“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?”
