long moment. “Did Simeon expect the birthright? Is that why he hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Judah seemed to hesitate. “I don’t know what he expected. He told Reuben that Bilhah would be Reuben’s wife one day anyway and that he deserved her. Even if Father was still alive.”

Joseph looked at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“You were younger.” Judah crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t have known.”

“Did he mean for Reuben to be disinherited?”

Judah shrugged. “If Father had married Rachel first, like he meant to, you would have been his heir to begin with. The birthright was never meant to belong to Simeon.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be blamed.”

“But my mother was blamed,” Joseph said. “Leah was angry with her. Jealous. I do think some of the brothers see that, in me.” He shook his head too. “It was their father who arranged it. It wasn’t my mother’s fault.”

“And it wasn’t my mother’s fault, either,” Judah said. “But they made a life for themselves in spite of it, didn’t they? They stayed together. They cared for each other. Even at the end . . . my mother was the one with Rachel.”

Joseph nodded, looking down, then turned his face back up toward where the cooking fires glowed, beckoning them onward. Judah smiled a little weakly. “We’re all still brothers,” he said. The chattering voices of the camp were starting to drift out across the open ground. “The blood bond is not a light thing. Simeon will respect that.”

They passed back into the camp, with the bleating of the sheep ringing around the periphery. As they walked, passing the tents, Joseph suddenly heard a scampering of little feet. He turned and smiled at the curly-haired boy running toward him. Though he was only five, it was already evident that Benjamin looked less like their mother than Joseph did and had more of his father’s broad cheekbones and shoulders. The child had a certain distinctive gentleness around his eyes, though, and the same rich, curly hair.

“I’ve been helping Dinah,” Benjamin reported with breathless self-satisfaction.

Joseph chuckled, bending down to speak with his brother at eye level. “I’m sure you were a good help.”

Still smiling, Benjamin looked up at Judah. “Why are you both late?”

“We had to find some lambs,” Judah told him, ruffling Benjamin’s hair.

“And you brought them back?”

“Of course,” Judah assured him. “In our camp,” he winked at the little boy, “we watch out for each other.” He glanced at Joseph, and Joseph smiled. “That’s what makes us family.”