We left the house before first light, before any prying eyes could take notice. Ovadia instructed us not to speak until we reached the main road, yet even there, neither of us broke the silence. When the ram’s horn signaled the opening of the gates, we pushed our way through, practically invisible within a group of farmers heading out to their fields.
Ovadia’s words turned over in my mind. Eliyahu’s curse evoked the power of Moses. That power was not directed solely against Izevel and the Baal, the battle that Ovadia wanted to fight. The drought would hit all of the people of Israel, those who bowed to the Baal and those who didn’t. The power of the curse meant that even a prophet like Uriel couldn’t alter its course. Trying to change it would only lead to his destruction.
Ovadia believed all this, believed Uriel must hide until the devastation passed, and I had sworn to bring my master to him. But would he agree? If Uriel thought that Ovadia was wrong, I was stuck between two oaths; one to Ovadia and one to my master. I shuddered at the thought of what just one oath had done to Seguv and his family.
“Soldiers,” Yonaton whispered, his chest pounding against my back.
“I can’t see more than their heads.” I craned my neck to see into the stone tower that stood above us. The hilltops surrounding Shomron were all topped with such strongholds, the outer ring of the city’s defenses. “Are they Israelite or the Queen’s Guard?”
“Can’t tell.”
The soldiers hardly glanced at us, but as we passed under the shadow of the watchtower, a feeling of disquiet rumbled in my stomach. Since swearing to Ovadia, my thoughts had been focused on Uriel, but a bigger problem just occurred to me.
“Yonaton?” His name caught in my throat.
“What is it?”
“Ovadia said that Master Uriel must get to Shomron—at any cost. But what about Shimon?”
“What about him?”
I hesitated. “Well, it’s just that…I’m not sure. Do you think he’s safe to travel with?”
Yonaton snorted. “Safe? I can’t think of a better person to travel with. When was the last time you shattered your enemy’s sword?”
I twisted around to face Yonaton. “Yesterday morning he lit a fire.”
“He built it to roast us a grouse.”
“I know, but Master Uriel told us not to. And Shimon complained about waiting in the cave. It sounds crazy, but I wonder if he wants to be found.”
“You think he wants to die?”
“Not to die, to fight.”
“The way he fights, I don’t blame him.”
“But that’s not the way he fights—three days ago he ran from battle.”
“You heard what Master Uriel said; he received a spirit from the Holy One. Like prophecy.”
“Exactly, a spirit like prophecy, which he’s pursued for years, and which he lost as soon as the battle ended. You saw the look in his eyes when he told Master Uriel about it. It was hungry.”
Yonaton stared at me. “You don’t trust him.”
I turned back to face the road. “Ovadia made me swear to bring Master Uriel to Dotan. Master Uriel might listen to me, but will Shimon?”
“If Master Uriel agrees, Shimon will come along to make sure he’s safe.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. The plan is to sneak past the guards, not confront them. If Shimon won’t enter the cave, we’re better off without him on the road.”
“Tell him that. Tell him that if he’s not willing to hide, he shouldn’t make the journey.”
“He thinks he’s protecting Master Uriel.”
“Tell him you’ll do that.”
“He won’t listen to me.” I kept my face forward so that Yonaton wouldn’t see my shame. “He knows I couldn’t kill the soldier. He thinks I’m a coward.”
Yonaton shook his head. “He’s glad you didn’t kill the soldier—the last thing he’d want is for a kohen to kill. You heard what Master Uriel said, that kohanim are forbidden contact with the dead. Think of the debt he owes your father. He wants to protect you.”
“Exactly, which means he’s not going to listen to me.”
“Listen, I think you’re worrying about nothing. You ought to be more concerned about convincing Master Uriel. Will he agree to act like a Calf worshiper and then retreat into a cave?”
“I doubt it, but we have to try. Perhaps we shouldn’t tell him about hiding? Whether the plan is to fight or hide, he still needs to get to the cave. Let Ovadia convince him to stay put once we’re there.”
Yonaton snorted. “He’s a prophet, don’t be a fool. But if you can convince Master Uriel, I’ll work on Shimon. Twice he’s told me how I impressed him at the battle. I think he’ll listen to me.”
