I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “That’s what happened with Eliyahu?”
“Perhaps.” The cave filled with a whiff of acrid smoke as the morning lamp burned out. Uriel rose and pinched the smoldering wick.
The muscles of my master’s shoulders knotted beneath his tunic. “You don’t agree with what he did, do you, Master?”
Uriel turned back to me, his eyes cold. Had the question gone too far? “It’s not for me to agree or disagree, Lev.” His voice was calm, though his body remained tense. “Eliyahu must be an extremely powerful prophet. To wrest a key from the Holy One is something that has never happened; I would have said it was impossible.”
Uriel sat down stiffly on his stool. “But it is true that his way is not my way.”
“His way?”
“Eliyahu is willing to take a path I will not tread. The people fear power. You saw this in their reaction to Yambalya. Eliyahu wants to show them that the Holy One is the only power to fear. By this, he hopes to win back the heart of the nation.”
“Isn’t that what you want as well?”
“Indeed.”
“But you don’t think it’ll work?”
“It may work—but will it last?” He rose and stepped toward the mouth of the cave.
I sensed Uriel’s impatience with my questions. He preferred to be alone to ponder everything I told him, but I yearned to understand. “Why wouldn’t it last?”
Uriel turned back toward me. “Because fear will not bring the devotion that the Holy One seeks. And will the people truly fear the Holy One, or just Eliyahu? Someday Eliyahu will go the way of all flesh, and the darkness will remain. Then what will the people do, if we have trained them to fear?”
“Return to darkness?”
Uriel nodded. “This is why I left the path of fear. It is a tool most fit to the hands of darkness. The powers of darkness always appear to be greater in number, and often in strength as well.” Despite the daylight outside the cave, shadow dimmed the prophet’s face.
“But Master, why should darkness be more powerful than light?”
“Darkness is not more powerful than light, but in this world, it seems to be so. Who would choose night over day? If light and darkness were seen in balance, there would be no real choice between them. The true power of light is masked to enable us to choose.”
I thought of Eliav bowing before the Baal. “But why mask it? Doesn’t the Holy One want us to choose the path of light?”
“Of course, but it must come of true free will. This world exists so we can perfect ourselves and creation as a whole; we can do this only through making hard choices. If the way is already paved before us, then even the right choice will yield no growth.”
Uriel sat down again, but no sooner had he settled on the stool than he was back on his feet. “In the beginning, there was only the light of the Holy One—a light that shone so brightly, nothing else could exist.” He took the extinguished lamp from its niche on the wall and set it down before me. “In order to create the world, the Holy One withdrew this light, leaving a space of darkness behind. Only a single ray of light shone into this void. But even this fragment of Divine light filled the emptiness with such radiance that a world of choice could not exist. So, the Holy One made the lamp of darkness as well.”
I fingered the clay lamp on the table. “A lamp of darkness?”
“A lamp that radiates darkness. A lamp that conceals the light as night covers day.”
“But why?”
“As I told you, so we can grow. The world is oil and we are the wicks. As we grow, we draw creation through us and reveal the hidden light.”
“But you said the Holy One doesn’t desire too much light.”
“That is true. The more light we shine into the world, the deeper the shadow cast by the lamp of darkness. But that is not our concern—our task is to create more light, no matter the cost.”
“Why create light if the lamp of darkness will only cover it up?”
Uriel’s lips spread in a sad smile. His shoulders sank, and his pace slowed. “When a child first learns to walk, his father might stand only one or two steps away. But as the child progresses, the father steps farther and farther away, not to punish the child, but to allow him to grow.”
In my exhausted state, the image of a father teaching his son was too much for my newly awakened heart. I dropped my eyes to the table, all curiosity about Eliyahu or the lamp of darkness extinguished. I’d never thought of it before, but I must have known how to walk before coming to live with my aunt and uncle. Had my father taught me? What else had he taught me before he left the world?
Uriel reached over and touched me gently on the underside of my chin, forcing my moist eyes to meet his. “Your father gave more for you than you can imagine.”
I smiled through the tears.
The navi stepped to the back of the cave. “The lamp of darkness is now casting a powerful shadow. Since the gathering began, there has been a great rise in idolatry in the land. Traveling among the people has never been more important.” He lowered himself onto a reed mat on the floor. “The remaining disciples left while you were in Jericho. The time has come to resume our travels. Play for me, and I will seek our path.”
This was my master’s voice of command—the time for questioning had passed. As my kinnor was still in the musicians’ cave, I drummed on the table, tapping out a complex rhythm I’d learned from Zim at Shiloh. I closed my eyes and chanted softly between the beats.
The sound of chattering teeth alerted me that Uriel had ascended—the prophet could no longer hear my drumming—but I didn’t stop. I raised my voice even louder, no longer worried about distracting my master, and the stone walls threw my tones back at me. As I let myself be swept away by the flow of the music, sweat beaded on my forehead, my hands stung, and the tightness in my shoulders released with each slap against the hard wood.
My throat was raw when I felt Uriel’s gaze upon me. I broke off my chanting and opened my eyes. My hands faltered on the table. My master’s face was clouded; his brow hung low over pensive eyes.
“Where are we going, Master?”
“Nowhere.”
“Nowhere?”
“Nowhere. We are to stay here through Shabbat and begin traveling on the first day of the week.”
“Why?”
