Ishmael Covenant Page 2

  “Forgive me, Master, but I …”

  “No!” The Gaon held up his left hand. “Judge me … not yet. There are two pieces of parchment, no?” He separated the two sheets, holding one in each hand. “It is the second one”—he motioned with his right hand—“that gives me confidence in the providence of each one. But first …” He placed the pieces of parchment back in the leather pouch and pushed himself more erect in his chair. “Let me tell you why I am sharing these secrets with you tonight. Tomorrow, Yehuda, Itzak, and I will begin our return journey to Vilna. No more will I attempt to reach Jerusalem. Clearly it is not yet God’s timing for these prophecies to reach that city. So when we depart, I will leave something behind.”

  His host pulled his hands back into the folds of his robe as if he were terrified at the thought of what the Gaon might ask him to accept.

  “You are wise to be cautious,” said the Gaon. “There is a covenant anointing on these prophecies, the same heavenly power of God that filled and flowed forth from the mercy seat of the ark. The vengeance of God will fall upon any who touch these prophecies without first receiving the anointing of God.

  “If you agree to my request, Abraham, first you need to be blessed and protected by the anointing of God. And before passing this prophecy on to another, you must cover and protect him with that same anointing—the Aaronic blessing—or the angel of death will come through your door.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg’s chest heaved under the weight of the deep breaths that preceded each sigh that sprang from his lips. He was looking at the floor, avoiding the Gaon’s eyes.

  “Abraham,” the Gaon whispered, “are you willing to help me carry this responsibility?”

  An old wooden clock in the corner clicked away the seconds. With one last deep breath, Rabbi Rosenberg squared his shoulders and sat back in his chair. “Yes.”

  “Then for your own protection, Abraham, recite with me now the Aaronic blessing. Give me your hands.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg’s hands trembled, but his grasp was firm.

  “God of heaven, God of our fathers, I place my brother Abraham into your care as I bestow upon him the task of guardian for some of the words you spoke to me. Defend him as you have defended me. Protect him with this anointing as you continue to protect me, as long as these prophecies are in our possession. May we both remain under the shelter of your anointing. Now, join with me, Abraham.”

  Rosenberg joined in as the Gaon recited the blessing. “The Lord bless you, and keep you. The Lord make His face shine on you, and be gracious to you. The Lord lift up His countenance on you, and give you peace.”

  The Gaon, eyes closed and head bowed, held onto Rabbi Rosenberg’s hands a few moments before releasing them. Opening his eyes, he reached for the pouch and once again withdrew the two pieces of parchment. He looked at them, separated them one into each hand, then turned his gaze upon the rabbi.

  “My son, the Lord of Israel is One, but he is also Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end—is he not? All things are in balance, which is one of the first laws of kabbalah. Beginning and end. This first prophecy”—the Gaon held up the sheet in his left hand—“any man can create words like these out of his own mind. But this”—he took the parchment in his right hand and placed it on Rosenberg’s knee—“this is proof that the words are not mine.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg looked down at the folded sheet on his knee but did not move to touch it. “What is written on this document of yours?”

  Ah, does he now begin to believe?

  “The document is no longer mine if you accept it. It is yours. I leave it in your safe keeping,” said the Gaon. He placed his hand on Rosenberg’s arm to stifle his objection.

  “My son, I am convinced these two prophecies cannot remain together. I am now assured it is the power of the words on these sheets that draws demonic opposition. Keeping them together, none of us will be safe. I will keep the first prophecy with me. If you accept, the second will stay here with you. Hide it well. Once we return to Vilna, I will dispatch Yehuda and his entire family to move to Konigsberg. He will become your yeshiva master and teach your scholars. I charge you that, between the two of you, one of your descendants will be chief rabbi of Konigsberg for all years to come. When the day is right, you or your seed must reveal this prophecy—without fail.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg was shaking his head. His hands came out of his lap and grasped tightly to the folds in his robes just below his neck. He began to rock back and forth in his chair as if reciting a prayer. The Gaon’s heart sank.

