“True, but it will get you more work. All eyes are on the musicians—you get hired for more festivals if you look right.” Though answering Yonaton, Zim held out his mirror to me.

I took the sheet of flat, shiny metal. It had been a long time since I’d seen my reflection, and the mirror was clearer than any pool I’d peeked in. My brown hair was curled from the water, and the hairs on my lip were thicker, like a long shadow under my nose, but I was mostly struck by my eyes. They were light today, the color of bee honey, and seemed older than I felt.

From the valley rose the blast of a ram’s horn, the signal of the coming Shabbat. The three of us headed down to the clearing where we joined Daniel. Like Zim, he had a second tunic for Shabbat, made from finer wool than the one he wore during the week. The food was a measure better than the night before; the vegetables were still barely cooked, but the smell of roasted lamb also filled the clearing. My mouth watered. Aunt Leah prepared meat only for festivals.

Again, a servant handed me a piece of bread and a portion of beet greens that had been set aside for me behind the cooking area, where they had already turned cold. I received no meat, and the amount, though larger for Shabbat, didn’t come close to meeting my appetite. Daniel, Zim, and Yonaton all eyed my food curiously; none of them had rations set aside. I took the bread and piled meat onto it, making sure the servant saw I wouldn’t quietly accept such meager portions. But my greed still seemed small next to Zim’s, who crowded as much lamb on his bread as it would hold, not wasting any space on the vegetables. Daniel pointed out a spot for us closer to the bnei nevi’im than we had sat the night before. As soon as his bottom hit the ground, Zim raised a chunk of lamb to his mouth, but Daniel grabbed his wrist. “On Shabbat, we wait.”

Uriel stood in the middle of the clearing holding a goblet of wine. His voice rose in a chant that spoke of the six days of creation and the day of rest. I was familiar with the words from my uncle’s house, but not with the drawn-out pace of the prophet’s melody. It was hard to concentrate on the words with such savory smells wafting up from the food.

When the blessing was complete, Uriel drained the goblet in a single motion and handed it to a waiting servant. “Now can I eat?” Zim asked Daniel.

“Patience.”

The prophet now held up two loaves of bread, one on top of the other. “The Holy One tested our fathers with manna in the wilderness, giving them each morning enough food for that day, but no more. On the sixth day, they received a second portion for Shabbat. The blessing of Shabbat is that we do not receive; it is the blessing of knowing that we already possess what we require. I bless us all on our quest for holiness to know that the Divine light we seek is already within us.”

Uriel had barely broken the bottom loaf when Zim’s hand starting moving toward his mouth. “Now?”

“Yes.”

My hand hadn’t been poised like Zim’s, but my stomach was just as ready to pounce. The meat was pink and tender, and the vegetables were so well flavored that I almost didn’t mind that they were undercooked. Though I had taken a large portion, I soon went back for more of everything.

I was just finishing my second helping when conversation among the disciples died. Tzadok, the ancient, third master, stood by the fire in the center of the eating area. Zim still ate, but Yonaton and I stood, knowing that when the masters spoke it was time for us to go. Daniel put a hand on each of our shoulders. “On Shabbat we stay.”

Tzadok closed his eyes, filled his chest, and opened his mouth in song. I would never have guessed that such a resonant voice could emerge from so frail a body. The melody was simple and repetitive. Daniel and a number of the disciples joined him immediately, and more of us merged with them as we picked up the nigun, until we all sang together. I closed my eyes, and my body swayed, swept up in the current of the song.

Our voices echoed in the open air of the valley. The melody folded over on itself and amplified the collective energy with each turn. For the first time since coming to the gathering, I felt united with the bnei nevi’im. When Tzadok reached the end, he lifted his voice higher, holding the final note until his breath ran out. His silence brought the song to a close, and quiet settled over the clearing.

I opened my eyes to see Uriel standing alone, his face illuminated unevenly by the red light of the dwindling fire.

