When the sun arose and the cock crowed, I did not stir. When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was high overhead. Naomi sat at her post sewing while she sang softly. Seeing me stir, she put down her needlework and came to my side, carrying a dipper of water.

"I see you slept peacefully, Salome," she said smiling at her play on words. "Drink some water and then you can try a little porridge."

This time I managed to eat and drink more than the night before. After the rest and the food, I insisted I was ready to try sitting. Naomi helped me to sit and rest against the wall. I was surprised at how tired I was with so little exertion.

When I looked down after I was seated, for the first time I noticed that the garment I wore was not my own. It was lighter and cooler than the coarse dress I had chosen before I left Gaza. Suddenly the memory of the attack returned. Franticly I tried to remember how I had come to be in this house dressed in someone else's clothes. Involuntarily my hands went to the spot below my bosom where I had carried my money belt.

Evidently reading the emotions playing across my face and understanding the gesture of my hands, Naomi spoke."Do not worry, Salome," she said. "Your wealth is safe. When Alian brought you to me, your belt was still tied securely around you. It is in a safe place downstairs. If it will ease your mind, I will bring it and let you check the contents."

At her words a sigh escaped me as I let out the breath I didn't even know I had been holding. Plucking the folds of the front of my dress nervously, I said, "Not now. I believe you, Naomi." Pausing while I groped for words, I finally continued hesitantly, "Did you not wonder what a woman of wealth was doing in the desert dressed as a boy?"

"I must admit to some curiosity," Naomi said. "But you obviously weren't going anywhere, and there were more pressing concerns. I assumed that you would tell me your story in God's time. My job was to make certain you healed. Your left foot was swollen and infected. A sore on the bottom of your heel oozed puss and angry red lines had begun to traverse your foot and start up your leg. I feared I would have to amputate your foot or perhaps your leg to save your life."

When I snatched the covering off of my legs and looked down anxiously, Naomi laughed. "Do not fret child. The poultice I used on the festering sore leeched out the evil. The ulceration looked similar to one that can be caused by an imbedded thorn that is left untended. Evidently whatever caused the abscess on your foot was similar to the blight caused by thorns. You will not be able to put weight on the foot for some time and then I fear you may walk with a limp for a while. But you are whole."

"How can I thank you?" I gasped. "Whatever is mine is yours. Just tell me what you need."

"Your thanks is reward enough. It was your fighting spirit and determination, coupled with my healing knowledge and prayers to Yahweh, that brought you this far. Without Yahweh's protection and concern, you would not have come to be here. Just continue to heal, child. I need no other reward. Besides, you are not completely well yet. It will probably be weeks before you are able to continue to wherever you were headed."

When I leaned forward to peer more closely at my leg, the roof began to swirl,and I reached out to catch myself. Immediately Naomi was at my side, easing me back onto my pallet. "I have let you tax your strength yet again," she said with a sigh. "Lie back down and rest."

I did not protest as Naomi eased me back onto my bedding, but gladly lay down and closed my eyes while she applied a cool cloth to my forehead and brought water for me to drink. Once again overcome by fatigue, I drifted into sleep. In my dream I returned to the pool near Gaza. I could hear the voices of the men who disturbed my rest there and brought me to the shocking realization that the Israelites considered Samson's killing of the Philistine rulers to be a coup for their God. Agitated I reached a hand toward the sound of the voices, wanting to tell the men what a waste Samson's death had been. My movement startled me into wakefulness, but the voice in my dream did not recede.
Instead it said, "So, Naomi, she will live. Have you discovered from whence she came or to where she was journeying?"

"I have not tried, Alian," she answered. "She is weak yet and needs to focus on healing, not on her past. From her delirious ramblings, I fear she is fleeing from some deep hurt. I will simply minister to her needs. I do not need to know her secrets to offer my hospitality. If she wants to share, she will. If not, perhaps one day she will be able to open her heart to Yahweh. All I have asked is what I should call her. She told me to address her as Salome."

"So the mystery lady has a name," the male voice replied. "Salome. That is a strange name for a woman left for dead by a pool. Perhaps she needs to change her name to something more fitting."

"Perhaps not," Naomi said. "Perhaps Yahweh brought her here to provide peace for her soul so the name will better describe the woman."

When Naomi returned to the roof, I said, "I heard voices. Who were you talking with?"

