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Salome rises against the old man of the Yahad. “There is not a soul in or under the heavens who is not beloved in the sight of God. Even you, old man, are beloved of God.”
    By Isis, but comes such muttered concern! Some are full of hope that this is true, and some are furious, for what is the purpose of the Law if all are beloved?
    I gaze out over the faces who stare at Salome as she is transported by the voice and my sight comes to rest on someone who is like no other. He is very handsome. He is very young, though not a youth. He has no beard, but shaves as the Romans and Greeks and Egyptians do. Like the Essenes, his clothes are white. His nose is bent. I like his bent nose; it makes him more handsome rather than less. I keep my eyes on him just as he now keeps his eyes on Salome. What is her voice saying? God loves all his creatures? I am surprised. No voice of ours has ever spoken for a god. For which god does it speak? It cannot be Yahweh, for he would not say such a thing. Salome and I know many gods and goddesses. Would any of these say such a thing? What of the pagans among us who do not give a fig for Yahweh against their own Baal or Dagon or Milkom or Chemosh or Qos? Perhaps it is one of these?
    “No!” shouts Ahad Haam, whose friends are urging him on. “This boy does not speak under the power of the Holy Spirit, for we all know that God does not shine on one and all!”
    “Not on them, old man, but
in
them,” says the voice in Salome.
    “Blasphemy!”
    “How do you know what is blasphemy and what is not? Do you speak for God?”
    “I know what the Law says!”
    “You may know what it says, but do you know what it means?”
    Salome seems to be growing taller. She is certainly getting louder. But then, so is Ahad Haam. He shrieks, “In Jeremiah, the Lord says: ‘I have heard what the prophets have said, who prophesy lies in my name!’”
    Salome’s voice overrides that of Ahad Haam as a river overrides a rill. “Hear me! He who presumes to know aught for certain knows nothing. And he who presumes to know nothing, stands at the brink of gnosis.”
    The heat of the people rises. The voice has used a Greek word,
gnosis.
Most do not understand it, but Ahad Haam understands it well enough.
Gnosis
means more than knowledge. It means insight into the divine.
    I am not alone when I wonder who speaks here.
    “I will not listen to this,” says Ahad.
    “You will not hear. And yet my voice is all around you. You will not look, yet my face shines in yours.”
    I press closer to Salome. The face of Ahad Haam is as dark as Father’s face when he is crossed by someone of no importance. His breath is like the breath of a winded horse. Behind him, his friends make a show of threat. I catch sight of the handsome young man. His hand is in his robe. Does he carry a Persian dagger at his belt? I reach into his mind to see what it is he sees. I reach further…and further…and then I no longer know if it is night or day, past or present or future. I turn away as fast as I can, only to find myself standing. I do not remember standing up. But I am on my feet and I am shouting louder than Ahad Haam of the Yahad or Salome. Much louder. “ BEHOLD ! I AM COME AMONG THEE ISRA - EL !”
    Ahad Haam, Salome, the crowd itself, fall silent. At this moment, a dove winging home to Dinah’s dovecote lands on the tall wall keeping out the steep and narrow street beyond. I see this as if I were no more than a cubit away, yet I am across the courtyard. I see every feather in its breast, the tender blue skin around its eye. A number of the big bearded men in the back are moving toward us, pushing people aside. There is an antique among them, an old man with skin as dark as wet leather and eyes as bright as the dove’s eye. Tall as a ladder, skinny as a rung, he seems to push harder than the younger men, and when they see it is he, they step back as if he were a leper, or a high priest. My heart is throwing itself against my chest as