2 - The High Priestess

Every time I fall asleep…

I am The High Priestess. And it is summertime in Jerusalem. A cool breeze brushes my robes and the moon at my feet illuminates me in gentle power. My dark hair rests at my neck, my coils concealed by my moonlit veil, my Torah concealed by my blue cloak. I sit spine straight atop a stone block. My expression is serenity. I’ve hung a sheet adorned with pomegranates and bells behind me between the pillars Boaz and Jachin. It blocks the entrance to the Temple. I am sitting atop the stairs on my block gazing into the Temple, awaiting you.

As I wait in quiet contemplation my inner voice begins to whisper louder. Nothing is wrong. But some things are different. My ephod is missing. My golden breastplate, my headband, my tunic. I know immediately that these things are gone because King David is gone, and his son Solomon has gone too. I live in the time after Kings. And I am not here to meet King David or his son. I am here to meet you.

I am The High Priestess. I know immediately that this is because I am not dreaming. I have always been a Priestess. I can remember my lessons and childhood and I think in Hebrew. But now my inner voice is silent. And I see you.

Your ephod is missing too. Your jewelry is gone. You’ve no golden breast plate or ornate headband. You are a Priestess like me. Your hair and veil and robes are like mine. You too think in Hebrew and we’ve known each other since we were children playing in the streets below beneath the moon and the Temple. Now the moon is at our sandals. I’ve brought it with me concealed in my cloak with my Torah. You are a smuggler as well. You’ve brought food and wine and incense. We position the moon and pour wine and spread cheese on matzah and make fragrant smoke. We smile and laugh together and read Torah and eat and drink.

In a silent moment I realize that I love you with all of my heart. I see your bright eyes beneath your veil and know that you love me too. It doesn’t need said. We’ll always be together here, where it is summertime in Jerusalem and the cool breeze licks our robes and flaps the sheet I hung between Boaz and Jachin. A thought breaks my inner silence. And I almost ask. I almost ask where you go when you fall asleep here in summertime Jerusalem. But I don’t. Because I understand that this is real. And it doesn’t matter who you are when you dream. ★