Potiphar's Wife

She was a woman of status, wealth, and power. The wife of Potiphar, an Egyptian official of high rank, lived in privilege, surrounded by luxury. Servants answered her every call, and she wanted for nothing—except, perhaps, the one thing she could not have.

Then came Joseph, a Hebrew slave, young and strikingly handsome. More than his looks, he carried himself with a quiet strength. He was diligent and intelligent, and unlike the men of Egypt, he feared God. In time, he became Potiphar’s most trusted servant, overseeing everything in the household. But Potiphar was a busy man, often away, consumed with matters of Pharaoh’s court. His wife left in the vast halls of their estate, grew restless.

At first, it was curiosity. Then admiration. And finally, obsession. She watched Joseph move about, commanding the respect of the household. He was different—honorable, untouchable. And that made him irresistible. Power was something she was used to wielding, but here was a man she could not control. So she pursued him.

“Come lie with me,” she whispered one day, stepping close. But Joseph refused.

“How could I do such a wicked thing and sin against God?” he said, stepping back, his voice steady, respectful, but firm.

Rejection was foreign to her. She had always gotten her way, always bent the will of others to her desires. Day after day, she tried, flattering him, tempting him, even using her authority. But Joseph held his ground. And that rejection, that defiance—it turned her desire into something darker.

One day, she caught him alone, seizing him by his cloak. But Joseph fled, leaving the garment in her hands. Humiliated, her desire twisted into rage. She would not be shamed. If he would not give in to her willingly, she would destroy him.

“He tried to attack me!” she cried, clutching the cloak as evidence. And just like that, with one lie, she turned the house against him. Potiphar, whether he believed her or not, had no choice but to act. Joseph was thrown into prison, his life turned upside down by the false accusation of a scorned woman.

But is this story so ancient? Or does it repeat itself in different ways today?

How many lives have been ruined by false accusations? How many innocent people have suffered because they refused to compromise their values? In offices, schools, and communities, some use power to manipulate and destroy when they don’t get what they want. When integrity stands in their way, they choose revenge over truth. The world has seen careers shattered, reputations smeared, and lives derailed because someone, somewhere, refused to play along.

And what of Potiphar’s wife? We do not even know her name. The Bible leaves her nameless, as if to strip her of identity, or perhaps to make her a symbol rather than an individual. Was it deliberate? Does it matter? She is every person who abuses power, every individual who twists the truth for personal gain. She remains an enigma—was she a woman driven by loneliness, entitlement, or sheer arrogance? Was she desperate for attention, or intoxicated by the power she held over others? In the end, she is not just a figure of the past but a symbol of something that still exists today: the abuse of power, the twisting of truth, and the destruction caused by unchecked desire. She is the reminder that some people, when denied what they want, will not hesitate to burn everything down—even if it means ruining an innocent life.

I want to know her name—why? Because she is part of history, infamously recorded. But anyway, whoever you are, we know you as Potiphar’s wife.