In the time of Joseph, in the nation of Egypt
lunch was the first meal of the day.
It sounds counterintuitive as all the rest of
our sacred learning teaches us that
breakfast is the most important.
But Joseph’s brothers, at his insistence
and without knowing they shared his blood
agreed to come because they heard
there would be bread there and that’s
the whole reason they came to town.
Bread was scarce in Canaan and you
can’t base a neighborhood on a location
where there’s nothing to eat. They grovel
and prostrate, which is often how I am
when I’m hungry, but it’s never really
the emergency it was for them.
I’m lucky like that. I’ve got so many loaves
of bread, the breadbox demanded more money.
But I know it’s not like that for everyone.
And it sometimes feels like it’s held together
by a fragile thread. Anything could break it.
I might have to wander to the next town
to grovel for my lunch. Present their Joseph
with whatever they ask for just so my stomach
stops rumbling. This is the fire that keeps my
fingers moving. This is my portion of wheat.
This is my luck in life.