Dreams or Mr. Spock Achieves Psionic Contact

S cripture isn’t a big fan of the quiet moments. There’s no Netflix and chill when it comes to the patriarchs. In fact, Genesis may be a viable substitute for epinephrine. These stories could keep Chev Chelios’ adrenaline spiked for hours. By all rights, we should be discussing Jacob’s AARP membership or shuffle board activity, but Genesis 37 doesn’t record any down time. We join the program already in progress. The focus is now on Jacob’s favorite son, Joseph, a seventeen-year-old Manny Heffley who’s always tattling on his older brothers (v. 2). Any time he finds a nudie magazine or catches them smoking pot behind the 7-Eleven, he runs and tells Daddy. As the eleventh-born of twelve sons he’s got about as much clout as Nathaniel Mayweather, but Jacob loves him more than the others and makes no effort to hide it. He even makes Joseph a special coat. The Hebrew text indicates a high-quality woolen tunic (v. 3). How colorful it was is up for debate. That’s right. The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was actually an itchy wool cardigan. That’s disappointing. Color scheme aside, the blatant favoritism puts the brothers in a perpetual Jeannie Bueller mood (v. 4). To make matters worse, Joseph brags to everyone about the dreams he has of them kowtowing to him (vv. 7-9). This goes over about as well as you’d expect. It only takes a couple of dreams before the brothers are ready to ship him off to the City of Lost Children for a one-on-one with Krank. Even Jacob reprimands him for throwing it in their faces (v. 10).

As usual, Scripture doesn’t give the suspense a chance to build before it blows up the safe house from sixteen different angles. It all goes sideways when Joseph is sent to check on his brothers while they’re out with the flocks several counties over (v. 14). With no one around for miles, the brothers huddle up and discuss payback, but they’re not interested in handing out another atomic wedgie. Instead, they reach for their brass knuckles, conspiring, “[L]et us kill him and throw him into one of the pits … Then let us see what will become of his dreams” (v. 20). Unaware of the peril he’s in, Joseph saunters up whistling “Any Dream Will Do” only to be stripped down to his Calvin Kleins and tossed in a hole (vv. 23, 24). Reuben persuades the others not to murder him, but when he steps away for a minute the remaining brothers decide to make a quick buck selling Joseph to some traveling salesmen (v. 28). The text reveals via flashback that he pleads with them like Bernie Bernbaum, but it’s a little late for convincing his disgruntled siblings to look in their hearts (see Gen. 42:21). Reuben is upset when he finds out what they’ve done in his absence, but considering their original plan involved the lonely grave of Paula Schultz, it’s still a better outcome (v. 29). To cover their tracks the brothers rip Joseph’s tunic and smear it with animal blood, leading their father to believe he’s has suffered a fate worse than Hugh Glass (vv. 31-33).

After having a Chuck Noland funeral, Jacob commits himself to a perpetual state of mourning that makes it impossible for the brothers to forget what they’ve done (v. 35). In the immediate aftermath Judah, the brother who suggested selling Joseph in the first place, strikes out on his own. Genesis 38 doesn’t hesitate to follow him into the realm of sex, lies and videotape. Going against Hebrew tradition, he marries a Canaanite woman and together they have three sons: Er, Onan and Shelah. The narrative doesn’t offer a play-by-play of the boys’ formative years, so you’ll have to insert your favorite episode of Growing Pains here. Next thing you know, Judah is locating a wife for Er. He finds a girl named Tamar who’s willing to marry his poorly named son, but the union ends abruptly when Er inexplicably dies. The text doesn’t offer specifics. It only says he’s “evil in the sight of [God],” which is immediately followed by “so [God] took his life” (v. 7). It’s the first time we see God drop an anvil on someone without prior explanation and it’s a little disconcerting.

In the wake of Er’s death, Onan marries Tamar to “raise up offspring” in his brother’s name (v. 8), but whenever they dim the lights he goes against his obligation by utilizing ye ole pull-out method so she won’t get pregnant (v. 9). Once again, we find the phrase “[W]hat he did was displeasing in the sight of [God]” (v. 10). It’s another death sentence. It would appear the brothers shared similar bedroom tactics. Judging by God’s reaction, you’d think they had a penchant for fava beans, Chianti and human flesh, not Ron Jeremy’s finishing move. It all goes back to “be fruitful and multiply.” Yep. It’s official. Genesis 1:28 has more lives than Michael Myers. Er (apparently) and Onan (obviously) were shirking their responsibility to multiply and it cost them big time.

