The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗

Hillel said: Be among the disciples of Aharon, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving people and bringing them closer to Torah.

Pirkei Avot 1:12

“I don’t understand.” Shimon groaned as he and Uriel laid one of the slain prophets beside the ruined house.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.” Uriel approached the next of the fallen.

“I’ve been here since I left you. You were right; it was better for me here among the masters than it was among the disciples. The Queen’s soldiers rode up at sunset, eight of them. Three of us went out to greet them with food—we had no idea. Foolish as it was, that probably saved my life. I don’t think that anyone in the house managed to—Lev, no!”

I jumped back at the rebuke. Yonaton and I had approached one of the bodies—why shouldn’t we try to help? Did Shimon think we couldn’t carry the body? And why did he yell only at me? Yonaton was a bit stronger, but not by much.

Uriel edged over to my side, making himself a barrier between me and the dead. “Yes, why don’t the two of you gather wood for the morning meal. We will need all of our strength.”

My master’s tone was softer than Shimon’s, but his command no less clear. I bit back my response, and the two of us retreated from the line of bodies to the first row of trees, where we gathered sticks in silence so as not to miss a word.

Shimon hovered over another of the fallen prophets. “The details of the battle are not important. You see the results before you.”

“Did anyone else survive?”

“I think not. We’ll know for certain once we have gathered everyone.” He studied the blackened corpse at his feet. “I hid in a cave last night.”

Uriel placed a hand on Shimon’s shoulder. “Flight is also courage when it holds hope for return.”

Shimon nodded. “The ram’s horn roused me. I wasn’t sure if the blast was from friend or foe, so I crept back, keeping to the shelter of the trees. Then I saw one of them go after the boys, so I attacked. I managed to plant my knife in him, and he rode off. Coward. I knew he must be going after you. I couldn’t help you barehanded, so I asked Lev for Yochanan’s knife.”

Shimon limped to the body that still had my father’s knife protruding from its neck. He placed a foot on the soldier’s back and grasped the hilt. The knife slid out with a jerk. Shimon plunged it into the soft earth a few times to remove the blood, wiped the blade with his palm, and brought the weapon to Uriel.

Uriel examined the knife. “Yes, Lev has shown it to me. For the second time, this blade has saved your life.”

“Indeed. But it is a tool of peace, not war. It should never have been used to kill a man.”

Uriel rotated the knife, as if examining it for flaws. “It hardly seems you had a choice.”

Shimon’s forehead sunk toward the ground. “No, there was no choice. Not this time, and not when Yochanan used it to save me.” Shimon sighed. “You know, just before it happened, I…I saw him.”

Neither of them heard the branches fall from my arms.

Uriel fixed his eyes on Shimon. “You saw Yochanan?”

He nodded once. “I touched the flat of the blade to my forehead and closed my eyes. I recalled that day years ago. My fear, his sacrifice. I was filled with death, the injustice of Yochanan’s murder, the horror of yesterday’s massacre, and the evil of them trying to kill you now…” Shimon’s posture straightened to the height of that morning’s battle. “And that’s when it happened.”

Uriel’s eyes bored in on his disciple. Even Yonaton stopped pretending to gather wood. “What did you feel?”

“Power, like nothing I’ve ever felt. Yesterday I injured my ankle running away, but when I took off after that soldier, I felt no pain—and I ran faster than I ever have.” Shimon’s hands stretched out in wonder.

“Clarity.” Shimon closed his eyes. “I could see every needle on the trees, feel every whisper of the wind. When I charged into battle, I didn’t have to decide what to do. My body just…knew. I leapt onto the back of that horse as if it were a pony!” Shimon’s eyes popped open, cutting creases across his scars.

“Did you feel anything else?”

“Courage, no fear at all. Last night, I couldn’t sleep, despite my exhaustion. I shook all night, petrified that they might hunt me down. But this morning, I wasn’t afraid anymore. And so strong. I snapped that soldier’s sword in two—I can’t do that.”

“How did it end?”

“When the last soldier fell, I felt it just…flow out of me. The fear hasn’t returned, but my leg is throbbing, and well…” he glanced at his hands, “I won’t be shattering any more swords.”

Uriel managed a weak smile. “You have sought navua for many years, but it always eluded you. Most disciples either succeed or abandon their path—but you persisted. Now you taste the fruits of your commitment.”

“This was prophecy?” Shimon’s eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t like any navua I’ve ever seen.”

“But I have seen far more than you have, Shimon. One can receive the Presence in many ways. There is a level, close to prophecy, which can come in a time of crisis. One sees injustice and rushes to act without considering oneself. When your heart, mind, and will move you in this way, you can become a fit vessel for the Holy One.”

The words made little sense to me, and Shimon didn’t seem to understand either. The lines on his forehead only deepened.

“Learn from Samson,” Uriel continued. “Drawn after his eyes, he could never receive full navua. But when he seized that donkey’s jawbone at the battle of Lehi, what filled him in that moment?”

Fear? I asked myself.

My master continued, not waiting for an answer. “The desperate need of Israel. He slew a thousand men that day. Despite his…flaw, Samson was a fit tool in the hand of the Holy One and merited to save our people from the Pelishtim.”

“So the Presence brings you strength?”

“Not always. It is a spirit that fills you with the power you need at the moment. Samson, whose way was to fight alone, received the power of an army. King Shaul, who ran away from kingship, received this spirit in a different way, giving him the power to lead.”

Shimon’s face shone for a moment, then his eyes brimmed with tears. “But why wasn’t I given this power yesterday? Why did so many have to die?”

“Do not take what you received lightly—it is a rare gift. Yesterday you were afraid. Today you were tormented by the massacre, in fear of another slaughter, and then remembered so vividly the sacrifice Yochanan made to save your life. The spirit didn’t take you into battle. You were determined to fight, determined to succeed—you just didn’t know how. That determination made you a fit vessel for the spirit. You didn’t receive the strength of Samson or the leadership of Shaul. But it did bring you enough speed, strength, and knowledge to overcome these four soldiers. For that, I’m grateful.”

My head throbbed. Between our journey, the flight from the cave, our march through the night, and the dawn battle, I was exhausted. Uriel’s words knocked away my last restraint. I really grasped only one thing from the conversation: Shimon’s transformation was connected to my father’s knife—to my father’s sacrifice for him. My father saved Shimon’s life…at the cost of his own?

They stood there talking as if I were as deaf as one of the murdered prophets. They thought I couldn’t handle carrying the bodies, couldn’t be trusted with the truth of my past.

It wasn’t my place to interrupt, but they were talking about my life. I cut through the clearing in three strides, and faced Uriel and Shimon over the line of the dead. “What’s this about my father?”

Shimon