A hand gently shook my shoulder, rousing me from sleep. I awoke to total darkness.
“Get dressed,” my aunt whispered against my ear. “Pack your things. Wake no one.” Her dress swished down the ladder.
Eliav moaned in his sleep as I pulled my tunic over my head. I rolled my sheepskin sleeping mat as quietly as I could so as not to rouse him further. Holding my things under one arm, I slipped down the ladder. The flickering light of the hearth illuminated a clay statue set in a niche in the wall: the gift from the Queen.
Even in the half-light, I could see Aunt Leah’s eyes were red.
“Aunt, have you slept?”
“No.” Her head sank into her chest.
“What’s happening?” I rubbed my eyes to force them awake.
Aunt Leah breathed in a whispered cry as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “It’s time for you to leave this house.”
“Leave?” The word leapt out of my mouth too loudly. My eyes rose to the loft, but no one stirred.
“Eat. You’ll need your strength.” Aunt Leah laid a plate of bread and cheese on the table. I sat opposite her and took a small bite, though I had little appetite.
“Do you remember how, before you left with Master Uriel, I told you that you are the same to me as my own children?”
I struggled to swallow the unchewed morsel in my mouth. “Yes.”
“Well, I heard everything that happened last night. I know Menachem and Eliav bowed to the Baal. Dahlia told me you saw it too. I couldn’t sleep thinking of you. I wish Menachem and Eliav hadn’t bowed, but Menachem is my husband and Eliav my son, and I love them. I’d rather not have a Baal in the house, but there it is. I don’t want to bow down to it, but if my husband insists, I will.
“I love you too, Lev.” Aunt Leah stuffed bread and hard cheese into a sack. “But you’re not my son.” Tears now rolled freely down her cheeks.
I stared at my food as she sobbed.
“Your parents never would have raised you in a house with that abomination of an idol. My poor sister would never forgive me. For their sake—for yours—you cannot stay.” Aunt Leah’s head sank into her hands, her body shuddering.
I ate despite my lack of hunger, finding it easier to focus on bread than on its tear-stricken baker. Sleep was still heavy on my eyes, and I wanted nothing so much as to return to my bed.
Aunt Leah sat up, dried her eyes with the back of her hand, and gave me a weak smile that squeezed out two last tears from her eyes.
“Where will I go?” I remembered this time to keep my voice low.
“You could return to Master Uriel—”
“I’m not going back to him.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going back.” My words were final. “There must be another choice.”
Aunt Leah laid a fragment of parchment on the table before me, brown in color, tattered at its edges. I tilted it to read by the red light of the coals. Elazar ben Amram, Beit Shemesh was all it said. “What is this?”
“This is the name of your uncle, your father’s brother. He lives in the Kingdom of Judah. You can go to him and still be with your family, just…” She bit her lip. “Just…away from all of this.”
“Go to Judah?” It was the first mention I ever heard of family across the border.
“The road is guarded, but there are many paths through the mountains. Take this.” She lay a small pile of copper on the table. “Go to Mitzpah. Search there for a guide to lead you through the passes out of the Kingdom.”
Ignoring the copper, I lifted the parchment, my heart pounding. “Whose writing is this?”
“It’s your father’s. He wanted you raised with his family in Judah. Menachem deemed it too dangerous to move you during the war, and then…” Aunt Leah wiped her eyes again on the back of her hand. “But now I see your father was right. It will be better for you there than here.”
“Why?” Years of unanswered questions welled up inside. “Am I from the tribe of Judah? Is that why I have no inheritance here?”
“No, you’re not from Judah. You have no land there either.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Aunt Leah didn’t turn away as she normally did when I asked about my parents. “Master Uriel made us swear never to tell. He said that knowledge would put you at risk. But once you get to Judah, you’ll be safe. Your family there can explain everything.”
My eyes narrowed. So, Uriel was responsible for the secrets—for no one telling me the truth about my family.
A cough disturbed the quiet of the dark house. “That’s your uncle waking. Go now. I won’t have the strength to send you away with him here.” Aunt Leah added more bread to the sack and laid it on the table with a full skin of water. “Take the copper. It will get you across.”
“I don’t need it. I was paid more than that just for the wedding.”
“Take it anyway,” she said, her eyes pleading. “For me.”
I collected the dull pieces of metal and added them to my pouch. It held more wealth than I ever dreamed I’d have at this age. It felt heavy against my thigh but brought me no joy.