Judah doesn’t know the details of why his sons died and he’s not about to watch their home videos. He simply views Tamar as a Catherine Petersen femme fatale: men who marry her have a funny way of dying. And even though he asks her to wait for Shelah to grow up, he has no intention of allowing her to marry his only remaining son (v. 11). The years pass and, eventually, Judah becomes a widower himself. But when he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain with son #3, Tamar takes matters into her own hands. Hearing that he’s coming to town on business, she dresses up like Vivian Ward and stations herself where he’ll take notice (v. 14). It appears Judah has picked up a Charlie Sheen reputation. How else would she know the oldest profession would get his attention? The plan works. Judah doesn’t recognize Tamar all dolled up with a face veil and assumes she’s a prostitute. He buys her company for the price of a goat—eat your heart out, John Gage—but has to hand over his signet ring as a security deposit (vv. 15-18). Of course, once the hookup is over the “prostitute” mysteriously disappears and he has no way of delivering the goat or recovering his ring. Ain’t no problem like a 1900 B.C.E. problem.

Things get more complicated when it becomes apparent Tamar is pregnant. The general assumption is she’s gone the way of Rae Doole, but when Judah learns about her condition he skips the Lazarus Redd treatment in favor of an old-fashioned lynch mob, intending to burn her alive (v. 24). As sexist double standards go, this one’s a doozy. The guy who had sex with her is about to kill her for having sex with him. He’s about to douse Tamar with kerosene when she produces his signet ring (v. 25). The lynch mob’s collective gasp is enough to put out every torch in the room. Judah goes from sanctimonious douche bag to the guy who unwittingly knocked up his daughter-in-law in a matter of seconds. Lucky for her, he sucks it up in front of everyone and admits she’s right (v. 26). The story ends with Tamar giving birth to twin sons. And you thought your family was screwed up. But wait. Why does Scripture even bother telling this convoluted tale? Is it working the sex sells angle for higher ratings? Not exactly. As it turns out, Judah and Tamar’s bloodline is the origin of the most notable Hebraic lineage of them all: the Davidic dynasty. I guess clicking on that ancestry.com leaf wasn’t such a hot idea, after all.

We finally catch back up to Joseph in Genesis 39, where, after being sold repeatedly, he winds up in Egypt as a slave to Potiphar, one of Pharaoh’s top brass officials. God’s bizarro timing is again on full display. Instead of preventing Joseph’s enslavement, he shows up after the fact to provide a little behind the scenes assistance with his new boss (v. 2). Despite being a total Solomon Northup, Joseph quickly earns his master’s trust and is put in charge of the entire house (v. 6). But his work ethic isn’t the only thing that garners attention. Scripture says his physical appearance makes Jacob Palmer look like Kuato. His presence around the house keeps Potiphar’s wife so hot and bothered they have to set the thermostat at 58° year around—and there isn’t a person on the premises who isn’t sick of hearing George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” Her advances are oppressive. Anytime they’re alone she cranks up the Julia Harris tactics to eleven (v. 7). It only gets worse when he refuses her.

One fateful afternoon she corners him in full-on Mrs. Robinson seduction mode (vv. 10-12). As Inspector Clouseau would say, “Ahh, the old take-off-all-your-clothes ploy.” She comes on so strong Joseph has to make a run for it. But when her husband gets home, she sings a different tune, making up an Adrian Forrester rape claim. Her evidence is the robe Joseph left in her grabby hands during his escape. Potiphar blows his stack when he hears the allegation and has innocent Joseph tossed in the clink (vv. 16-20). Once again, God doesn’t prevent him from taking the fall, but sees to it he finds favor with the prison warden, who puts him in charge of all the inmates (v. 22). That settles it. God’s definitely got a dry sense of humor.

