After I shared my past with Samson, he told me his story.

"I was born to an elderly couple who had tried for many years to have a child. From as early as I can remember, I was told the story of my miraculous birth. An angel appeared to my mother and told her she would conceive and bear a son. From birth the child was to be dedicated to Yahweh because he would begin the deliverance of the Israelites from the Philistines. My mother said the man's countenance glowed like someone who is close to God. For that reason, she assumed he was an angel. My father was a bit skeptical and so he prayed that God would send the man again so he could question him about the correct way to raise a child dedicated to Yahweh. The angel returned, but my father thought he looked like an ordinary man. Still, he confirmed the message that mother would conceive and the child was to be set aside for service to Yahweh. I was to be a Nazarite, our religious term for someone who is totally dedicated to God's service. When my father prepared a sacrificial offering to the Lord, the flame went up toward heaven and the angel ascended in the flame and was seen no more."

"Imagine, Delilah, being raised with that legend. I was a child whose birth was announced by an angel. God had a special purpose for my life, even before my conception. That is a difficult legacy to live up to. I was expected to live a perfect life. My parents were disappointed over the least little transgression. It was like living in a house made of windows. Everything I did was examined. If I threw a rock at another child, my parents were given a report. They tried to force me to live up to my calling. Even my name plagued me. Samson means child of the sun. I was the Israelite answer to the pagan sun god Gilgamesh. I was supposed to prove that Yahweh is stronger than pagan deities."

"Even though my parents did their best to raise me as befitted a child who had been a Nazarite all his life, they were human. I was their only son, the child of their old age. I soon learned that I usually could get them to pander to my every whim as long as it didn't directly contradict the instructions of the angel, and those were few. As long as I stayed away from strong drink and ate nothing labeled unclean, my every wish was indulged by my doting parents."

"So that is why you poured out the goblet of wine I brought you," I murmured.

Laughing, Samson said, "So you were hiding in the courtyard watching to see if I would follow you."

Acknowledging my shy nod, he continued, "Yes, that is why I poured out the wine and why I did not wish to drink wine with my breakfast. I am sometimes a rebellious Nazarite, but I have not broken my vows."

"So women are not forbidden to a Nazarite?" I asked flirtatiously.

"Not exactly. To lay with a woman without benefit of wedlock is actually forbidden to all followers of Yahweh. As an Israelite as well as a Nazarite, I am supposed to honor His statutes, including the one telling a man not to lay with a woman outside the bonds of marriage. Sometimes the laws of God are too restrictive for my taste. I admit that as a young man I rebelled against the strictness of my religion. While I have not indulged in strong drink and I eat only kosher foods, I have lain with several women. Most, I admit, are not Israelite women. I seem to have a taste for Philistine women. I am sure you have heard the story of my short betrothal to a woman from Timnah. Her father violated his promise to me and gave her to another man. As a result, I caught hundreds of foxes, bound them in pairs, put a torch between the tails of each pair and set them loose in the fields of the Timnites. Not only were the fields destroyed, but also the orchards and olive groves."

"I have heard the story," I admitted. "Among men it is a fearful tale of retribution. Women, though, find it romantic that a man would love a woman enough to exact such dramatic revenge on those who denied him the chance to marry her. Among women, you are legendary for your loyalty. Every Philistine woman dreams of a man who would love her the way you loved your Timnite."

"Ah, Delilah, do not burden me with further expectations. I am still only a man. I am a strong man, a man dedicated to Yahweh, a man of passion, and, yes, even a man with strong loyalties. But do not imbue me with superhuman characteristics. I will only disappoint you."

"Perhaps we are destined to disappoint one another," I said softly as I held up a fig from the bowl on the table. On the top, the fig looked normal and tasty, but when turned over, it sported a large worm hole.

Frowning, Samson answered, "Do not speak so, Delilah. You invite doom on our relationship. Do not breathe an ominous prophecy so early in our acquaintance."

"I'm sorry Samson," I said, smiling impishly. "You are much too serious. But then I suppose I should expect solemnity from a man who is reputed to kill lions with his bare hands and lay waste a thousand men with only the jawbone of an ass for a weapon. Perhaps it is time that you tasted wine. Just a little might loosen you up."

"Ah, my love, I do not need wine to get high. Tell me you love me and my spirit will soar."

"You are certainly a honey-tongued man. I would rather bed a man high on love than on strong drink any day. I suppose my father only came to me when he was drunk because wine gave him the courage to do what he could not do sober. At least when you come to my bed, I will know you were not lured there by the contents of a wine skin."

"Unless someone can capture your essence in a wine skin, I will not grow intoxicated by partaking of the contents."

Leaning toward Samson, I ventured, "If you were to drink would you lose your great strength?"

"No, sweet thing, wine would not deprive me of my strength, only of my wits. I prefer to be in control of myself at all times. Yahweh forbade me fermented drink because it dulls the senses and slows down reaction time. I need to be sharp and ready at all times. Even though your people and mine intermarry, I am no fool. I know the Philistine rulers would prefer me dead. I will not addle my intellect with wine." 

