“He doesn’t like to be different.”

The moonlight reflected in two lines down her cheeks. “You’re different, but you never seem to mind.”

“If I’m different, it’s not because I mean to be.” I shied away from her tears. “Don’t think it’s easy.”

“If it’s not easy, why’d you come back?”

“Where else was I supposed to go? I told you: I don’t want to be some wandering musician.” I still avoided Dahlia’s gaze, wishing she would dry her eyes.

“You said Master Uriel stayed behind with a few disciples. Why don’t you return and play for them?”

My eyes shot back up to Dahlia’s. “Uriel doesn’t want me!”

The bowl of wheatberries toppled to the ground as Dahlia fled toward the house. I yearned to go after her—I hadn’t meant to shout. But I didn’t move even as she flew in and shut the door fast behind her. Instead, I lifted my eyes to the fluttering leaves of the olive tree and plucked aimlessly at the strings of my kinnor.

“When you received your kinnor, you were still too young to play it.”

“Then why was it left with me, Master?”

“Lest your soul need release that your life could not provide.”

“So that I would dream of more than my sheep?”

“Precisely.”

My daydreams had caused me so much misery over the years. I always thought my kinnor helped me silence my futile aspirations. I never realized it was responsible for creating them.

My Master said softly, “Song is the language of the soul. When music speaks through you, it reveals how the ears that hear and the hands that play are merely its garments.”

Rabbi Elazar HaKapar said: Against your will you were created, against your will you were born, against your will you live, against your will you die, and against your will you will come to give an accounting of your deeds.

Pirkei Avot 4:29

11

The Vineyard of Shiloh

A hand gently shook my shoulder, rousing me from sleep. I awoke to total darkness.

“Get dressed,” my aunt whispered against my ear. “Pack your things. Wake no one.” Her dress swished down the ladder.

Eliav moaned in his sleep as I pulled my tunic over my head. I rolled my sheepskin sleeping mat as quietly as I could so as not to rouse him further. Holding my things under one arm, I slipped down the ladder. The flickering light of the hearth illuminated a clay statue set in a niche in the wall: the gift from the Queen.

Even in the half-light, I could see Aunt Leah’s eyes were red.

“Aunt, have you slept?”

“No.” Her head sank into her chest.

“What’s happening?” I rubbed my eyes to force them awake.

Aunt Leah breathed in a whispered cry as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “It’s time for you to leave this house.”

“Leave?” The word leapt out of my mouth too loudly. My eyes rose to the loft, but no one stirred.

“Eat. You’ll need your strength.” Aunt Leah laid a plate of bread and cheese on the table. I sat opposite her and took a small bite, though I had little appetite.

“Do you remember how, before you left with Master Uriel, I told you that you are the same to me as my own children?”

I struggled to swallow the unchewed morsel in my mouth. “Yes.”

“Well, I heard everything that happened last night. I know Menachem and Eliav bowed to the Baal. Dahlia told me you saw it too. I couldn’t sleep thinking of you. I wish Menachem and Eliav hadn’t bowed, but Menachem is my husband and Eliav my son, and I love them. I’d rather not have a Baal in the house, but there it is. I don’t want to bow down to it, but if my husband insists, I will.

“I love you too, Lev.” Aunt Leah stuffed bread and hard cheese into a sack. “But you’re not my son.” Tears now rolled freely down her cheeks.

I stared at my food as she sobbed.

“Your parents never would have raised you in a house with that abomination of an idol. My poor sister would never forgive me. For their sake—for yours—you cannot stay.” Aunt Leah’s head sank into her hands, her body shuddering.

I ate despite my lack of hunger, finding it easier to focus on bread than on its tear-stricken baker. Sleep was still heavy on my eyes, and I wanted nothing so much as to return to my bed.

Aunt Leah sat up, dried her eyes with the back of her hand, and gave me a weak smile that squeezed out two last tears from her eyes.

“Where will I go?” I remembered this time to keep my voice low.

“You could return to Master Uriel—”

“I’m not going back to him.”