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

A gust of wind stuck Uriel’s drenched tunic to his body and tossed his hair wildly. “For the sake of Rivka our mother, who ran to bring water to a stranger, and watered even his ten camels, do not withhold rain from her children.”

Uriel cried out each petition in turn, rain rolling down his face; at the end of each one, we all shouted, “Amen.”

“Holy One! For the sake of Moses our Teacher, father of the prophets, who stood before you forty days without water, do not withhold rain from his disciples!” The navi stretched his hands upward toward the heavens, and we drew in closer.

He clenched his hands in the frigid air as the winds rose to a howl. “May the rains come as a blessing and not as a curse!”

“Amen!”

“May they come for life and not for death!”

“Amen!”

“May they come for abundance and not for scarcity!”

“Amen!”

“Master of the World! You and only you cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall!”

“Amen!”

When he turned back from the rain, my master’s eyes were aflame. In that moment, I saw the wild dancer in the rain within the old prophet. Uriel pulled two disciples out into the mire and began to dance. The rest of us joined in, finally relishing the drops on our faces. For the first time, they tasted of blessing, not of bitter curse.

No sooner had the sun set that night, marking the close of the festival, than Uriel drew me aside.

“The first day we met, when I was entering Levonah, you were speaking to a boy leading a donkey. Do you recall?”

“Yes, Master.”

“There was an emblem on his saddle bag from the city of Jericho.”

“That was my friend Seguv. His father Hiel is rebuilding the city.”

“Yes, I know that Hiel of Beit El is rebuilding the city; I wanted to know if your friend was his son.” Uriel sighed, and his body again appeared as it had before the festival: heavy, as if every movement was an effort. “I’m sorry to tell you that Seguv died six days ago.”

Hot tears stung my eyes—they came so easily now. “Is that what the rider told you?”

“Yes, he was on his way to bring tidings to the King.”

Seguv told me the King had invested heavily in the rebuilding of the city—of course he would want to know that Hiel had lost another son. But I cared little now about the King or Jericho. My thoughts were on the warm smile, the friendly face that always stopped to greet me whenever he passed through Levonah, bringing the wider world into the small circle of my life. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, “Why did you wait to tell me?”

“Sukkot is a time of joy.”

Blood rushed to my face. That’s all he had to say? He knew I’d lost a friend and held it back for…joy? “You should have told me,” I nearly spat out the words.

“I know it feels that way.”

Uriel’s words only made me angrier. “Joy isn’t always the right feeling. We need to feel other things, too.”

“Not on Sukkot. Don’t think joy is so simple—I’m not talking about the empty celebrations of fools. Real joy takes work, inside and out—more than any other emotion.”

I avoided his gaze, but the navi pressed his point. “On Sukkot, we attach ourselves to the Presence, which we can do only in a state of joy. We choose to rejoice even when we don’t feel joyous. That’s why there is no mourning on Sukkot. The mourning period for Seguv will begin now and last for one week. His family will receive anyone wishing to visit.”

Uriel paused, but I remained silent. “If you like, you may go.”

Now my eyes met his. “You said we would begin traveling immediately after Sukkot.”

“True. But I will wait for your return. The loss of a friend is a deep wound, and it must be mourned if it’s to heal.” Uriel let out another long sigh. “There is no time to go and return before Shabbat. If you go, leave early on the first day of the week. You may take Balaam to hasten your journey. You can let me know your decision in the morning.”

I walked to the back of the cave and unrolled my sleeping mat. I removed my tunic, laid down, and pulled it over me, not up to my neck as I normally did, but up over my head. Thoughts of death were nothing new to me, but this was different. I knew Seguv; I never knew my parents.

With Seguv there was no lockbox of memories—they all seemed to rise to the surface of my mind at once: Seguv and his brothers laughing as they led their donkey into Levonah; Seguv holding out the afarsimon oil; Seguv standing in the throne room, presenting the oil to King Ahav; Seguv lying on his back, his eyes dark and vacant.

Lying in the darkness, hidden under my tunic, I felt the pain of my open heart. Tears came, and I didn’t hold them back. They streaked my face with loss. The disciples could hear me sobbing, but I didn’t care. My tunic wasn’t over my head to hide me from the disciples, it was to hide them from me. I couldn’t bear to see pity in their eyes.

When my eyes finally went dry, I pulled the tunic down and saw that all the others were asleep. The ache in my chest answered my master’s offer. I would go to Jericho to mourn my friend.

I reached Jericho on the second day of my journey. In better conditions, I could have made it in one day, but muddy and washed-out roads made for an uneasy ride. I spent the night in a cave so shallow that it was really just a crevice, barely sheltered from the winds and relentless rain, unable to light a fire for lack of dry tinder. As I shivered through the night, I wondered if my decision to go had been rash—I was traveling farther than I’d ever gone, to pay respects to people I’d never met, on the death of a friend I saw only a few times a year. Yet, the emptiness I felt when I pictured Seguv’s smiling eyes pushed me forward.

