charge is to insure we are our brother's keeper. If not, we should treat him as anyone condemned and offer him a last supper, asking him to dine with us, perhaps wondering if hearing his pleas might change our minds.
Dan: We listen and consider your words, but who can hunger for food with distress churning our stomachs?
Levi: Here comes a band of our wayward cousins who perhaps would be more than willing to adopt him, to remove him from inflaming our enmity, erasing guilt we will certainly bear. Destine him to be a slave, rewarding us more than fating him to be a corpse, realizing he would be more valuable alive than dead, but uncertainty would prevail, wondering if he might suddenly reappear, to taunt our virtue, springing on us fearfully, inciting on us anxiety for certain retribution.
Simeon: Remove him from the pit; pull him up undamaged; protect his value; we might profitably haggle for him, offering him for sale.
Bystander: (aside) So much value does Joseph now prove to bear, knowing brothers would never trash the life of a potential scapegoat, presented by providence, surprising them, offering a life-saving option, a way to send their sinful hatreds into the distant isolation of life's wilderness, cleansing them of any wrong-doing, trusting their deed would be soon forgotten, confident its memory would never return, agreeing what is deemed acceptable, reasoned to satisfy their dilemma, ongoing hatred working to tear their fragile peace asunder, but they must beware of the banished beast returning, coming home to roost in the home it grew to know, inherently established by its steward.
Ishmaelite spokesman: I see you have a man with a for sale sign. He must be worth little as you treat him as one sentenced to death rather than one for sale, thinking you would array him in his best attire, seeing you must think this naked one need not be dressed, valuing him no more clothed than as he came. Has he no wraps to cover his body, to decorate his coming out, as I see only grave-coverings of his nakedness?
Levi: I am chosen to describe his value, to convince you of his worth, asking you to make a reasonable offer.
Ishmaelite spokesman: What do you beg for your worthless one, having little more than youth, his stark nudity reflecting no virtues to extend his life, little even to spark a maiden's interest?
Dan: He is strong, promising to make him a good worker. Faulted only by claims for wisdom, self-asserting himself to be a prophet, such discerning prophets often being self-destructive, he troubled his family, broadcasting grandiose dreams, predicting his ascension to a lordship, infuriating his brothers, visioning them bowing down, compelled to honor him in glory, but his lofty perceptions matter none now, as we prepare to send his faults away, enslaving them to some wandering nomad, securing his visions, blinding others from their sight, never permitting them to determine anyone's worthiness.
Ishmaelite spokesman: Dream makers can be trouble, never knowing what they will do, believing they should flee when given the chance, and trusting we are solving your problems, his value cannot be great, no more than these pieces of silver I will fling into the dust, knowing you will eagerly pick them up, consummating a bargain to seal his fate.
Dan: He should cause you no problems but you must bind any visionary, as all prophets, in shackles, never knowing how a new dream will direct him. Worse than selling him to you would be for him to escape and find his way home, reporting these actions to our father, turning his lamentation to anger, destroying any remaining love he keeps for us. Measure one coin for each of the ten of us, one not with us at the moment.
Ishmaelite spokesman: We have shackles to bind him securely, insuring he cannot free himself; see him now as we tether him in chains, suffering in silence and submission, never being the rascal you describe him to be, never rebelling with any pleading words. I have already agreed on his worth but something tells me his value could be greater, imagining him worth much more alive than dead.
Joseph: Does anyone hear my words, proclaiming I suffer in silence, listening and believing my thoughts are not empty, acknowledging my soul has something worthwhile to say, begging someone to understand visions truly from my heart, compelled to be revealed, prompting their telling, instructed to determine my fate. My God, whom I praise, do not remain silent, for people who are wicked and deceitful have opened their mouths against me, speaking against me, exercising their deceitful tongues, surrounding me with venomous words, spewing hatred, attacking me without cause, returning my friendship with accusations, repaying me evil for good and hatred for my loving kinship, but acknowledge I remain a man of prayer.
