“I don’t understand.” Shimon groaned as he and Uriel laid one of the slain prophets beside the ruined house.
“Tell me everything, from the beginning.” Uriel approached the next of the fallen.
“I’ve been here since I left you. You were right; it was better for me here among the masters than it was among the disciples. The Queen’s soldiers rode up at sunset, eight of them. Three of us went out to greet them with food—we had no idea. Foolish as it was, that probably saved my life. I don’t think that anyone in the house managed to—Lev, no!”
I jumped back at the rebuke. Yonaton and I had approached one of the bodies—why shouldn’t we try to help? Did Shimon think we couldn’t carry the body? And why did he yell only at me? Yonaton was a bit stronger, but not by much.
Uriel edged over to my side, making himself a barrier between me and the dead. “Yes, why don’t the two of you gather wood for the morning meal. We will need all of our strength.”
My master’s tone was softer than Shimon’s, but his command no less clear. I bit back my response, and the two of us retreated from the line of bodies to the first row of trees, where we gathered sticks in silence so as not to miss a word.
Shimon hovered over another of the fallen prophets. “The details of the battle are not important. You see the results before you.”
“Did anyone else survive?”
“I think not. We’ll know for certain once we have gathered everyone.” He studied the blackened corpse at his feet. “I hid in a cave last night.”
Uriel placed a hand on Shimon’s shoulder. “Flight is also courage when it holds hope for return.”
Shimon nodded. “The ram’s horn roused me. I wasn’t sure if the blast was from friend or foe, so I crept back, keeping to the shelter of the trees. Then I saw one of them go after the boys, so I attacked. I managed to plant my knife in him, and he rode off. Coward. I knew he must be going after you. I couldn’t help you barehanded, so I asked Lev for Yochanan’s knife.”
Shimon limped to the body that still had my father’s knife protruding from its neck. He placed a foot on the soldier’s back and grasped the hilt. The knife slid out with a jerk. Shimon plunged it into the soft earth a few times to remove the blood, wiped the blade with his palm, and brought the weapon to Uriel.
Uriel examined the knife. “Yes, Lev has shown it to me. For the second time, this blade has saved your life.”
“Indeed. But it is a tool of peace, not war. It should never have been used to kill a man.”
Uriel rotated the knife, as if examining it for flaws. “It hardly seems you had a choice.”
Shimon’s forehead sunk toward the ground. “No, there was no choice. Not this time, and not when Yochanan used it to save me.” Shimon sighed. “You know, just before it happened, I…I saw him.”
Neither of them heard the branches fall from my arms.
Uriel fixed his eyes on Shimon. “You saw Yochanan?”
He nodded once. “I touched the flat of the blade to my forehead and closed my eyes. I recalled that day years ago. My fear, his sacrifice. I was filled with death, the injustice of Yochanan’s murder, the horror of yesterday’s massacre, and the evil of them trying to kill you now…” Shimon’s posture straightened to the height of that morning’s battle. “And that’s when it happened.”
Uriel’s eyes bored in on his disciple. Even Yonaton stopped pretending to gather wood. “What did you feel?”
“Power, like nothing I’ve ever felt. Yesterday I injured my ankle running away, but when I took off after that soldier, I felt no pain—and I ran faster than I ever have.” Shimon’s hands stretched out in wonder.
“Clarity.” Shimon closed his eyes. “I could see every needle on the trees, feel every whisper of the wind. When I charged into battle, I didn’t have to decide what to do. My body just…knew. I leapt onto the back of that horse as if it were a pony!” Shimon’s eyes popped open, cutting creases across his scars.
“Did you feel anything else?”
“Courage, no fear at all. Last night, I couldn’t sleep, despite my exhaustion. I shook all night, petrified that they might hunt me down. But this morning, I wasn’t afraid anymore. And so strong. I snapped that soldier’s sword in two—I can’t do that.”
“How did it end?”
“When the last soldier fell, I felt it just…flow out of me. The fear hasn’t returned, but my leg is throbbing, and well…” he glanced at his hands, “I won’t be shattering any more swords.”
Uriel managed a weak smile. “You have sought navua for many years, but it always eluded you. Most disciples either succeed or abandon their path—but you persisted. Now you taste the fruits of your commitment.”
“This was prophecy?” Shimon’s eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t like any navua I’ve ever seen.”
