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Song of Solomon 8:5
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[Friends] Who is this coming up from the desert leaning on her lover?
[Beloved] Under the apple tree I roused you; there your mother conceived you, there she who was in labor gave you birth.
J
ehoshaphat and Reu led the Baal Hamon procession on dromedaries. Shepherd-robed Solomon and Hezro followed on their camels with Arielah and Hannah in the wedding carriage, bouncing along the coastal highway by the Great Sea. The little coach, stripped of its gold and veils, appeared as any other wealthy merchant’s transport. Igal and his choice of nine capable Shulammites provided rear guard.
“I’d like to ride by Jehoshaphat for a while, Reu,” Solomon said on the third and final day of their journey. “I have something to discuss with him, and I don’t want to shout.” Jehoshaphat’s young aide said nothing, simply halted his camel, allowing Solomon to take his place. The young man maintained the same sullen expression that had been chiseled on his face since Solomon arrived in Shunem. “Thank you, Reu,” he said as his camel moved into position.
A curt nod was Reu’s only reply.
Solomon lifted his eyebrow when he arrived at Jehoshaphat’s side. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Do you think he’ll accept my offer when he still holds this kind of resentment toward me?”
“All we can do is offer it. I’ll take him aside while we’re here at Baal Hamon and tell him what you and Arielah have decided.” With a shrug, he added, “If the Lord has laid it on your heart, Solomon, you must offer.”
The reality of Israel’s conflict had never been more real to Solomon. “Is Reu’s bitterness shared by everyone in the northern districts? Is war in Israel inevitable?”
Jehoshaphat’s eyes grew kind. “Only Jehovah’s plan is inevitable, my king.” His smile opened Solomon’s heart to receive hope. “The Lord promised you a reign characterized by peace,
Shalom-on.
You must offer to your nation—like you must offer to Reu—the gifts and wisdom God lays on your heart, and then it’s up to them to accept it.” Jehoshaphat pressed his lips into a thin line. “Reu must learn not only to admire forgiveness but to realize he can—and should—implement it in his own life. Israel must learn the same. They must not simply talk of peace, but they must also work to live it.”
The words struck a harmonic chord in Solomon. Forgiveness, peace, love—they were similar. Solomon had admired the love he saw in Jehoshaphat’s family, but he must embrace it for himself, work to give and receive that same love in his own life.
“I’ve never thought of you as a man of the soil,” Jehoshaphat said, interrupting Solomon’s pondering. “This is the first I’ve known the son of David to visit a vineyard.”
The man’s smile was warm, his interest genuine. Solomon might have bristled in weeks past at the implication that he didn’t appreciate nature as Abba David had. “When I was young,” he began, “Abba David took me to Baal Hamon to learn of vineyards. While Abba traveled further north for business with King Hiram, I stayed with the vinedresser, Shimei, who taught me of the vines.” Glancing ahead, Solomon caught a glimpse of the vineyard tower and . . .
Leaning forward, shading his eyes from the setting sun, he saw a lone figure standing in the vineyard watchtower, frail and bent. “I think that’s him, Jehoshaphat!” Turning to alert the caravan, he shouted, “Baal Hamon is ahead!” Excitement brimming, he felt his heart nearly burst with memories. “Abba David put Shimei in charge of Baal Hamon over twenty years ago, and his faithful service has kept the palace wine stores overflowing. I spent many summers under his guidance, learning to tend the vines.”
“So why did you stop coming?” Jehoshaphat’s question was innocent, but it dampened Solomon’s enthusiasm.
“Duty stopped my visits,” he said sadly. “As Israel prospered, Abba spent less time in Tyre, and I spent less time at Baal Hamon. As I got older, my responsibilities grew, and our view of Baal Hamon changed. Instead of it being our family’s vineyard on the way to Tyre, it became the vineyard too far into northern Israel to visit.” The confession made his camel’s plodding seem even slower.
“Go!” Jehoshaphat said.
“What?” Solomon turned to find the prince smiling. He must have noticed Solomon’s impatience.
“I said
go!
We’ll catch up.”
“Ha-ha!” Solomon swatted his camel’s backside, and all four hooves flew.
Solomon heard another camel beside him and found Hezro gaining ground. He should have known Benaiah’s Cherethite wouldn’t let him too far out of reach. As they neared the vineyard, Solomon noticed the stooped old man had arrived at the narrowly opened gate. Solomon and Hezro halted their camels directly in front of a beaming Shimei.
