Eliyahu stepped closer to the King. He would have towered over Ahav even if the King hadn’t been sitting. Had the guards been in the room, they surely would have removed Eliyahu to a respectful distance—but they were outside. For the first time, the King shrank as he stared up into Eliyahu’s fiery gaze.
I could barely breathe—the air grew heavy, like a gathering storm. Eliyahu’s voice was barely above a whisper. “As the Holy One, the Lord of Israel, before whom I stand, lives…there will be no dew nor rain during these years except by my word.”
A shudder ran down my back. No one moved as Eliyahu locked eyes with the King. The silence pressed down upon us all. Then Eliyahu spun and strode out of the room, his mantle flying behind him like a banner of war.
Both guards rushed in. They couldn’t have heard his declaration but must have been alarmed by the fury on Eliyahu’s face. “Is everything well, my King?”
“Fine,” the King rasped. Clearing his throat loudly, he shook himself and added in a commanding tone, “You may continue to wait for me outside.”
The guards bowed and left, and the King turned back to Hiel and his wife. “Always been unyielding, Eliyahu has. He’s quite wise, really, but once he gets an idea into his head, there’s no reasoning with him.”
“Well, he has certainly gone too far this time,” Hiel said, no longer crying.
“Nonsense, he’s harmless enough. With people like that, it is best to just let them be.”
An awkward silence descended on the room.
“And how is the King finding married life?” Hiel asked.
“Ah.” Ahav’s posture relaxed with the change of subject. “Izevel has been doing wonderful things with the palace. For my father it was a symbol, you know, and for me it’s just a home. But she insists that a palace should be a place of devotion. She brought down a beautiful Ashera tree all the way from Tzur to plant at the gates. Are you men leaving?” The two brothers had stepped forward, and the King gestured them ahead, pausing to allow them to take their leave of Hiel and his wife.
I thought this was a good opportunity to slip out as well, and stepped forward once the brothers turned to leave. I leaned down toward Hiel and his wife and repeated the line Uriel made me memorize before I left. “May the Holy One comfort you among the mourners of Israel.”
Hiel and his wife both lowered their heads. I bowed to the King the way the farmers had, and respectfully backed out of the open door.
I peered up the mountain trail once outside the city gates. The return trip would be more strenuous than the downhill journey had been. A roof of black clouds hid the mountain tops, and I hoped the impending rain wouldn’t prolong my ride. The distance from my master suddenly felt daunting.
I kicked Balaam into a trot, and we were soon back among the date palms again. The patchwork shade upon the ground made the field a blend of light and darkness. As I watched the trunks flow by, a flash of red caught my eye. Eliyahu’s mantle was crumpled at the base of one of the trees. Its owner lay beside it, head between his knees, gripped by the spirit of prophecy.
Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said: The world rests on three things: on justice, on truth, and on peace.
Pirkei Avot 1:18
14
The Key of Rain
“What happened?” My master sat perched on a boulder at the turnoff to Emek HaAsefa. Whether he’d been waiting for me since daybreak or had arrived just in time to meet me, I couldn’t tell. He showed no weariness, only quiet, complete attention. “I want every detail.”
The return journey passed faster than I’d expected. The roof of black clouds lifted ahead of me as I ascended the pass above Jericho, and I made it back without encountering any rain. Ragged patches of blue could now be seen through breaks in the gray sky. Uriel led me to his cave where steam rose from a covered pot simmering over glowing coals. I’d eaten my last hard loaf the night before and was eager to break the day’s fast, but the urgency on my master’s face told me that recounting what I saw would have to come first. Uriel filled a bowl full of fragrant lentil stew and placed it on the table. I sat at the empty spot and prepared to tell my tale while my master ate.
“No, no—sit here.” The old navi gestured toward the place with the stew. “Eat first, then speak.”
The prophet said nothing while I ate, though he supervised every mouthful as if measuring my progress. Why was he so anxious? He’d waited much longer to hear my report after the royal wedding. Though still hungry, I pushed the half-eaten bowl of lentils away. “The road there was all mud and rain, but the plains of Jericho were dry. I could smell the balm trees from the foot of the mountain, though they’re not yet in flower.” I described the newly built city, its massive walls, and buildings of fresh-cut stone. I told how Hiel had placed his house on a hill, as if he were king of Jericho. “When I entered, I didn’t know what to say to Seguv’s parents, so I just sat.”
“You did well,” Uriel said. “Words rarely pass through the fresh pain of loss.” He nodded for me to continue.
I described the house, the visitors, Seguv’s parents. Uriel nodded as I spoke, saying nothing. I cocked my head at him when he finally interrupted to question me about Eliyahu’s mantle. “Why is that important, Master? Who is he?”
“I might ask you the same question. Continue.”
I recounted King Ahav’s entrance, how I’d been moved by the King’s descent all the way to Jericho to comfort his faithful servant.
“And no doubt to strengthen his resolve. The King has much invested in the rebirth of Jericho and its balm.” Uriel closed his eyes and waved me on.
I described Seguv’s mother wailing as the King conveyed his wonder at the fulfillment of Joshua’s curse.
“Yes.” The prophet drew out the word. The interruption gave me pause. Pain cut deep folds down his face. The thread of my story frayed and Uriel opened his eyes. “Why do you stop?”
“King Ahav forced Eliyahu to recite Moses’s words.” These verses were part of a longer passage that my aunt used to recite with me every night before bed, as she still did with my younger cousins, and I recited them with ease. “Guard yourselves, lest you turn your hearts and serve other gods and bow down to them. Then the wrath of the Holy One will blaze against you, the heavens will be restrained, there will be no rain, the ground will not give its abundance, and you will be lost from upon the good land that the Holy One gave you.”
I cleared my throat. “I have said Moses’s words many times, but until Eliyahu said them, I never realized they were a curse.”
“Not exactly a curse.” Uriel bit off the last word. “But I do not expect this King to grasp the difference. Go on.”
I described Eliyahu’s fury. Uriel’s hands trembled on the table as I repeated his oath, seared word for word into my memory, “As the Holy One, the Lord of Israel, before whom I stand, lives…there will be no dew nor rain during these years except by my word.”
When I shared how I took leave of Hiel and his wife, Uriel’s patience finally waned. “And once you left Hiel’s home, what happened?”
“I mounted Balaam and rode through the gate. Then, as I was preparing for the ascent up the mountains, I saw…Eliyahu.”
Uriel pushed his hands flat on the table and leaned in closer. “And what exactly did you see?”
“He was lying in a date grove at the side of the road, trembling.”
“With the spirit of prophecy?”
At my nod, Uriel closed his eyes and leaned back. I eyed my half-eaten meal; the smell of warm lentils teased me as my master mulled over my story.