“There was once a man who lived in a kingdom in the middle of the desert.” The prophet spoke softly, but in the stillness of the night, his voice carried across the open ground. “Every morning as he went out to his field and again in the evening when he walked home, this man walked past the King’s palace. Each time he wondered, ‘Why is it that the King has so much while I have so little?’ His envy of the King grew and grew until he was unable to pass the palace without anger.

“The man formed a plan: he would dig a tunnel under the palace, come up inside the treasury, and take a tiny amount for himself. He worked for years on his tunnel, and as his labors grew, so did his desire, until he no longer felt the need to leave the King anything at all. Finally, the tunnel was complete, and he broke through the floor of the palace in the middle of the night. He expected to see piles of gold and gems, but found himself in an empty hallway, just outside the treasury. If he kept on digging, there was a chance he could still access the treasury and escape before dawn. But now that he had broken through the floor, fear struck his heart—he could be discovered at any time, and discovery would cost him his head. So he stepped back into his tunnel and fled the palace with nothing.

“It happened that a second thief, who knew nothing of the first, had formed an identical plan to rob the King and tunneled into the palace on the very same night. Unlike the first, he emerged inside the treasury itself. He saw mountains of gold and streams of jewels, and filled his bags and pockets with treasure. As he was about to leave, he spotted a large ruby in the corner of the treasury, so beautiful that he could not imagine leaving it behind. Lacking any room for it in his bags or pockets, he placed the gem in his mouth.

“The thief lowered his bags into the tunnel and was about to jump in, when he stopped. He spit the gem back into his hand and restored it gently to its place. Then, he emptied his bags and pockets, returned the treasure, and climbed into his tunnel—leaving the palace with nothing.

“The next morning, the two tunnels were discovered. The head of the guards came running to the King. My King, two thieves tunneled into the palace last night.

“The King was shocked. No one had ever broken into his palace before. How much did they take? he asked.

“The guard said, It is unfathomable my King—they didn’t take anything. One thief missed the treasury and left with nothing. The second thief entered the treasury, but we’ve counted the reserves, and nothing is missing.

“The King said, I want to meet these two men. Let it be known that they will not be punished if they come forward.

“Such was the power of the King that both thieves presented themselves at the palace by day’s end. The guards brought the first thief before the King. Explain how it was that you broke into my palace and left with nothing?

“The thief stood shaking before the King and said, I planned to tunnel into the royal treasury, but when I came out I found that I had not dug far enough. I feared that if I ventured further, I would be caught, so I went back into my tunnel and fled.

“The King said, Very well. Had you remained, you might have caused me great loss, but as it transpired, you turned away from the evil. As promised, you will not be punished. I reward your honesty today with your life. You may go.

“Guards then escorted in the second thief. The King turned to him and asked, Explain how it was that you broke into my treasury and left empty-handed.

“The second thief dropped his head. I did intend to rob you, sire. When I emerged inside your treasury, I filled all my bags, my pockets, and even my mouth with your treasure. Then, when I was about to climb into the tunnel and escape, an image of your face came to my mind. You have been a just and generous king to your people. I should be proud to serve such a king. How could I rob you? So I returned all the treasure to its rightful place and left.

“A tear came to the King’s eye. Guard, he called, I want you to take this man into the treasury and let him take anything he wants.”

Uriel paused, staring into the glowing coals. “There are two ways to turn from evil in this world. If we right our way from fear of punishment then, like the first thief, we are forgiven. But there is a higher way—to rectify our deeds out of great love for our King. Then our very sins bring us merit, for the Holy One knows how far along the path of evil we have gone and how great an effort it took to reverse our course. If we return in love, our rectification will be great indeed.”

The prophet rose taller in the dark, his voice loud in the silence. “Some of you are here because you desire the prophets’ power. You want to cry out, to correct the errors of the people, and when your cries are not heard, you will be tempted to coerce. You must remember that the Holy One seeks true service of the heart. To threaten the people, to give them a glimpse of the awesome power of the Holy One, may sway them, but only through fear.

“As nevi’im, we must inspire Israel to rectify their deeds out of love. I wish you all a peaceful Shabbat.”