On the morning of the second day, I descended into the great valley of the Jordan River, where the ruins of Jericho lay just north of the Salt Sea. Halfway down the mountains, the air grew lighter, the clouds thinned, and the rain dwindled to a light mist that barely reached the ground. I descended further onto dry roads, and the sunlight glittered off streams of water running down the mountainsides. At the base of the mountains, the road flattened and passed through a grove of tall date palms, where a dozen camels—animals rarely seen in the cooler mountain plateau—grazed in their shade. There were also rows of newly planted trees whose species I didn’t recognize. These must be the balm trees Seguv told me about, the source of the afarsimon oil, the justification for rebuilding the destroyed city despite the costs.

The dry air of Jericho drew the wetness from my clothes, and I was grateful to be spared meeting Seguv’s parents stinking of soaked wool. No guard sat at the newly erected gates to direct me, but I had no trouble finding Hiel’s house. It was the largest one and stood at the highest point in the city—much as the King’s palace towered over Shomron. I tied Balaam to an olive tree out front, its trunk thick and gnarled, a remnant of the great city destroyed hundreds of years before. Before passing the threshold, I filled my lungs with clean air before entering a house tainted with death.

I took in the whole room with one glance. A middle-aged couple sat on the floor, barefoot, their clothing torn and their heads dusted with the ashes of mourning. Four men sat opposite them, but no one spoke. I paused at the threshold, then stepped as softly as I could to an empty stool, not wanting to disturb the stillness.

Sitting down among people I didn’t know, I wondered again if I should have come. I wanted to give comfort, but it was not my place to break the silence—and what would I say, anyway? The couple on the floor must be Hiel and his wife, but where was Onan, Seguv’s older brother? Could he have died as well?

I realized I was staring and turned my attention to the other guests. Two of the men, wearing dirty work clothes, resembled each other so much, they must have been brothers. A third sat rigidly in his chair. His posture and spotless linen tunic reminded me of the scribes in the throne room of the King. The fourth sat in the corner, eyes on the floor. Whatever he was staring at must have been absorbing, for he didn’t stir at all when I entered. His whole appearance bespoke nobility. His hair and beard were trim and neat. He wore a thick belt made of sheep hide— something I’d never seen, even when visiting Shomron. Despite the heat, a vivid crimson mantle was wrapped tightly about his shoulders.

“Were you a friend of Seguv’s?” Hiel asked me.

I stole my eyes from the nobleman in the corner. “Yes sir, I was.”

A hungry expression entered Hiel’s eyes. “How did you know him?”

“I live in Levonah. He came up to sell dates.”

“You came all the way from Levonah?”

“No sir, I was in Emek HaAsefa when I heard.”

The nobleman with the mantle snapped up his head and examined me. I could feel the heat of his gaze, his black eyes glowing like coals in the heart of a fire.

Hiel also sat up straighter at the mention of Emek HaAsefa. “Are you of the bnei nevi’im?”

I gave a weak smile, then thought better of it. “No, sir, I am a musician.”

“Oh, you are that shepherd boy that…that Seguv spoke of.” My smile almost broke through again when I heard that Seguv spoke about me, but Hiel’s voice cracked on his son’s name.

“Did he…I mean, were you…” Hiel was foundering.

Without warning, the nobleman with the fiery eyes rose to his feet, drawing Hiel’s attention. “Are you leaving?”

The nobleman motioned with his chin toward the entrance. In the doorway, flanked by two guards, stood King Ahav himself. The other guests and I immediately jumped to our feet. Hiel and his wife attempted to rise from the floor, but Ahav stopped them with a gesture.

“No need to get up, my dear Hiel. The mourner needn’t stand before the King. I was broken-hearted when the news reached me.” The King pulled my vacated stool toward himself and sat down. “You may wait outside,” he said to his two guards. I wasn’t sure if I should leave as well, but followed the lead of the other guests and continued to stand respectfully.

The King ignored our presence, his attention fixed on Hiel. “I blame myself, of course.”

Hiel’s hand rose in protest. “You must not, my King. I knew the risks involved. The dangers of the waters here are well known. I was proud to take on the mission of rebuilding a great city in Israel. Our losses have been tragic, that is true. But we hold you blameless.”

King Ahav dropped his eyes and fingered the tassel on his belt, replying quietly, “I’m not talking about the waters. I’m speaking of the curse.”

Hiel’s eyes grew wide. “My Lord, I thought you did not believe in the curse.”

“Well, I didn’t. It seemed so ridiculous. Just a story told to children and the ignorant to frighten them away. But now that it has come true, can we continue to deny it?”

“What curse?” I slapped my hand over my mouth, but the question had already leapt out. One