Judah: We can now claim to be upright, deciding not to murder our brother, merely sending him on a journey where he could serve some useful purpose, removing him from contempt nagging our conscience, cleansing us of blame so we might all become blameless. Reuben returns. We must tell him of Joseph's departure.
Reuben: I see no one in the pit. Did Joseph suffer some fate worse than we decided? Did you console yourselves with a mayhem without redemption, slaying our father's joy as a lasting retribution, condemning your conscience to eternal damnation?
Levi: As the spokesman for justice, I tell you we did not destroy our brother. We sold him to traders of valuable merchandise, knowing he will become someone's important commodity, maybe beginning as a slave, working up to become a servant, and if his dreams can vault him into a leadership position, he might shame ones like us, forever tending flocks of sheep. Look at the positive side his visions could bring, hopefully more than hatred as it brought us to bear for him.
Reuben: So he is now on a new journey, forever out of our sight. What are we to tell father, convincing him he will never see his favored one again?
Bystander: Fear should grip you, decided by an action trusted to free you, but constraining you in greater bondage than Joseph, one never in fear, testifying to his never being enslaved, remembering truth sets one free, asking now who is committed to slavery.
Reuben: Together we can devise a plan to hide the truth, trusting it to set us free from fear, concocting a deceit to console father.
Levi: We can use a goat from the sheepfold to dismiss our sin, without sending it into the wilderness, where it could find its way home to accuse us, but to remove our sins permanently by killing the beast and spreading its blood over Joseph's coat, torn asunder and bloodied to extinguish its light, bringing it back to father for testifying to Joseph's demise by the jaws of a beast, satisfying his blood did not stain our conscience.
Bystander: (aside) Could shredding his garment ever remove the shroud hiding truth? Levi must never be the one to tear apart the coat, making way for his progeny to thus proceed.
Reuben: Having angered father once, I still am troubled facing him. One of you must show guts to distress him with our lie, a fraud declaring Joseph dead when he still lives.
Simeon: Father considers Levi and I instruments of cruelty and knowing our hatred for little brother he will distrust anything we tell him. He never wants his soul to enter our council or his honor be united to our assembly. Choose Dan to tell him. Words come easily from one with a forked tongue.
Dan: Asher is richest with words and most blessed for believing, so let him tell father.
Asher: I have no need to tell him. He will recognize what happened with his reason, for on recognizing Joseph's coat, torn and bloodied, it could only be the work of some savage beast.
Bystander: Listen. Asher's words are true to his father's response.
Jacob: Patience hounds my entire existence. Waiting to be born second, to win the favor of my father, deceiving him to steal his blessings--withheld for no good reason--making a trek to claim a wife of my choosing, toiling for years to be granted her hand, suffering through her barren womb for years, siring unfavored siblings through uncomely others, until God finally blessed my blessed wife with a special son, only for her to die in giving birth to another. I had little time to enjoy the fruits of her beauty, rewarding my patience with despair. Must my patience now begin anew, waiting to see him again, reborn and redeemed? I will prepar
e now, renting my garments, robing myself in grave's sack clothes, dusting my loins, ending their function, preparing patience for me to reunite with my favored son. Can memory's passing relieve my grief, knowing I must wait for God's timing?
Judah: (aside) Now with our hatred for a brother consummated, can our enmity end or must it find another victim, compelling our nature to prey on another, detesting the admonition to be another's keeper, continuing to follow our inner demons. Sworn to secrecy, never confessing, we have no conditions compelling us to repent, wondering if we can never expect redemption. Confession only within my heart, trusting God knows my heart, can never cleanse me of guilt, a baggage with lifelong consequences. Must I confess with my tongue, never knowing who must select to hear my words?
Reunion of Brothers in Disgrace
Bystander: The Ishmaelite caravan stopped for the night at an oasis, a place for resting and watering the animals. The design for Joseph's life began at a similar watering site, where his father and mother first met. Still shackled he refreshed as well as he