Yonaton’s willingness to deal with Shimon lightened my breathing. “So you think it’s better to bring him along?”
“Shimon’s not stupid—he won’t fight unless he has to. And if we have to fight, there’s no one I’d rather have on my side.”
The full heat of the day was just starting to subside when we saw the great carob tree blocking the cave. Ovadia warned us to enter the cave only after dark, so we tethered Balaam by a spring a short distance away and waited.
The first thing I noticed as night fell were flames backlighting the tree. Had Uriel bowed to Shimon’s recklessness?
I approached the cave first, lurking in the bushes while I spied out the situation. There was no sign of the prophet or Shimon. The blaze illuminated the cave, casting an eerie glow behind the carob’s dancing leaves. A charred cooking pot lay at its edge. From my hiding place, I inspected the cave for any signs of a struggle.
Stones crunched under footsteps, and I snapped my eyes to the path. By the fire’s orange glow, I saw Yonaton stepping toward the cave—but he wasn’t alone. A shadow broke away from the darkness and rose behind him. I let out a strangled cry at the sound of metal hissing against a leather sheath. A sword rose behind Yonaton.
The arm froze and then dropped. “You have returned.” Shimon sheathed his weapon as he eased into the firelight. His scars twisted in a tight smile.
A second figure slipped from the darkness into the cave. “You succeeded.” There was no question in Uriel’s voice.
I stepped out from my hiding place. “Yes, Master.”
“Where are we to go?”
“The cave of Dotan, Master.”
Uriel nodded solemnly. “A choice with wisdom. How many are already assembled there?”
“Thirty.”
“There will be more.”
“Dotan?” Shimon said, digging his heels into the rocky soil. “That’s north of Shomron. Did Ovadia say how we’re to get there?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
Yonaton stepped toward the entrance. “We shouldn’t leave Balaam where he could draw attention. I’ll retrieve him.”
Uriel waved his hand in answer. “Balaam is fine where he is. It was wise to approach on foot.” His eyes grew narrow. “Now the plan.”
I’d rehearsed my speech at least ten times in my head on the ride back from Shomron—but the words evaporated in my master’s presence.
Uriel fixed me with a piercing stare. “Are we to join the pilgrims returning from Beit El?”
My chest froze, anticipating the prophet’s angry protest. “Ovadia says it’s the best way. Hopefully, no one will—”
Uriel cut me off. “Very well. So we will do.”
My breath seeped out in relief. That part at least was easier than I feared.
Shimon’s hand grew white on the hilt of his sword. “We will be considered among those who bowed to the Calf!”
Uriel shook his head. “I will walk hooded and cloaked. You may do the same. No one will know us. If any do, the faithful judge the prophets with favor. They will understand we are seeking the cover of the crowd. But even if they do believe we bowed, it is worth the risk. As Lev said, it is the best way.”
“I agree, Master Uriel, that we must reach Dotan,” Shimon said, “but perhaps you should seek vision before you decide how. The Holy One may grant us guidance whether this path is really the—”
“It is not the time for vision.”
“But why not? Couldn’t—”
“I never use prophecy to question my heart. This is true now more than ever. We are being carried by a powerful stream of events—ascending now could make me deaf to the voice of my own heart.”
“Which is what?”
“We were told to seek Ovadia—we must heed his advice. Traveling with those returning from Beit El is the safest way to get to Dotan.”
Yonaton sighed in my ear, but Uriel wasn’t done. “The only difficulty is the delay. It is essential we get to Dotan quickly. Even now they may be forming plans to resist Izevel. They will need our guidance.”
I sucked in my breath again.
The sound drew Uriel’s attention. “Is there more, Lev?”
There was no need for Uriel to know the next part until we reached Dotan, but Yonaton was right—he’d know if I was hiding anything. “They are not seeking guidance, Master.”
“Then the resistance has already begun? All the more so, they will need leadership.”
“No, Master, they seek no leader.”
“No leader? What then?”
My throat clenched, so tight I could barely answer. Uriel studied me as I sputtered. “There is to be no resistance.”
“No resistance?”
“No, Master.”
