A small table stood between the two stools, and upon it lay a plate of flat, round bread, a small bowl of salt, two cups of water. They ate in silence, scooping the thick lentils onto the bread, two women deep in thought, each curious about the other, both pondering the uniqueness of this moment as women from very different worlds shared a humble meal.

     When they were done, Ulrika started to rise, but Rachel bent her head and said, "Hav lan u-nevarekh ..."

     Ulrika listened politely as Rachel recited a prayer. When she was finished, Rachel said, "We always give blessing to God after we eat."

     Ulrika recalled that, the night before, when Rachel extinguished the last lamp before they went to sleep, she had recited a prayer in Hebrew. She had recited another that morning, upon rising.

     Rachel said, "Prayer is ever-present in our lives. Prayer is witness to our covenant with God. It confirms and renews our faith on a daily basis."

     As she took the empty dishes, Rachel said, "I will take you to the oasis so you can bathe. I go there myself once a month for the mikvah—a ritual cleansing bath following the menstrual cycle—in a secluded pool set aside for women. It is very private."

     A day passed, and another, and Ulrika fell in with the rhythm of Rachel's and Almah's strange life. As her ankle healed, she went with them to the oasis to trade chicken eggs and goat's cheese for water and dates and fish. One day they brought back live locusts, which Rachel placed in a basket to be set it out in the sun until they died, and then she sat and painstakingly plucked off the locusts' wings, legs, and heads, placing them in her clay oven to dry-roast them for a special treat. Rachel cooked chicken eggs served with a sauce made of pine nuts and vinegar. Almonds and pistachios baked in honey were dessert. The three women drank watered date wine in the evenings, in moderation, as the sun went down and the valley of salt grew still and quiet.

     Ulrika became interested in her hostess. There were no idols of gods in Rachel's tent, no relics of ancestors, no altars for sacrifice. She was not familiar with the religion of the Jews, except to understand that their god was invisible, and therefore they did not carve his likeness. Every dawn and every evening, Rachel went outside and prayed to her god, whom she called "Father." And Rachel's faith seemed to have many food rules, called kosher, so that Ulrika marveled that Rachel could remember them all.

     They spent evenings talking over the campfire beneath the spring stars, and while Ulrika repaired her sandals and Almah worked at the loom, Rachel chopped vegetables and told stories about the heroes of the past.

     "Jewish history is filled with many stories of brave heroes," Rachel said in her thick, honey-warm voice. "There was David who slew a giant, a peasant named Saul who became a king, Gideon who conquered the Midianites with a handful of men, Moses who brought the Israelites out of Egypt, andJoseph who saved an entire nation from famine. We look upon these forefathers as heroes, but they were in fact weak men. David, when he slew Goliath, had been a mere boy. Saul came from the smallest and least important clan. Gideon was from the weakest clan, and he himself was the weakest in that clan. Moses was slow of speech and tongue and begged God to send someone else to bring the Israelites out of Egypt. And Joseph was a slave. None of these heroes came from impressive backgrounds, or were men of any particular distinction. The rabbis tell us that God purposely chose these men because He showed Himself strong through their weakness."

     Rachel's compelling voice, her piercing eyes, the graceful gestures of her hands often captivated her audience, making them see and feel and hear the very story she was relating. She had a unique way of bringing the past to life, so that listeners held their breath, waiting for more. Ulrika told Rachel that she had a rare and special gift, and asked her if she ever told her fabulous tales to the people of the oasis.

     "I had never thought to," Rachel replied, but Ulrika could see that Rachel liked the notion of sharing her sacred stories with others. "Perhaps," she said. "At the least, my stories entertain and keep away the fears of the night."

     But Rachel did engage in one practice that Ulrika could not fathom, and which she was too polite to inquire about. Periodically, Rachel would leave the camp and take herself away from everything, to a secluded spot, and there she would sit, cover her face with her hands, and sway rhythmically while whispering softly.

     At first, Ulrika had thought she was weeping—a widow who occasionally remembered her loss and went into seclusion to deal with her grief. But then she had noticed that Rachel always returned with a smile, her eyes dry and with no sign of having wept. Finally Ulrika asked, and Rachel replied, "It is my meditation. It is more powerful than prayer for it is focused. With such concentration, one can connect with God, the Divine."

     The Divine ...

     Ulrika found herself desiring this woman's opinion and advice, and suspected she could confide in Rachel, so she set aside her broken sandal, the awl and leather laces, and said, "I have been told I have a spiritual gift called the Divining. Do you know of it?"

     Rachel shook her head. "But in the history of my people there are many with spiritual gifts—prophets and visionaries."

     After Ulrika explained about her personal quest, Rachel said, "Let me share with you my private meditation."

     Ulrika listened with interest while Rachel described a technique of visualization, and also of repetition of a word or phrase. "It takes much practice, for the mind has a will of its own and is not easily commanded. This is why meditation is best conducted in a secluded setting. The rabbis tell us that when a person prays outdoors, the birds join in with the prayer and increase its effectiveness. So it must be also with meditation."

     "Perhaps," she added after a moment of thought, "this meditation will help you understand your own connection to the Divine."

     As Rachel seemed to have opened a personal door, Ulrika decided to ask another question that had stood at her lips ever since she first came here. "Rachel, what holds you to this place? Wouldn't you rather live in a town or a city? Come to Babylon with me."

     "I still serve my husband."

     "Even though he is dead?"

     Rachel added with a smile, "He will come back someday."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Jacob and I will be reunited in the Resurrection." Seeing that Ulrika did not understand, Rachel said, "In the Book of Job it is written, 'Once more my skin shall clothe me, and in my flesh I will have sight of God.' Another prophet, named Daniel, said that those who lie sleeping in the dust of the earth shall wake, to enjoy life everlasting. And our Teacher, who was crucified by Rome, said that we shall rise again at the resurrection, when the Last Day comes."

     Rachel added, "Because I trust you, Ulrika, and because of the circumstances of how we met, I am going to tell you what I have never told another soul. My husband is buried here and it is my task in life to protect his grave. This is why I stay."

     Ulrika looked around, but saw no grave marker. "What do you mean, the circumstances of how we met?

     "The place where Almah and I found you, on that spot where you hurt your ankle and called out for help, that is where my Jacob is buried."