The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗
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Copyright © 2014 by David Mason
Second edition, 2018
All Rights Reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Nevertheless, should you wish to take a small segment of the book for quotation or teaching purposes, please feel free, since it is my hope that this book will be used to stimulate thought and discussion. I just ask that you don’t abuse this privilege and certainly not to use it as a way of distributing free or unauthorized copies, as I did work hard on it.
For further details on proper usage, please see The Ten Commandments, Commandment 8 (I believe for some Christians it may be Commandment 7. In any event, it’s the one about stealing. I’m not so concerned about bearing false witness, at least not in this context).
I feel like this is starting to ramble, but let’s face it, none of you are reading this page anyway. I’m certain my editor would have cut this way back, but of course editors, like readers, never seem to care about the copyright page. In fact, I think Amazon programmed my Kindle to skip right over this page entirely.
For more details, visit TheAgeofProphecy.com. Truthfully, you won’t find any more copyright information there, but it’s a really cool site and I think you’ll enjoy it.
For further permission requests, to place huge book orders, or just to say hi, contact me at Dave@TheAgeofProphecy.com.
ISBN: 978-1-62393-006-6
Cover Design by the amazing Juan Hernaz.
Check out his other beautiful works at JuanHernaz.com.
Map by the fabulous Erika Givens.
Check out her site at Gleaux-Art-Design.com
For Chana,
whose patience
was tried
many a time
by my six years of writing,
but who stuck by me
anyway
with undying support.
It wouldn’t have happened without you.
As a reader, I always marveled at how many people were mentioned in the acknowledgements of books. After all, writing a book seems like such a lone undertaking. As a writer, I’m struck by the huge number of people who played a role in making this book come about. First of all, both Mike and I want to thank our wives Chana and Karen for supporting us throughout. My son Aryeh Lev, with his love of stories and desire to deepen his understanding, was a constant source of motivation. And of course our parents, without whom, none of this would have happened.
The origins of this book go back to when I was learning the books of the early prophets with Rabbi Aaron Liebowitz and studying the inner workings of prophecy with Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Pupko, both at Sulam Yaakov in Jerusalem. Most of this book was written within the walls of Sulam Yaakov, and I’d like to acknowledge the entire crew there, specifically Rabbi Daniel Kohn, whose teachings have been crucial to the development of our understanding of many key points in the book, and David Swidler, whose encyclopedic mind filled in many a random fact.
I’d like to thank Barnea Levi Selavan of Foundation Stone for helping us understand the historical context, Yigal Levin of Bar Ilan University for helping us identify the ancient city of Levonah, and Shoshana Harrari of Harrari Harps for teaching us about Biblical instruments.
Thank you to our editors, Shifrah Devorah Witt, who edited an early draft of the book, and Rebbetzin Yehudis Golshevsky who edited the final two drafts.
I’m incredibly indebted to the dozens of readers who offered comments, corrections, and direction over the years. I can’t come close to mentioning them all. But I have to give special mention to: Rabbi Joshua Weisberg, Chaya Lester, Eliezer Israel, Michelle Cahn, Leia Weil, Beth Shapiro, Hadas and Gidon Melmed, Moshe Newman, David Shaffer, Jen Bell Hillel, Rachel Winner, Rabbi David Sperling, Rabbi David Fink, Eitan Press, Josh Fleet, Diana Maryon, and my uncle Sam Firestone.
Thank you all.
Two quick notes before you start reading:
1) We’ve created an introductory video for anyone who would like more background regarding the world you’re about to enter, available at TheAgeofProphecy.com/video.
This video can be viewed at any time. It’s not necessary to watch it before beginning. You’ll also find both written and video notes on the website providing sources for ideas discussed in the book and deeper insights into key concepts.
2) We are constantly striving to improve the quality of our work as well as the readers’ experience. The current publishing revolution not only provides authors previously unknown flexibility, but also allows readers to play a prominent role in the writing process. Accordingly, we’ve put a feedback form on our site at TheAgeofProphecy.com/feedback.
If there is a specific element for which you’d like us to provide an explanatory video, or if there’s a passage that you find confusing, or if you find (heaven forbid) a typo, please let us know.
Hillel said: If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And when I am for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?
Pirkei Avot 1:14
1A Shepherd’s Inheritance
578 Years After the Exodus
The day before I was taken from my home, I grazed my uncle’s flock on a hillside overlooking the gates of Levonah. Sheltered from the early summer heat beneath a gnarled fig tree, I strummed my kinnor, the small harp that was my only valuable possession, while keeping one eye on the sheep and the other on the travelers approaching the town gates for market day.