Aunt Leah opened the door. Pale gray predawn light illuminated the dirt path before me. Uncle Menachem’s heavy foot appeared on the top rung of the ladder, and I hurried through the open doorway.
“I love you, Lev,” was the last thing I heard as Aunt Leah closed the door behind me.
An orange glow backlit the eastern mountains as I headed down to the King’s Road in the valley below. I fought the desire to turn and look at my house one last time. I was on a path I hadn’t chosen, and it seemed best to keep my feet moving; if I hesitated now, I might not start again. As the trail dipped downhill, birdsong echoed around me. Thinking of Daniel, I considered stopping to listen, but it felt invigorating to just walk. I took my first deep breath of the morning, my chest expanding with dew-filled air.
The slip of parchment still tingled in my hand. I hadn’t looked at it since learning that it was my father’s writing—but I hadn’t let go of it either. There was a message in the note, but what was it? I studied it now, and my step faltered. My legs grew heavy at the thought of crossing the mountains into Judah—I’d never heard of anyone trekking that dangerous path. Who would I even ask to help me? Aunt Leah said they would explain everything in Judah. Explain what? Possibilities swirled in my mind, and I stumbled on a rock in my path.
I had to stop.
I dropped down onto a flat boulder by the roadside. I opened the parchment and stared at the scratchy handwriting, in a brown ink I’d never seen before, I willed it to reveal its secret. No guidance came. My face crumpled into my hands. I’d left so many places in the past weeks, but always with a clear destination. But now…now I was all alone.
The impossibility of this journey suddenly descended on me; I squeezed my eyes tight and bent over my trembling knees. Images whirled through my head: jugglers, prophets, musicians. My throat ached. Uriel rejected me; Aunt Leah sent me away. Who was left?
The pressure in my chest swelled, and a groan rose up from deep inside. A shudder passed through my body, and for the first time in five years, I began to cry. It started off slowly, the first drops barely squeezing out with each heave of my chest, as if my eyes had forgotten how. Their salty taste hit my tongue, evoking memories of a past when they’d flowed freely. A wail rose from my chest, and the tears broke free.
My shoulders shook as drops pockmarked the chalky soil at my feet grew pockmarked; my sobs silenced the last birds of the morning.
I don’t know how long I cried, but when I gazed up, the wind blew cool against my cheeks. My chest felt loose as I inhaled. My uncle’s words echoed in my mind, “Israel is wide enough for us all, if we each find our place.”
My head lifted toward the sky, and a plea welled up as I blinked away the last tears. My heart, no longer blocked, called out to the heavens as it never had before, “Where is my place?” I squeezed my eyes shut and sent all my will after the call.
The warmth of the newly risen sun caressed my face, and its golden rays penetrated my eyelids. I stood up from my cold stone seat, slipped the parchment with damp with tears into my pouch, slung my sack over my shoulder, and continued down the hill.
The junction with the King’s Road appeared ahead, and I paused to gaze back up at Levonah’s walls, reflecting the dawn light. I shook myself like a dog emerging from a cold spring. An image of Uriel rose in my mind—not stony with the anger of our last encounter, but suffused with the compassion and wisdom I’d come to know. I could almost hear his advice about trusting my heart.
I reached the junction just ahead of a group of men walking down the King’s Road from the north. They were all older than me and wore the worn summer clothes of farmers. What were seven farmers doing on the King’s Road at dawn? “Peace upon you,” I called to the one leading the pack.
“Upon you peace.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To the festival at Shiloh,” he answered with a smile. “Where goes the young man?”
I opened my mouth to say Mitzpah, but held myself back. The parchment with my father’s writing burned in my pouch—it was the key to all my questions. Yet, once I crossed into Judah—if I managed to make it alive—I’d probably never return. That piece of parchment had sat in my uncle’s house for ten years; another day or two wouldn’t make any difference. And hadn’t Zim said that Shiloh wasn’t to be missed? Besides, Shiloh was one step closer to Mitzpah. “I’m also going to Shiloh.”
“But you’re far too young,” one of the farmers laughed.
Now the whole group was staring at me—Zim never mentioned anything about age. “I’m a musician,” I said, hoping that made a difference.
“Oh, I see. Walk along with us if you like.”
“A musician, eh?” a particularly dirty farmer chuckled. “Why don’t you play us something?” I wasn’t interested in being their entertainment, but it was good to have company. I drew my kinnor forward and played the sheep’s watering nigun as we walked.
