He shook his head. “King Solomon’s weakness for foreign women raised the wrath of the Holy One. Achia of Shiloh, Uriel’s master, was sent to anoint Yeravaum as king even during Solomon’s lifetime.”

“The prophets declared Yeravaum king even before the people rejected Rechavaum?”

My uncle nodded.

“But what does this have to do with my bowing to the calf?”

“Well, Yeravaum had the support of most of the people, especially after it became known he was anointed by a prophet. But there was one thing he didn’t have: The Holy Temple. All the men of Israel are obligated to go up to the Temple for the three yearly festivals: Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot.”

“So?”

“Only a king from the House of David is allowed to sit in the Temple; all others must stand. Yeravaum was afraid that if he allowed the people to go to Jerusalem, they would see Rechavaum sitting in the Temple courts while he stood. Who would look like the greater king then? He feared their loyalty would return to the House of David. So, he closed the roads to Jerusalem and forbade the people from making the pilgrimage.”

I pictured the faces of the nobles bowing to the Baal at the wedding. “Yeravaum was afraid, so he frightened the people?”

Uncle Menachem nodded. “He put soldiers on the road. After he killed the first few who defied his orders, most stopped trying. But Yeravaum understood he couldn’t stop the people from serving the Holy One. Their connection was too strong—attack that and the nation would rise against him. And he was not opposed to the Holy One, just to the people going to Jerusalem. So, he crafted two golden calves, placing one in Beit El in the south of the Kingdom and one in Dan in the north, and declared: ‘Here are your gods that brought you up from Egypt.’ Then he created a new pilgrimage festival one month after Sukkot.”

“Why did he choose the calf?”

“I think because our ancestors already worshipped the calf in the desert—it was already in our hearts. Your father had some other explanation that I never understood.”

“What was that?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice. I’d never before heard a teaching from my father.

“He said the calf represents the animal half of our souls. That worshiping it was turning toward our animal self, away from our higher destiny.”

I rolled the statement over in my mind, wanting badly to understand my father’s words. “I don’t know what that means,” I admitted at last.

“Neither do I.”

I ran my hand across the back of one of the sheep, where the wool was just starting to grow in after the spring shearing. “Uncle, if you know all this, why did you start going again?”

Uncle Menachem dropped his eyes. “It’s what everyone does, Lev. It’s a time for the people to come together and strengthen our connections to each other and the Holy One. I loved going with my father when I was young. Is it better to go to the Temple? Of course. But the road to Jerusalem is closed.” He cleared his throat, yet held his gaze low to the ground. “Your father made me ashamed to go, but when he was no longer here, I started again.”

I nodded, glad my uncle had answered, but not wanting to push him further.

“So you’ll be taking out the flock in the morning?”

Now it was my turn to look away. The question had been on my mind the whole journey back. “No,” I said, and my uncle’s eyes shot up to mine. “I’ll go, but only to help Eliav. He leads the flock now.”

“Lev, you know you are no less to me than my own children, don’t you?”

I swallowed, but didn’t reply.

“It’s true that you can’t inherit the land. But your aunt and I have spoken. We want each of you to inherit part of the flock. You needn’t give way to Eliav. You’re the elder and the better shepherd. He should help you.”

My lower jaw trembled, but I had decided my path—there would be no more silly dreams. “No, I’ll help him. Between the prophets and the wedding, I have enough copper to buy seven ewes and two rams in the spring.” Uncle Menachem raised his eyebrows. “I’ll go out with Eliav through the winter, then start a flock of my own.”

Uncle Menachem pulled on his beard. “This is what you want?”

“Yes.” My tone didn’t ring as clearly as I intended.

“Very well. I’ll give you another ram and three ewes from the calves. With that many to start, you should have a strong flock by the time you’re ready to marry.”

I knew he’d want to help, but hadn’t expected such a generous gift. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Uncle Menachem stepped back toward the house, then turned to face me. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” I said with confidence I didn’t feel. “Eliav should take the flock.”

He peered deeply into my eyes. “I meant, are you sure you want to be a shepherd?”

My gaze rose toward the sky, lit by the last rays of the setting sun. The dream of playing in the King’s Court still called to me, but not if it meant bowing to the Baal. “What else would I do?”

Uncle Menachem shrugged. “That morning when you went off with Master Uriel, you didn’t see me. I was working in the olive trees and watched you go. I saw your face and wondered if you’d ever return to this life. You have a lot of your father in you.”

Three mentions of my father in one conversation. Was Uncle Menachem suddenly willing to talk? “Uncle, what really happened to my parents?”

Uncle Menachem sat down next to me on the stone wall of the pen and stared down at his hands. When he spoke, it was just above a whisper.

“The truth? I don’t know most of it. A man came to us in the night with cuts all over his face. Didn’t appear as if anyone had treated his wounds at all. He was carrying you. You just kept screaming. You weren’t hurt, but it looked as if you’d not been fed all day. Leah was nursing when he came. She handed Dahlia to me and nursed you instead. He told me he saw your parents killed. He wouldn’t say any more. I tried to convince him to stay, to eat something and let us care for his wounds. He refused. He just refilled his water skin, took a little food, and left.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice—I hadn’t known that Aunt Leah had nursed me. Menachem rested his hand on my shoulder, then stepped back toward the house. I sat alone with my thoughts as darkness fell.

“Where’s your kinnor?” Eliav asked me the next morning.

“I’m not bringing it.” I held a shepherd’s staff, which I hadn’t carried in over a year. “You’re in charge of the flock now. We’ll do it your way.”