While Joseph is in jail, a couple of Pharaoh’s former employees are also imprisoned. One is a cupbearer, the other a baker. The text doesn’t give a reason for their incarceration, but these aren’t the kind of guys who have teardrops tattooed on their faces. Their “crimes” likely had something to do with Pharaoh finding a fly in his soup. Whatever the case, the two men end up in Joseph’s care. I know what you’re thinking. But, no. These guys don’t have aspirations like Virgil Hilts and Archibald Ives. Genesis 40 says the new fish have dreams soon after their arrival, which they recount in detail to Joseph. He interprets the cupbearer’s dream as early parole and being hired back as Pharaoh’s chief bartender (vv. 12, 13). But the baker’s dream turns out to be a Freddy Krueger nightmare when Joseph interprets it to mean Pharaoh will have him hung (vv. 18, 19). And, sure enough, in three days’ time the cupbearer goes back to being a regular Brain Flanagan, while the baker gets the Jed Cooper treatment. Joseph asks the cupbearer to mention him to Pharaoh—“and get me out of this building”—indicating his work for Potiphar probably made its rounds through the royal grapevine (v. 14). But, in spite of everything, the cupbearer forgets about him as soon as he gets out and Joseph remains locked up (v. 23).

Two years later he’s still in jail. At this point, the Raquel Welch poster in his cell is starting to look suspicious. Meanwhile, up in the royal palace, Pharaoh is brooding over a couple of dreams he can’t figure out. Genesis 41 says he tries everything to understand their meaning, even resorting to the Psychic Friends Network (v. 8). It’s enough to make the cupbearer finally remember when Joseph showed off his Alex Gardner skills in prison. He relates the dreamscape moment to Pharaoh and Joseph is immediately released (vv. 9-14). After a shower and shave he’s taken to the royal court, where Pharaoh requests his expertise in dream interpretation. Joseph plays it cool: “It is not in me.” He lets his words hang in the air just long enough to make the cupbearer break into a sweat, before adding, “God will give Pharaoh a favorable answer” (v. 16). Once the God factor is established, Joseph gets his inception on and sifts through Pharaoh’s dreams like Dominick Cobb, extracting all of the vital information. He concludes that Egypt will experience seven years of prosperity, followed by seven years of severe poverty (vv. 25-32). Pharaoh is so impressed by the interpretation he puts Joseph in charge of preparing for the impending famine.

Joseph is suddenly under contract for seven seasons of Doomsday Preppers. Pharaoh gives him his signet ring and a position second only to the throne (vv. 40-45). It’s a ginormous step up for the former slave/convict. Pharaoh also hooks him up with a local chick named Asenath, the daughter of Potiphara. According to Jewish lore, Potiphara is transgender Potiphar. Legend has it Joseph’s old boss transitioned from Mort Pfefferman to Maura during his stint in jail. Either that or he was Tanya Peters all along. But as fun as this LGBT version is, Scripture says Potiphara was actually a temple priest for the Egyptians’ favorite god, Ra.

Over the next seven years Joseph gathers up food in massive storage warehouses. The text says he stockpiled grain “like the sand of the sea” (v. 49). For all of you literalists out there, this is a literary device called hyperbole. It means he collected a lot of food. Ironic, because, as a rule, Egyptians didn’t allow Hebrews anywhere near their food (see Gen. 43:32). During his service to Potiphar, the kitchen was only place off limits to Joseph (see 39:6). Now he’s swimming in their grain vaults like Scrooge McDuck. Somebody cue up Alanis Morissette, because this is just a little too ironic. Don’t you think? At the same time, he does a little multitasking with his new wife (wink-wink, nudge-nudge), who gives birth to two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim. Then, just as predicted, a dust bowl famine arrives in Egypt and quickly spreads across the region. Soon, people are showing up from all over to buy food from Joseph (v. 57).

Genesis 42 reveals Canaan is suffering from the famine like everywhere else, so when news of Egypt’s fully stocked grocery store reaches Jacob, he instructs his sons (except for Benjamin) to go check it out (vv. 2-4). Unaware of who’s running the store, the brothers breeze into town to pick up a few essentials. None of them recognize Joseph when they reach the checkout counter, but they all hit the dirt out of respect for his position (v. 6). Yep. The dreams that pissed them off twenty years ago just crash-landed on their faces. They don’t know it, but the guy wearing the Egyptian headdress and guy-liner is their kid brother and his motive for revenge makes John Wick look like a reactionary.