Dozens of men milled around the hill below Shiloh, and all seemed to be between the ages of twenty and forty. A second group gathered at the east side of the hill, but the two groups didn’t mix. Nervous laughter ran through the crowd. One of my companions laid a hand on my shoulder and pointed to a cluster of trees at the foot of the hill. “The musicians are over there.”
I approached the trees, finding five musicians playing as an older man scrutinized them, dropping comments and critiques. “Excuse me,” I said to the man, who took no notice. “Excuse me,” I called a little louder.
The old man turned, first looking over my head, then down until he met my eyes. “Yes?”
I’d never asked for work before. “I’m wondering if you…” I started, brandishing my kinnor.
“Ah, you’d like to play with us.” He smirked. “I’m sorry, I’ve got all the musicians I need.” The other musicians watched me now, a couple of them grinning. “Keep working on your music. Perhaps in a few years you can come join us.”
I nodded, my cheeks burning, and walked away, their music mocking my retreat. The musicians were good, but no better than me. The leader hadn’t even listened to me play. As I approached the King’s Road, their song faded, all but the drumming, which grew louder with each step.
I pulled the piece of parchment out of my pouch. It was stupid to think I could just show up and play—at least I hadn’t lost much time. If I moved quickly, I might still be able to reach Mitzpah by nightfall. All I could hear now was the drum, pounding louder and louder.
“Lev, you came!”
“Zim!” He stopped drumming and wrapped one stout arm around me, squeezing my face into his shoulder. “I thought you were staying in Shomron?”
“I told you, I never miss Shiloh. Yambalya said I could come.” Zim released me, and I rubbed my nose, which itched from scraping against his rough tunic. “You’re going the wrong way. The musicians set up over there.” “They didn’t want me. The leader didn’t even listen to me. He thinks I’m too young.”
Zim laughed. “I was barely older than you when I started coming. You’re not too young—you just look terrified. Come on.” Zim walked past, waving for me to follow. “Emanuel!” he called with his habitual confidence.
The old man saw Zim, and a genuine smile stretched across his face. “Zimri. I was hoping you’d come back. We can use your drum.” Emanuel caught sight of me. “I told your friend to come back in a couple of years. We don’t need any boys playing.”
Zim shook with laughter. “You must have some group this year if you think your musicians are better than the King’s.”
Emanuel started, his eyes lit with curiosity. “The King’s?”
“This is Lev ben Menachem. I played with him at the King’s wedding. I told him to come to Shiloh—I figured you could use the help.”
“But he’s just a boy.”
“You judge too much by appearances.” Zim ran a hand through his wavy, dark hair. “Have you listened to him play?”
“No.” Emanuel scratched his beard.
“Lev, let’s do that song we played for the juggler. You start, and I’ll join in. If the rest of you think you can follow along, feel free to try.”
All eyes were on me again, but now it felt completely different. I took my time preparing to play, first stretching out the fingers on my left hand, then on my right. No one spoke as they waited. I closed my eyes and let my fingers go.
Zim picked the right tune. It was fast, and the melody jumped around a complicated rhythm. If I hadn’t spent so much time practicing before the wedding, I would never have been able to lead it. As it was, I struggled to play it on my own. Zim let me start solo, then filled in the rhythm underneath. After one round, a nevel added its voice, not quite in rhythm. A halil joined in with a high, warbling note, but struggled to stay in tune and fell away.
Before long, all seven musicians were playing—the quality of the music nothing near the caliber of the wedding. I played the notes as crisply as I could in order to guide the others—suddenly aware of how much my abilities had grown since the gathering began. All of Daniel’s lessons had taken hold. I had more power and speed than before, but that wasn’t all. I was playing more loosely now, as I did at the wedding after two goblets of the King’s wine. This time, though, the freedom couldn’t have come from drink. It must have been from that morning’s flood of tears.
We played through the melody twice, then Zim departed from the rhythm into short rapid beats. I brought the tune to an end, sealing it with a bold final note that continued to reverberate even as I removed my hand from the strings and opened my eyes.
Emanuel’s attention was locked on me, eyes wide and mouth slack. Zim held back a laugh. “You can stay,” Emanuel said. “Let’s try that song again. We can add it tonight if the rest of you get it sharper.”
A molten sun faded in the west as a full moon rose over the ridge on the eastern horizon. The crowds on both sides of the hill continued to grow as the day wore on, but still hadn’t mingled. The musicians set up on a hillside overlooking an expanse of trellised grapevines, their avenues or arbors forming shadowed lanes over the land that lay between the two gatherings. An old man approached the near group, and chatter ceased as they surrounded him. I could tell that he spoke loudly, but we were too far away to hear what he was saying.
