“Hakhel es ha’am”
The sun set over Chevron, shedding its last rays of light on the terraces built into the ribs of the mountain.
A woman wrapped in a shawl sat under the olive trees, anxiously watching a youth as he skipped over the rocks in pursuit of his flock. She emitted a strangled cry when her son slipped off a large rock.
“Don’t fall, David,” she called out. “Your job is to care for the flock, not to scatter them.”
David laughed brightly. “But Ima, how can I be a shepherd if I don’t know the sheep by name?”
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