“But I have seen far more than you have, Shimon. One can receive the Presence in many ways. There is a level, close to prophecy, which can come in a time of crisis. One sees injustice and rushes to act without considering oneself. When your heart, mind, and will move you in this way, you can become a fit vessel for the Holy One.”
The words made little sense to me, and Shimon didn’t seem to understand either. The lines on his forehead only deepened.
“Learn from Samson,” Uriel continued. “Drawn after his eyes, he could never receive full navua. But when he seized that donkey’s jawbone at the battle of Lehi, what filled him in that moment?”
Fear? I asked myself.
My master continued, not waiting for an answer. “The desperate need of Israel. He slew a thousand men that day. Despite his…flaw, Samson was a fit tool in the hand of the Holy One and merited to save our people from the Pelishtim.”
“So the Presence brings you strength?”
“Not always. It is a spirit that fills you with the power you need at the moment. Samson, whose way was to fight alone, received the power of an army. King Shaul, who ran away from kingship, received this spirit in a different way, giving him the power to lead.”
Shimon’s face shone for a moment, then his eyes brimmed with tears. “But why wasn’t I given this power yesterday? Why did so many have to die?”
“Do not take what you received lightly—it is a rare gift. Yesterday you were afraid. Today you were tormented by the massacre, in fear of another slaughter, and then remembered so vividly the sacrifice Yochanan made to save your life. The spirit didn’t take you into battle. You were determined to fight, determined to succeed—you just didn’t know how. That determination made you a fit vessel for the spirit. You didn’t receive the strength of Samson or the leadership of Shaul. But it did bring you enough speed, strength, and knowledge to overcome these four soldiers. For that, I’m grateful.”
My head throbbed. Between our journey, the flight from the cave, our march through the night, and the dawn battle, I was exhausted. Uriel’s words knocked away my last restraint. I really grasped only one thing from the conversation: Shimon’s transformation was connected to my father’s knife—to my father’s sacrifice for him. My father saved Shimon’s life…at the cost of his own?
They stood there talking as if I were as deaf as one of the murdered prophets. They thought I couldn’t handle carrying the bodies, couldn’t be trusted with the truth of my past.
It wasn’t my place to interrupt, but they were talking about my life. I cut through the clearing in three strides, and faced Uriel and Shimon over the line of the dead. “What’s this about my father?”
Shimon gasped—he hadn’t heard me approach. He leapt over a corpse and grabbed my shoulder, drawing me back. I shook his arm free, but allowed him to lead me away from the bodies.
“Lev, I’m sorry. But you can’t know. Not yet.”
I glared at Shimon. He knew. If Shimon owed his life to my father, then he owed me an answer.
Uriel’s voice was softer. “Lev, when you returned to me, you said that where I went, you would go. I was moved by the strength of your promise and held it as binding, though you are not yet of age. But even I did not foresee where it would lead. You offered your life this morning, even if it was spared.
“I have served the Holy One faithfully my entire life, but I am an old man. There are more soldiers seeking me, and even if I were not pursued, the time to lie with my fathers is drawing near. It matters not how my soul will leave my body, in sleep or in battle. But your life is ahead of you. I release you from your oath.”
Would my master dismiss me rather than tell me the truth?
“The journey to Judah is now too dangerous for you to attempt. Even the smallest passes will be watched. If you wish to return to your aunt, tell her it is with my blessing and she will welcome you home. Your uncle will help you raise a flock of your own. No one will seek your blood. You will marry and build a family. Grow old.
“Or you may continue with me. We will travel fast, eat little, fight if we must. If you go where I go, it may be to the grave before the week is done.”
I stared down at the bodies of the massacred prophets on the ground. If I hadn’t been there, Uriel could have lain among them. I raised my eyes up to my master’s. “Where you go, I will go.”
Shimon shuffled next to me. Uriel continued to hold my gaze. “So be it.” He bent his knees and brought his eyes in line with mine. “Then it’s time to hear the truth about your father. The truth about yourself.”
Shimon’s mouth dropped open. Uriel held up his hand and it snapped shut. “I have hidden things until now because knowledge can be dangerous. But at this point, you could hardly be in more danger—now ignorance is a liability.” The old prophet held out the handle of my knife. “I saw your father’s courage in you today. Take the knife.”