When the old man finished, he left the first group and walked along the edge of the vineyard toward the second, passing directly below the musicians.
I nudged Zim and pointed. “Hey, that’s Master Yosef!”
“That’s right. He comes here every year. That’s how I got hired to play for the prophets this summer—he heard me last year and asked me to come to the gathering.”
“I’m surprised to see him at a festival.”
“He likes to come and make sure everything happens in ‘the right way.’”
“What has to happen in the right way?”
Zim cocked his head and examined me slyly out of the corner of his eye. “You really don’t know what happens here?”
“No, what?”
Zim threw me a mischievous grin. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The second group now gathered around Yosef. When he finished speaking, only a smudge of color remained in the western sky, and the moon glowed white and immense above the eastern hills. Yosef waved a flaming torch back and forth above his head.
“That’s our signal.” Emanuel raised his hand. “Lev, lead us in that song from the wedding.” I struck the first notes, and the others joined in, smoother than before, but still struggling.
The signal was not just for us. Both groups moved toward the vineyard, spreading out as they approached. Some men of the near group hesitated before walking under the bowers, but there was no such hesitation from the far-off crowd. Even from a distance, I could see that they were dancing, and moonlight reflected on their brilliant, white garments. Yosef sat beside a bonfire on the hillside below us, next to two of his disciples.
As they reached the edge of the trailing vines, I got a better view of the dancers. “Hey, those are girls!”
“That’s right.” Zim snickered, his head bobbing to the beat.
“How can Master Yosef agree to this?”
Zim laughed louder. “He says it’s one of the holiest days of the year.”
The last of the girls danced into the vineyard, and I could no longer make out anyone clearly. Hundreds of shapes moved beneath the vines, limbs twirling, their garments silver against the darkened ground. We performed our fastest songs, one after the other, and my energy surged as I imagined hundreds of girls dancing to my music.
Toward the end of our third song, a couple emerged from the vineyard walking side-by-side up the hill toward Yosef. They stopped before the prophet, faces lit by the fire, staring into each other’s eyes. The man appeared neither young nor old, with a severely crooked nose that distorted an otherwise handsome face. She was much younger than he and wore an elaborately embroidered dress, her long braids falling from a white scarf on her head. She was very pretty, and there was something unnervingly familiar about her.
I continued to stare until it came to me—I knew her. Her name was Hadassah, the daughter of one of the poorest families in Levonah. She looked so different tonight, I was surprised I’d recognized her at all. She must have spent hours, if not days, cleaning herself and braiding her hair. I had seen her only in dirty, tattered clothes. How could her family afford such an ornate dress?
Yosef addressed them, but his words were lost in the music. The couple glanced at each other and nodded with the expression of children getting away with something forbidden. They bowed their heads, and Yosef placed one hand on the man’s head, holding the other just above Hadassah’s. When he removed his hands, they gazed at each other again, clasped hands, and withdrew from the fire.
More couples emerged from the vineyard, ascending the hill toward Yosef, and waiting in a line that began to stretch down to its very edge. “What is he saying to them?” I asked Zim.
“Go listen.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Something about the expression in Zim’s eyes made my fears seem childish. I peered around for Emanuel, but he was nowhere in sight. With six other musicians playing, I wouldn’t be missed if I went quickly. I left my kinnor and crept down the hillside, stooping under a rocky shelf that projected out just behind Yosef. A new couple stood before him now, both rather short and broadly built.
“It’s hard to see in the vineyard,” Yosef said, “So I want you to take a good look at each other in the firelight.” The couple peered at each other and smiled. “You are certain of your choice?”
The man said “Yes,” and the woman nodded.
“Very well. Bow your heads. May the Holy One bless your home to be like the tent of Isaac and Rivka. May you be blessed to raise righteous children, and to eat from the bounty of the land.” Yosef lowered his hands, indicating the two disciples at his side. “These men are your witnesses that you have been bound today in holiness. You may go.” The man stepped away from the fire first, and his bride followed him into the darkness.
I returned to my place among the musicians, my thoughts a whirl. “They’re getting married?”
“That’s right,” Zim said.
“But I’ve been to plenty of weddings, why—”
“Nobody wants to get married this way. But some families can’t find good matches for their children. They might have no wealth, no connections. And look around, some of these people are just plain ugly. But they all come to Shiloh and find each other in the vineyard.”
“I recognized that first girl; she’s from my town. Her family is really poor, but she was wearing a fancy dress.”
