Yosef

I looked fabulous in my pretty princess dress.

As I bumped along on the camel, feeling every bruise, I reviewed my mistakes. I’d thought myself untouchable, with dad’s approval. If you’re different, if you’re fresh faced enough to be called na’ar at seventeen, and you’re surrounded by farmers who wouldn’t know kohl if it bit them, you learned to protect yourself young. I’d let myself forget. I’d trusted my brothers were afraid enough of dad. I thought I was protected by the family tradition of picking a single heir. None of it had mattered a few days out from home. They beat me. They took my gown. They left me in a pit. Whatever. I’m done with provincial attitudes.

---

I hear that, in the big city, men regularly darken their eyes and curl their hair. People say the place is narrow. I just need it to be broad-minded.

---

I’ve met the most wonderful person. Potiphar the Saris, or, as he prefers, the Mother of House Potiphera. I had a few days of sleeping rough before he came across me. He took one look at me, and asked, in his limited Ivrit, “Are you cool to party? Letzachek?” He’s everything I aspire to be - sophisticated, elegant. A true lady. I’ve lived with him ever since.

There are others living in the house. There’s another Ivri, Osnat. She’s like a daughter to Potiphar. I like her, she feels comfortable. She doesn’t talk about home, but then, neither do I.

The only person I struggle with is Potiphera’s beard. She says I’m no fun, that Potiphar brought me in to play, and I won’t play with her. She scares me. And intrigues me.

---

Well. That was stressful. At least Phera managed to partly protect me - I’m not dead, and I’m in a cushy jail. Still. I got complacent again.

---

I’ve arrived! I’m in charge of Egypt. Married to Osnat. If only my brothers could see me now! I could rub it in their faces. Hah.

They aren’t important, though. I never think of home. My first born is even named “Hashem helped me forget them”, in gratitude!

---

Oh Em Gee. My brothers, my torturers, came to beg from me! And they still don’t know me! They never knew me, even back then. I caused some chaos! They don’t know what to think of me.

But I had forgotten Binyamin. The way they described him - a child for dad’s old age - is exactly what they said about me. He must be hurting, surrounded by these brutes. I have to see him, to know he’s okay. Better he should be with me.

Thinking of him makes my heart pull oddly. I don’t recognize the feeling.

---

I understand now. It was never about me.

There’s a wound that is healed, seeing Dad again, having my family see me again. In many ways, I think they don’t get it, don’t understand me. But it’s enough.

Dad won’t be around much longer. The remaining time is precious.

                                                          בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה הי
                                                 אֶלֹהֵ’נוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם
                                                   שֶנָתַן לָנוּ הִזְדַּמְנוּת
                                                      לְתָקֵן אֶת הָעוֹלָם