“Then why assemble in Dotan?”
I swallowed hard. I needed Ovadia here for this.
Uriel held my gaze. “To hide?”
“Yes, Master.”
The prophet shook his head. “I am too old to bury myself in a cave. There is no point in dying hidden. Even being struck down by the sword is better than that; then the people might see the brutality of their so-called Queen and rise up against her.”
Shimon stepped between the prophet and me. “Then what shall we do, Master?”
“You were right—I must seek vision. Lev, your kinnor.” Uriel lowered himself to the stone ground.
I hesitated. Two oaths: one to serve Uriel, one to bring Uriel to Dotan. All that day I pondered what I would do should those two vows conflict. I felt my master’s presence, firm on the floor. Was he set on resistance even if his death would only be a symbol? At the very least, Dotan would extend my master’s life, whether he wanted that or not. And what if Ovadia was right? What if my master would prove pivotal once the war was over? I saw now why Ovadia made me swear; the oath’s power tied me to his purpose. I swallowed again and made my choice. “No, Master.”
Uriel raised an eyebrow.
I gripped my tunic in my fists. “You said it yourself, Master, now is not the time for vision. There must be others resisting Izevel, but the Holy One didn’t send us to them. We were sent to Ovadia—we should heed his advice.”
I felt the heat of Shimon’s glare—he would welcome another fight. But I focused on my master, still crouched on the ground.
Fire rose in Uriel’s eyes, flashed, and then extinguished. “Perhaps you are correct, Lev, and I should heed Ovadia’s word without pursuing further guidance.” He stared down at his hands, limp between his knees. “And perhaps you are wrong.”
The uncertainty in my master’s voice unsettled me. Uriel reached out to Yonaton to help him to his feet. “You boys have traveled far today—I have demanded enough words for now. To sleep. Let us each seek the counsel of our dreams.”
The exhaustion of my body overwhelmed the restlessness of my mind, and I quickly fell into a deep slumber. Riding Balaam, it took much of the day to travel from Shomron, but my dreams returned me there in an instant.
The throne room glowed. Oil lamps surrounded the Queen and ringed Yambalya as he knelt before her. It could have been daylight if not for the nearly full moon shining through the eastern windows.
“We killed their prophets and still they resist!” Izevel’s voice was shrill.
“It takes time, my Queen, to uproot a people’s connection to their god.”
“It is Eliyahu. And this drought.”
“The people know nothing of Eliyahu, my Queen, nor do they yet realize there’s a drought. Once they do, they will have all the more reason to turn against their prophets.”
“Or perhaps they will see Eliyahu as stronger than Baal?”
The priest glared at Izevel, eyes smoldering.
“What of the hunt? You claimed your servants have never failed.”
“They are Baal’s servants, not mine. And they will succeed. I told you, I have seen Eliyahu’s future in the stars.”
Izevel sat back with a snarl. “Yet, for now, the people still resist.”
“Yes, my Queen, but I have a plan.”
She leaned forward. “A plan? What will you do?”
“If her Majesty will be guided by me, then before the moon wanes, half the stubborn ones in Shomron will bend their knees before Baal.”
Pale light filled the cave when I woke the next morning. Shimon and Yonaton still slept beside me, but Uriel’s mat lay empty. My eyes scanned the back of the cave—Balaam’s saddlebags were gone. My heart leapt as I pulled my tunic over my head.
Yonaton stirred. “Where are you going?”
“Master Uriel’s gone.”
Yonaton sat up. “His sleeping mat is still here.”
“The saddlebags are missing.”
“So?”
Why didn’t Yonaton understand? “So Master Uriel would take them only if he intended to travel.”
“Without us?” Comprehension filled Yonaton’s eyes, and he rose to his feet.
Uriel took the saddlebags and left without waking us, without even taking 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 to scare you.”
“It’s not that.” She collected herself, but her eyes were wet. “I was just thinking I might never return.”
He sighed and peeked over his shoulder at the twenty men following him through the mountain pass. “You’re going to be all right?”
I grabbed at Mother’s ear, and she caressed my small hand in hers, turned her head back toward me, and drew my hand to her mouth to kiss it. “I just need to remember that I’m doing this for him.”