Keeping his identity hidden, Joseph runs his brothers through a series of questions using Jack Bauer interrogation tactics (vv. 7-9). By falsely accusing them of espionage he’s able to ask specific questions about the family without drawing their suspicion. But in order to prove they’re telling the truth, he has Simeon imprisoned and insists the others bring their (his) younger brother, Benjamin, when they return. With their backs against the wall, the brothers openly discuss what they did to Joseph and view their current circumstances as karmic justice (v. 21). Reuben even takes the opportunity to say, “I told you so” (v. 22). Yeah, he’s that guy. Since Joseph is intentionally using Evelyn Carnahan as his interpreter, they don’t realize he understands everything they say. He actually gets a little misty-eyed when he hears their discussion and has to step away so they won’t notice (v. 24).

On their way home the brothers find the money they used to pay for the food in their grocery sacks. Not knowing Joseph deliberately had it placed there, they freak out: “What is this that God has done to us?” (v. 28). Their trip has gone from Del Griffith bad to Neal Page worse. Back home, they break the news about Simeon to their father and tell him Benjamin will have to return with them if they ever want to shop in Egypt again. Jacob doesn’t take the news well (v. 36). His attachment to the now thirty-one-year-old Benjamin is Norma Bates creepy. He can’t bear the thought of something happening to his youngest son, but when they run out of food again in Genesis 43, he doesn’t have much choice. Jacob finally gives in when Judah goes into Frank Farmer bodyguard mode and takes personal responsibility for Benjamin’s safety (v. 9). At their father’s insistence, they also take along a Whitman’s sampler of everything the region has to offer (vv. 11-15). Loaded down with everything but the state bird, they return to Egypt. But no sooner do they arrive than Joseph has them pulled aside. The brothers think they’re in for more trouble, but instead they get reunited with Simeon and escorted to Joseph’s house (vv. 19-24). When Joseph sees Benjamin he has to resist having a Peter Loew breakdown. You can’t blame that sort of crying on allergies. He has to leave the room and compose himself (vv. 30, 31). As Ron Burgundy would say, “I’m in a glass case of emotion!” When he returns, they all sit down to a banquet, with Benjamin receiving a Chet Ripley portion that rivals the Old ’96er (v. 34). Joseph is the only person in attendance who knows it’s a family reunion, but you wouldn’t know it seeing how they all kick back together and get sloppy drunk.

But just when it looks like the brothers’ luck has changed, Genesis 44 sees Joseph sneak his silver chalice into Benjamin’s grocery bag (v. 2). They’re barely out of the city when he sends men in pursuit to search for his “missing” cup. Confident of their innocence, they don’t invoke their Fourth Amendment rights against unreasonable searches and immediately pay the price when the cup is located with Benjamin (vv. 12, 13). Benjamin does his best Austin Powers, “That’s not my bag, baby!” but the joke is so old it doesn’t even get a laugh in ancient Egypt. Unable to refute the evidence at hand, they return to the city to face the charges. They have three options: 1) hunt down the one-armed man who framed them, 2) hire Cousin Vinny to defend them or 3) throw themselves at Joseph’s mercy. They pick number three. But when Joseph announces that only Benjamin will be detained, Judah approaches him and painstakingly retells the whole story, culminating with a request to take Benjamin’s place (vv. 18-34). After hearing his brother’s impassioned speech, Joseph is unable to hide his emotion any longer. In Genesis 45, he finally takes off his Clark Kent glasses to reveal his true identity (vv. 3-5). The brothers don’t believe him at first—“Wait, put the glasses back on. Now take them off again”—but once he convinces them, all they can see is Mr. Jigsaw dressed up like a Wilderness Girl. It’s so obvious.

Once the curtain has been pulled back, you expect Joseph to take his gloating revenge. As Mr. Benedict would say, “Gentlemen! Since you’re about to die anyway, I may as well tell you the entire plot.” But that’s not what he does. Instead, he’s all cool blue Dr. Manhattan logic: “God sent me before you … to keep you alive” (v. 7). Somebody give this guy a medal. After everything that’s happened, he should be sitting around like Danny McGrath, revising his “People to Kill” list while smearing on lipstick, not offering to save the guys who sold him down the river. But the way Joseph sees it, his brothers’ actions were not only unavoidable, they were necessary: “[I]t was not you who sent me here, but God” (v. 8).