  “What, Master, is written on this second document?”

  The Gaon picked up the piece of parchment from Rosenberg’s knee and held it out to his host. “It is a warning to our brothers in Palestine. To Jews the world over. And it also reveals the identity of the great deceiver, the man of violence. The one who is sent from hell to overcome Messiah, if that were possible. Here … open it.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg’s rocking continued. Now his lips were moving frantically. The Gaon kept his arm outstretched. Rosenberg pulled in a deep breath and took the parchment from the Gaon’s grasp.

  “Praise the holy one of Israel,” said the Gaon. “Now it is under your care.”

  As if he were opening a cage of vipers, the rabbi pried apart the paper and looked at the writing on the surface. His head tilted to the side and a grimace creased his cheeks. “I can’t read this. What does it say?”

  A great burden was already partially lifting from the Gaon’s shoulders, a relief that would allow him some measure of peace. He smiled for the first time in weeks. “You are not meant to know, my friend. The words on these pieces of parchment have one purpose—to warn and prepare the people of Israel on the day determined by God for their revealing. Until that time, these prophecies are to be hidden and protected. There are forces in this world and the next that are diabolically opposed to the revelation of these prophecies. We must keep them safe.

  “One way to keep them safe,” said the Gaon, “was for me to transcribe them into a code that would be inscrutable to most people on this earth, a code that none but a Talmudic scholar can understand, only the Rishon LeZion in Jerusalem.”

  “The second way, I see now, is to keep them separate from each other, hidden by time and protected by distance until the determined day for each is reached.”

  Rabbi Elijah ben Shlomo Zalman rose from his chair and placed his hand on Rabbi Rosenberg’s shoulder. “When the day comes, Abraham—and that day will be when this first prophecy is revealed—you or your seed must immediately take this second prophecy to the chief rabbi in Jerusalem. If this second prophecy is not revealed in its right time, not only is it likely that all Jews will be enslaved or murdered, but the eternal destiny of all men will also hang in the balance.”

  Rabbi Rosenberg’s eyes had grown wide during the Gaon’s instructions. “Rabbi … you make me fear for my children’s children, that judgment day may soon be upon us.”

  “I know not of when comes judgment day,” said the Gaon, his voice soft and reassuring. “Only that God has a purpose for the words on these pieces of parchment. But believe me, Abraham, I may have failed to reach Jerusalem, but I will not fail in this. We will guard these prophecies. We will hold them sacred and secret. And in that day when it is decreed from heaven, we must reveal these prophecies. If we do not, this world, and all those who live in it, will be doomed.”

  A log snapped and fell into the fire, sending a shower of sparks onto the hearth. The Gaon gave Rabbi Rosenberg’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take heart, Abraham. Our God is with us. Let us pray for our success and your safety. Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God; the Lord is One. Now, we need a secret place that is safe.”

  Can a person think they are dead?

  Death flashed across the Vilna Gaon’s mind as a supernatural light burrowed through his closed eyelids. I’m in heaven?

  When he opened his eyes, he knew he was dead.

  The tongues of fire in the hearth were silenced. Candles on
the mantelpiece flickered and were extinguished. But the light in the main room of Rabbi Rosenberg’s home only grew in intensity, warming the room in spite of the extinguished fire.

  Before the Vilna Gaon stood three men. They were tall and regal, cascading brown hair falling well past their shoulders. They were dressed like ancient warriors, gleaming silver breastplates covering their chests, massive broad swords in scabbards hanging from their hips. Their wings were one-third again taller than their bodies, furled tightly behind their shoulders.

  Yes, I am dead. But … how do I know this?

  The angel in the middle pointed to the left, to the door through which the Gaon connected his last concrete memory—Rabbi Rosenberg exiting on the way to his toolshed. Was that seconds ago? Was I asleep? Am I dead?

  “Delay him,” said the angel in the middle.

  The angel on the left moved toward the door like fog drifting over snow, reached out, and placed his left hand against it.