Father continued to scan the surrounding hillsides, eventually spotting a lone soldier mounted on horseback. At first he laughed, for there was nothing a single soldier could do against twenty men. The soldier grinned back at my father, raised a ram’s horn to his lips, and blew three short, soft blasts.
I stared at Shimon across the fire. “Soft blasts?”
“Yes, soft. It was the softness that alarmed your father. Blasts like that could never be heard all the way in Mitzpah, where the soldiers were garrisoned. As soon as he heard the blasts, he knew it was a trap.”
Father turned back to his followers and screamed, “Run!” He grabbed Mother’s hand and pulled her along behind him, dragging her toward the safety of the border. The pounding of hoofbeats thundered behind us. I saw no horses, but the panic and rush set me squalling.
One of the men following behind screamed, “No, this way,” and ran back into the Kingdom of Israel. The other followers hesitated, then followed their new leader, separating themselves from my family and the border.
Five soldiers broke into the gap between the two groups. Though Mother’s shawl must have blocked my vision of the soldiers, somehow I could still see and hear them in my mind. So, my dreams were not just memories. As Master Yosef said, they must contain a drop of prophecy as well.
The officer leading the small pack of soldiers reined in his steed and surveyed the situation. “The two of you, pursue the large group, but don’t catch them. It’s enough that the dread of King Omri fall upon them.” Two soldiers stalked the group fleeing back into Israel, one banging his sword onto his shield, creating a racket that echoed in the mountain pass while keeping his horse at a relaxed trot. The officer addressed the remaining two soldiers. “You follow me.” He kicked his horse after us.
Father still ran, moving as fast as he could while pulling us behind him. Turning back, he saw that the three soldiers would overtake him before the border. Pushing Mother ahead of him, he yelled, “You run! It’s me they’re after. Save yourself and Lev. Get him to my brother’s family.”
“Yochanan!” She stood frozen as her husband stepped with forced ease back to meet the horses.
“Run, Sarah! If I can follow, I will.” He waited until my mother, with me on her back, began running again toward the border, then walked toward the approaching soldiers. Though armed, he didn’t reach for his knife. Perhaps if he came to them unarmed, not resisting, they’d have mercy on him.
The soldiers pulled up their horses and surrounded him, with their officer mounted squarely between Father and the border. “Why do you pursue me, Yoav?” Father asked.
“But he must have known why,” I insisted.
“Of course he knew,” Shimon replied. “But your mother was still running for the border with you on her back. The longer he could keep them talking, the greater chance she would have to reach safety.”
“Where were you?”
“Hidden. I couldn’t decide which group to follow and found myself stuck in the middle. Just before the horses arrived, I ducked behind a boulder.”
A fiery rage rose against him for not standing by my father’s side. Then I remembered he was only sixteen, not much older than me. I myself ran away from Uriel when the Queen’s soldiers came to take his life. The anger evaporated, and I said nothing, waiting for Shimon to continue.
“You know what this is about, Yochanan,” Omri’s officer said. “I’ve warned you myself against defying the King’s orders.”
“You’ve already won, Yoav. You’ve scared away all those following me. Now it’s just me, my wife, and my son, and we’re leaving Israel, going to join my brethren in Judah.” As he spoke, his eyes flitted between Yoav and my mother, who’d reached the ridge and passed safely into the Kingdom of Judah.
“Oh? Never to return?” Yoav sneered.
“I vow, if you let me go, I will never return.”
A joyless smile spread across Yoav’s face as he drew his sword. “You lie!” The officer drove his weapon forward and Father dove onto the ground to avoid it. He rose to his feet clutching his knife in his hand. Lunging at Yoav, he drove the blade into his leg, just above the knee. Yoav screamed in pain and brought down the hilt of the sword on top of Father’s head, knocking him to the ground. “You never know when to quit, Yochanan HaKohen. The rest of your tribe fled to Judah long ago. They knew it was over for them here, but you refused to go, always defying us. Now your time has come to an end.”
“I’m leaving, I swear. You don’t need to kill me.”
“Did my father intend to return?”
