The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗
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My master hunched on the ground, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, neck taut with the tension of a hunted man, while his brother prophets lay silently in a row next to him, awaiting burial. I couldn’t imagine harder circumstances to open his heart to prophecy. I might not have my kinnor, but I still had my voice.
I searched for a nigun, for some music that could escort Uriel into the state of joy necessary for prophecy. Nothing came. Smoke from the smoldering building burned my throat, my eyes. Where was the joy in this place?
Shimon gently wiped the faces of his masters and set their clothes aright. Had he shown my parents’ bodies the same tenderness? The idea of their death was nothing new to me, but now I knew the reason. For the first time, I felt more than just an ache at the thought of my parents’ deaths, but a rush of admiration as well. They died because my father was a kohen—a kohen who wasn’t content to flee or hide. I was also a kohen. If I ever made it to Judah, I could serve in the Holy Temple. What did the music in the Temple sound like?
I closed my eyes, picturing King Solomon’s Temple, with its white walls and crown of gold. I imagined playing my kinnor there before the altar of the Holy One in an act of true devotion. A melody rose in my heart. I sang through the nigun once, my parched lips cracking as I opened my mouth wide to the music. As I returned to the beginning, an arm wrapped around my shoulder, and Yonaton’s voice joined with mine, picking out deeper tones in the melody.
Shimon stretched an arm around my other shoulder. His voice was raw, and his harmony just awful. Still, there was something stirring about singing with this strange man who’d carried me to safety as a child and had saved my life once again.
The prophet’s head remained bowed between his knees for a long time—I couldn’t imagine the shadow he was trying to lift from his heart. Uriel sat up, eyes open—was he giving up? He beheld the three of us swaying before him, attempting to sing away his sorrow. He managed a sad smile, and dropped his head again, rocking his body to our music.
A wellspring of emotion bubbled up from the core of my heart. Ten years of emptiness and longing for answers raged like lions. I held them and watched them melt away under the soft glow of the truth. For the first time, I knew who I was. My song broadened, deepened, flowing out like a river. The arms around my shoulders tightened their hold, and the air seemed to crackle with tension. When the tension burst, I didn’t need to open my eyes to know my master had ascended.
By the time Uriel stirred, Yonaton and I had built a fire and warmed our stale bread. Curious as I was to question my master, he’d not eaten since the previous night, and my first duty was to him. I handed the prophet a piece of toasted bread and restrained myself from asking about the vision.
“Thank you, Lev.” Uriel accepted the food. “But you should not continue to serve me this way.”
“Why not, Master?”
“The kohanim serve the Holy One, not man.”
“But I want to serve you.”
Uriel shook his head. “The laws of the kohanim are many and complex. Sadly, we have no proper time for your education. I will serve myself, and Shimon is here if I need assistance.”
Yonaton popped up at this. “And me.”
Uriel again shook his head. “Yesterday you could not go back to your family because of these brutes, but they will tell their tale to no one now. You may safely return home.”
The color rose in Yonaton’s cheeks. “I want to stay.”
“Lev’s uncle handed him into my care. Your parents made no such choice. They are expecting you, worrying over you.”
Yonaton dug his hands into his hips. “When I told my parents that the soldiers were looking for you, my father told me I had to come. My mother packed me food. They wouldn’t want me to leave you.” He added quietly, “Not if I can help.”
Uriel’s tired brow knitted in thought. “There is a way you can help. Very well, you may remain as long as you are needed.”
No one spoke as the prophet ate, but all eyes measured his progress. When he swallowed his last bite, Shimon could no longer contain himself. “What did you see?”
“We must contact Ovadia. He is still loyal, and in his position, he’ll know how to advise us.”
“Ovadia?” Shimon threw his hands up. “How are we supposed to reach him? He’s in Shomron, the heart of the Kingdom, right under the eye of Queen Izevel. We need to get you to safety. Wouldn’t you be better served leaving the Kingdom?”
“No. You forget King Ethbaal has the largest fleet on the seas. There’s no kingdom with whom he does not trade, no end to his reach. The people have not yet accepted Queen Izevel’s reign here, but once I leave the land, no one has reason to shelter me. I’d be given over immediately.”
“And Judah?”
“Indeed, I would be safe there. But that is where Queen Izevel will expect me to go. She’ll concentrate her power on the border.” Uriel stood up and leaned on his staff. “In any case, I have no intention of fleeing. Do not concern yourself with my safety. My last days will be here in the Kingdom, serving the Holy One in any way I still can.”
“Excellent, so we’ll resist. But don’t throw your life away going to Shomron.”
“I didn’t say we need to go to Shomron, we just need to contact Ovadia. It will be less dangerous for him to come to us.”
“But how can we contact him without going to Shomron?”
