That was Pharaoh's predicament, as told in Legends of the Jews.
He summons all his wise men, his magicians, his interpreters of dreams. "Tell me," he demands, "what do these visions mean?" He recounts the images burned into his mind: seven fat cows, sleek and healthy, suddenly devoured by seven gaunt, starving cows. Then, seven full ears of corn, ripe for harvest, swallowed by seven withered, blighted ears.
Silence. Confusion. Then, tentative guesses.
Some suggested the seven fat cows represented seven legitimate kings who would reign over Egypt. And the seven lean cows? Seven princes, rebels who would rise up, overthrow, and utterly destroy those kings. A grim prediction of political turmoil.
Others focused on the corn. The seven good ears, they said, were seven superior princes of Egypt, destined to wage war for their overlord. But the seven blasted ears? They foretold the defeat of these powerful princes by an equal number of insignificant princes. An upset of epic proportions.
But none of these interpretations satisfied Pharaoh. They felt…incomplete. Lacking a certain resonance. Were these merely political prophecies? Was there something deeper at play? He needed answers, definitive answers, to calm his troubled mind. Little did he know, the true interpreter, the one who held the key to unlocking the meaning of these dreams, was waiting in the wings. A man named Joseph. But that, my friends, is a story for another time.