“He was moving you and your mother to a safer place, but he had no intention of abandoning the faithful of Israel. Though now that he was caught, I believe he would have given up on his mission in exchange for his life. I never knew him to break a vow.”
My head fell forward into my hands and tears streamed through my fingers.
“I’m sorry, Lev. I’ve said too much.”
My palms muffled my voice. “No, please. I want to hear.”
My request met only silence.
I raised my face to Shimon’s. “I beg of you…”
“Very well. Your father lay pleading for his life. Then Yoav spoke the words that will bring a chill to my heart until I enter the grave. ‘I’m not going to kill you,’ he said. ‘I’m going to let my soldiers kill you. I’m going to make sure the Kingdom of Israel never has to suffer you or your seed ever again.’ And though by this time your mother had already crossed the border, he kicked his mount after her.”
“And you did nothing? This whole time?” I couldn’t keep accusation out of my voice.
“While Yoav was there, I didn’t dare. I would have been throwing away my life.”
I nodded, hating my judgment. Who was I to question Shimon’s bravery? Yet, when he returned to the tale, I glared at him across the fire, and couldn’t go back into the vision.
“When Yoav rode off, your father howled and chased after him. One of the soldiers slashed at his back, carving a deep gash across his shoulder blade. He collapsed, and the soldier drew back his sword for the final blow, his arm trembling like a leaf. Perhaps in his heart he feared the Holy One’s judgment. His fear gave me courage. I hurled a rock with all my might, striking him in the ear. His thrust missed its target, hitting the ground instead of your father’s neck.
“But now I was exposed. The other rider turned on me—there was nowhere to run. My best cover was the boulder, so I stayed put. Yochanan staggered to his feet, somehow ready to fight. He couldn’t beat a mounted soldier, so he attacked the horse, slashing its throat. It fell over sideways and crushed its rider’s leg against the rocky ground. Your father left him struggling under his mount, and came to help me.
“I was unarmed, so I kept the boulder between myself and the soldier, forcing him to dismount to get at me. The only thing I had to fend off his attack was my sleeping mat, but reed doesn’t hold up for long against iron. That’s how I got these.” Shimon pointed to his face and pulled back his sleeves to show more scars laddered up his arms. My anger with him disappeared now that he’d joined the fight.
“When I saw Yochanan approaching, I screamed as loud as I could. The soldier thought I was yelling out in pain or fear, but I did it to cover your father’s footsteps. I’ll never forget the look of surprise on the soldier’s face when your father planted that knife in his back.”
My hand glided over my leg, feeling the bulge of the knife hidden under my tunic.
“By this time, Yochanan’s tunic was soaked with blood, and he wobbled on his feet. He said to me, ‘Come…Sarah and Lev.’ I seized the soldier’s sword and mounted his horse, pulling your father up behind me.”
Shimon’s bottom lip trembled. He steadied it between his teeth.
“Go on,” Uriel whispered. “He should know this part as well.”
Shimon swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “We had not ridden far when Uriel appeared before us on the trail. He held you screaming in his arms.”
I turned to my master. “You were there?”
“I also traveled to Jerusalem for the festivals, but I knew my way and did not need your father’s guidance.” Uriel’s eyes never left the fire. “I was ahead on the path when the ram’s horn sounded. I turned back when I heard it. After that, I followed the sound of your cries.”
“Will you continue the tale?” Shimon asked.
“No, you should. Now that you’ve started, he needs to hear it all.”
Shimon nodded. “Your father slipped off the horse and took you in his arms—he could barely hold you, he was already so weak. We heard hoofbeats, and Yoav appeared, bearing down on us with his sword drawn. Uriel stepped in front of your father, and Yoav pulled back to avoid trampling him.
So this was it—the reason I recognized Uriel that first day, the reason I’d felt so on edge when I saw him. He must have visited my nightmares for years. The vision tugged at my mind again, drawing me back in.
“Stand aside,” Yoav screamed.
“I’m going where he’s going,” Uriel replied. “Won’t you kill me as well?”
“King Omri grants you passage, but I have my duty.”
“And I have mine.” Uriel planted his staff firmly on the ground before him. “I have two messages, one for you and one for your master.”