"The man who found you at the pool came by to check on you," she replied. "He is my nephew, Alian. He sometimes travels to Gaza on business with his merchant friend Magog. They went there to discuss a possible business venture but returned home without completing their mission because a tragedy of epic proportions occurred in Gaza that day. The temple of Dagon was turned to rubble when an Israelite by the name of Samson broke the pillars holding up the roof. They hurried back to Hebron with the news. Being a shrewd businessman, Magog saw the disaster as an opportunity to sell large baskets and leather receptacles. He thought the Philistines would need a lot of containers to haul the debris away from the temple. He, Alian, and several others were returning to Gaza with a loaded caravan. Alian discovered you beside a pool when they stopped to water their animals in the heat of the morning. You were unconscious. Magog wanted to leave you there. He was not about to turn around and lose a half a day's journey to take you to Hebron. He said he could not spare a mule to take you with them to Gaza. Alain left the caravan and loaded you on his own mule. He walked here to my house and led the animal with you slung over its back."

"Why didn't he just leave me there to die? Why would he give up the opportunity to make a fortune to take a sick stranger to a healer?"  

"Alian is not like other men. He has a tender heart and an unusual devotion to Yahweh. He would have made a good priest if his lineage were different."

"What does the priesthood have to do with it? I have known priests. They are as greedy as the next man. They claim they amass wealth for their god, but the priests are the ones who benefit from the riches. Many of those I knew would have been loathe to touch a sick person for fear of contaminating themselves so that they could not fulfill their priestly function."

"I suppose you are right. Many priests serve only for gain, even the priests of Yahweh. They have no concern for the hurting, but are obsessed with ritual. Still, I think a priest that reflects the nature of Yahweh would be a tenderhearted man like Alian."

"So this Yahweh is a pushover, a weakling. He has a heart so tender he would ignore his own wellbeing. He would expose himself to an unknown disease in order to help an unconscious stranger. He would give up wealth that could be used to help the poor in order to save the life of a helpless woman. Such a god sounds like one destined to be overpowered by the strong. Why is this Yahweh worthy of worship?"

"Yahweh is a paradox. To us He sometimes appears weak because He extends mercy. He tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. That means we are to be concerned about others who are sick, poor or hurting, just as we would be concerned if we were sick, poor or hurting. Therefore we are to show mercy to those who find themselves in unfortunate circumstances. Yet, God's mercy has limits, and when His anger is aroused, it is an awesome spectacle. Take this tragedy in Gaza, for instance. God's wrath led to the deaths of thousands at the hands of one man. The Philistines thought Yahweh would stand by and let them mock His name and declare Dagon supreme because Dagon's priestess had brought low a man of God. Because God's anointed was weak, many innocent people died a horrible death."

"So this god of yours would have one man risk his life to save a foreign woman and another take the lives of thousands of innocents. He sounds like a fickle god to me."

"No. He is not fickle, but He usually uses fickle human instruments to do His will. If Samson's flesh had not been weak, Yahweh would not have destroyed so many to vindicate His name."

"You mean this god of yours killed so many just so Samson's good name would not be destroyed?"

"No, you misunderstand. Yahweh was not preserving Samson's name. He was redeeming His own name. The Philistines had to learn that Yahweh is not an impotent weakling. Because the Philistine leaders were celebrating Dagon's victory over Yahweh, our God exacted a terrible vengeance."

"So if the Philistines had simply let Samson rot away, forgotten in some dungeon, Yahweh would have done nothing?"

"Perhaps, but we will never know."  

"And what of this priestess that you say brought down this man of God? Did she die in the tragedy?"

"No. She was waiting to be summoned. She was standing some distance from Dagon's temple. During the commotion she disappeared."

"So did this Yahweh spare the life of the one who was responsible for the death of the mighty Samson? If she goes free won't it show that Yahweh is weak?"

"Not necessarily. It depends on the condition of her heart. If she repented of her evil betrayal, then Yahweh might give her another chance. He is still a God of mercy."

Naomi stared off in the distance as though listening to some inner voice. Then she looked back, leaned toward me and spoke almost in a whisper.