I asked for the truth, but hadn’t expected to get it. My fingers trembled as I grasped the weapon. It felt warm in my palms, having absorbed the heat of Uriel’s hands.
“Do you recognize the imprint?”
I traced a finger over the insignia on the hilt. How many times had I wondered about its meaning since leaving home? I saw it in my dreams. My vision grew blurry as I focused on the milky white stone, but no new insight arose. I shrugged. “Claws of some sort?”
Uriel cocked his head to inspect the insignia, then emitted a short, nasal laugh—the first sound of mirth I’d heard in days. “True, it does look like claws now, doesn’t it? Much time has passed since I saw it first. Yes, some definition has been lost, but the image is whole. Not three fingers, five. The thumb, two fingers held together, a gap, then two fingers held together. Does that help you?”
“No, Master.”
“The kohanim, the priests of the Holy One, hold their hands forward just so when they bless the people. This knife was used by the kohanim for offerings in the Holy Temple. Your father was a kohen.” Uriel drew my eyes up from the knife with a gentle touch on my chin. “Which makes you a kohen as well. You were born a priest of the Holy One.”
Uriel’s words broke through my exhaustion. Fragmented images whirled in my mind. My special bread—my aunt always gave me the first piece of bread. Hadn’t Uriel done the same when I came to the gathering, making sure that a portion was always set aside for me? Uncle Menachem taught me that the kohen receives the first bread and the first fruits—why had I never made the connection?
Yonaton stood at the edge of the trees, grasping an armful of branches, watching us closely. When the two of us tried to help care for the fallen prophets, only I was rebuked, not him. “Is that why I can’t help with the bodies?”
“Yes, you are forbidden contact with the dead.”
How many times had I pestered my uncle about my father’s land? His response was always the same, that my inheritance had been lost—always using the word inheritance, never once mentioning my father’s land or even his tribe. “And this is why I have no land?”
“The kohanim are from the tribe of Levi, who received the service of the Holy One as their inheritance. They have no share in the land.”
I shook my head, then raised the knife between us. “And this?”
“That knife was used by your ancestors to slaughter offerings in the Holy Temple.”
“Shimon said it was for peace, not war.”
“Indeed it is. When the hearts of the kohanim are pure and the people are devoted to their service, there is peace in the land.”
“Why was it dangerous for me to know what I am?”
“Did your uncle teach you about the splitting of the Kingdom?”
“Yes, but only when I went home after the wedding.” I wanted it to be clear that I hadn’t understood about the Golden Calf when we were in Beit El. “He said that Yeravaum feared that the people would return to the Temple, so he created the calves and commanded the people to worship the Holy One through them.”
“Yes, a new form of our old sin in the desert. The annual pilgrimage to the calves will be in one week, at the full moon, exactly one month after Israel should have gone up to the Temple for Sukkot. And did Menachem tell you that not all the people accepted this substitution?”
I shook my head.
“The tribe of Levi were the most adamant in their refusal. They rejected the calf in the wilderness and were not going to bow to it here in the Land. The kohanim had a double measure of their tribe’s indignation.”
My chest filled with pride at my tribe’s defiance.
“When Yeravaum replaced the Temple, he replaced the kohanim as well. New altars meant new priests, an honor bestowed upon one of the most powerful families in the Kingdom, assuring their loyalty to Yeravaum. Most of the kohanim in the northern Kingdom of Israel fled south to Judah. Only a few stayed, and their very presence provoked Yeravaum and the kings who came after him.”
“Why?”
“Because the Holy One anointed Aharon and his sons as our priests for all time. The only way to serve the Holy One at the altar is to be a descendant of Aharon. As long as his descendants lived in the land, they were a perpetual challenge to Yeravaum and his mock priests.”
“So the remaining kohanim were hunted down?”
“No. Most went about their lives quietly. They became craftsmen, shepherds, teachers of the young. Yeravaum saw no reason to disturb the peace by dealing harshly with them.”
“So why was my father different?”
“Your father refused to flee or conceal his identity. He wouldn’t let the people forget. He traveled the Kingdom, taught about the Holy One, and roused the nation to correct its ways.”
Pride blazed through me again at this new image of my father, strong and defiant, though I now knew how much his defiance had cost him—and me. “But you also do this. You were never hunted, were you?” I surveyed the soldier’s bodies piled next to the ruined house, “…at least until now.”
