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

on the table. I sat opposite her and took a small bite, though I had little appetite.

“Do you remember how, before you left with Master Uriel, I told you that you are the same to me as my own children?”

I struggled to swallow the unchewed morsel in my mouth. “Yes.”

“Well, I heard everything that happened last night. I know Menachem and Eliav bowed to the Baal. Dahlia told me you saw it too. I couldn’t sleep thinking of you. I wish Menachem and Eliav hadn’t bowed, but Menachem is my husband and Eliav my son, and I love them. I’d rather not have a Baal in the house, but there it is. I don’t want to bow down to it, but if my husband insists, I will.

“I love you too, Lev.” Aunt Leah stuffed bread and hard cheese into a sack. “But you’re not my son.” Tears now rolled freely down her cheeks.

I stared at my food as she sobbed.

“Your parents never would have raised you in a house with that abomination of an idol. My poor sister would never forgive me. For their sake—for yours—you cannot stay.” Aunt Leah’s head sank into her hands, her body shuddering.

I ate despite my lack of hunger, finding it easier to focus on bread than on its tear-stricken baker. Sleep was still heavy on my eyes, and I wanted nothing so much as to return to my bed.

Aunt Leah sat up, dried her eyes with the back of her hand, and gave me a weak smile that squeezed out two last tears from her eyes.

“Where will I go?” I remembered this time to keep my voice low.

“You could return to Master Uriel—”

“I’m not going back to him.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going back.” My words were final. “There must be another choice.”

Aunt Leah laid a fragment of parchment on the table before me, brown in color, tattered at its edges. I tilted it to read by the red light of the coals. Elazar ben Amram, Beit Shemesh was all it said. “What is this?”

“This is the name of your uncle, your father’s brother. He lives in the Kingdom of Judah. You can go to him and still be with your family, just…” She bit her lip. “Just…away from all of this.”

“Go to Judah?” It was the first mention I ever heard of family across the border.

“The road is guarded, but there are many paths through the mountains. Take this.” She lay a small pile of copper on the table. “Go to Mitzpah. Search there for a guide to lead you through the passes out of the Kingdom.”

Ignoring the copper, I lifted the parchment, my heart pounding. “Whose writing is this?”

“It’s your father’s. He wanted you raised with his family in Judah. Menachem deemed it too dangerous to move you during the war, and then…” Aunt Leah wiped her eyes again on the back of her hand. “But now I see your father was right. It will be better for you there than here.”

“Why?” Years of unanswered questions welled up inside. “Am I from the tribe of Judah? Is that why I have no inheritance here?”

“No, you’re not from Judah. You have no land there either.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Aunt Leah didn’t turn away as she normally did when I asked about my parents. “Master Uriel made us swear never to tell. He said that knowledge would put you at risk. But once you get to Judah, you’ll be safe. Your family there can explain everything.”

My eyes narrowed. So, Uriel was responsible for the secrets—for no one telling me the truth about my family.

A cough disturbed the quiet of the dark house. “That’s your uncle waking. Go now. I won’t have the strength to send you away with him here.” Aunt Leah added more bread to the sack and laid it on the table with a full skin of water. “Take the copper. It will get you across.”

“I don’t need it. I was paid more than that just for the wedding.”

“Take it anyway,” she said, her eyes pleading. “For me.”

I collected the dull pieces of metal and added them to my pouch. It held more wealth than I ever dreamed I’d have at this age. It felt heavy against my thigh but brought me no joy.

Aunt Leah opened the door. Pale gray predawn light illuminated the dirt path before me. Uncle Menachem’s heavy foot appeared on the top rung of the ladder, and I hurried through the open doorway.

“I love you, Lev,” was the last thing I heard as Aunt Leah closed the door behind me.

An orange glow backlit the eastern mountains as I headed down to the King’s Road in the valley below. I fought the desire to turn and look at my house one last time. I was on a path I hadn’t chosen, and it seemed best to keep my feet moving; if I hesitated now, I might not start again. As the trail dipped downhill, birdsong echoed around me. Thinking of Daniel, I considered stopping to listen, but it felt invigorating to just walk. I took my first deep breath of the morning, my chest expanding with dew-filled air.

The slip of parchment still tingled in my hand. I hadn’t looked at it since learning that it was my father’s writing—but I hadn’t let go of it either. There was a message in the note, but what was it? I studied it now, and my step faltered. My legs grew heavy at the thought of crossing the mountains into Judah—I’d never heard of anyone trekking that dangerous path. Who would I even ask to help me? Aunt Leah said they would explain everything in Judah. Explain what? Possibilities swirled in my mind, and I stumbled on a rock in my path.

I had to stop.

I dropped down onto a flat boulder by the roadside. I opened the parchment and stared at the scratchy handwriting, in a brown ink I’d never seen before, I willed it to reveal its secret. No guidance came. My face crumpled into my hands. I’d left so many places in the past weeks, but always with a clear destination. But now…now I was all alone.

