I woke in the darkness, and my groggy state told me it was already late in the day. I heard the prophets’ voices as soon as I stepped into the passage, and they drew me like a light to the main cavern. I recalled Emek HaAsefa, where our voices had filled the valley, echoing from the cliffs when the melodies reached their heights. Now the prophets pitched their voices to remain in the cave, but I felt the power of their motion as they swayed together, moved by the soft nigun on their lips.
The disciples sat in a ring around the prophets in the center, and two of them opened the circle to let me join. The rhythm captured me first. I rocked back and forth in unison with the disciples, my breath deepened, and a calm descended. The faces of the prophets swaying before me were lit by patches of orange sunlight which penetrated the cracks in the cavern wall. The nigun spiraled, rising and falling on itself. The prophets’ voices may be hushed underground, but their wordless song still held its power. As the nigun drew me deeper, the union of our voices squeezed a tear from my eye. I glimpsed the unbound horizon of the prophets in the fading light.
Our unity did not last. As our chant rose to its peak, it shattered when one voice fell away. Yissachar, an elder even among the prophets, sat with his mouth hanging open, as if the nigun still held him. The circle tightened as the prophets leaned toward him, the air thick, as before a storm. Then, like a crack of lightning, the old prophet fell trembling to the ground.
A breath of clean air flowed through the cave. The prophets watched silently in the fading light—the only sound came from Yissachar’s shaking, which came to an end as darkness fell. The old master pushed himself upright, but no one pressed him for an accounting. I could no longer see Yissachar’s worn face in the growing darkness, but I heard him weeping as he spoke. “Oy! May the Holy One wipe the tears from our faces and bring an end to the reproach of our people.” The prophets sighed together. “Our brother Pinchas has survived an attack in the Galil. Many of his disciples were not so fortunate. He fled south with two others. They are hiding in a hollow not far from Mount Gilboa. Blessed be the Righteous Judge.”
“Do they know where we are?” a voice asked in the darkness. “Are they coming to us?”
“I have never seen Pinchas more disturbed in spirit. Prophecy is beyond him. He will not be able to find us.”
“Then the Holy One is calling you to him,” Uriel’s voice cut through the murmur of discussion which filled the cave. “Can you find his hiding place?”
“I saw it clearly.”
“Master Yissachar is no less hunted than they, and well known in this part of the Kingdom,” a disciple called out. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to send another?”
“The Holy One sent the vision to me,” Yissachar replied. “I will fulfill it.”
“That may be so,” Uriel said, “but it does not mean you must go alone. Take Lev with you, if he will consent to go.”
I started at his words. “Me? You need me for your bread.”
Uriel turned toward me. “As I said when you arrived, the prophets eat not from your hands, but from the hand of the Holy One.” He let the rebuke sink in for a moment, and I felt, more than heard, grumbling from some of the disciples. “Only you among us can pass the Queen’s soldiers every day. So too you can serve as a scout or decoy if the master must flee. Will you go?”
Coming from my master’s mouth, this was a command, not a question. “If that is your wish, Master.”
“It is. Come with me now, and I will instruct you on what you must do.”
I saw no need for instruction, as I would be traveling with Yissachar. Nonetheless, I followed my master out of the cave. The sun was long set now, and the moon would not rise until midway through the night, so the only light came from the stars. This was the one time the prophets ever ventured out of hiding, when there was little chance of being caught by stray eyes.
Uriel walked around the olive tree, out onto the terrace and past the budding grape vines. The orchard took less effort than I feared, as the prophets had taken to watering it at night. Once we were away from the entrance, Uriel faced me.
“You would prefer not to go?” he asked.
“There was already not enough bread for Shabbat, Master. If I don’t return tonight, the prophets must go another day without full portions.”
“I am not concerned for the prophets. Sometimes an empty stomach makes room for the heart to grow. Hunger is not yet our greatest threat.” Even in the starlight, I saw my master’s eyes soften as they held mine. “Right now I am more concerned for you.”
“Me?” Had Uriel seen through my half-truths?
“Do you not see the gift I offer by sending you on this journey?”
“Gift, Master?”
“Yes, the gift of forgiveness.”
The darkness hid the flush which rose to my face. “You are saying…that if I go, you will forgive me for my foolishness?”
Uriel’s laughter was the last sound I expected to hear. “I? I have nothing to forgive. Do I not owe you my very life?” The prophet placed his hand on my shoulder. “I am offering you the chance to forgive yourself.”
“For allowing Zim to see me?”
“For that. For Shimon’s murder. Perhaps even for that of your parents. And more which I cannot see.” Uriel leaned close to me, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You take too much upon your young heart, Lev. Are you the Holy One that you can cup the waters of the seas in your hands? We are all called upon to do what we may, and to trust the Holy One will do the rest.”
“I didn’t do all I could. Being seen by Zim was my fault.”
“You were doing your best—you must never doubt that.”
I shook my head. “My anger drove me out of Ovadia’s house. I brought it on myself.”
“Do you know why you were angry?”
I shrugged, it seemed so obvious. “Because I am doing the work of a servant rather than learning from you.”
“If learning is truly your desire, let me teach you this. To rid yourself of anger, you must first recognize its true cause.” Uriel squeezed my shoulder. “Ask your heart why you are angry.”
We stood in silence for a few moments, but I knew no more than before.
The old prophet sighed. “I see your guilt plainly.”
“I don’t understand, Master.”
“You blame yourself for Shimon’s death, despite doing your best to keep all three of us alive. Your guilt fueled your anger—at yourself. That is what drove you to Zim.”
His words sunk in. Had Shimon safely reached the Cave of Dotan, would I have been so angry at baking bread for the prophets? Had I not been so angry, would I have walked out of Ovadia’s right into the hands of Zim?
“Know this. Guilt over an action can be more destructive than the act itself. I say again, you did your best last week in Shomron.”
