Milo, pushing his hair away from his eyes, peered out of his cave. On the steep hillside road, a small caravan of carts and wagons was wobbling to a halt. The mules and donkeys were covered with the dust of the desert and laden with baggage. To Milo, it was pleasant to see that the monthly contribution had arrived from the clans in Jerusalem. Yet his satisfaction crumbled when he saw a woman – yes, a woman – emerging from the carriage.
He turned, whispering excitedly to his brother who was sleeping on a stone ledge: “Omman. Wake up, Omman. Strange company. A woman.”
Omman stirred. “Couldn’t sleep, Milo. You were snoring.” Then, sitting bolt upright, he asked, “A woman? Here?”
Samara, standing stiff in the harsh sunlight, smelled the heat of the sand and stone as she looked at the two stubbly faces, one bright-eyed and smiling, the other scowling and sleepy. Were they really holy men, these lean desert-dwellers in their loincloths, or were they just men who didn’t like living with people? Or, since life was rarely as simple as black and white, was it a little of both?
Most urgently, would they let her stay? She knew well that she was violating tradition.
“I am Samara,” she said hesitantly, “daughter of Isaac and Tamar. My family has long sent you oils, grain and incense to support your meditation.”
“Yes, we know of your family and the donations you so kindly send us,” said the bright-eyed one. “You don’t know us, though. We are brothers, we two.” He was looking her up and down, though not, she noticed, in the lustful way of most men. “I am Milo. This is Omman. Thank you for your contributions. Goodbye now.”
She persisted, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the company of this pair. “I’ve been guided to come here. This is known as a place of meditation. Please let me remain for some weeks. I request one of your caves with a fire pit, nothing more.”
“This is a place for men to pray and fast,” Omman frowned. “It’s no place for women.”
“I know how to pray and fast.” She examined their faces. How old were they? Forty? Sixty?
Milo, who wasn’t frowning, looked at her for another moment with that same non-lustful appraisal, turned, and said to Omman, “Brother, she seems sincere. There have been women here before.”
Omman scoffed, “Yes. Two hundred years ago.”
“Well, there you have it,” said Milo; “she can stay. You know as well as I do, brother, why women have stayed away from here. Because of the restrictions created by men. It has nothing to do with their souls. We must welcome her.”
“Don’t push me, Milo,” said Omman. “My mind, thanks to your snoring, is still not awake. Woman, how long is ‘some weeks’?”
“Twenty-one days and nights.” She’d heard that three weeks of introspection could not only heal wounds, but answer questions – and her questions were a roiling bee-swarm in her heart.
“That is not too long a stay, Omman,” Milo said. “May we tell her yes?”
“I won’t forget your kindness,” Samara added quickly. “By your generosity you’re helping me save myself.”
“What are you fleeing from?” asked Omman, still skeptical.
“From what gnaws at me within.”
“I like her, Omman,” Milo said. “I like the soul I sense in her. Stop guarding yourself like an old fool, and you will too.” Milo turned, reached out to her, and took her hands. “What gnaws at you, Samara, daughter of Isaac?”
Her words came rushing out. “I have many questions about my life. I am being forced into marriage and know not what to do. I feel the pain of our people, and I have a great longing to help Judea stand up to the Romans. I believe the Romans are stealing valuables from the Hebrews, including from my family’s trading business.”
“You have questions,” said Milo. “We do not have answers. We know stories, and they may have some truths in them, but that is all.”
Omman added, “You can stay, yet only if you agree not to bother us. We shall bring you food, but you have to find your own answers, woman.”
Her heart relaxed. She had won!
“First, you’ll have to meditate,” said Milo. “Meditate until your questions are but a few, or even only one. Then we might tell you our stories.”
“And give me answers?”
He chuckled. “No. We shall only tell you a few stories.”
Fasting and meditating in the cool shade of her cave, she felt gratitude for the sanctuary of this place. Every day she would hear the low voices of the hermits greeting guests and guiding them to caves, and she felt awkward to note that except for her, all the guests were men.
She recalled her grandmother Ahava, mother of her father Isaac, drawing near to her and saying confidentially, “In days of old, women were allowed to visit the caves as a place of retreat. Our men were not so restrictive of women as they are now.”
“Grandmother,” Samara had asked, “do you think it may be because of the Romans and the way they keep their own women down?”
“I am sure of it,” Ahava answered. “When men become frustrated, they often take it out on their women. In all of the days of our people, our men have seldom felt so thwarted as in recent years, since the Romans destroyed the Temple. It’s an ugly thing that our own sons and husbands and fathers have started to act the same as the ones who oppress us.”
Samara had been dismayed at Ahava’s words. It was painful to contemplate the notion that her own dear people had been made brutal by being treated with brutality.
Making herself herbal infusions, steamed grains and thin broth, she took long walks through the hills twice a day, her body wrapped in the rough cloth worn by shepherd boys so that no one could see she was a woman. Returning to her cave, she would light candles and incense, wondering if she would ever learn her destiny.
She was not as religious as the men she so often saw weeping at the Western Wall, yet she believed that her prayers would be answered. She prayed to be shown whether she should follow her father’s command and marry Hod, or whether she should refuse.
In the middle of the night, gazing at the blank rock wall of her cave, she heard the snoring coming from the hermits’ cave. Was it Omman or was it Milo? How could anyone sleep in the same cave with that noise?
She took a deep breath. If her prayers brought her the message from within that she should do her father Isaac’s will, either by becoming Hod’s wife or by giving up trading to become her father’s housekeeper, she would obey.
Yet if there were a chance for her to find the right man – any chance at all – she would take that chance. Her inner guidance had a stronger claim on her than the traditions of her clan.
Now, she could stop worrying about the marriage that had been threatening her. She had wrapped her questions in prayer and sent them off, and therefore she trusted that the right outcome would arrive.
Sighing deeply, she felt her inner tension break, and she was flooded with peace.