Tzur couldn't concentrate on anything. His thoughts were messed up and his actions reflected it."Ehat have I done he thought. Lord I didn't plan this I'm sorry." His parents noticed by dinner time. "You aren't eating Tzur what's wrong." Naomi his mom asked with a worried look. Hiding it from them might be dangerous, he thought and braced himself to tell them the truth. His father, Gideon look at him expectantly and it discouraged him at once. "I..." he began, a lump formed in his throat. He gathered courage and told them what happened every single detail. ".....that's exactly wha happened " He concluded. Surprisingly Gideon had a calm look. He wished Naomi did too. "YOU WHAT." "Tzur go to your room. I need to discuss something with your mother." Gideon said.
The scoldings went on pretty much forever. He could still hear his mother's yelling from his room. He didn't blame her anyways, he just might have set the entire roman force in Judea searching for him. This put his family in danger too. "What happened ....." He thought and drifted of to sleep.
Another dream.
Or vision.
Tzur didn't know what there were anymore.
He saw a man that exuded wisdom. I am Solomon. Tzur didn't doubt him not one bit.
Solomon stood as a man already old with wisdom, even though his face was young.His eyes were calm, not searching, as though answers came to him rather than being chased. In the dream-light he did not shine like a warrior nor burn like a prophet; instead, he settled the air around him, the way evening settles a city after judgment has been spoken.
He wore no crown, yet authority rested on him naturally, like breath in the chest. When he spoke, it was not hurried—every word arrived weighed, measured, and aware of its own cost. Silence did not trouble him; it served him. He listened as kings listen when they know the truth will reveal itself in time.
There was kindness in his posture, but also a quiet sorrow—as of a man who understood that wisdom increases grief, and that to see clearly is to carry more than others. In the dream, Solomon did not command. He discerned.
Solmon stepped closer, and the weight of the space shifted—not because of him, but because Something greater pressed in.
"Listen carefully, Tzur Ha'Emet," Solomon said, his voice lowering. "I am not the one who sustains you."
The golden sky trembled.
A presence descended—not seen, not formed, but felt.
It was not overwhelming in terror, but absolute in assurance.
Tzur's knees buckled.
Solomon knelt too.
"Do not confuse the servants with the Source," Solomon continued. "We appear because God allows it. We speak because He wills it."
The air filled with quiet, unbreakable truth.
"Fear not," a voice spoke—not loud, not thunderous—
"for I am with you."
Tzur's fear cracked—not shattered, but softened.
Solomon turned to him. "You will be hunted. You will be confused. You will doubt yourself. But hear this and remember it when you are alone and afraid."
He placed his hand over his heart.
"God goes before you.
God stands with you.
God remains when all others fall away."
The scripture burned gently into the space between them:
"The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?"
— Psalm 27:1
Tzur whispered, tears forming, not from fear—but from relief.
"You are not strong because you speak verses," Solomon said.
"You stand because God is faithful."
The vision began to fade.
"One day," Solomon added, "you will understand this fully:
faith is not about standing tall—it is about leaning on God when you cannot stand at all."