Chapter 18

Genesis 43:1–14

Jacob’s wooden staff crunched into the dirt, a steady, percussive rhythm underscoring the bleating and hoofsteps of the sheep as he walked alongside his grazing flocks. The sun seemed to catch in the fiery brilliance of his hair, and his gray-bearded son Judah thought, not for the first time, how truly little of his father had been leached out by the passing of years in the desert. Even now, Jacob’s voice did not falter, and his hands did not tremble. Occasionally he would rest through the heat of the afternoon or ask Benjamin to read a passage to him when the light was dim and his eyes were weary, but he still walked calmly among his flocks and stood as the unchallenged center of his family.

Today, Judah walked alongside him, quiet, not wishing to disturb, letting his father walk as he pleased, his staff striking the earth and his feet still finding their steady step.

“Your flocks have grown,” Judah observed, “even with the famine.”

“A blessing,” Jacob murmured.

“There are so many to feed now.” Judah glanced over, but Jacob merely struck his staff down once more. “And two new babies in your camp.”

Jacob nodded. “The Lord has prospered us.”

“With so much prosperity,” Judah glanced at his father again, “it will be difficult to keep everyone fed for much longer.”

Jacob prodded at a sheep blocking his path, and the animal trotted back into the herd. “There’s only one place with food.”

Judah watched their shadows slip out ahead, splayed across the ground, while Jacob tapped his staff, prodding another bleating sheep out of the path.

“Father,” Judah asked, “what do you want us to do?”

Jacob slowed, and then stopped, resting his hands on the top of his staff. He looked out over his milling flock. Judah stood quietly beside him. It was only now, as Jacob’s body had begun to stoop, that Judah could nearly speak to his father face to face. It was Reuben who had always looked the most like their father—the same strength, the same physical presence.

But Reuben was not here.

“We have no choice,” Judah said softly. Jacob looked over, his fierce white eyebrows directed toward his son. “There is no more food.” Judah shook his head. “We have to go back.” Jacob sighed, turning his gaze out toward the desert. “I promise you,” Judah said quietly, “Benjamin will be safe.”

Jacob grunted again. “Safe.” He glanced at Judah. “Reuben promised me the life of both of his sons in return for Benjamin’s safety.” He shook his head. “One life does not restore another.”

“Benjamin,” Judah said, “will redeem Simeon.”

“You had to tell him there was another son.” Jacob looked over at Judah. “Why?”

“He asked us.” Judah looked at his father. “He asked whether we had another brother.” Jacob frowned, looking away again. “If we don’t bring Benjamin, all of our people are lost. Send him with me.” Judah’s voice was quiet and firm. “Let me be his surety.” He reached out, setting a hand on his father’s arm. “You can require him from me.”

Jacob turned his eyes toward his fourth son. After a moment he spoke. “You will take twice the money,” he said, “that you gave before, and we will send gifts to this man who has kept your brother a prisoner.” He nodded to himself. “As we sent to my brother, Esau, when we made peace with each other.”

Judah too nodded in quick agreement. “We’ll give the best of what we have. I know they value turquoise from the desert mines, and silver—”

“And then,” Jacob said, “God willing, he will have mercy upon you.” He raised his eyes. “And upon me.”

Zaphenath raised his eyes from the scroll spread open on his lap. “Yes?”

Walking otherwise uninvited into her husband’s scroll room, Asenath gathered up her linen skirt in one hand and sank down onto the floor next to him.

“My love,” he turned his attention back to the scroll, “I’m truly busy.”

She looked down at the writing as well but did not move. “How are things going with Asar?” she asked at last.

Zaphenath unrolled the scroll further, frowning. “Just today, he was so good as to speak to me about the matter of popular prejudice regarding those of Asiatic origin.”

“Probably because I married such a handsome one.”

“You certainly married an older one.”

She sat there quietly before she said, “I want to see your brother.” He didn’t respond. “You haven’t seen your family for twenty years—”

“My brother,” Zaphenath said, eyes flicking over the characters as he read, “is the reason I haven’t seen my family for twenty years.”

“Mama!”

Asenath and Zaphenath both looked quickly over to the entryway, where a small, quivering Ephraim stood with his little body partly hidden in the curtains, clutching a trembling fist to his mouth. Asenath was quick to her feet and across the room.

“What’s wrong, little one?” she asked, bending down and putting her arms around the boy. “Bad dreams?”

Ephraim nodded with a shuddering intake of breath, and Asenath scooped him up as he let out a little wail. Zaphenath set the scroll aside and got to his feet.

“It’s all right,” Asenath said, looking over Ephraim’s little shaved head, but Zaphenath reached out, taking the child from his mother and holding his son gently in his arms. Ephraim curled up against him.

“It’s all right,” Zaphenath murmured. Asenath rubbed the little boy’s back as Zaphenath held him. Slowly, their son’s breathing began to gentle, and Ephraim’s eyes closed. He rested his head against his father’s shoulder.

“He’s a vivid little dreamer.” Asenath glanced at Zaphenath. “I suppose he gets that from you.”

Zaphenath’s dark eyes met hers, and he looked down at his sleeping son, cradled in his arms. “Benjamin was hardly older than our boys,” he said, softly, “the last time I saw him.”

“Maybe he has sons of his own.” Asenath smiled. “Imagine how big your family has become.”

“My family,” Zaphenath said, “is right here.”

Asenath looked back down at her sleeping son. “But you have a brother.”

Zaphenath shook his head. “Benjamin would barely remember me.”

“You have a brother here.”

He shook his head. “In twenty years,” he said, his voice quiet and hard, “not one of them ever came to find me.” He would not meet her eyes. “I have no other brothers.”

“Zaphenath.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I want you to find peace.”

“And you think,” Zaphenath said evenly, “that going back into a prison is going to do that?”

Ephraim stirred, mumbling something before growing still again.

“I’ll go put him back down,” Asenath whispered.

Zaphenath shook his head. “Let me take him.”

He brushed through the curtain leading out of the room, and Asenath stepped out after him, watching as her husband walked down the shadowed corridor with their son resting quietly in his arms. And she stood there, waiting, in the candlelit darkness, until her husband returned, slowly drawing closer until, close enough, he looked at her, and she looked at him.

“You are everything I have,” he whispered.

She leaned in against him, feeling how tightly he held onto her. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I love you too.”