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

Joshua ben Perachyah said: Choose a master for yourself, acquire a friend, and judge every person favorably.

Pirkei Avot 1:6

“Darkness is rising upon the land.”

These were the only words the prophet uttered when I told him of the King’s engagement. For the rest of the night, he sat on the precipice, deep in thought. I didn’t even get to tell him about bowing before the Holy One.

We met Yosef and his disciples soon after dawn. The two masters embraced, then led us eastward on the broad road toward Jericho. The disciples and I waited until the masters were far enough ahead to speak without being overheard, then we started off behind. Our route led down the dry wilderness slope that bridged the fertile mountain plateau, where I had spent my entire life, and the Jordan valley below. A herd of gazelles leapt along the ridge, leaving gray tracks on the barren terrain. One stopped to nibble at the dark green leaves of a lone hyssop bush that had fought its way through the rocky soil. Halfway down the slope, we turned north onto a smaller footpath that followed the ridge-line along the edge of the wilderness. A hot wind swirled with dust, and I tasted grit between my teeth. Only the toughest creatures could call this steep, arid land home. Two rough, migrant shepherds clicked their tongues to guide a flock of coarse-haired goats toward a patch of brown grasses growing in a catch-basin between the hills.

This is me in a few years’ time.

At what point had my family made clear this was my future? Was it all at once or only little by little? This was my first time in the true wild, and I saw how the sparse grass and the distant springs made shepherding here strenuous work. At the same time, a quiet serenity rested between the hillsides. Though life here would be hard, my decision to train for prophecy bolstered me. It was the perfect place for learning to hear the words of the Holy One.

My enthusiasm only lasted until mid-day, when we passed a shepherd’s tent. Outside its goatskin walls, the shepherd’s wife sat baking their bread directly on the coals of her fire. She responded to Uriel’s greeting with a ghastly smile, baring toothless gums and stretching the weathered skin of her face. There were no children around the tent—she hardly looked healthy enough to have any. Was her blighted condition a result of the harshness of their lives, or were the prospects of a wilderness shepherd so poor that her husband could marry no better? Either alternative was enough to make me cringe.

Even as the springs came closer together, returning a haze of green to the landscape, I still couldn’t clear that image of the shepherd’s wife from my thoughts. Perhaps I should bring Dahlia here to see the worn woman herself? Then she would abandon her silly dream of following me on my path, and leave me to walk it alone.

I was torn from my thoughts of Dahlia only when Raphael announced, “Welcome to Emek HaAsefa, Lev.” He swept his hands toward a valley nestled between the hills below us, its gently sloping clearing already in shadow.

I spotted black openings along the steep rock face. “Are those caves?”

“Yes. They will be our homes during the gathering.” Raphael stepped off the road onto a trail down to the valley. “And those are just the ones you can see.”

Raphael descended directly to the clearing where white-robed servants were laying out food. I stopped first at the animal pens to find Balaam already in the enclosure, snuffing loudly while eating alongside twenty or more donkeys and three horses. As I retrieved my belongings from the saddlebags, my eyes appraised the horses—had nobles come to the gathering?

In the eating area, I found a table laid out with hot bread, chickpea mash, and beet tops lightly cooked to a bright green. An Israelite indentured servant spooned out food for the disciples, while another baked bread over a clay dome. The servant took one glance at me, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you Lev?” I nodded. “Master Uriel had us set this aside for you.” From behind the cooking area, he retrieved a piece of bread dotted with small amounts of the chickpea and beet tops. After a full day’s march, I had hoped for more food than this. The servant must have caught my expression. “You can take more. I don’t care.” He put down his spoon, with the handle facing toward me, then went to help with the cooking, leaving me to serve myself. I added only a modest amount, remembering my uncle’s resentment at how much the hired workers had eaten during last year’s olive harvest.

Food in hand, I gazed around until I found Raphael, who sat with two other disciples on the gently sloping hillside. The disciples ate in silence, chewing each morsel dozens of times before taking another. When he saw me approach, Raphael swallowed the bite in his mouth to greet me. “Hi Lev, looking for the musicians? They’re sitting over there.” I caught myself before sitting down—did the musicians not eat with the disciples?

I followed Raphael’s gesture and saw three people sitting together in a corner of the field. Their garments immediately caught my eye; they were all dressed in heavy woolen tunics like my own. The whole time we walked together, I hadn’t thought how much my clothes, so hot and itchy in the summer sun, must have made me stand out from my companions, who undoubtedly wore wool only in the wintertime. As I weaved through the disciples, I became intensely aware of my tunic, its dank odor, and how it had been crudely stitched together by Aunt Leah and Dahlia. The linen garments of the bnei nevi’im were doubtless made by master weavers. I kept my gaze ahead on the musicians so I wouldn’t have to meet the eyes of the disciples.

Two of the musicians were youths, one a thickset boy about my age who sat hunched over his food. The other, a few years older, leaned back on one of his elbows and ran a hand through his wavy hair as he watched me approach. The third musician was a man, younger than my uncle, who sat erect, his narrow beard almost reaching his waist. “Are you Lev?” the man asked. I nodded and sat down next to him. “Excellent, then we’re all gathered. I’m Daniel ben Eliezer, the master musician here. This is Yonaton ben Baruch,” he pointed to the younger boy, “and Zimri ben—”

“Just Zim,” the wavy-haired one interjected, his mouth half full. Juice and vegetables dripped from the bottom of his rolled-up bread, and he ate at a pace that made me wonder how long it had been since his last meal.

Yonaton offered a hesitant smile. Like me, he’d just taken small amounts of each dish, and sat with his flatbread spread out on his lap, the different foods on it not touching. I sat down next to him and bit into my bread, glad for the distraction of food that excused us from conversation.

The first stars appeared in the sky, and the chatter among the disciples died down. All turned their attention toward the serving table where Uriel, Yosef, and a third white-haired sage stood between three torches in a circle of flickering light. “May all who have come be blessed,” Uriel said.

“Many are the paths we have walked to reach this point, and many are the places from which we have come. Together, we seek a true bond with the Holy One, one in which Divine Light will flow to the Nation of Israel, and through us to all of creation. The hour is late, and for many of you the journey has been long; nevertheless, our time is short, our task is great, and our Master is pressing.” He gazed over the crowd of disciples, torchlight glittering in his eyes. “Know too that the reward is great if you pursue the Way with discipline and commitment. We expect nothing less from each of you.”

Uriel stepped back into shadow as Yosef replaced him in the torchlight. “When you are dismissed, you will go directly to sleep. You will be woken in the second watch of the night to begin your training. Remember your dreams; even