June 28, 1875

Before bed, Motzi Shabbat. Brigs safe at home after several days on the range and all the children are asleep.

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A young girl came to the ranch Friday night, after the babies and the boys were in bed. She's someone I recognized — a young lady who is, I think, at least part Native. She comes to the Valley now and then, following the game she hunts. I've heard her called Bear, though I don’t always see her as a mama bear. More like a cub still in need of love.

She was scared, this young Bear.

I offered her some of the herbal tea I learned to blend from Elle, with herbs that soothe both the body and the soul, and asked what was troubling her.

The first thing she asked, as she sipped the tea and the chill began to leave her — which may sound strange in the heat of late June in West Texas, but she truly seemed chilled to the bone — was, “So, you are Jewish, yes?”

When I told her I was and gently asked why, she leaned in and whispered that she was afraid she was being haunted. She said the word Dybbuk, and then changed it to Djinn. That struck me as curious, but I know she travels far and wide. She must have met a follower of Islam somewhere.

She told me she'd been dabbling in things probably best left to someone trained — giving spiritual readings for people she knows — and she feared it opened a door. She believes someone jealous of her sent this Djinn to harass her.

She said the spirit planted a hex, or some black magic on her, and strange things have been happening around her ever since. From what she described, it sounds like it began in late March.

She said she tried invoking the name of Yeshua, but whenever she did, she'd get terrible headaches, or sometimes objects would get thrown. So she came to me — to see if I knew something stronger.

I poured myself a cup of tea and sat beside her. Letting her talk. She seemed so alone. At one point, she apologized for bringing this burden to our doorstep. “If we’ve been cursed with anyone bad like a wendigo or anything,” she said, “we don’t want to go near the village, so we don’t spread bad energy to other people.”

I pointed to the mezuzah and told her, “See that little case on the doorpost? That’s a mezuzah. It has verses from Torah inside — to remind us Who’s really guarding this house. It’s like a no-trespassing sign for anything uninvited. This home belongs to the Holy One.”

She began to settle. I poured her a second cup.

She looked at me with so much hope, it pierced my heart. So I tried to think of what my Ima would’ve told me back in New York. What stories she passed on from the Old Country.

“From what I know,” I said slowly, “the rabbis say there are three questions you ask of a spirit — whatever kind it is. ‘Who are you?’ ‘Why are you here?’ and ‘What do you need to be released?’”

She nodded, and I added gently, “What’s needed most is the energy of love. That’s what dispels bad things.”

Bear lit up at that. “Right! Yes! We don’t know if this bad spirit is still around. All we know is someone did witchcraft on me, and this thing came placing black magic and leaving.”

We sat in silence for a while, sipping tea. Then a thought came to me.

“I could teach you to say the Shema,” I offered. “It’s our central prayer — very simple, but very powerful.”

Bear hesitated, then said, “If you wish to teach me. So long as it’s not sacred only to your people.”

I smiled and told her, “It is sacred. But not forbidden.” I explained how every one of our boys has learned it, and that it’s the prayer Jews try to say before we pass from this world. “It’s a simple declaration — but it holds great strength.”

I sang it to her in Hebrew, then gave her the English translation. We went over it until she could say it clearly in English.

She asked me, “It’s okay to say in English?”

I assured her, “Gd hears in all languages. Gd listens to the heart.”

As she relaxed with her third cup of tea, she began talking about the things she’s picked up from her years of wandering. “They said it was a Jinn who came,” she mused. “They say that’s Islamic, but really, Jinn were around before that religion came. Even during Moses’ time.” Then she laughed nervously. “And Judaism was before Islam, so I’d trust the rabbi more.” And she laughed again, easier this time.

We sat in the kitchen like that — just the two of us — until finally she stood and said, “I will try this at night.”

I nodded. “We say it before bed, and again in the morning. Saying it at night would be beautiful.”

Then, just as she slipped out into the darkness, I told her, “When I light candles, I’ll include you in my prayers.”

She paused and answered, “That means a lot to me,” before vanishing into the night.

I was sorry the Shabbat candles had already been lit when she came. But when I lit the Havdalah candle tonight, I told the boys that we are holding a young Bear woman in our hearts — for healing, and peace of spirit.

Here's to a week of refuah shleimah, of healing and wholeness — for all who seek it.