The impossibility of this journey suddenly descended on me; I squeezed my eyes tight and bent over my trembling knees. Images whirled through my head: jugglers, prophets, musicians. My throat ached. Uriel rejected me; Aunt Leah sent me away. Who was left?

The pressure in my chest swelled, and a groan rose up from deep inside. A shudder passed through my body, and for the first time in five years, I began to cry. It started off slowly, the first drops barely squeezing out with each heave of my chest, as if my eyes had forgotten how. Their salty taste hit my tongue, evoking memories of a past when they’d flowed freely. A wail rose from my chest, and the tears broke free.

My shoulders shook as drops pockmarked the chalky soil at my feet grew pockmarked; my sobs silenced the last birds of the morning.

I don’t know how long I cried, but when I gazed up, the wind blew cool against my cheeks. My chest felt loose as I inhaled. My uncle’s words echoed in my mind, “Israel is wide enough for us all, if we each find our place.”

My head lifted toward the sky, and a plea welled up as I blinked away the last tears. My heart, no longer blocked, called out to the heavens as it never had before, “Where is my place?” I squeezed my eyes shut and sent all my will after the call.

The warmth of the newly risen sun caressed my face, and its golden rays penetrated my eyelids. I stood up from my cold stone seat, slipped the parchment with damp with tears into my pouch, slung my sack over my shoulder, and continued down the hill.

The junction with the King’s Road appeared ahead, and I paused to gaze back up at Levonah’s walls, reflecting the dawn light. I shook myself like a dog emerging from a cold spring. An image of Uriel rose in my mind—not stony with the anger of our last encounter, but suffused with the compassion and wisdom I’d come to know. I could almost hear his advice about trusting my heart.

I reached the junction just ahead of a group of men walking down the King’s Road from the north. They were all older than me and wore the worn summer clothes of farmers. What were seven farmers doing on the King’s Road at dawn? “Peace upon you,” I called to the one leading the pack.

“Upon you peace.”

“Where are you headed?”

“To the festival at Shiloh,” he answered with a smile. “Where goes the young man?”

I opened my mouth to say Mitzpah, but held myself back. The parchment with my father’s writing burned in my pouch—it was the key to all my questions. Yet, once I crossed into Judah—if I managed to make it alive—I’d probably never return. That piece of parchment had sat in my uncle’s house for ten years; another day or two wouldn’t make any difference. And hadn’t Zim said that Shiloh wasn’t to be missed? Besides, Shiloh was one step closer to Mitzpah. “I’m also going to Shiloh.”

“But you’re far too young,” one of the farmers laughed.

Now the whole group was staring at me—Zim never mentioned anything about age. “I’m a musician,” I said, hoping that made a difference.

“Oh, I see. Walk along with us if you like.”

“A musician, eh?” a particularly dirty farmer chuckled. “Why don’t you play us something?” I wasn’t interested in being their entertainment, but it was good to have company. I drew my kinnor forward and played the sheep’s watering nigun as we walked.

Dozens of men milled around the hill below Shiloh, and all seemed to be between the ages of twenty and forty. A second group gathered at the east side of the hill, but the two groups didn’t mix. Nervous laughter ran through the crowd. One of my companions laid a hand on my shoulder and pointed to a cluster of trees at the foot of the hill. “The musicians are over there.”

I approached the trees, finding five musicians playing as an older man scrutinized them, dropping comments and critiques. “Excuse me,” I said to the man, who took no notice. “Excuse me,” I called a little louder.

The old man turned, first looking over my head, then down until he met my eyes. “Yes?”

I’d never asked for work before. “I’m wondering if you…” I started, brandishing my kinnor.

“Ah, you’d like to play with us.” He smirked. “I’m sorry, I’ve got all the musicians I need.” The other musicians watched me now, a couple of them grinning. “Keep working on your music. Perhaps in a few years you can come join us.”

I nodded, my cheeks burning, and walked away, their music mocking my retreat. The musicians were good, but no better than me. The leader hadn’t even listened to me play. As I approached the King’s Road, their song faded, all but the drumming, which grew louder with each step.

I pulled the piece of parchment out of my pouch. It was stupid to think I could just show up and play—at least I hadn’t lost much time. If I moved quickly, I might still be able to reach Mitzpah by nightfall. All I could hear now was the drum, pounding louder and louder.

“Lev, you came!”

“Zim!” He stopped drumming and wrapped one stout arm around me, squeezing my face into his shoulder. “I thought you were staying in Shomron?”

“I told you, I never miss Shiloh. Yambalya said I could come.” Zim released me, and I rubbed my nose, which itched from scraping against his rough tunic. “You’re going the wrong way. The musicians set up over there.” “They didn’t want me. The leader didn’t even