“All the girls borrow dresses—it’s part of the rules of Shiloh. No one can tell who is rich or poor in the vineyard.”
“So how do they find each other?”
“The girls just go under the vines, dancing and calling out to the men. The pretty ones say ‘Come find yourself a beautiful wife.’ The ones from good families say ‘Find yourself a wife to build a family with.’ Inside that vineyard is the only place where the people of Israel don’t hold back.”
“So what if they aren’t beautiful or from good families?”
“They say, ‘Choose a wife for the sake of heaven,’ though I’m not sure why heaven should prefer an ugly wife!”
A place in Israel where no one holds back—no wonder Zim was drawn to it. “Did you ever think of going into the vineyard and finding a bride for yourself?”
“Me? Get married?” Zim threw back his head with a loud laugh. “I’m living in Shomron now.”
“So?”
“So Baal isn’t the only god that Izevel brought down with her from Tzidon.”
“Who else is there?”
“There’s Ashera.”
“Who’s he?”
“She. She’s the mother of Baal, the goddess of the Earth.”
“Yeah? Do her priests also cut themselves up?”
“Priestesses. And no, they don’t.”
“So what’s her worship like?”
“A bit like this. Except in the morning, you don’t wake up with a wife.”
The sun already blazed above the mountains when Zim shook me awake the next morning. My first thought was how strange it was for Zim to be awake before me, and then I realized I was bathed in sweat.
“You were screaming.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, sitting up, “just a nightmare.” But it wasn’t nothing. For the first time, I remembered a detail from my old dream. There was a horse, driven fast. I wanted to close my eyes, to hold onto the vision, to see more.
“You sure you’re alright?” The concern on Zim’s face appeared so out of place.
If I was going to talk about my nightmares with anyone, it wasn’t Zim. I opened the sack of food my aunt had prepared and pulled out bread and cheese, giving up on any hope of slipping back into the dream to learn more. “Come eat.” I watched Zim help himself to a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese. At least it was Zim and not Yonaton who’d heard me screaming. Yonaton’s concern wouldn’t have been pushed aside so easily, certainly not with a bribe of food.
In the vineyard and the surrounding fields, couples were sitting and walking together. Two groups again formed on opposite sides of the vineyard, each much smaller than the night before. These must be the ones who failed to find a match. Would they be back next year?
“So you’re heading back to the gathering today?” Zim asked between bites.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Zim wouldn’t know. “No, the gathering was closed after the wedding.”
“Why?”
“So everyone can bring in their harvests before the rains.”
Zim’s eyes gleamed. “Even the prophets have begun to fear Baal? Yambalya will be pleased.”
My first instinct was to defend them, but I held myself back. It did feel as if the prophets were giving way to the Baal.
“You’re going home then?”
I stopped eating and stared down. “I can’t go home.”
“Can’t go home? Why not?”
“My aunt sent me away.”
“Why? What happened?”
My throat suddenly felt dry, and I swallowed hard. “My uncle brought a Baal into the house. My aunt said that my parents would never accept me living in a house with an idol, so she made me leave. She told me to go to my father’s family in Judah.”
“Judah? How are you supposed to get across the border?”
“My aunt gave me copper. She said in Mitzpah I’ll be able to find someone to guide me over.”
“So that’s it? You’re going? And you’ll just hope that whoever takes your payment can get you there alive?”
“What choice do I have?”
Zim shook his head. “Just because your aunt sent you to Judah doesn’t mean you have to go. You’re almost of age, Lev—it’s time to become a man.”
I turned away, my heart feeling like a cold stone in my chest.
“She threw you out—it’s no longer her choice. Come back to Shomron with me.”
“Shomron?”
“Yes, Shomron. Queen Izevel is building two temples, one for Baal, the other for Ashera. The nobility are competing to offer the biggest feasts each day. There aren’t enough musicians for all the ceremonies and banquets. Two nights ago, I even played for Uriel’s son.”
“Uriel’s son?’
“The Chief Priest of Israel.” Zim laughed at the look on my face. “Didn’t you notice their likeness at the wedding? It might have been Uriel forty years ago!”
I pictured the face of the priest. If the thick brows were white and the skin across his broad cheekbones wrinkled, it would have been Uriel. How had I not noticed? “But Uriel hates the Golden Calf. How can his son be its priest?”
Zim shrugged. “You can ask him when we get to Shomron.”
“I couldn’t do that!”
“Why not? I did.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“He said he used to walk in his father’s ways. But his father was always traveling, tending to the needs of the people. He wasn’t there for his own family. Ten years ago, he decided he’d had enough.”