  Rabbi Elijah ben Shlomo Zalman—honored Talmudic scholar—returned his gaze to the angel in the middle.

  The angel nodded his head toward the rabbi. “I am Bayard. We have been with you since you left Vilna. Your servant, Itzak, has sharp eyes. But it was our sharp swords that rescued you from the hooded assassins who sought your life in the forest.”

  “And I am not dead,” said the Gaon, as much to himself as to these apparitions who looked so much like flesh-and-blood warriors. If he were not dreaming or hallucinating, then these were angels standing in Rabbi Rosenberg’s home. The Gaon bowed his head in respect. “I am grateful for your protection,” he said, “but why are you here … now?”

  Bayard rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “We are here to help you complete your mission.”

  He raised his head to meet the gaze of Bayard. “I have failed. My mission has failed. Three times I have endeavored to reach Jerusalem and deliver the prophetic messages to the chief rabbi.” His hand felt for the leather pouch that was concealed under his robes.

  He waited.

  Bayard crossed sharply muscled arms over his shining breastplate. “Evil has opposed you,” he said, “but evil has not triumphed. Your mission is neither a failure nor complete.”

  Bayard unfolded his arms and took a step toward the Gaon. “The words you received during your vision of the living light,” said Bayard, “they have power. You were warned about that power, the need to protect it and the need to protect yourself from it with the blessing of Aaron. Nothing you received from the living light has changed, can change.”

  A year earlier, when the Vilna Gaon had spent seven sleeping hours in a different realm, his spirit had lifted into that place of living light and exquisite peace. During that vision, the Gaon was aware of other holy, immortal ones—other angels—warriors like Bayard. The warriors who were engaged in a supernatural battle.

  “The messages themselves have power to change the course of history,” said Bayard, “power to rescue your chosen people from those sworn to your destruction … those who stand against the purposes of God.”

  “The evil agents of the Great Deceiver also have power,” said the Gaon. “The same power that is above the order of human nature and resides in immortal beings like yourself. It will take the power of the holy immortal ones to thwart the power of the fallen immortal ones.”

  The intensity of Bayard’s scrutiny created tiny fissures of doubt in the Gaon’s resolve. Had he overstepped?

  “What you ask is rarely given,” said Bayard. “You are requesting to bring immortal power into the mortal world.”

  The Gaon measured his words carefully. “It appears to me that it may not be God’s timing for these prophecies to be delivered. That their day has not yet come. But it also appears to me that, when they are together, these prophecies have attracted the wrath of hell. It was my thought to keep the first prophecy with me and pass it down to my sons until the day it is to be revealed. The second I intended to leave here with Rabbi Rosenberg.

  “So I ask again. Why are you here?”

  “We are here to serve,” said Bayard.

  “I believe you are here to help,” responded the Gaon.

  Bayard smiled, and pulsing waves of light surrounded his head. The Gaon felt as if his cheek had been kissed. “Yes,” he nodded, “and it is help we bring.”

  Bayard turned his head and the angel on his right stepped to his side.

  “You are correct,” said Bayard. “These prophecies must no longer stay together. They must be preserved and protected until their time comes. While there is divine power in the messages, the prophecies themselves do not possess the power to hold back and deny the intentions of the immortal evil ones. You will need immortal power to combat immortal enemies … the power of kabbalah and the power of heaven, lethal power protecting the words themselves.”

  Bayard lifted his right hand from the hilt of his sword and held it out to the angel on his right. From within the folds of his cape, the angel withdrew a small metal box. It looked like bronze. He handed the box to Bayard, who moved it to his left hand.

  “Stand.”

  The Gaon pushed the robe off his lap and wrestled his legs into a standing position. The angel reached out his right hand.

  “Take my hand.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, the Gaon placed his left hand into Bayard’s palm.

