The Lamp of Darkness by - (most recommended books TXT) 📖

Rabbi Elazar HaKapar said: Envy, desire, and the pursuit of honor remove a person from the world.

Pirkei Avot 4:28

“What just happened?” Yonaton’s arm dropped to his side, but his fist still gripped the rock he’d picked up to defend me.

My eyes remained fixed on Shimon’s dagger. “My parents were killed when I was two.”

“Killed? By who?”

“I don’t know. It was during the civil war.” I didn’t look up—I couldn’t bear seeing the pity in his eyes. “All I know is that a stranger left me at my uncle’s house…after. I guess now I know who that was.” I pushed my thumb into the edge of the dagger, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to distract myself from the dark hole in my chest. “Are we playing again today?”

Yonaton’s shoulders relaxed at the change of subject. “No, the masters gave us the rest of the day to prepare for Shabbat. I know a spring not far from here where we can bathe.”

It was the best answer I could have hoped for. I was in no mood for the slow music we played that morning—it left my mind too free to wander. I tucked Shimon’s blade into my belt, picked up my father’s knife, and followed Yonaton toward the hills at the edge of the valley.

“I’ve never seen a knife like that—what’s it for?”

For Yonaton, who could run home to his mother between sittings, it must have seemed obvious that I knew the purpose of my father’s knife. But there was so much I didn’t know. “I’ve never seen one like it either. My uncle gave it to me the day I left, but he didn’t tell me anything about it. Just that it belonged to my father.”

“Can I hold it?”

It was a natural question, but I still recoiled, weighing the knife in my hand as we walked. It was my father’s—my only inheritance. Yonaton threw the rock in his hand at a distant boulder and was rewarded with the resounding clap of stone on stone. He had good aim and a strong arm; I couldn’t have hit that boulder even if I could have thrown that far. Yonaton hadn’t picked up that rock to throw it at some boulder; he picked it up to defend me from Shimon. I turned the knife around and held it out, handle first.

Yonaton received it with open palms. He ran a finger over the dark, gray edge. “I never knew stone could be so sharp. It looks ancient.” He turned his attention to the insignia on the hilt. “Are these claws?”

“I think so, but I don’t know what they mean.”

“It looks like a small sword.” He swung the broad blade in short, chopping arcs.

I thought back to Shimon’s warning. “But who would get so upset about using a sword to cut a melon?”

Yonaton shrugged and handed back the knife. My chest relaxed as I slipped it back under my tunic, nestling it safely against my thigh.

We reached the foot of the hills and eased down a well-worn path leading into a shaded ravine. The gorge was lined by stunted oak trees, a sure sign of water. A disciple stood by the side of the path, hands extended toward the sky, eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing down his cheeks, mumbling something I couldn’t understand. I forced myself to look away as we passed, fighting the desire to stare at his indecency. Daniel was right; whatever these bnei nevi’im were involved in wasn’t for the likes of me.

Our trail wound through high brush as the ravine walls narrowed around us, ending at a crumbling, white cliff. Clear water bubbled out of a crack at its base and flowed into a pool formed by a cut in the bedrock.

Yonaton stripped quickly and winced as he slipped into the frigid spring. I hung the knife over a branch of an olive tree, laid my tunic over it, and sat down at the edge of the pool. Despite the bright sun and appeal of cold water, I didn’t enter. My mind was fixed on Shimon. He brought me to my uncle. Does he know how my parents died?

“Come in!” A splash of water hit me in the face. Yonaton smacked the surface again, and I raised my hands in a useless attempt to block the spray. I peered down at my attacker, submerged up to his chest, his head still dry. My legs kicked a waterfall down on Yonaton. I soaked myself in the process but no longer cared. Yonaton fought back with the full force of both arms, drenching me. I pushed off the edge of the pool, dove under the water, and pulled my new friend’s legs out from under him.

We were still laughing when we returned to our cave late in the afternoon. Zim stood at the entrance with a polished bronze mirror in one hand, shaping his long hair into a wave with the other. He had changed his tunic of plain wool for one of reddish brown that left watery red marks on his neck—he must have stained it himself with berries. Anything dyed with madder or henna would have been expensive beyond even his wildest dreams. Zim nodded as we walked in, without glancing up from his mirror.

“Have you ever seen a boy with his own mirror before?” Yonaton whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. “My aunt has one, but she doesn’t look in it this long.”

“If I was your aunt, I wouldn’t either,” Zim said, entering the cave. “You should be more careful if you’re going to talk about me. I may drum loudly, but my hearing is excellent.” My ears grew hot, and Yonaton turned away, but Zim wore the same carefree expression as always. “Laugh if you like, but if you ever want to feed yourself with your music, you should think about getting one yourself.”