“True. Yeravaum had no desire to break the connection between the people and the Holy One. Just the opposite: he told the people that worshiping his calves was the surest path to cling to the Holy One. Opposing the prophets would have destroyed this illusion, so we remained free to live and teach in the land.”
I stared at the severed head of the last soldier to die, and suddenly the battle made more sense. “But Izevel wants to destroy the connection between the people and the Holy One. She wants them to worship the Baal.”
“Indeed.”
I wiped my eyes with the palms of my hands, feeling suddenly like a little boy again. But I couldn’t give myself over to my feelings yet—there was more I needed to understand first. “Was I never to know who I am?” I searched my master’s eyes.
Uriel ran his fingers through his grizzled, white beard. “That was to be a question of how you matured. Had you grown into a man who likes to avoid trouble, like the kohanim who abandoned their roots, I would never have burdened you with this knowledge.”
I squinted at Uriel. “But how could you know which direction I’d take?”
“When we met under the fig tree, I was a stranger to you, but you were well known to me. I have walked the land for over fifty years—almost always alone.” Uriel’s lips rose in a half smile. “Your father was a rare friend; I would not abandon his son. After he died, I visited your uncle whenever my path brought me close to Levonah. It was I who gave you that kinnor, for music is a channel for the soul. I saw early on that you possessed a rare spirit—a spirit like your father’s—but I still needed to know you better. The past can be such a heavy burden. I needed to be sure you could bear it.
“That’s why I hired you to accompany me to the gathering. There I was to make my final decision: to leave you in ignorance and allow you to sink into the people of the Kingdom, or to smuggle you to Judah once you came of age. There you could learn the ways of the kohanim, and one day serve in the Holy Temple. Your uncle knew this, of course, but he long ago yielded to my desire for secrecy.”
“But, Master, I thought you hired me for my music?”
“Your music is beautiful, Lev—it is an expression of the spirit of which I speak. But I didn’t need a musician badly enough to take you from your uncle’s flock. I sought to know you better. And you needed to taste your father’s world before facing the choice: whether to remain here a shepherd or join me on the journey to Judah to learn the way of your tribe.”
For years, I grappled with the prospect of a life I hadn’t chosen and didn’t desire. Yet, all that time, another option lay hidden beneath the surface, waiting for me to take hold of it. Unlike the paths that Zim and Daniel had encouraged me to walk, this path was destined for me from birth; it was the path my father had walked, and his father before him, all the way back to Aharon the first high priest. This realization broke through my last restraint. Tears coursed through the filth on my face, but I didn’t wipe them away. The truth ripped open an old wound, but I preferred pain to the numbness I felt during all those years of mystery.
“And what now, Master?”
“Everything has changed. My days of walking the Kingdom are over. We are quarry now—we’d be hunted down within days. The watch on the passes will be doubled as well—the way to Judah is sealed.”
Any sense of safety brought on by that morning’s victory slipped away. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t know. Despite the delay, I must seek vision. Please play for me.”
The ancient prophet’s knees cracked as he lowered himself to the blood-stained ground. He closed his eyes and dropped his head between his knees, but there was no music. The wind rattled the trees along the edge of the clearing and Uriel gazed back up, deep lines cutting his face. “I forgot we left your kinnor behind. I will attempt it on my own.”
My master hunched on the ground, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, neck taut with the tension of a hunted man, while his brother prophets lay silently in a row next to him, awaiting burial. I couldn’t imagine harder circumstances to open his heart to prophecy. I might not have my kinnor, but I still had my voice.
I searched for a nigun, for some music that could escort Uriel into the state of joy necessary for prophecy. Nothing came. Smoke from the smoldering building burned my throat, my eyes. Where was the joy in this place?
Shimon gently wiped the faces of his masters and set their clothes aright. Had he shown my parents’ bodies the same tenderness? The idea of their death was nothing new to me, but now I knew the reason. For the first time, I felt more than just an ache at the thought of my parents’ deaths, but a rush of admiration as well. They died because my father was a kohen—a kohen who wasn’t content to flee or hide. I was also a kohen. If I ever made it to Judah, I could serve in the Holy Temple. What did the music in the Temple sound like?
