The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗
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Our guide stepped into an empty chamber, and Uriel had to duck to avoid striking his head on the cavern roof. The lamp bearer touched the flame of his lamp to another that sat in a niche cut into the wall, igniting it. Then he bowed to Uriel and stepped back into the darkness.
I surveyed the chamber in the wavering light: my new home. The events of a week had uprooted everything I knew. There would be no sunshine in the cave, no Yonaton, no Dahlia. Yet I was still alive, which was more than could be said for Shimon or Tzadok.
Drained from the journey, I laid out my sleeping mat. Uriel knelt down in front of the lamp and contemplated the flame with unblinking eyes.
Despite my exhaustion, I dared to break the silence we’d maintained since the roadblock. “What do you see, Master?”
“All things above are reflected below. So it is with the Lamp of Darkness, reflected in the flame.”
“You see darkness in the flame?”
“Look closely at the center. Darkness surrounds the wick, consuming it, emitting no light.”
I moved closer to examine the flame.
“That is the shadow of the lamp of darkness. Beneath the blackness is a thin layer of sapphire, the color of the Throne of Glory, on which the Holy One sits. The darkness appears greater than the blue, but does not dim its brilliance.”
The flame filled my vision. At first, the blue jumped and faded, but as I concentrated, it grew in depth and radiance. “Master, the darkness makes the blue seem even brighter.”
“Indeed. So it is with our world. No amount of darkness can destroy the light, no matter how deep the darkness grows.”
Uriel sighed. “The order of the world has flipped. Once, light dwelled above and shadows filled the caves. Now darkness will reign over the land and light will retreat underground.”
My master turned away from the lamp to face me and fire reflected in his bright eyes. “It appears, Lev ben Yochanan HaKohen, we have the time to begin your education after all.”
Dear Reader,
As an avid reader myself, I treasure the feeling of connection with an author that I get from reading a book. But now that I’m an author, I’m struck by the one-sided nature of that relationship: all readers get a glimpse into the mind of the author, but rarely does the author hear back from the readers. With your help, I’d like to rectify this.
The subject matter of this book is a real passion of mine. In fact, it was the vision of one day being able to share this passion with readers such as yourself that drove me through the six years of writing The Lamp of Darkness.
I’d love it if you would take a moment and share a bit of yourself with me as well. I’m so curious to learn who my readers are, where they live, what they do, and what their passions are. I’m also constantly trying to improve my writing, so it would be a great help to me to know what you liked about the book and what you didn’t. If you’re really willing to engage, please include a picture of yourself holding the book (or your digital device loaded to the book cover). Just note, I intend to post some pictures online, so let me know if you want yours private (and nothing explicit please). My personal email is Dave@TheAgeofProphecy.com, and it’s my aim to respond to all who contact me.
Personally, when curious about a new book, the first thing I do is check out reader reviews, normally on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Until recently, I almost never left reviews myself, but then I realized that the more I participate, the more I can help other readers, and the better the entire system works. Before you move on, please take a moment to leave a review online so that others can benefit from your insights as well.
It has been a privilege to share this journey with you.
P.S. Those of you hungry for more will find an ever-growing library of resources at TheAgeofProphecy.com. Sign up for the newsletter to receive advance notice of new materials, specials, or the next book release. Keep reading for a preview of Book 2, The Key of Rain.
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Ahav: Also known as Ahab.
Binyamin: Also known as Benjamin.
Bnei Nevi’im: Literally the children of the prophets, figuratively their students.
Eliyahu: Also known as Elijah.
Emek HaAsefa: Literally, the valley of gathering. A fictional location.
Eved: Slave.
Halil: A straight flute.
Hevron: Also known as Hebron.
Izevel: Also known as Jezebel or Isabel.
Kohanim: Priests (plural).
Kohen: A Priest.
Kinnor: An instrument that most resembles an ancient lyre.
Labneh: A sour, spreadable cheese.
Malkosh: The late rains.
Matnat Ro’im: The shepherd’s gift.
Navi: Prophet.
Navi’im: Prophets.
Navua: Prophecy.
Nevel: An instrument that most resembles an ancient harp.
Nigun: A melody, usually without words.
Niggunim: Plural of Nigun.
Shalom: Peace, also used as a greeting.
Shavuot: Also known as Pentecost or the Feast of Weeks.
Shomron: Also known as Samaria.
Sukkah: The temporary huts built during the festival of Sukkot.
Sukkot: The Festival of Booths when we build and live in temporary huts.
Tefillah: Prayer.
Tikun: Fixing.
Totafot: Also known as Tefillin or Phylacteries.
Yoreh: The early rains.
Yovel: The fiftieth year, called Jubilee year in English.