Peering from beneath wiry gray eyebrows, Shimei shouted, “Shalom, young Solomon!” His unkempt beard looked as if a family of doves nested in it.
“Shalom, good Shimei! Your young prince has returned.”
“Ah, can it be the little prince has returned a king, or has the king become a shepherd?” His pink gums gleamed from his wide smile.
Solomon remembered his shepherd’s disguise and marveled that the old man had recognized him from the tower. “I come to inspect your work, old man!” Solomon tapped his camel’s shoulder, and the beast rocked to its knees. Hezro mirrored the king’s descent, and both joined the vinedresser at the gate.
Though the old man’s eyes were cloudy, they saw into Solomon’s soul. “Surely my work is least on your list of pressing national issues, my lord.”
“You’re right as usual, good Shimei. I bring a woman for your approval. She has pressed my heart like a winepress squeezes grapes.”
The old man’s weak shout sounded like wind through sackcloth. “The son of David comes to visit his vineyard. Sound the shofar, for today we celebrate!”
The heavy wooden gate swung open at the hands of two burly Judean guards. They stared at Solomon with interest.
“King Solomon, my lord.” Shimei ceremoniously bowed.
“Stand up, old friend.” Solomon chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll topple over if you bow any lower.”
The old man stood, and his laughter ended in a fit of coughing. Solomon held him until he quieted. “So what
really
brings you to your northern vineyard, Solomon?”
No more games. No more trifling words. Solomon pointed to the little wedding carriage approaching. “The woman in that coach, Shimei. She is my wife and says we must learn how to love before we return to Jerusalem.”
The old man nodded. “She seems wiser than you already,” Shimei said, mischief in his eyes. “Your abba tended the royal flocks when he needed to listen to Jehovah, but you, young prince, have always listened best amid the vines.” They entered the vineyard, Solomon with his arm around the old man’s waist to steady him.
When they reached the vinedresser’s home, Solomon said, “Wait here. I’ll escort Arielah and her abba Jehoshaphat and introduce them as soon as the caravan is settled inside the vineyard gate.”
“I’ll have Cook prepare the evening meal for our special guests,” Shimei shouted over his shoulder, setting off another coughing bout. “I see love has bitten you hard, young prince. We have much to celebrate.”
By the time Solomon returned with Jehoshaphat and Arielah, the meal was waiting, but Cook was wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, my king,” she said hesitantly, “but Shimei has gone out to your old meeting place and asks that you bring your bride to greet him. I’ll serve our other guests while you and your bride find Shimei.”
A bit embarrassed by his friend’s eccentricity, he apologized to Jehoshaphat and the others, asking Cook to make them feel welcome. Handing a lamp to Arielah, he gathered her into his arms. “The paths are too uneven for you to maneuver in the dark, beloved.” She nodded and relaxed into his arms, and he noticed Hezro following close behind. “I’m sorry, my friend, but you’re not invited.” When the guard started to protest, Solomon interrupted. “Hezro, think about it. We’re in
my
vineyard, guarded by Judean soldiers, and I’m meeting an old man who can barely stand.” He paused for the length of a heartbeat. “I’m safe. Go eat your meal.”
The Cherethite barely blinked. “I will stand at a distance, far enough to give you privacy, but close enough to see the flame of my queen’s lamp.” He then turned and addressed Arielah. “Please, my lady, make sure you hold your lamp so that I can see it at all times, or you will call down my wrath on whoever is standing near you.”
Arielah nodded, her eyes wide.
Solomon’s heart warmed at the guard’s care. He turned and found the path he’d walked a hundred times with the old vinedresser. Hezro was true to his word, his presence felt but not seen or heard. Finally Solomon saw the faint glimmer of Shimei’s lamp under the lush green canopy where they’d shared so many secrets.
“Welcome, young prince!” he said, coughing again with the greeting. He pounded his chest and rocked on the boulder where he sat.
Solomon eased Arielah onto a smooth rock, dented in its middle as though hewn to receive her.
Solomon turned over a watering jug and sat on it. “Don’t die out here, you old raisin,” he teased when Shimei’s coughing subsided. “I can only carry one of you, and my wife is much prettier.”
“Indeed she is,” the old man said, a sparkle in his eyes.
“Now why did you call us out here and leave your guests to be entertained by Cook?” Solomon tried to sound gruff, but the vinedresser knew him too well.