I closed my eyes, picturing King Solomon’s Temple, with its white walls and crown of gold. I imagined playing my kinnor there before the altar of the Holy One in an act of true devotion. A melody rose in my heart. I sang through the nigun once, my parched lips cracking as I opened my mouth wide to the music. As I returned to the beginning, an arm wrapped around my shoulder, and Yonaton’s voice joined with mine, picking out deeper tones in the melody.
Shimon stretched an arm around my other shoulder. His voice was raw, and his harmony just awful. Still, there was something stirring about singing with this strange man who’d carried me to safety as a child and had saved my life once again.
The prophet’s head remained bowed between his knees for a long time—I couldn’t imagine the shadow he was trying to lift from his heart. Uriel sat up, eyes open—was he giving up? He beheld the three of us swaying before him, attempting to sing away his sorrow. He managed a sad smile, and dropped his head again, rocking his body to our music.
A wellspring of emotion bubbled up from the core of my heart. Ten years of emptiness and longing for answers raged like lions. I held them and watched them melt away under the soft glow of the truth. For the first time, I knew who I was. My song broadened, deepened, flowing out like a river. The arms around my shoulders tightened their hold, and the air seemed to crackle with tension. When the tension burst, I didn’t need to open my eyes to know my master had ascended.
By the time Uriel stirred, Yonaton and I had built a fire and warmed our stale bread. Curious as I was to question my master, he’d not eaten since the previous night, and my first duty was to him. I handed the prophet a piece of toasted bread and restrained myself from asking about the vision.
“Thank you, Lev.” Uriel accepted the food. “But you should not continue to serve me this way.”
“Why not, Master?”
“The kohanim serve the Holy One, not man.”
“But I want to serve you.”
Uriel shook his head. “The laws of the kohanim are many and complex. Sadly, we have no proper time for your education. I will serve myself, and Shimon is here if I need assistance.”
Yonaton popped up at this. “And me.”
Uriel again shook his head. “Yesterday you could not go back to your family because of these brutes, but they will tell their tale to no one now. You may safely return home.”
The color rose in Yonaton’s cheeks. “I want to stay.”
“Lev’s uncle handed him into my care. Your parents made no such choice. They are expecting you, worrying over you.”
Yonaton dug his hands into his hips. “When I told my parents that the soldiers were looking for you, my father told me I had to come. My mother packed me food. They wouldn’t want me to leave you.” He added quietly, “Not if I can help.”
Uriel’s tired brow knitted in thought. “There is a way you can help. Very well, you may remain as long as you are needed.”
No one spoke as the prophet ate, but all eyes measured his progress. When he swallowed his last bite, Shimon could no longer contain himself. “What did you see?”
“We must contact Ovadia. He is still loyal, and in his position, he’ll know how to advise us.”
“Ovadia?” Shimon threw his hands up. “How are we supposed to reach him? He’s in Shomron, the heart of the Kingdom, right under the eye of Queen Izevel. We need to get you to safety. Wouldn’t you be better served leaving the Kingdom?”
“No. You forget King Ethbaal has the largest fleet on the seas. There’s no kingdom with whom he does not trade, no end to his reach. The people have not yet accepted Queen Izevel’s reign here, but once I leave the land, no one has reason to shelter me. I’d be given over immediately.”
“And Judah?”
“Indeed, I would be safe there. But that is where Queen Izevel will expect me to go. She’ll concentrate her power on the border.” Uriel stood up and leaned on his staff. “In any case, I have no intention of fleeing. Do not concern yourself with my safety. My last days will be here in the Kingdom, serving the Holy One in any way I still can.”
“Excellent, so we’ll resist. But don’t throw your life away going to Shomron.”
“I didn’t say we need to go to Shomron, we just need to contact Ovadia. It will be less dangerous for him to come to us.”
“But how can we contact him without going to Shomron?”
Uriel cocked his head and scrutinized Yonaton and me, and his features molded into a grimace. “The boys. The only soldiers we know can connect us with the boys lie right here. You and I are hunted, they are not. Hopefully none of the Queen’s other lackeys know the connection between us.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We need to find a place to hide until Lev and Yonaton return. We cannot remain here the night; it is too well known as a gathering place. Just because it has been destroyed does not mean that they will not return to pursue others who may flee here.”
