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

his cloak, which Yonaton used as a sleeping mat. Had he decided to journey alone so as not to endanger us? And if my master were headed for a place of safety, would he have left so many of his possessions behind? Uriel said last night that it was better to be struck down than hide. Was he riding now toward a final meeting with Izevel’s soldiers? Would he even raise his staff to defend himself this time?

We ran down toward the spring where we left Balaam the night before. From a distance, we saw Uriel tying the saddlebags into place. We weren’t too late.

“Master,” I called, “Don’t go!”

Uriel stopped his work. “Lower your voice, Lev. If you are seen with me—”

“Master, Ovadia can protect you.”

“I have given much thought to Ovadia’s plan, Lev.”

“Ovadia made me swear to bring you to Dotan.”

Uriel lifted an eyebrow at this. “Ovadia is very devoted.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “As are you.”

Resignation filled the prophet’s eyes. “It’s not just that, Master. The people need you alive.”

“I can do little for the people hidden in a cave, Lev.”

“But this war won’t last forever.”

“Not forever, no. But Eliyahu has not attacked with iron chariots. He brought a drought—it may be years until its end.”

“You must live. Ovadia says you can save the people.”

“Where is the salvation in hiding?”

“When it’s over,” I urged. “Ovadia said it might take an Eliyahu to defeat Izevel, but we’ll need you to heal the people.”

Pity curled his eyebrows. “Ovadia is mistaken. He has wisdom, but is still young. He has not seen what I have.”

“Which is what, Master?”

“The Holy One always creates the remedy before bringing the malady, though it remains hidden until its proper time. The nation will not be rebuilt by an old man crawling out of a hole. My time has passed.”

Yonaton broke his silence. “My father taught me that the prophets never lose faith. How can you give up your life, Master?”

Uriel started at the title “Master.” Only Uriel’s servants and disciples called him “Master,” rather than Master Uriel. I’d been calling Uriel master since returning to him months earlier, but this was the first time that Yonaton had declared him so. Uriel peered into Yonaton’s eyes. “Give up my life? Certainly not. My life may be the only thing I have left to offer the people, but I will not hand it over needlessly.”

“But Master,” Yonaton said, “You saddled Balaam and left your sleeping mat behind.”

“That is because I must travel a road that he cannot follow.” Uriel took Balaam’s lead rope and placed it in Yonaton’s hand. “And neither can you. I cannot be your master, Yonaton, not now. There are two pieces of bread and a skin of water in the saddlebag. It should be enough to get you home.”

We both stared dumbly at Uriel. A chill passed through me as the meaning of my master’s words struck my heart. He was sending Yonaton away. Yonaton, who ran an entire day’s journey to warn us, who killed the soldier when I could not.

Yonaton’s eyes dropped to the rope in his hand. “But I want to come with you.”

“I know.” Uriel’s expression softened. “You have a strong heart. I promised you could stay with us as long as you could help. You have done much, but you can do no more. You are not yet of age, and your family is waiting. Your path lies with them now.”

Yonaton’s eyes fell to the ground, and I knew that he would not raise his voice again in protest.

I turned away, not because I still considered his sorrow indecent, but in order to give him the privacy to grieve. I felt grateful for being allowed to continue, though it was Yonaton’s path that led to safety.

Uriel scratched his donkey behind his remaining ear. “Take Balaam for me. He has been my faithful companion but can no longer accompany me.”

The significance of his words hit me. “Does that mean we’re going to Dotan, Master?”

“Yes, to the cave.”

“But you said Ovadia was mistaken?”

“Indeed, I believe so. But you were correct last night—I was told to seek Ovadia. There is a power at work beyond my own. I must follow the direction I was given.”

Uriel shot a glance toward the sun breaking over the horizon, then back at Yonaton. “Tonight is Shabbat. You must leave now to be home before sunset.”

Balaam inched forward and nuzzled Yonaton’s hand. Yonaton scratched him behind the ear the way Uriel had a moment earlier, then turned to me, his eyes spilling tears.

I spread my arms and embraced my friend, knowing that it might be for the last time.

“The Cave of Dotan,” Yonaton whispered as he tightened his hold around me. “When I’m of age, I’ll find you.”

“Don’t,” I replied. “Stay and help your family. There’s nothing you can do for us now.”

“I….” Yonaton stopped himself short, released me, and pulled the old donkey toward the road. As he had brought no belongings, there was no need for him to return to the cave. I stood watching until he was out of sight. It was only after he disappeared that it occurred to me—I would now have to deal with Shimon on my own.

Before sunset, Shimon and I built the fire high so it would keep on burning into Shabbat. Our gear lacked for any luxuries, except for the last drops from a wineskin which Uriel used to sanctify our meal. Reclining after we ate, Shimon glared at me across the glowing embers. “It seems that we’re following you now.”

“We’re following Ovadia,” I responded, “as the Holy One instructed Master Uriel.”