Dave and Mike have led bizarrely parallel lives. Born just four days apart, they both grew up in secular, Jewish, suburban communities, then found their way to Colorado College. Despite having friends, interests, and even one class in common, they remained complete strangers. Dave then backpacked through over a dozen countries including Syria, China, and Cuba, while Mike lived in the woods for two years, immersed in wilderness therapy with at-risk youth.
Later, both turned their attention to the environment. Dave went to NYU Law and subsequently became a litigator for the Natural Resources Defense Council (NRDC). Mike studied desert agriculture and water resource management, but ultimately found his calling as a teacher.
Fifteen years after first becoming classmates, the two finally met as part of a core group formed to create a new kind of Torah study institution in Jerusalem, called Sulam Yaakov. There, they became study partners, close friends, and both became ordained as Orthodox Rabbis. Dave was blown away by his studies about the inner workings of prophecy, and was surprised at how little exposure he had to this crucial part of his tradition. He decided to create The Age of Prophecy to bring this world to light for others like himself.
Mike joined the project initially as a research assistant, bringing an expertise in the terrain, history, and stories of the Bible to the book. His deep involvement earned him contributing author status, though Mike prefers the term creative co-conspirator.
Professionally, Dave is a businessman, social entrepreneur, and business strategist. He and his wife Chana live in the eclectic Nachlaot neighborhood of Jerusalem, where they homeschool their son, Aryeh Lev.
Mike lives with his family outside of Jerusalem, at the edge of the Judean wilderness.
“Rise, Yambalya, and report,” Izevel commanded the giant of a man bowed before her.
The priest rose to his full height. Though he stood a few steps below the two thrones, he towered over the young queen. “The men of Shomron journeyed to honor their god, yet they bent their knees to Baal upon their return.”
Izevel leaned toward her priest. “How did you do it?”
“It was simple, my Queen. The men made the annual pilgrimage to bow before their beloved Golden Calf in Beit El. When they returned home, they found their way blocked by Baal.”
Izevel gave him a sideways glance. “What of the King?”
Yambalya’s eyes flashed over King Ahav’s empty throne. “The King’s escort was long past when we brought Baal onto the road.”
Izevel’s long fingers gripped the arms of her throne. The great oaken chair with the cedar emblem had been made for the visit of her father, King Ethbaal of Tzidon. Months later, the throne remained, now the seat of his sixteen-year-old daughter, Izevel, the Queen of Israel. “Did any resist bowing?”
“Indeed, for those already loyal to Baal did not journey to the Calf at all.”
“How did you handle the stubborn?”
Yambalya laughed. “The people of Israel are sheep. If the men in front of them bow, they bow as well.”
The Queen relaxed her grip and leaned back in the overlarge throne. “Did none cause any trouble?”
“The tale grows even better, my Queen.” A grin played at the corner of Yambalya’s mouth. “Come,” he called.
Two men stepped from the shadows. Like Yambalya, the younger one wore the deep violet robes of the priests of Baal. The other wore a soldiers’ tunic embroidered with the cedar tree of Tzidon. The soldier bowed before the Queen, holding out a sword for her inspection. “We took this from one of the men at the roadblock, my Queen.” He spoke without lifting his face.
Izevel reached out and took the weapon. She fingered the cedar tree emblem carved into the hilt. “This belonged to one of my soldiers?”
“It did, my Queen. To one of the four who never returned from…” his eyes flickered to her face and returned to the floor, “…from dealing with the prophets.”
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the sword. “Was the man who carried it a prophet?”
“He looked like no prophet I’ve ever seen. He had the face of a soldier, covered in scars.”
Her hand closed on the sword’s hilt. “You killed him?”
“The ground has already swallowed his blood, my Queen.” The soldier bent his head to the side, pointing to a tattooed pattern of dots stretching down his neck and extending below his tunic. He touched an inflamed area on his neck, a newly printed black splotch at its core. “This one is for him.” The soldier met her eyes. “And so may all of her majesty’s enemies perish.”
“Excellent.” Izevel gave him a cold smile. “One man did not kill four of my soldiers on his own. Had he no companions?”
The soldier shot a glance at the young priest standing at Yambalya’s side, then returned his gaze to Izevel. “On this point, we disagree, my Queen.”
“What is this?” Izevel eyed the young priest. “Explain.”
The young priest bowed low as he stepped from behind Yambalya’s protective shadow. “An old man passed soon after your soldiers killed the one with the scars.”
“An old man?” Yambalya’s eyes shot to his priest. “What old man?”
“He was too old to bow,” the priest said to his master, “but he caused no other trouble.”
The soldier scoffed. “If he was strong enough to walk from Beit El, he was strong enough to bow.”
“He was old and confused,” the priest said. “His grandson made that clear.”
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