Yoav’s eyes jumped from Uriel to my father to Shimon, who still sat on horseback, sword drawn, then back to Uriel. Outnumbered, Yoav sheathed his sword. “Very well, navi. Give me my master’s first.”
“In two years’ time, Omri will be victorious. Should he turn away from the path of Yeravaum, opening the road and purging idolatry from the land, his will be an everlasting kingdom. Otherwise, his will be as the kingdoms of Yeravaum and Bassa, and dogs will lick the blood of his children.”
Yoav’s face was set like stone. “And the message for me?”
“Ride home to your wife, for the child comes.”
“But it is not yet time!” Yoav’s face faltered. He took a deep breath and straightened on his mount. “It is no matter. The child will come with or without me. I cannot leave my post.”
“The child you will never know, and your wife is already beyond your help. I am offering you a chance to say goodbye.”
Yoav tensed in his saddle. “Goodbye?”
“Goodbye.” Uriel drew himself up to his full height, eyes blazing and voice thundering like Eliyahu’s in Jericho. “As you judged, so are you found wanting. You struck down Yochanan’s wife and son. The lives of your wife and unborn son are forfeit in turn.”
“A son?” Yoav beheld me, wailing helplessly in Father’s arms. “But Yochanan’s son lives!”
“Yes, he lives, but not from your mercy—you left him to die!” Father crumpled to his knees, almost dropping me as he fell. Uriel lifted me from his arms.
Yoav dropped his eyes to the ground. “What if I have mercy on him now?”
“That is not mercy, it is desperation. You think only of yourself, not the child.”
“Then she will die? And my son?”
“So it will be.”
Yoav studied Father’s dying body, his blood raining onto the dry ground. “And what of me? Is my life forfeit for Yochanan’s?”
“Your future is in your own hands. You are a man of strength. Turn your strength inward, conquer your anger, and live.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then your greatest act of valor will be your last. King Tivni will die by your sword, but you will fall as well.”
“Quill,” Father said, his voice raspy. All eyes fell upon the kohen, kneeling in a puddle of his own blood. Uriel retrieved a quill and a scrap of parchment from Balaam’s saddlebag and steadied Father’s hand as well as he could, while Father dipped the quill into the ready pool of red dye at his feet and wrote. “Take,” he gasped, handing the scrap of parchment back to Uriel.
Uriel received the scrap and turned back to Yoav. “Yochanan is dying. Let me take his son to his brethren in Judah.”
Yoav lifted his eyes to Uriel, then turned at the sound of approaching horses. The two soldiers he’d sent after Father’s followers came to a stop behind him. Yoav straightened himself and faced Uriel, the tone of authority returning to his voice. “I have my duty. King Omri allows you to pass, but no one else.”
“Does your duty include killing children, or may he return to his family in Israel?”
Yoav eyed the two soldiers behind him, then turned back to the prophet. “King Omri is just. He does not desire the blood of children. He may return.”
“Shimon, take the child.” Uriel dropped his voice so that Shimon had to bend down to hear him. “Take him to his uncle in Levonah, Menachem ben Yitzchak.” But Uriel didn’t hand me to Shimon, he carried me back to Father. “It is time to say goodbye to your child, Yochanan Hakohen.”
I reached out. Father reached back, not to take me, but to lay his strong hands upon my head. Our eyes met as he blessed me for the last time. He kissed me on the forehead, leaving a small, crimson mark. At the same time, Uriel, whose body shielded me from the three soldiers, tucked the parchment into my garments.
I threw my arms around Father’s neck, not wanting to let go. Even with Uriel still supporting me, my weight was too much for the dying man. The pressure on his chest brought on heaving coughs, each one forcing his eyes closed. “Take him. Don’t let him see me die.”
Uriel tugged, but I screamed, refusing to release my grip on Father’s neck. Uriel pulled my hands apart, drew me away, and cradled me up to Shimon. Shimon placed me straddled on the horse in front of him, but struggled to keep me there as I writhed and screamed, reaching out for Father. “Hold him tighter,” Uriel said. Shimon wrapped a quivering arm around me, pulling me closer into his body, and pinned my arms to my side. “Now ride. He will calm down once we’re out of sight.”