“The Holy One sent us to Ovadia, but we’re following his guidance because of you.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but Shimon was right. Uriel had said nothing since Yonaton’s parting that morning, as if his remaining energy was sapped by the decision to hide. He stared at the flames, motionless. “You think I’m leading us astray?”

“What I think doesn’t matter, the decision has been made. I’ll help in any way I can.”

Shimon’s sword leaned against the wall of the cave, the cedar tree emblem on its hilt reflecting the amber firelight. “Then perhaps you should leave the sword behind,” I said.

“Why?”

“It’s too easily recognized.”

“It will be out of sight. Until needed.”

I knew Shimon would refuse, just as I balked at Uriel’s suggestion to leave my knife behind during the wedding. Yet, if Uriel had insisted, I would have yielded. But that was the prophet; in Shimon’s eyes, I was a child in need of protection. If Yonaton had been with me, perhaps together we could have pressed him. But how could I persuade him on my own that his eagerness to fight was a danger to all our lives?

Shimon answered my unspoken thoughts. “Even if your plan is to sneak past the Queen’s soldiers, it’s best to be prepared.” I leaned in to argue, but he wasn’t done. He braced his back against the wall of the cave and shot words sharper than arrows. “Had your father been so prepared, you might be dining with him now in Judah, rather than hiding in this cave.”

The old prophet’s eyes opened wide for the first time since Yonaton’s departure, and shot up to meet Shimon’s.

“What do you mean?” My gaze jumped from Shimon to my master. “You said my father was murdered for preaching against the Golden Calf.”

“He was,” Shimon answered. He had brought up my father to win the argument about the sword, but now he was stuck—we both knew I wouldn’t let the matter drop until I heard the whole story. His posture, so defiant a moment earlier, deflated as he leaned in toward the fire. “It was during the Civil War. King Ahav’s father, Omri, was locked in a struggle for control of the northern kingdom with Tivni. The armies fought with arms, yes, but mainly the battle was over the hearts of the people. Omri considered the people’s reactions to every step he took, and many of them admired your father. Sending soldiers to his house would have driven many into the arms of Tivni.”

“But then why kill him at all? Did he support Tivni?”

Shimon turned to Uriel for guidance—did he not know the answer, or was he questioning how much to reveal?

Uriel broke his silence. “Your father supported neither, but both saw him as an opponent.”

“Because he was against the Calf?”

Uriel shook his head. “Because he was for real kingship. He dreamed of a reunification of the two kingdoms. To him, only a descendant of David had the right to rule.”

I remembered my conversation with Uncle Menachem about the splitting of the Kingdom. Hadn’t I also questioned how the Kingdom could split when the House of David was granted an everlasting throne?

Shimon sighed at Uriel’s answer. “Omri aimed to catch your father in an act of rebellion.”

“My father rebelled?”

“It was only the appearance of rebellion that mattered to Omri. He knew Yochanan traveled to Jerusalem to serve in the Temple for each of the three pilgrimage festivals. The roads were well guarded, but your father would lead anyone he could convince to join him through the mountain passes. Everyone knew the penalty for crossing was death. If Omri caught your father crossing, he could be rid of him without provoking the ire of the people.”

“And my mother?” My voice trembled.

Uriel said, “Your father sought my counsel the week before he died. We agreed it was best for you to be raised in the Kingdom of Judah, with his brethren. This is why both you and your mother were with him at the border when the King’s soldiers fell upon him.”

Shimon fidgeted. “I’m sorry, Lev. I shouldn’t have spoken.”

“No.” I wiped my eyes with my palms. “I want to know. Please, tell me.”

Shimon again searched Uriel for direction. The prophet nodded, giving permission to finally lift the cloak that had covered over my past for so many years. Shimon lost his gaze in the fire, staring into the burning coals rather than face me as he spoke. “I was sixteen, making my third journey to Jerusalem with your father. I walked up front near your parents and heard their last conversation.”

“What was it about?”

“You.”

Something stirred inside me. This was the story that had haunted my dreams since age two. Yet, now that I was about to hear the truth, a strange thing happened. The locked box I’d built to secure the memory all these years could no longer protect me, so it opened on its own. As Shimon spoke in his deliberate way, images unfolded in my mind, matching him phrase for phrase. It was as though I’d returned to a crisp autumn day ten years before.

“Lev’s cold.” Mother tightened the shawl that bound me to her back, drawing me closer to her body and shifting me a bit higher. Lavender wafted from beneath her headscarf.

“This isn’t a place to stop.” Father’s sharp eyes scanned the mountains on either side of the narrow path. He was older than I imagined, the sides of his beard fully gray, but he stood tall, almost at Uriel’s height, with a muscular build.

“How much farther?”

“See that ridge up ahead? Once we pass it, we’ll be out of the inheritance of Ephraim and into the territory of Binyamin. Then we’ll be in the Kingdom of Judah.”

“And then we’ll be safe, Yochanan?”

“Omri’s soldiers aren’t supposed to cross the border. Still, I never feel safe until I get back on the road.” Father gazed into her teary eyes, so much like Aunt Leah’s. She was much younger than he and had never made the trip before. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I don’t mean