I filled my lungs, soaking in the dry desert air, as the green speckled valley opened out below me. It was late afternoon, and my legs still felt strong. I shook my head at the memory of the exhaustion I’d felt when I first took sight of Emek HaAsefa. I hitched my sack higher and stepped lightly down the trail.

Uriel paced beneath the carob tree. Five disciples sitting before him, heads bowed between their knees. The old man’s focus turned uphill, and his sharp eyes fell on me. Neither of us spoke. I went directly to my old spot under the pomegranate tree, swung my kinnor forward, and held my fingers over the strings, awaiting his signal.

The rhythmic whisper of the disciples breathing was the only sound as the old prophet stood motionless, his face a mask. I waited, undeterred by the quivering of my chin. I was so afraid that Uriel would drive me off again. Walking from Shiloh to Emek HaAsefa, I realized that fear had been my constant companion since losing my parents. But knowing this didn’t relieve my fear; it only made it stronger. My teeth began to chatter like a navi receiving vision as I imagined Uriel rejecting me again. But for the first time I could bear the trembling, even take a strange pleasure in it, having resolved—like the girls of Shiloh—not to let fear stand in my way.

A flock of thrushes circled an oak topping the ridge on the far side of the valley. Their day’s end jabbering filled the hollow valley with song just as Uriel relented, dropping his chin in the slightest of nods.

I closed my eyes and softly rippled my fingers across the strings of the kinnor, not wanting to startle the meditating disciples. At each pass through the melody, I increased the pace, the clear tones of the kinnor deepening and the music unfolding. The nigun flowed off the strings, through my bones, and settled in my heart as I lost myself in its rhythm.

A firm hand clasped onto my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to find myself alone with the prophet in the clearing. His creased face was expressionless, showing neither kindness nor anger. “You have returned for the rest of the gathering?”

I nodded.

“And after that?”

“If you desire my service, I will go where you go.” I bowed my head. “Master.”

One eyebrow lifted at the title. All called him Master Uriel, but only a true servant or disciple called him Master. My stomach churned—would the prophet reject me?

“You have chosen to return. I accept you into my service,” Uriel said at last. “Is there anything else you wish to say?”

“Yes, Master. If there are times that you do not need me, I would like to help Yonaton’s family bring in their harvest before the rains.”

“A generous thought. Come and play for us in the mornings. You may spend the rest of the day helping your friend.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Put your things away and come eat. You’ve had quite a journey.”

“Lev!” Yonaton dropped the sheaves in his hands and ran out to meet me. I held onto Yonaton’s embrace for a long time, my arms wrapped tightly around his back. After being thrown out by my aunt and Uriel’s cool reception, being held by an enthusiastic friend felt like coming home.

“Are you back to play for the disciples?” Yonaton asked.

“Yes, and Master Uriel says I can help you with the harvest too.”

“We could use it. Come meet my father and sisters.” All eyes were on me as we approached their donkey cart. “This is my friend Lev. He came to help us with the harvest.”

“You are welcome, Lev. I’m Baruch ben Naftali. Yonaton told us much about you.” Baruch had a strong, stocky build and deliberate speech, giving me the impression that he didn’t talk much. But he met my eyes with a sincere smile.

“These are my little sisters, Yael and Naomi.”

I waved to the girls. Naomi blushed and turned away, but Yael, the younger, continued to stare.

“So what can I do?”

“Right now we need to load the grain onto the cart and bring it to the threshing floor.” Yonaton swiped the back of his arm across his sweaty forehead. “What made you come back?”

I glanced toward his father and sisters, who worked near me in a tight group. “I’ll tell you later.” I collected a bunch of crackling sheaves and tossed them onto the cart. Yonaton’s eyes burned with curiosity, but he held his tongue.

I had never harvested grains before. The sheaves of summer wheat were light, and the bending and stretching felt good. As I warmed up, I quietly sang an old shepherding song. Yonaton picked up the tune and joined in, and even Baruch started to hum along. Seeing that the song wasn’t a disturbance, I let my voice soar.

I arrived at the farm the next day to find Yonaton absent from the fields. “Morning, Lev.” Baruch pointed to the hilltop overlooking the farm. “Yonaton’s at the threshing floor. You can join him there.”

“I thought we weren’t starting threshing until tomorrow?”

Baruch scanned the western sky. “The morning clouds keep getting darker and burning off later in the day. The sooner we start threshing, the more we’ll be able to save when…if the rains come.” He sighed and returned to gathering the cut wheat.

I climbed up the terraced hillside, past dusty grapevines, and through a grove of olive trees until I reached the broad threshing floor at the very top.

“Good, you’re here.” Yonaton raised his voice over the wind. “This is a lot easier with two people. You want to lead the team or ride the sled?”

Now that’s an easy choice. “I’ll ride the sled.”

Yonaton hopped off the threshing sled and circled around to the front of the oxen, taking the reins. Until I arrived, he’d been goading and steering the oxen from behind while weighing down the sled himself.

“I thought farm work was going to be hard,” I said, lounging on the sled. “I think I might just take a nap.”

Yonaton laughed while spreading more grain on the ground before the oxen. “Go ahead. Enjoy your time on the sled. We’ll be winnowing soon enough.”

“In the meantime, I’ll lend you my weight.” I closed my eyes, my body vibrating as the flint on the underside of the sled cut into the grain beneath.

Yonaton slowly led the oxen around the threshing floor twice in silence. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “One of Yambalya’s priests came by this morning.”

“What?” I sat up, my eyes wide. “When?”