“Who was that?”

“Balaam, who called himself the man with the open eye.”

The name Balaam made me think of Uriel’s old, one-eared donkey. It lived longer than any beast of burden I’d ever known, but was probably gone by now, at a time when so many animals perished from lack of food. Had Uriel really named a donkey after a prophet? “Why did Balaam merit navua if he hadn’t trained?”

“Merit? I’m not sure Balaam did merit, but he received it nonetheless.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What training do you recall from the gathering, Lev?”

“Mostly that the bnei nevi’im had to quiet their minds.”

“Yes, only a quiet mind is a fit vessel to receive. Music is a particularly good tool for achieving that. What else?”

“Dreams. I remember Master Yosef saying dreams were one-sixtieth of prophecy, and that all disciples must discuss their dreams with a master.”

“Correct, they must also learn to understand the visions of their heart. What else?”

“I cannot think of anything else, Master.”

“What remains is the most important step, the path that Balaam could never pursue: the complete refinement of the self.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Many of the new priests of the Baal first began their training with us.”

“They were bnei nevi’im?”

“Indeed. Some were drawn to the nevi’im because they wanted power, to control others, to be feared. Others had a desire to serve, but foundered because they failed to master themselves.”

Though my master couldn’t see me, I nodded, fully aware of how tempting the Baal was to those desiring power or seeking to satisfy their lusts. “Then how did Balaam succeed?”

“Balaam needed to exist. When we left Egypt, the Holy One wanted the nations to see that what made us distinct was not our circumstances, but our choices. We were led by Moses, who spoke to the Holy One face to face. The nations needed a prophet of equal power to dispel any belief that only Moses’s navua set us apart. So Balaam was given tremendous powers of navua, so great that the nations could never claim they misunderstood the Holy One’s will.”

“But why choose him? There must have been one among the nations with a pure heart.”

“There were many. But what would happen to one of pure heart who received the prophetic powers of Moses?”

I bit my lower lip as I tried to picture a prophet as great as Moses among the nations. What would he have done when he saw the splitting of the sea? “He would have joined Bnei Israel.”

“Indeed. Look at Ovadia, who left his nation to join us even without navua. The Holy One needed to choose a man whose lusts were so strong that even receiving the Divine Will would not make him change his ways.”

“But surely prophecy must have refined him somewhat, Master?”

“I do not believe so. We are refined by our choices. For him, navua remained a mere gift.”

Rabbi Shimon said: Do not be wicked in your own sight.

Pirkei Avot 2:18

10

Eliav’s Choice

Ascending on foot from the King’s Road to Levonah, I drank in the smell of young shoots sprouting in the valley. Now that I was forced to return to my flock, the farmers’ dread of the rain faded; the prospect of shepherding again was eased by the promise of early pastures. I scanned the hillside for my flock, but it was nowhere to be seen.

I hiked up to the fig tree where I’d met Uriel less than two weeks before, picked a fig that was still green on top, and split its reddish-brown bottom with my fingers. Its flesh wavered before my eyes as thin, white worms fled from the light. I dropped the infested fruit with a shudder and didn’t reach for another.

Every rock and tree on the footpath that hugged the city walls whispered of home, yet the familiar landmarks brought constriction to my throat. A different sun shone on everything I knew, casting it in an unfamiliar light. My uncle’s house appeared smaller than I remembered. Dahlia saw me first, peeking around the mud dome of the oven. “Lev!”

“Lev?” Aunt Leah stepped outside, two-year-old Ruth grasping the back of her skirts. Tears were already on her cheeks as I hurried forward into her embrace.

“Tell us about the man eating the sword again,” six-year-old Shimi asked for the third time.

“As I said, he didn’t exactly eat it.” I dropped my spoonful of lentil stew—everyone else had finished eating, but my bowl was still half full. “He bent his head back like this and held the sword over his head.” I held my spoon over my upturned mouth. “Then he lowered it down his throat.” I lowered the handle until I gagged. “But he kept it going all the way down.”

“How long was the sword?” Eliav asked.

“About this long.” I held my arms out.

“But it must have gone down to his stomach.” Dahlia wrinkled her nose. “And it came out without any blood?”

“Not a drop.”

“I think you should all let Lev eat,” Aunt Leah said. “You can ask him about his adventures tomorrow. He’s home now. Come Ruth, Shimi, Naamah. To sleep.”