“You’ve finally heard it? I was beginning to wonder whether you three were deaf or I was crazy. I’ve heard it every night since we’ve arrived, but tonight I finally found the source. Come.”

We reached the valley floor, continued along the base of the cliff and onto a faint trail that rose to the black mouth of a cave. The sound grew deeper, its rhythm vibrating along stone walls. When we stepped inside, the sound reverberated in my bones. The cavern floor sloped steadily down into darkness. Sightless, I kept one hand on the wall and followed Zim’s breathing.

There would come a time when I would grow used to the underground world, but at this moment I was still a child of the sun. As we descended deeper toward the source of the sound, I felt the weight of the rock pressing above me. Had I been alone, I certainly would have fled back to the comfort of the starlight. But I continued after Zim, preferring to tremble in darkness rather than face his scorn.

Salvation came in the form of a dim, yellow light in the distance. It grew brighter as we approached and finally took the shape of a lamp burning in a niche carved into the tunnel wall. Below it was a short drop of less than a body’s length; the lamp was surely there to prevent anyone from falling. Zim climbed down first, then silently showed me where to place my hands and feet. As we moved on, the security of the light tugged at me from behind, but in a few steps, the tunnel turned and once again we were dependent on our hands and feet to see.

I lost count of my footsteps as we descended into the earth, the deep notes expanding as they echoed up to us. As we approached the source, it assumed a layered quality. The complexity was beyond anything but a stringed instrument, no number of voices woven together could accomplish that. Could they? A second light gleamed in the distance, and the tunnel widened out to meet it.

Torches high on the wall lit the floor of the cavern, but its roof remained shrouded in darkness. Flickering light danced over three circles of men swaying in rhythm, mouths pouring out their song. The power of the nigun we sang over Shabbat was in its repetition, in its slowly building pace. This nigun, sung underground, had a fullness that the other one lacked. Somehow, I knew the chant was ancient, each voice a thread in a fabric that stretched back ages. Tones stitched endlessly on themselves, notes braided into sacred layers, building ever more elaborate structures of sound. The song vibrated in harmony with the echoes thrown back by the cave walls, and the torchlight seemed to grow brighter as the intensity built.

I edged toward the swaying men, eager to join them in their song, but Zim grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the shadows, shaking his head. In my desire for the music, I’d forgotten that the prophets wouldn’t welcome intruders. I nodded, and Zim released me. Holding our breath, we crept along the cool and damp wall of the cave, outside the circle of light, and tucked ourselves into a crevice where we could see, but not be seen.

Tzadok again led the nigun, his hands on his knees, his body loose as he rocked forward and back. Even Yosef swayed with the melody, his dark eyes hooded by closed lids, the sharp lines of his face softened by the warm light.

What had saved me from drowning in my grief? Music. What had freed me when my pain was too much to bear? Music. But here I felt a new power: I saw the prophets and their disciples attaining a true unity on the strength of the nigun. I saw that music that flows from the heart can convey a depth of emotion that words cannot.

The song had been steadily building since we entered the cave, and now the momentum came to a head. Their voices rose to a peak in a unity that almost brought me to my knees—then ceased all at once. The silence deep in the earth held me like a newborn child.

The disciples’ clothing rustled as they stood. Once they left the circle of light, we would no longer be hidden. Zim’s voice trembled in my ear, “We have to get out of here.”

We crept back along the wall, moving as quickly as possible without making a sound, and reached the tunnel without mishap, though I couldn’t be sure we’d escaped unnoticed. We scurried faster now, still careful to muffle our footsteps, but taking comfort in being out of view.

The breeze from the cavern’s mouth flowed toward us in a cool stream. I raised my hand to my face, surprised to find a touch of moisture on my cheek, and quickly wiped my eyes. I didn’t risk my first words until we were beneath the stars again. “Warming to the prophets now, are you?”

“I’d no idea they had music like this.” Zim shook his head. “Imagine having such power and keeping it hidden underground!”

We increased our pace now that we were out of the total blackness of the cave. “What else should they do with it?”

“What else? You heard Uriel on Shabbat: the prophets must uplift the people. So, what do they do? They travel the land teaching the Law. If they want to inspire, they should bring their music out into the daylight!”

“It looks as if they don’t agree with you.”

“Of course they don’t, and the more fools they are. They don’t know how to use what they have—but we can.” Zim’s face glowed in the starlight.

“We work for them.”

“Just for the gathering. In two months, we’ll be free.”

“Free? Once the gathering ends, I have to go home.”