"But you willingly put yourself at risk for the favors of a woman. I overheard some men at the wedding saying they almost surprised you in the bedchamber of a courtesan in Gaza."

"Almost is the operative word there, Delilah. They almost surprised me. I was not so intoxicated with her that I was caught unawares."

"So you withhold something of yourself from love. We are not so different, you and I. You say I hide the real Delilah inside because I cannot trust. You also hide part of yourself. You too are afraid to trust. For both of us, the risk is too great. I want to love you, Samson, I really do. But I am afraid, just as you are afraid. We both have been misused once too often."

Shaking his head, Samson denied my conclusions. "You are wrong, Delilah. Together we can learn to love. We have told one another our secrets. We have built the foundation, now we can let love grow."

If only I had been able to believe him. If only I had taken his love at face value. But I knew nothing of love, only deceit. In the end I was my father's daughter. I trusted only in the feminine wiles I had been taught. I had to look out for myself. If I let the banished delicate Delilah out now, she would destroy me. And so I let the flirt take over.

Stroking his muscular forearm, I wheedled in a cajoling tone, "Tell me where your great strength lies, O Israelite legend. Even the gods have a means by which they can be afflicted. With what can I bind you that you will lose your great strength?"

Pulling me to him and kissing me hungrily, Samson replied, "Are not the bonds of love enough, Delilah? Let me stay with you for a few days. We will get to know one another. As you bask in my love, you will forget the legends and love the man. I need you to love me, Samson the man, not Samson the great warrior, or Samson the strong man, or even Samson the legendary lover. Love me, Delilah, because I love you."  

"I will try, Samson, I will try. But right now, I need to go and fetch water and purchase meat from the market. When I return, I will cook a delicious meal and we will try to find this love you promise."

For several days, Samson stayed at my house, pretending to be in the area on business. I did not know what he did for the hours he left me. I was just glad to have him gone so I could confer with my co-conspirators. Every day when I went for water and to the market, I told the purple dye merchant of my progress. I arranged to leave the latch open on a small door that led into the room where my father had stored his wine. He had put in the door so he could sneak in and out without my mother knowing. When I found out the secret of Samson's strength, I would tie a length of yellow silk to the knob of the side door. The men were to remove the cloth as they entered and hide quietly in the room. When I shouted, "The Philistines are upon you, Samson," they were to watch through a crack in the door. If Samson broke his bindings, they would sneak back out the way they came. If not, they were to enter the room and take him into custody.

After several days of talking and flirting, Samson came in one day with the beautiful phylactery. He asked me to sit with him in the shade of the fig tree. Taking my hand in his he said, "I have brought you a token of my love, Delilah. This is called a phylactery. I had it made for you. On the front is an emerald cut in the shape of a heart. In the center of the emerald is a small diamond. The heart is green because the suspicious, flirtatious Delilah guards your heart. She is a jealous, skeptic. But deep inside of that heart, in the secret place, is the real Delilah, the delicate child who is pure like the diamond. On the top of the box is an amber sun whose rays radiate onto the sides. One ray penetrates the edge of the green heart. I am the amber sun. But as you can see, I have not been able to penetrate the secret place where the delicate Delilah hides. Inside of this box is a small scroll with the words of the Shema. This is the Israelite reminder that we are to love Yahweh with all of our heart, soul and strength. This Shema is the secret to my strength, Delilah. It is also the secret to my love. I want you to keep this phylactery. It is designed to be worn as an adornment on the forehead to remind you of Yahweh's love. I hope that one day you will make the words inside your own. But even if you do not, this box is a token of my love for you. When I have to leave on business and am far away, wear this box and know I love you."

Samson had been with me for two weeks. We had flirted and talked, but we had not consummated our relationship. By unspoken agreement, we had allowed companionship to blossom before taking the relationship to a more intimate level. Several days had passed since Samson had given me the jeweled phylactery, but he had shown no sign of leaving on his business trip.

That morning I lazily arose from my bed and made my way to the kitchen to prepare our breakfast. I hummed as I ground grain, basking in the soft rays of the sun and the brightness that promised a beautiful day. After I put the bread in to bake, I filled a pitcher with water and tiptoed to Samson's room, sliding the door open softly, thinking I might surprise him while he was asleep and perhaps complete his seduction by offering to give him a sponge bath. After setting the pitcher beside the basin, I threw open the curtains, crying, "Morning my love," as I turned from the window.

I was confronted with an empty bed. Samson did not recline there. His sandals were not thrown haphazardly by the bed, as he was prone to do. No pile of extra clothes lay on the floor. The bed covers were askew as though someone had been there earlier. Lying at the head of the bed were two roses, one still a bud and one open completely. Some of the petals of the full bloom had been pulled lose and lay in abandoned array around the two flowers. Both had been cut close to the base, leaving a long stem.

As I stood transfixed staring at his bed, a chill began to creep over my body. I was filled with apprehension, afraid I had lost both my opportunity for love and my opportunity for wealth. As I reached down and picked up the rose bud, my mind was in such turmoil I did not even realize that I mourned losses that were independently exclusive. I could not have both. If given another opportunity, I would have to choose one or the other.