“And you’re playing for him?”
“I’m playing for everyone. There aren’t enough musicians in Shomron. They need you there.”
I dropped the bread in my hand, my hunger forgotten. “You heard what my aunt said—my parents wanted me far away from the Baal.”
“Your parents are dead, Lev.”
My crying the day before must have unblocked the channel of tears, for fresh drops clouded my vision.
“I know it hurts, but it’s true.”
My eyes strayed toward the lone men leaving Shiloh with heavy steps.
“You can’t live your life for them. Do you even remember what they look like?”
“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice flat.
“Maybe I don’t.” Zim placed a hand on my shoulder. “But you need to hear this. Didn’t you learn anything last night?”
I shook off Zim’s hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at those couples down there. Every one of them would have preferred to get married in the usual way, but it didn’t work out for them. They could have stayed at home and cried about being alone—but they didn’t. They decided not to let a rotten past force them into an empty future.”
I gazed at the men and women holding hands under the trees.
“They went into that vineyard with all they had, and they left everything they didn’t need behind. Now look at them, most of them aren’t alone anymore. How do you think they feel?”
“I don’t know…Happy?”
Zim shook his head. “Scared. They’re starting a new life with someone they hardly know. But they know one thing: It’s better to jump into an unknown future than hold onto a dead past.”
I cocked my head. “What are you saying?”
“You were one of the best musicians here last night.”
I snorted at the flattery.
“No, really. But if I hadn’t come along, you would have walked away and never played a note. Emanuel took one look at you and decided you were too young. What did you say back to him?”
“Nothing. I left.”
“Exactly! Emanuel tells you to leave, and you go, even though you’re better than his musicians. Your aunt tells you to leave, and you go, even though you don’t really know why. Did you ever stop to think about what you want?”
Zim stood up. “Learn from the girls of Shiloh. Go into that vineyard and leave the past where it belongs. Come out ready to decide your own future, and let nothing stand in your way.”
I picked up a piece of cheese. “I hear what you’re saying.”
“Clearly you don’t, because you’re still sitting here.” Zim grabbed my arm and drew me to my feet. “Go on. Don’t come out until you’re ready to claim your life.”
Zim pushed me downhill. I continued on my own, then turned back to Zim. “Don’t eat all my food while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry.” Zim broke off another hunk of cheese. “There’s plenty to eat in Shomron. Go!”
I ducked under the trellised vines, and the smell of warm earth rose up to greet me. Rays of sun peeked between broad, green leaves, painting the thick, twisted vines with swaths of light and shadow. Rows of grapevines stretched out in every direction, leaving the outer world far behind.
What Zim said made sense—I was on my own now. I didn’t choose to leave, but now every choice was mine. Hadn’t I come to Shiloh rather than going right to Mitzpah as my aunt wanted? I could just as easily go to Shomron—or anywhere else for that matter. Leaves trembled around me as a breeze swept off the hills above. I followed one path into the vineyard, but there were countless ways out. I settled myself at the base of a solid, olivewood post around which two vines were entwined. The young grapes, maroon and growing heavy with juice, hung above my head.
What do I really want? And what path will get me there?
A grasshopper landed at my feet. The wind died, and its rhythmic chirps rang loud on the still air. I closed my eyes and other sounds emerged, the rustling of leaves, a distant dove’s cry. I laid my head back against the knotty wood, the notes of the vineyard clear in my mind, and descended into their song.
Though I had walked far into the vineyard, it was easy to find my way back out; I just followed the bass notes of the drum. The sun was high, and my sack of provisions lay empty on the ground by Zim’s side. Zim beat out one last flourish and got to his feet. “If we want to get back tonight, we’ll need to go now,” he said.
I nodded, picked up my belongings, and followed Zim toward the road.
“Put out your hand.” Zim dropped three pieces of copper into my palm. “Emanuel paid us while you were gone. It’s nothing compared to the wedding, but not bad for a night of music. Are you still going to Judah?”
I inhaled more deeply than I could ever remember. “No. You were right. That’s what my aunt wanted—not what I want.”
“Excellent. Yambalya lent me a donkey for the trip. If we both ride, we should be able to make it back before they close the gates.”
I stopped Zim with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to Shomron either.”
Zim cocked his head. “No?”
“No. You go on your own.”
“Where will you go?”
“On my own path.”
Zim’s face glowed. “Good. Then for the second time in a week, we part as friends.” Zim embraced me with both arms. “Until our paths cross again.”