“Wait!” Father called, holding out his knife. “Take this. It is his birthright.”
Uriel passed the knife up to Shimon. I pried one of my arms free and grabbed for it, but Shimon held it out of reach and tucked it into his belt. With a last command from Uriel to “Go!” Shimon kicked the horse, handling the reins in his left hand, my protesting body with his right.
Yoav turned to his two soldiers. “I’m going to follow him, make sure he doesn’t make another try for the border. Wait here until Yochanan dies.”
“And Uriel?” one of the soldiers asked.
“King Omri grants the prophets leave to go where they will.” Yoav kicked his horse to pursue Shimon, but as soon as he was out of sight of the others, he turned his horse and galloped toward Mitzpah.
I scowled, feeling no sympathy for my parents’ murderer. “He got what he deserved.”
Uriel’s cheeks were lined with wet tracks. “What he deserved? Perhaps. But could any of us survive in a world where we receive that which we deserve?”
“Wouldn’t that be justice?”
“Yes, it would. But when the Holy One created the world in strict justice, it could not stand. Where only judgment reigns, creation crumbles.”
“So Yoav lived because there’s no justice?”
“There is justice, but tempered with mercy. We stand on the merit of what could be and are not judged solely by what is.”
My fists clenched. “He killed my parents.”
“Indeed, and I cursed him for it.”
“So where was your mercy then?”
Shimon flinched at the question. This wasn’t the way to address my master, but at the moment I didn’t care.
Uriel held out his hands to me. “You must understand: we are all vessels for the light of the Holy One. As we expand mercy in ourselves, it expands in the world. So too the opposite. As we judge, judgment increases in the world, and we are often the first to endure its strictures.” Uriel dropped his hands and turned back to the fire.
The blaze had collapsed into a pile of glowing embers. In the silence, Uriel’s words held me. During Shimon’s tale, I’d been focused on myself, hardly noticing the prophet’s pain. I assumed Uriel cried for my father, his lost friend. But in the silence that followed, I began to understand.
Ovadia said two nights earlier that it was essential to rescue Uriel. Not because of what he could do, but because of what he’d been through—because of what he’d become. Had this been the transformation? Had Uriel grown from a vessel of strict judgment to one of mercy? Was this the reason that he, alone among the prophets, could heal a nation shattered by Eliyahu’s judgment?
I remembered Uriel’s words from earlier that week. “A curse brings pain without regard to who receives it. It falls upon the guilty and the innocent alike. Even the one who invokes the curse is not spared its destruction.”
Back at Shiloh, sitting with Zim the morning after the festival, I was shocked to learn that Uriel’s son served the Golden Calf his father despised. Didn’t Zim say he left his father’s path ten years ago, exactly when I lost my parents?
“Master?” I trembled. “When you cursed Yoav, were you judged as well?” The prophet’s composure broke as a sob shook his chest. “Indeed.” His head dropped between his knees, and he trembled with grief.
Shimon’s mouth stood agape—he must not have known this part of the story.
“At the same time that Yoav’s wife died, my wife left the world. By then, I had reached Jerusalem and did not know until I returned weeks later. My son was forced to bury his mother alone.”
Comprehension dawned on Shimon’s face. “That is why he left the Way and turned toward the Calf?”
“So he says. As you know, I spent my life traveling among the people. I was often away, and he resented it. He said that burying his mother alone was the final act that compelled him to leave my path. But even he does not know the full truth, that it was my curse that drove him from me.”
“But, Master,” I said, “You’re not from the family of priests that Yeravaum appointed to replace the kohanim, are you?”
Uriel shook his head.
Shimon explained, “This was during the Civil War. Remember what I told you about King Omri. He deliberated on the people’s reaction to each of his decisions. Having the son of the great prophet as his priest would increase his stature in the eyes of the nation and help him achieve the throne. When Omri learned that Master Uriel’s son Gershon had separated from his father, he moved quickly to offer him the position before King Tivni could win his loyalty.”
The prophet’s wail echoed from between his knees. “Three families destroyed on a single day!”