Zim led the way up the narrow trail crossing the cliff face. “You mean to your uncle’s? And how long will that last? I heard you talking to Yonaton yesterday.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I told you, you have to be careful what you say around me.” Zim grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the edge of a precipice. “You have three years left at most in your uncle’s house. Then what will you do? Wander alone through the wilderness, dreaming only of green grasses and fresh water for your flock?”

The words stung, and I hung my head. “What choice do I have?”

“Fool, you have your kinnor! If we spent our nights in this cave, learning the ancient nigunim of the prophets, think what it would do for us. We could go anywhere—even to Shomron to play for the King.”

“The King?” Zim was clearly repeating some fantasy of his.

He stopped in his tracks and faced me. “Yes, the King! Why not? Come with me.”

Suddenly, I understood why Zim had handed me his mirror the other day, even while speaking to Yonaton. It was the same reason that he woke me alone to hear the prophets’ chant. I was the one with no future. I could go anywhere and hardly be missed. And two wandering musicians would be better than one; we could keep each other company, perhaps even find more work. As we reached our quarters, I was glad for an excuse to break off the conversation. “I don’t know, Zim.”

Zim appeared ready to say more, but Daniel rolled over in his sleep, and he held back.

I dropped exhausted onto my sleeping skin, eager for sleep. But neither of us got what we wanted. Zim never did make it back to the chanting cave, nor did I get a good night’s rest.

The stars were fading when I next opened my eyes, my mind still cloudy from lack of sleep. I didn’t know what woke me a second time before the sun, but there was a simple solution to such a problem. I wrapped myself more tightly and turned away from the dim light at the cave’s opening.

As I drifted back toward sleep, my mind floated on the tide of birdsong rising from the valley below. The first trills and whistles were rhythmic enough to be a nigun, the blending together of so many voices strangely reminiscent of the song in the chanting cave. The world began to fade back into a sweet swirl of sound and light when I felt a hand on my back. I rolled over and saw Daniel’s lanky body silhouetted by a pre-dawn glow. I stared up with blinking eyes and cocked my head to the side in an unspoken question. He put a finger to his lips and beckoned me to follow. I slipped my tunic over my head, wondering for the second time that night why I was leaving my warm nest behind.

Out now in the open air, the birdsong grew expansive. I hugged my arms to my chest, stepped out into the lightening morning, and inhaled the fresh scent of dew. Daniel hurried along one of the trails and turned to wave me on without a word. I kept my eyes on my feet and tried hard not to stumble as I sped down after Daniel. What could be so pressing at this hour?

At first, I thought Daniel was bringing me back to the chanting cave, but then he left the path and slowed his pace, stepping through the tall yellow grass, heavy with dew. “What are we doing here?”

He put a finger back to his lips. A few paces on, he stopped, dropped to his knees, and crawled on the ground, his eyes fixed on a single point. I followed behind, my tired eyes registering only a blur of brown and yellow. Gradually I gained focus; there, on a stalk of wild barley, sat a grasshopper, its green body muted to dark gray in the morning light. I turned to Daniel and mouthed, “What are we doing here?”

Daniel put a hand to his ear and pointed to the grasshopper. I closed my eyes to listen. The birdsong of the morning was so strong that it overwhelmed the high-pitched chirps of the tiny creature. I leaned in closer, focusing on its piping, steadily blocking out all other sounds. As the rest of the world receded, I sensed deeper rhythms and more tones in the grasshopper’s calls. I felt a gentle touch on my back and brought my eyes up to Daniel’s. “Why are we here so early?”

“The birdsong is loudest before sunrise.”

“But doesn’t that make it harder to hear the grasshopper?”

“You think I woke you to listen to a grasshopper? To hear the song of the world you need to hear everything—the grasshopper and the birds.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back in, listening without filtering out the birdsong. But I couldn’t hold the two sounds at once—the song of the birds was so powerful, the chirps of the grasshopper insignificant. I gave up and got back to my feet. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I told you, to hear the song of the world.”

“Why didn’t you wake the others?”

“Not everyone can hear it. Look at Zim, he has no interest in listening to birdsong or the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.”

“And why not Yonaton?”

Daniel placed a hand on my shoulder. “Yonaton will be a farmer. His time is better spent learning to sow than learning to listen.”

“You think I’m different because I can play music while watching my sheep?”

Daniel shook his head. “Yonaton’s an only son, just like I was. He has no choice but to inherit his father’s farm and care for his parents when they grow old. You have a choice.”

I snorted, “The choice to be a landless orphan?”