Joseph instructs his brothers to return home and tell their father he’s still alive. Like Snake Plisskin, reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated. He also extends an invitation for the whole family to come live in Egypt. Pharaoh shows his approval by offering them “the best of the land” (vv. 16-20). The brothers hurry home, but have a tough time convincing their old man his favorite son came out on the rosy side of an Alex Furlong freejack (v. 26). It isn’t until Jacob sees the limousine Joseph sent for him that he comes around (v. 27). That’s when he does his happy dance. The family packs their bags accordingly and hits the road in Genesis 46. Somebody call George Jefferson. It looks like we’re movin’ on up to the Far East side. Along the way, God appears to Jacob in a vision, reassuring him on the big move: “[D]o not be afraid to go down to Egypt” (vv. 2-4). After what God told his grandfather in Genesis 15:13 this feels a little disingenuous. We all know what Admiral Ackbar would say if he was in this position, but Jacob lost interest in being in control a long time ago. At this point, he’s willing to take God at his word. And yeah, if God’s reassurance is anything like his timing, I may have to eat my words.

The family sets up camp outside of the city in Goshen. Joseph rides out to greet them in a chariot powered by his own tears. When he reaches the camp, he falls into his father’s arms like Alan Parrish after a long game of Jumanji (v. 29). It’s a tearful reunion two decades in the making.

To secure his family’s residence in the land, Joseph goes to Pharaoh in Genesis 47 to ensure they can live and work in the region until the time comes for them to return to Canaan. Pharaoh agrees (v. 6). But it’s still hard time killing floor blues in Egypt. The severity of the famine drives the Egyptian people to the brink. They make the Joad family look like aristocrats. They empty their bank accounts, sell off their livestock, hand over the deeds to their property and finally commit themselves as serfs to Pharaoh in return for groceries (vv. 13-25). Meanwhile, Joseph provides the requisite food his family needs to survive while they enjoy the best of the land in Goshen. It’s a good thing Joseph decided to use his power for good. He could’ve just as easily taken the Thanos route and used his Infinity Gauntlet to snuff out his offending family members. Instead, he sets them up with free room and board in the Hamptons. Apparently, revenge is a dish best served at a nice little bed and breakfast just outside of the city.

Seventeen years into his stay in Egypt, Jacob reaches his final days. Genesis 48 relays his patriarchal blessing to Joseph by taking on his two grandkids, Manasseh and Ephraim, as his own, promising them a portion with his twelve sons (v. 5). Then, in a bit of familial irony, he gives the youngest a larger blessing than the eldest (vv. 13-20). This time there’s no smoke and mirrors. The rest get theirs in Genesis 49. Jacob gives each son a shout out, although Reuben loses his inheritance for bumping uglies with his step-mom, Bilhah (see Gen. 35:22 to relive the awkward moment), and Simeon and Levi don’t fare any better due to their vigilante killing spree (see Gen. 34:25). As a result, Judah, the fourth-born, ends up getting the top-shelf blessing (vv. 8-12). Thao still gets the Gran Torino, though. After making his kids promise to bury him in the family plot Abraham acquired, Jacob dies (v. 29). He’s 147. They honor his final wishes in Genesis 50 by taking his remains back to Canaan (v. 13).

As soon as their dad is out of the picture, the brothers get nervous and tell a precautionary lie about Jacob making a deathbed request for Joseph to forgive them for what they did (vv. 15-18). It’s safe to say Jacob never found out the truth. The phrase “Don’t tell Dad” likely originated with these guys. They probably cranked out more lies than Fletcher Reede to cover their asses. But Joseph plays along and reassures them anyway, shifting the focus back to God again: “[Y]ou meant evil against me, but God meant it for good … I will provide for you and your little ones” (vv. 19-21). Worst revenge plot ever. Edmond Dantès is crying himself to sleep in Château d’If as we speak.

The narrative concludes with Joseph dying at the relatively young age of 110 (v. 26). Many of his brothers outlive him. That’s how Genesis ends. It’s like witnessing Bill Lumbergh come out on top: “Um, we have sort of a problem here.” There’s nothing fair about the circumstances of the story, but it still accomplishes its goal that countless people survive, so it’s hard to criticize the outcome. As for God, his relatively low-profile status in all of this tells us one important thing: he’s not beyond participating in a Choose Your Own Adventure story. That doesn’t get us any closer to answering the question of his trustworthiness, but at least now we know he’s not a control freak. And, it seems to me, knowing what God isn’t may be just as important as knowing what he is.