  “This is the box of power,” said Bayard. “It is anointed from the throne room of heaven. No evil shall stand against it. And no mortal being may touch it and live.” The Gaon felt a shiver in his bones, and it was not because of his age. “Except those under the blessing. The same blessing that protects the guardian from the lethal nature of the message will protect the guardian from the lethal nature of the box. But know this … the box has a mission of its own. Do not deny the box from its intended purpose.”

  Bayard’s hand gently pulled the Gaon closer to him. The angel released the Gaon’s hand and placed his hand on the Gaon’s head. “The guardian of the box may only touch it under the anointing of the blessing. And there can be, at any one time, only one guardian. This blessing must be given intentionally, one guardian to the next, until the time of the prophecies is revealed. If any mortal touches this box without the anointing of the blessing, they will die a hideous death.”

  Bayard looked deeply into the Gaon’s heart. “Do you still want this power?”

  The Gaon nodded his head. His voice, when he found it, was a whisper. “We need it. All the guardians will need it.”

  “Very well, then.”

  A gasp leaped from the Gaon’s mouth as Bayard unfurled his wings. The wings encircled the Gaon as the angel pressed closer.

  “The Lord bless you, and keep you,” said Bayard, his words a chant of power as they recited the biblical Aaronic blessing. “The Lord make His face shine on you, and be gracious to you. The Lord lift up His countenance on you, and give you peace.”

  The Gaon could actually feel it … years of decline purified from his bones; richness infusing through his veins; strength filling his muscles. He realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them, Bayard stood before him, the box of power held outstretched, in both hands.

  “Take it,” said Bayard, “and hammer a warning into its lid using the symbols of kabbalah … the Merkabah in the middle; two mezuzahs in the corners opposite each other; the Hamsa in one corner, the Tree of Life in the other. To touch this box, or the message that rests within it, is to sever the tree of life.”

  A question flooded into the Gaon’s mind, sparking anxiety. “Will our enemies have the ability to decipher the warning … perhaps avoid the power of the box?”

  Bayard stretched out his arms and held the box closer to the Gaon. “The weapons that we fight with are not mortal. And not everything that is immortal is visible to the enemy. Take this box and place the second prophecy inside it. Leave it here. Each has an appointed time. We will protect you and the first prophecy. The box of power will protect the second. And the plans of
God will not be denied.”

  It was well after midnight, and the Gaon’s frail body was aching for rest. He was startled out of his slumber when Rabbi Rosenberg returned to the main room with the tools he had retrieved from the shed adjacent to his home.

  “Oh, you were asleep?” said Rosenberg. “Forgive me, it took me much longer than I expected to find the tools.”

  Rosenberg looked at the Gaon’s hands, resting in his lap. “That is a fine metal box,” he said. “Did you bring it with you?”

  The Gaon’s gaze moved from Rosenberg, past the fire in the hearth, to the bronze box in his hands. “It was a gift,” said the Gaon. “Do you have a hammer and an awl in your tool box?”

  Rosenberg took a small hammer and an awl and laid them on the table next to the Gaon’s chair. Selecting a maul and chisel, he started digging into the mortar around the stones in the bottom left corner of his hearth.

  Reciting incantations cherished by Jewish kabbalah mystics for centuries, the Gaon opened the bronze box, rubbed his fingers over the underside of the lid and gently began working the metal with the awl and hammer. He hammered five cryptic symbols into its lid. Working in from the bottom side of the lid, the symbols projected from the top in three dimensions. One symbol, in the center of the lid, looked like a three-dimensional Star of David.

  His work completed, the Gaon took the parchment given to Rosenberg, wrapped it in linen and leather, placed it inside the box, and sealed it with wax on all four sides, the Gaon’s seal pressed into the wax. Rosenberg had removed three large stones from low on the left corner of the hearth. The Gaon leaned on Rosenberg’s arm as he lifted his aching body from the chair and moved to the corner of the hearth. Both of them reciting the Aaronic blessing, the Gaon took the box, turned it on its edge, and squeezed it into the opening. Rabbi Rosenberg replaced the stones and then mixed some mortar with dirt and pressed it into the openings between the stones. A casual observer would never notice the difference.