“A mirror won’t help our playing,” Yonaton said.

“True, but it will get you more work. All eyes are on the musicians—you get hired for more festivals if you look right.” Though answering Yonaton, Zim held out his mirror to me.

I took the sheet of flat, shiny metal. It had been a long time since I’d seen my reflection, and the mirror was clearer than any pool I’d peeked in. My brown hair was curled from the water, and the hairs on my lip were thicker, like a long shadow under my nose, but I was mostly struck by my eyes. They were light today, the color of bee honey, and seemed older than I felt.

From the valley rose the blast of a ram’s horn, the signal of the coming Shabbat. The three of us headed down to the clearing where we joined Daniel. Like Zim, he had a second tunic for Shabbat, made from finer wool than the one he wore during the week. The food was a measure better than the night before; the vegetables were still barely cooked, but the smell of roasted lamb also filled the clearing. My mouth watered. Aunt Leah prepared meat only for festivals.

Again, a servant handed me a piece of bread and a portion of beet greens that had been set aside for me behind the cooking area, where they had already turned cold. I received no meat, and the amount, though larger for Shabbat, didn’t come close to meeting my appetite. Daniel, Zim, and Yonaton all eyed my food curiously; none of them had rations set aside. I took the bread and piled meat onto it, making sure the servant saw I wouldn’t quietly accept such meager portions. But my greed still seemed small next to Zim’s, who crowded as much lamb on his bread as it would hold, not wasting any space on the vegetables. Daniel pointed out a spot for us closer to the bnei nevi’im than we had sat the night before. As soon as his bottom hit the ground, Zim raised a chunk of lamb to his mouth, but Daniel grabbed his wrist. “On Shabbat, we wait.”

Uriel stood in the middle of the clearing holding a goblet of wine. His voice rose in a chant that spoke of the six days of creation and the day of rest. I was familiar with the words from my uncle’s house, but not with the drawn-out pace of the prophet’s melody. It was hard to concentrate on the words with such savory smells wafting up from the food.

When the blessing was complete, Uriel drained the goblet in a single motion and handed it to a waiting servant. “Now can I eat?” Zim asked Daniel.

“Patience.”

The prophet now held up two loaves of bread, one on top of the other. “The Holy One tested our fathers with manna in the wilderness, giving them each morning enough food for that day, but no more. On the sixth day, they received a second portion for Shabbat. The blessing of Shabbat is that we do not receive; it is the blessing of knowing that we already possess what we require. I bless us all on our quest for holiness to know that the Divine light we seek is already within us.”

Uriel had barely broken the bottom loaf when Zim’s hand starting moving toward his mouth. “Now?”

“Yes.”

My hand hadn’t been poised like Zim’s, but my stomach was just as ready to pounce. The meat was pink and tender, and the vegetables were so well flavored that I almost didn’t mind that they were undercooked. Though I had taken a large portion, I soon went back for more of everything.

I was just finishing my second helping when conversation among the disciples died. Tzadok, the ancient, third master, stood by the fire in the center of the eating area. Zim still ate, but Yonaton and I stood, knowing that when the masters spoke it was time for us to go. Daniel put a hand on each of our shoulders. “On Shabbat we stay.”

Tzadok closed his eyes, filled his chest, and opened his mouth in song. I would never have guessed that such a resonant voice could emerge from so frail a body. The melody was simple and repetitive. Daniel and a number of the disciples joined him immediately, and more of us merged with them as we picked up the nigun, until we all sang together. I closed my eyes, and my body swayed, swept up in the current of the song.

Our voices echoed in the open air of the valley. The melody folded over on itself and amplified the collective energy with each turn. For the first time since coming to the gathering, I felt united with the bnei nevi’im. When Tzadok reached the end, he lifted his voice higher, holding the final note until his breath ran out. His silence brought the song to a close, and quiet settled over the clearing.

I opened my eyes to see Uriel standing alone, his face illuminated unevenly by the red light of the dwindling fire.

“There was once a man who lived in a kingdom in the middle of the desert.” The prophet spoke softly, but in the stillness of the night, his voice carried across the open ground. “Every morning as he went out to his field and again in the evening when he walked home, this man walked past the King’s palace. Each time he wondered, ‘Why is it that the King has so much while I have so little?’ His envy of the King grew and grew until he was unable to pass the palace without anger.

“The man formed a plan: he would dig a tunnel under the palace, come up inside the treasury, and take a tiny amount for himself. He worked for years on his tunnel, and as his labors grew, so did his desire, until he no longer felt the need to leave the King anything at all. Finally, the tunnel was complete, and he broke through the floor of the palace in the middle of the night. He