This was before the breakout of war, when anyone could safely walk the King’s Road, regardless of their loyalties. Few travelers spared a glance for the young shepherd boy, and none stopped to talk until Seguv stepped off the shimmering road in early afternoon, leading his donkey up to my perch on the hillside. Seguv was only a few years older than me and spent half his time traveling the Kingdom with his brothers, selling their father’s dates from their estate along the Jordan River. They came to Levonah three or four times a year, but that day was the first time I ever saw Seguv alone. He approached me with a bounce in his step that told of news.
The sheep bleated—strangers spooked them. Seguv barely noticed. He untied one of his saddlebags and rummaged through a thick cushion of flax until he produced a tiny clay bottle. Its dust-colored exterior disguised the treasure within. His eyes sparkled.
“Is that it?” I asked, my eyes reaching toward the vial.
Seguv nodded.
I leapt to my feet. “Put just a drop my hands. I want to feel it.”
With a sly grin, he pulled the flask away. “A drop of this is worth more than one of your reeking sheep, and it would be worth my head if the King found out. I’ll let you smell it only.”
I reached out to take the bottle, but Seguv tightened his grip. Only when I dropped my hands, did he uncork it and hold it under my nose. The essence flooded my senses, overwhelming the smell of dry grass and stone with the sweetness of wildflowers. I closed my eyes and inhaled. Deeper notes of the scent—mineral, earth, spice—unfolded just as Seguv pulled the flask away. A hot breeze carried the sheep odor back under the tree, and I opened my eyes, confused. “If it’s so precious, why are you carrying it?”
Seguv’s eyes widened, “My father wants the first batch to go directly to the King.”
“But why are you taking it?” The roads were safe, and had been ever since the last civil war ended, years ago. Even so, who would send a kingly tribute with a boy selling dates, even if he was of age?
I could tell from the way he smiled, with his tongue flitting between his teeth, that he was waiting for me to ask. “It’s early.” He raised his thick, dark eyebrows. “This is the first batch of afarsimon oil ever produced in the Kingdom. The King isn’t even expecting a crop this year. My father says there’s no better time for my first appearance in Court.”
Only the most important men in Levonah ever went to the King’s Court—I’d never heard of a fourteen-year-old going to Court on his own. But of course, no family in Levonah was as prominent as Seguv’s was. “So that’s why you’re making the trip alone?”
“Hmm?” Seguv was hardly listening; his attention was focused on packing his precious cargo deep into its flax nest in his saddlebag.
“Is that why you’re making the trip without your brothers? To win the favor of the Court?”
“Oh.” Seguv closed the saddlebag, his hands fumbling with the straps. “I forgot you didn’t know.” His breath seeped out of him. “We lost Aviram a few months ago, and now Onan is too sick to travel.”
Aviram’s laughing face rose in my mind. Gone? I couldn’t help but ask, “What happened?”
Seguv’s teary eyes rose to meet mine. “It’s the waters in Jericho.” His chest swelled and collapsed in short bursts. “Many have died from them, but father says it won’t stop the rebuilding.”
Seguv tied off the last strap of the saddlebag as a fiery gust blew off the hillside, rustling the broad, handlike leaves of the fig tree. I wanted to comfort him but feared saying the wrong thing. Who knew better than me how easily a misplaced word could hurt? I reached instead for my kinnor—music had soothed my own heart so many times. I lowered my eyelids and quieted my mind. A slow breath filled my chest, and my fingertips found a nigun. I plucked the notes gently, passing through the simple melody a few times, and then opened my eyes—it was all I could offer.
The music filled the emptiness between us, its notes softening the silence under the tree. Seguv’s head dropped forward as one, two droplets darkened the dry soil at his feet. With a hitch in his breath, he mumbled, “Thank you,” and picked his way down the slope, drawing his donkey toward the town’s gate.
“Go in peace,” I called after him, then added, too quietly for him to hear, “and may the Holy One protect you from the waters of Jericho.”
I closed my eyes back into the melody, playing it louder now. Although it was impossible, I hoped that Seguv could feel the song even in Levonah and that it would bring him comfort there. Like a river, the notes flowed from my kinnor as my fingers swirled across the strings. The repetitive melody and the heat of the day settled down on me, on the road, on the sheep—like a dream.
I was still playing, when a feeling came upon me, a tingling across my back. I had felt this same pricking of warning two moons earlier when a lion stalked the flock in the early morning. Had I responded right away with sling and stones, I might have fought her off. But I had dismissed the feeling—the sheep were quiet. When the lion pounced, I was too late to keep her from making off with one of the lambs.
My back tensed up with the certain knowledge that something was behind me, but I didn’t open my eyes or stop playing. The first moment of facing danger was the most important. If only I could identify the threat, I’d gain some advantage. It couldn’t be a lion this time—lions almost never hunt at midday. And one wouldn’t come this close to the road, certainly not on market day.
I opened my eyes and spun quickly around, hoping to at least catch whatever it was by surprise. There was something there…someone there. I almost laughed when I saw that it was just an old man standing on the other
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