Joseph in Elephantine

    He was singing when Miriam found him, though his words were severely slurred and the melody had been reduced to mostly monotone. He was drunk. Again.

    “At the gates of heaven,” he mumbled. “At the gates of heaven
    apple trees white are blooming
    for their dearest love.”

    “Joseph, please. Come home my love.”

    He gulped down the last of the wine in his bowl and sang another verse. “At the gates of heaven
    the mother, the mother is sitting
    with her dearest love.”

    Miriam put her shoulder under his left arm and lifted him from the stool where he sat and together they staggered for the door of the tavern. The Bowl of Amun served mostly Egyptians. Joseph drank there to avoid the eye of his fellow Jews.

    They were in Elephantine, an island community on the Nile. There had been a Jewish community there for a few hundred years. Established originally by Jewish mercenaries. At one point the Jews there even had their own functioning temple, with priests and sacrifices – though it had been destroyed over four hundred years prior. There had been some conflict over a missing precious stone. The Egyptian residents of the island believed the Jews had stolen it and had reduced the temple to ruins.

    Miriam managed to get him home again and tucked to sleep on the straw pallet they shared. He snored and grunted as she pulled their thin blanket over him.

    “The baby is sleeping,” came a voice behind her. Miriam turned and saw Rahel, the eight year girl, a resident of the island community, who helped Miriam. She helped with the cleaning and with watching the boy, Yeshu.”

    “Thank you, Rahel,” Miriam said and kissed her on the forehead.

***

    It was dark. As dark as the valley and the shadow of death. Burning. Smoke and fire into the night. Smoke and screaming. Swords drawn and flashing. Clanking footgear over the ground and clothing rolled in blood. So much blood. On the ground. On the walls. Blood sprayed up over the ceiling. Then screaming.

***

    Joseph screaming and thrashing. “My love. My love,” Miriam soothed him. “Joseph, my love. I’m here. Be calm.” She wiped his face with a cool, wet rag and he drifted into a deeper, quieter sleep. Miriam sighed. “My love…”

    He woke before dawn and dressed in silence. There were no angels in his dreams these nights. Only smoke. Only screams. When he could sleep at all. Many nights it didn’t. Sleep came easier after several of Amun’s bowls. Miriam and the boy slept on. He stared at the boy and grunted.

    He’d been a farmer at home in Bethlehem before they’d fled, working a small plot of ancestral land. Here in Egypt he’d found work as part of a crew cutting and shaping stones for construction. It wasn’t the work he was used to, but he was strong and his hands were already calloused from hard labor. “The bricks have fallen; we rebuild with dressed stone,” he whispered as he smoothed a lock of hair on the boy’s head and went to work.

***

    From Bethlehem they’d fled to Gaza and the Zaraneeq reserve and into Egypt through Al-Farma. They stopped briefly near Zagazig, but the people there were unwelcoming and mistreated them. They’d sheltered under a sycamore tree at Matariya and drank from the well at Dir Al-Janous. They rested in a cave at Jabal Al-Tair but never settled. Always on the move. They were driven out again by the people of Qusqam. Restless. Fearful. They fled again and again finally finding some quiet on the Elephantine island. Egypt was a part of the Roman Empire and beyond the reach of Herod the half Jew king of Israel. But still, Joseph feared.

    “Get up,” the angel had said to him. “Take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod will search for the child in order to destroy him.” A godless and evil kng, for all his religious posturing among the priestly families – families that were loyal to Herod. Everything he said was madness. After all this time, would his anger be spent? Would his hand still be raised in anger? There was no angel to reassure Joseph. No dream, no vision. Only nightmares.

***

    “You’re late,” the foreman said to Joseph as he unrolled the leather pouch of his tools. “I’ve warned you once already. If it happens again, I’ll dock you half the day’s pay.”

    Joseph nodded but said nothing.

    “You know, I tolerate you Hebrews on my work crew, but…” Joseph withdrew his hammer and chisel and turned toward the foreman. “But. But,” the foreman stammered. “But I won’t tolerate laborers who can’t be punctual.”

    Joseph scowled. “Can I get to work now?”

    “You do that,” the foreman nodded. “Just watch yourself. I’ll be watching you too.”

    Joseph began shaping the stone before him with the chisel, hammering and chipping away to create the required shape. He spent the day pounding stone, carefully shaping the rock. He sweated in the sun. Every hammer blow rung in his ears.

    Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of heavy boots and slammed doors. The sound of collapsing walls. The sound of bodies falling to the floor. Thud. Thud. Thud. He heard the screams again and again.

    And then it was evening. He looked up from the stone and saw the sun low in the sky. The rest of the crew had already wiped down their tools, packed them away and were lined up at the paymaster’s table to receive their wages.

    “Joseph! What the hell are you doing?” the foreman yelled. “Get out of there!”

***

    She found him again deep into the bowl. “Joseph, please,” she whispered. “You cannot continue this…”

    “Leave me alone, Miriam.”

    “My husband. I cannot. I love you.”

    “You love a worthless man. You love a coward. A failure.”

    “Yeshu needs his father.”

    “Father!” he spat. “I am not his father. I am… I am… I am nothing.”

    Miriam’s eyes were wet with tears. “Yeshu is our child, our son. Whatever else may be said, this is the truth: A son has been given to us. To you and to me. Please, my love. Come home.”

    Joseph nodded and took her hand. “Miriam, I… I… All those children died and I did nothing. I did nothing to…”

    She stroked his face and smiled. “You did what needed to be done. You saved us. You saved our son.”

    “Is that enough?” He wept now. “Oh God! Is it enough?”

    She looked into his eyes. “Whoever saves a single life saves an entire world. You did that, Joseph. You saved us. And that is everything.”