“Blessed is the One who divides between the sacred and the mundane,” Uriel chanted the following evening at the close of Shabbat, “between light and darkness, between Israel and the nations, between the seventh day and the six days of creating—”

“And between the nevi’im and the musicians,” Zim chortled, just loud enough for the three of us to hear.

I ignored him, gazing up at the stars first breaking through the dark sky. The sun had set some time ago, leaving an inky stain on the western horizon. Uriel lifted the goblet of wine in his hand, sanctifying the end of Shabbat as he had its beginning. When he marked the division between light and darkness, a disciple touched together the wicks of two lamps, merging their flames into one.

“Can we play now?” Zim asked.

“Yes.” Daniel’s voice was strained. “Let’s go back to the cave.”

When he and Zim played music together, they worked off each other beautifully. But instruments were forbidden in Emek HaAsefa on Shabbat and had sat idle the past night and all that day. Throughout the Shabbat day, while I enjoyed the quiet, walking through the valley and playing stones with Yonaton, Zim lay in the cave, his eyes straying again and again to his untouched drum in the corner.

At midday on Shabbat, Daniel had sat with eyes closed, listening. “I love coming to this valley,” he said. “It’s so peaceful. When our music is stilled, you can really hear the song of the world.”

“The world has a song?” I asked.

“Each thing in the world has its own melody. Together their notes rise to form the song of the world.”

Zim, who had said little since the morning meal, rolled over at this. “Call it the noise of the world if you must—what you’re hearing is too much silence. You’re right that there’s beautiful music in the world, and you’ll hear it as soon as I can get my drum.”

Now that Shabbat was finally over, Zim sped up the dark trail and was already seated outside and tapping at his drum when the rest of us reached the cave. I retrieved my kinnor, took my place on one of the boulders, and fell into rhythm with Zim. Yonaton piped in with his halil, but Daniel didn’t come out to join us. Would the tension left over between Daniel and Zim from Shabbat keep them from playing together? The thought had hardly been formed in my mind when Daniel stepped out, nevel in hand.

Zim gave a last roll, and removed his hands from his drum, bringing our brief song to an end. He waved toward Daniel in a gesture that said, “You lead.” Daniel tightened his strings, then struck up the nigun that Tzadok had led us in the night before. He began the song slowly, increasing his pace with each pass through the melody. We played on into the night, not speaking, letting the music reunite us in a way that words could not. On our first night together we’d jumped from melody to melody, but tonight Daniel never strayed from Tzadok’s nigun, increasing the speed and intensity with each round.

It was rare in Levonah that I found the time to play my kinnor without having to keep one eye on my sheep. All I had were those few precious moments after the evening meal each night when I could let myself dive fully into my music. But even those moments were short-lived, as it was never long before my uncle, or exhaustion, called me in for bed. That night in Emek HaAsefa, Daniel drew me deeper into music than I had ever ventured before. We must have passed through the melody a hundred times or more, but it never grew old. Before long, the notes came of their own off the strings, without thought. I felt the notes flow through me, vibrating up through my chest, and saw them behind closed eyes in tones of blue and orange. For the first time, I sensed what the prophets were seeking in our music and why Daniel had said that it could transport me as well.

Well after the moon set, after the ram’s horn sounded to wake the disciples, Daniel finally broke off the nigun. My eyes scanned Zim’s expression, expecting a protest; his energy had only increased as the night went on. No disappointment registered on his face, though. It was only after I lay down, when I heard neither snoring nor tossing from the bedroll next to me, that I realized Zim hadn’t rejoined us in the cave.

Sometime later, a hand shook me awake. “Don’t make a sound. Get dressed and follow me,” Zim whispered in my ear.

I knew how much time had passed only when I stepped out and saw how far the stars had wheeled across the sky—I guessed we were late into the second watch of the night. The hair on my arms stood on end without the comfort of my warm bed. “Why did you wake me?”

“I want to show you what I found. Come.” He turned without further explanation, and I was too clouded by sleep to protest. Zim all but ran down the path, and I hurried to keep up, careful not to stumble into the darkness below. It was only when I paused to catch my breath, and the sound of my footfalls ceased, that I heard it: a low, bass hum. “Zim, what’s that sound?”