"Rumor says that Samson loved this woman Delilah. He evidently told his cousin that she had been betrayed. He said she was hurt deeply. He compared her to a rose that uses thorns to defend its fragile beauty. The guards who protected Delilah say that Samson stopped near her on the way to the temple and basically commanded her to wait there and to remember. He evidently reminded her that the day was the seventh day. The seventh day would have no significance to a pagan. If Samson wanted her to remember it was the seventh day, he must have told her something of Yahweh and His ways. Perhaps Samson asked Yahweh to give this woman a chance to experience the love and forgiveness of a God whose ways would be incomprehensible to one who had suffered nothing but abuse in her short life."

As Naomi spoke our eyes locked. I tried to look away and appear uninterested, but I could not. I was afraid that she would peer into my soul and with the wisdom of her years recognize that my feverish rantings were the guilty confessions of a murderess. I did not know how much of what I heard in my mind when I was sick had been spoken aloud, but I feared the worst. Still I could not tear my gaze from her eyes. I needed to look beyond the words to see if they were a front designed to elicit a confession.

What I saw in the depths of Naomi's eyes was as confusing as the tale of her god. Reflected in her eyes was compassion and sadness, but I also felt an underlying steely determination. I was drawn and repulsed at the same time. I wanted to wallow in the compassion, but I was afraid of the strength that seemed somehow to feed the sympathy. What if this woman deduced my secret? Would her compassion be thrown off like a discarded garment, leaving a determined righteous woman who would see to it that justice was meted out? I wanted to trust her, but I could not. I finally tore my eyes from hers and closed them in fatigue. I expected her to comment, to ask why I had such an interest in the story of Samson and his mistress. But she did not. Instead she began to sing softly: "He found her in a desert land. . ."

The song once again worked its magic and I drifted into a peaceful slumber. This time I dreamed. In my dream I was in a lush meadow covered with wildflowers. I was sitting weaving a garland from the flowers, and as I sat I hummed the song that Naomi had sung. When I looked up from my garland, I saw a well in the center of the meadow. A man stood by the well, letting down the bucket to draw water. Although I was some distance from the man, I recognized the build. His arms rippled with strength and his hair fell down his back in thick waves. As he turned toward me I caught my breath, expecting to see sightless orbs marring an otherwise beautiful face. Instead, I saw the magnificent face of Samson as it had been when I first met him.

He smiled, waved at me and said, "Come, Delilah. Drink from the well that was dug by my father Abraham. God brought him to this land. He blessed him and his descendants. He will bless you too. All you need is faith. Trust him, Delilah. Yahweh led you here to refresh your soul. He wants to free you from the pain of your past. Let him quench the thirst of your soul. He can give you what I could not because He loves you, Delilah. He loves you unconditionally. He knows your secrets, the things you think you have to hide because you think they make you unworthy and unlovable. Trust, Delilah. Trust."

As Samson spoke, I stood and took a step towards him. I wanted to believe his words. I was so tired of running and hiding. I had quit humming, but I could still hear the song as it wove its melody around us. I heard the words, "He has kept her as the apple of his eye." I could not believe those words. I had never been the apple of anyone's eye . . . not my father's, not even Samson's. My mother had come the closest to loving me as the apple of her eye, but even she had abandoned me. She had gone away and left me with a lustful father. She had not protected me like the eagle protects it's young. No, I could not trust. Instead I threw my garland in Samson's direction and with a sob turned and ran from the meadow.

I awoke to find my pallet wet from tears that I had shed as I ran from Samson's offer. I was thirsty, but Naomi was nowhere to be seen. I struggled to sit and then used the wall to pull myself to a standing position. Though extremely weak, I leaned against the wall for support and commanded my limp legs to carry me to the corner where the water gourd rested. I limped, painfully inching my way to the jar. After what seemed an eternity, I reached the jar. By that time I was dizzy and feeling faint, but I knew the water would revive me. Putting most of my weight on a hand on the low wall, I used the other hand to draw water. As I tried to raise the dipper to my mouth, I lost my balance and fell forward onto the wall. When I let go of the dipper so I could use my hand to catch myself, it flew over the wall. I was unable to stop my fall and found myself hanging over the wall. My arms swung against the rough walls and my hair swayed in the slight breeze. As my upper body dangled over the wall and the dipper fell to the street below, I heard a shout. The scene below circled and blurred in a dizzying spiral as I frantically tried to use my knees to hold myself on the roof while I searched for handholds on the outer wall.