Food in hand, I gazed around until I found Raphael, who sat with two other disciples on the gently sloping hillside. The disciples ate in silence, chewing each morsel dozens of times before taking another. When he saw me approach, Raphael swallowed the bite in his mouth to greet me. “Hi Lev, looking for the musicians? They’re sitting over there.” I caught myself before sitting down—did the musicians not eat with the disciples?
I followed Raphael’s gesture and saw three people sitting together in a corner of the field. Their garments immediately caught my eye; they were all dressed in heavy woolen tunics like my own. The whole time we walked together, I hadn’t thought how much my clothes, so hot and itchy in the summer sun, must have made me stand out from my companions, who undoubtedly wore wool only in the wintertime. As I weaved through the disciples, I became intensely aware of my tunic, its dank odor, and how it had been crudely stitched together by Aunt Leah and Dahlia. The linen garments of the bnei nevi’im were doubtless made by master weavers. I kept my gaze ahead on the musicians so I wouldn’t have to meet the eyes of the disciples.
Two of the musicians were youths, one a thickset boy about my age who sat hunched over his food. The other, a few years older, leaned back on one of his elbows and ran a hand through his wavy hair as he watched me approach. The third musician was a man, younger than my uncle, who sat erect, his narrow beard almost reaching his waist. “Are you Lev?” the man asked. I nodded and sat down next to him. “Excellent, then we’re all gathered. I’m Daniel ben Eliezer, the master musician here. This is Yonaton ben Baruch,” he pointed to the younger boy, “and Zimri ben—”
“Just Zim,” the wavy-haired one interjected, his mouth half full. Juice and vegetables dripped from the bottom of his rolled-up bread, and he ate at a pace that made me wonder how long it had been since his last meal.
Yonaton offered a hesitant smile. Like me, he’d just taken small amounts of each dish, and sat with his flatbread spread out on his lap, the different foods on it not touching. I sat down next to him and bit into my bread, glad for the distraction of food that excused us from conversation.
The first stars appeared in the sky, and the chatter among the disciples died down. All turned their attention toward the serving table where Uriel, Yosef, and a third white-haired sage stood between three torches in a circle of flickering light. “May all who have come be blessed,” Uriel said.
“Many are the paths we have walked to reach this point, and many are the places from which we have come. Together, we seek a true bond with the Holy One, one in which Divine Light will flow to the Nation of Israel, and through us to all of creation. The hour is late, and for many of you the journey has been long; nevertheless, our time is short, our task is great, and our Master is pressing.” He gazed over the crowd of disciples, torchlight glittering in his eyes. “Know too that the reward is great if you pursue the Way with discipline and commitment. We expect nothing less from each of you.”
Uriel stepped back into shadow as Yosef replaced him in the torchlight. “When you are dismissed, you will go directly to sleep. You will be woken in the second watch of the night to begin your training. Remember your dreams; even ordinary dreams are one-sixtieth prophecy. Each night you will discuss your dreams with a master to decipher their—”
“This isn’t for us,” Daniel whispered. “Come, we can speak in the musicians’ cave.”
I stood and reluctantly followed Daniel. I knew that prophecy could come through dreams—Jacob’s vision of the ladder came in a dream—but I had never known that my own dreams might contain prophecy. I longed to hear about unlocking their secrets, but as I followed Daniel away from the eating area, I realized that it didn’t matter much. Yosef said that to decipher your dreams, you needed to remember them. There was only one dream I really wanted to understand, but I could never remember the slightest detail of my old nightmare. Besides, if I ever could remember what the dream contained, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need a master to help me interpret it—it felt more like an evil memory than a prophecy.
Pale blue light still filled the western horizon, but with the moon only a sliver, the trail was little more than a gray smudge on dark ground. Daniel led us, walking with the comfort of one who knew his way.
“Will they also wake us in the middle of the night?” Zim asked.
“No, they don’t need us until an hour or two after sunrise.”
“Good, because the second watch is when I normally go to sleep.”
Thistles snagged the hem of my tunic as the path narrowed at the foot of the cliff. It wound upwards, in some spots little more than a ledge bound by a sheer drop, widening out as we passed cave openings. We stayed close to Daniel, the darkness forcing us to rely on his position to avoid a deadly misstep.
“Why do you go to sleep so late?” Yonaton asked Zim.
“It’s when I play my best music—there’s a special energy to the night.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Yonaton replied. “In my house, we go to sleep as soon as we can after sunset and wake before dawn. My father says sleep is the body’s reward. I couldn’t get up if I stayed awake playing.”
“That’s why I never rise before the third hour of the day if I can help it.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you royalty?”
Zim laughed, “Why would you say that?”
“Whenever I’m slow out of bed, my uncle tells me that only princes sleep until the third hour of the day.”
“No, I have no noble blood. My father’s a farmer, and so was his. But farming’s not for me. I left home for good a year ago.”
The path flattened out, and we stepped onto a rock ledge at the mouth of the highest cave. The cliff face rose above us into the darkness. Even in the dim light, I saw a circle of boulders out front, surrounding a fire pit dark with charcoal.
“Then how do you eat?” Yonaton asked.
“My music.” Zim retrieved a drum from inside the cave, sat down on one of the boulders, and gently tapped the taut hide with his fingertips. Though hardly focused on his drumming, his sense of rhythm was excellent. “I’ve found enough work between weddings and festivals.”
“What kind of festivals?”
“All kinds. The best is coming up at the full moon in Shiloh—I never miss it.”
I swung my kinnor off my shoulder and straddled one of the boulders. “But you’ll still be here then, won’t you?”
“When Master Yosef hired me I told him I’d come only if I could still play Shiloh.”
“How about you, Daniel? Is that what you do too?” Yonaton asked.
“Me?” Daniel chuckled as he sat down, clutching his nevel, a standup harp twice the size of my kinnor. “No, I have a wife and three daughters; I can’t be running around to festivals all the time. It’s only while my wheat is drying that I can devote myself to music.”
“Isn’t it hard being away from your family?” Yonaton asked.
“Sure it’s hard, but my nevel is easier to work than my land, and copper doesn’t spoil.” Daniel began to pick out notes and tighten strings.
Zim cocked his head toward Yonaton, “First time away from home?”
Yonaton nodded, “I’ve never even slept away before.”
“How far did you come?” I asked.
“Not far. We live just on the other side of that hill.”
“So why not go home at night?”
“My father told me I can’t expect the prophets to send someone round to the farm every time they need me. Still, it’s nice to know I can run home if I need to, and my sisters said they’d visit.” Yonaton pulled a halil, a wooden fife two handbreadths long, from his belt. “How about you, Lev? Do you play festivals or do you also work your father’s land?”
