Steel
“What have you become, oh Israel? Why have you broken? Why do you not see the truth of the world, the truth of ages? We are one.”
“Silence, Mosheh.” The words rang out as if from the back of his own mind. The mind of one who had once been High Judge, but now, was no one. No one who hid in a cave, to try to protect his own pathetic life from those he knew were after him.
“Silence?” asked Mosheh. “Who are you? Speak to me!” He stood from behind his rock, and looked about the cave. It was empty. It was as empty as it had ever been; for certainly he was not enough to fill it.
“You are a fallen one.”
The words came again, and Mosheh understood them, if not who was behind them. “I have sinned,” he agreed. “I have sinned against YHWH; I have sinned against God. I thought the people wanted to bring evil into their lives, when instead they wanted purity.”
“That is not what you said before,” chided the other voice. “You said that the Children of Israel were broken.”
Silence.
Mosheh ben Gershom realized something then. He realized he was but a man. He realized he was confused. He realized the he knew not the words he spoke, knew not what side he was on. