![]() ![]() After a few ill-written words, she came to me in a dream with grave misgivings. ![]() Nitzy, my nickname for her, proved to be a hard taskmaster. I somehow felt a powerful connection with David’s mother, Nitzevet. I was adopted after being in an orphanage and did not know my mother’s name. Who was he as a young child? As a young man? How did his home life shape his character? The slingshot years were the ones I wanted to bring to life, not the overblown clichés.ĭavid’s name is mentioned 1,000 times in the Old Testament and not a breath about his mother. However, it wasn't the mighty King David I sought but rather the outcast, the troubled one, the desperate David who filled me with wonder. I was entranced with the story of David and imagined myself one of his outlaws, traveling with him on his journeys through Judah and Israel, gathering food, wine, and adventure like so many leaves on a fig tree.Īdventure came quickly-a scorpion bite in the Negev desert, arm- wrestling a Bedouin tribesmen for my camel-haired robe, and running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. ![]() “Oh, how have the mighty fallen,” David lamented. ![]() In the evening by candlelight, I read about Mount Gilboa, where King Saul and His son Jonathan were killed. It was 1979, and I was 21 and driving a tractor that gathered cotton in the great fields surrounding Kibbutz Sede Nahum, Israel, and I wondered about the craggy mountain that rose above the valley. ![]()
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