Uriel cocked his head and scrutinized Yonaton and me, and his features molded into a grimace. “The boys. The only soldiers we know can connect us with the boys lie right here. You and I are hunted, they are not. Hopefully none of the Queen’s other lackeys know the connection between us.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We need to find a place to hide until Lev and Yonaton return. We cannot remain here the night; it is too well known as a gathering place. Just because it has been destroyed does not mean that they will not return to pursue others who may flee here.”
Hillel said: In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.
Pirkei Avot 2:6
17The Steward’s Wife
I burst to the surface of the frigid water, and the skin on my arms rose in gooseflesh.
“Immerse again,” Uriel said. “I saw your hair floating on the water.”
I ran a hand through my curly hair, which hadn’t been cut since high summer. Each time I dipped under the surface, it rose like a water lily seeking light. I pursed my lips and dunked again, tucking my chin to my knees and curling over in the narrow pool. When I came up, Uriel nodded.
“The impurity of the dead still clings to the rest of us,” Uriel said. “We will not be fully cleansed until we merit to see the Holy Temple, where the kohanim can purify us with the ashes of the red heifer. But for you, Lev, who have not had direct contact with the dead, living waters will suffice.”
Through most of that morning, Uriel and Shimon had cleansed the dead prophets, laying them out in a nearby cave. There they’d rest, like so many sleepers in a row, with their feet pointed toward Jerusalem. At Uriel’s insistence, the bodies of the soldiers were carried into a second cave. Shimon didn’t object, but I suspected he would have preferred their flesh be scavenged by the vultures that already circled overhead.
Unable to help with the bodies, I returned to the previous night’s cave to retrieve Balaam and the rest of our gear. My heart pounded as I stretched up to grab my kinnor from its hiding place. My grip relaxed as I ran my fingers over the strings and heard its voice, surprisingly still in tune. I was without it just one night, but it felt like greeting an old friend after a long separation.
Yonaton spent the morning working with the soldiers’ horses, removing all the Queen’s insignia and burning them in the fire, then setting the animals loose in the valley. Though they would have hastened our journey, Uriel felt they’d draw too much attention.
“Where to now, Master?” I shook myself dry.
“West. There’s a cave not far from the King’s Road where Shimon and I can hide.”
Yonaton flushed. Between his run the day before and the horse falling on him that morning, he was struggling to walk. “I don’t think I can make it that far.”
Uriel shook his head. “Your legs have earned a rest. You may ride Balaam today.”
It wasn’t yet midday when we started our journey. Before long, our track cut through rolling hills like those around Levonah. I spent most of my life traversing hills just like these, but couldn’t see any path that Uriel was following. Nevertheless, by late afternoon we reached our destination—a cave in a hillside just over the ridge from the King’s Road, chiseled by hand like those at Emek HaAsefa. A towering carob tree hid the entrance from view.
It hadn’t rained since my return from Jericho, but a cold north wind bit into my bones and I craved a hot, hearty meal. Yonaton, who managed to sleep much of the afternoon while riding Balaam, offered, “I’ll go look for—”
“No fire tonight,” Uriel said.
I surveyed the broad valley that we’d just crossed. Nothing resembling a soldier appeared anywhere on the horizon, but I hadn’t seen the first group either. Were there more out there hunting us?
I rose before the sun after tossing and turning throughout the night. Shimon sat in the mouth of the cave, illuminated by flickering firelight. Sniffing at the smell of roasting meat, I untangled myself from my tunic and threw it over my head. I wrapped my sheepskin around my shoulders for extra warmth and joined Shimon next to the small fire. “I was about to wake you to eat,” he said. “The Holy One must truly love you. See what leapt right into my hands this morning?” A fat grouse dripped grease onto the smoking coals.
Shimon plucked the bird from the roasting spit and cut off a wing with his dagger. It was the same dagger he’d given me, the one he threw wide of the soldier. Did he use this dagger because the other one, now tucked into his belt, had contact with the dead? Was this another one of the laws of the kohanim that Uriel wanted to teach me about? Shimon handed me the steaming wing, almost too hot to handle. “I envy you.”
“Why?” The word was muffled by the crisp skin crackling in my mouth.
“You’re walking toward danger, but at least your fate is in your hands. I…we…get to sit here and wait, praying we’re not discovered and hoping you’re successful; knowing little and doing less.”
I chewed the savory meat, keeping my mouth full so I wouldn’t have to respond. The hot meat warmed my throat, yet hadn’t Uriel, who now slept after taking the first watch, warned us against making a fire? I was relieved when Yonaton appeared, rubbing his eyes. Shimon handed him the other wing and repeated the story of the grouse. Yonaton stared at him. “You’re just a vessel for blessing, aren’t you?
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