Recently when I was rereading the story of Joseph in the Bible, one sentence stopped me short: "Now there arose up a new king over Egypt, which knew not Joseph." Ex. 1:8. I asked myself, "How could that be?" "Weren't there court historians who kept alive the memory and great deeds of the celebrated Hebrew who became the highest authority of the kingdom, second only to Pharaoh, who sustained the nation during the years of the great famine, who forgave his brothers for selling him into slavery, and who brought his father into Egypt—a towering figure?"
In a Bible commentary I found an answer. The Hyksos, foreign invaders from Asia, were the rulers of Egypt during the years of Joseph's adventures. They were tolerant, cordial to the Hebrews. But they were overthrown by a native dynasty who then treated Joseph's people like serfs. Not only did the new Pharaoh not know Joseph personally; the Bible points out in no uncertain terms that the new Pharaoh was indifferent to him, acting with complete disregard for what Joseph had done.
As I thought further about the account, I understood why it had so significant an impact on me. I had recently retired, after many years in the media; I was beset with a sense of being "out of the loop," no longer in a busy, active scene. Every time I watched television, I kept looking at the credits at the end of the shows, hoping to see a name I knew, but there wasn't one I recognized. The writers, directors, actors, producers, with whom I had been associated had been swallowed up by the flow of time. In their place was a new generation, a "new king" who knew nothing of them. Who remembered me? My pride was hurt; my personal ego was pained.