“I wanted to meet the woman who bruised your gizzard.”
“Excuse me?” Solomon laughed, and Arielah joined him. This old man loved riddles, and Solomon loved this old man. “I’ve come to believe myself a man of some knowledge,” Solomon said, “and I’ve never beheld a gizzard.” He glanced at Arielah and found her rapt attention on the old vinedresser.
“Well, whether you’ve heard of it or not,” Shimei said, grinning ear to ear, “yours has been bruised. Love is a funny thing—shakes like a lizard, runs around your heart, and grabs at your gizzard.”
As they enjoyed the old man’s sage wisdom, their laughter wound down like the last clump of wool on a spindle. Solomon left his place and knelt by Arielah. “Shimei, this is my beloved, Arielah. Our union was born of duty, a treaty agreement between the house of David and the northern tribes.” His throat constricted as he contemplated how to relay the rest of their story. “Because my heart became so thoroughly satisfied by her during yichud, I promised her a singleness of commitment as if she were my only wife, my only marital responsibility.” He saw Arielah’s head bow, watched a tear drop to her folded hands. “Shimei, I broke my promise to her. I betrayed her, not just with my other wives but with—” He hesitated, shame strangling him.
“Does your wife know the details of your betrayal?” Shimei asked.
“Yes.”
The old man pointed to the moon and shimmering stars. “Have you confessed your sin to Jehovah, Solomon?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have no need to hear the details of such a betrayal,” the old vinedresser said. “Go on with your story.”
Solomon gathered his composure. “It was my betrayal that caused her scars,” he said through a tight throat. “Yet she has forgiven me.” He lifted her crooked hand and kissed it. “I love her as I’ve never loved anyone before. I would give my life for her, but—”
“But what?” Shimei asked abruptly, startling the two lovers. “So give your life for her!”
Solomon glanced at Arielah and back at Shimei. Arielah appeared to be as confused as he felt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Change your life for her,” he said as if Solomon were the dumbest sheep in the flock. “Remain faithful to God’s calling as king, honor all your promises, and change anything else that needs changing.”
Arielah ventured a word for the first time. “Good Shimei,” she said hesitantly, “how can Israel’s king honor his promise to me—to love me with his whole heart—and yet faithfully fulfill his duty to the other treaty wives? I’m afraid the agreement that sealed our beginning necessarily requires our end. He cannot remain faithful to me and still honor the other treaties he’s made.”
“The beginning of a relationship has little to do with its end,” Shimei said. “David and Bathsheba are testimony to that.” Like an old gossip, he bent low and whispered from behind a raised hand, “Solomon, did I ever tell you that you were conceived under an apple tree?”
“Shimei!” he gasped while Arielah stifled a giggle. “How in the name of pomegranates do you know that?”
“Hee-hee!” The old man chuckled. “Because when your abba brought you to this vineyard, he realized Jehovah shouts to you among these vines. King David said, ‘Perhaps since Solomon was conceived under an apple tree, he will always be more attuned to God’s voice amid His creation.’”
The old man paused and grew serious. “You have both come with heavy hearts. Baal Hamon is far from Jerusalem, but I have heard of Arielah—the lion of God.” Turning to her, he said, “When you return to Jerusalem, your enemies will say, ‘Look how she leans on her lover,’ and they will think you weak, little lioness.” He leaned forward, his eyes holding the couple in a firm grip. “But you must look at your husband and remind him, ‘Amid God’s creation we will renew our love. In the quiet places of creation where your ima conceived you and gave you birth, we will listen to Jehovah together.’”
Solomon massaged his forehead. “Shimei, you say I hear Jehovah in creation, but so far all I’ve heard are riddles about a gizzard.” Trying to keep the frustration from his voice, he pleaded with his old friend. “If the lesson of love is in this vineyard, I’m missing it. This is important, my friend. No more riddles. I’ve failed Arielah once; I don’t want to fail her again.”
“Oh, young Solomon, everyone fails. But not everyone truly loves.” Shimei reached up and plucked a cluster of nearly ripe grapes from the vine. “Love is like these grapes. It must be allowed to grow and ripen in its time.” The old man threw the cluster at Solomon, and the king caught them by sheer reflex. “That’s how you love, young prince.” His pink gums shone in the lamplight. “You simply catch it as it comes at you.”
Solomon inspected the cluster in his hands.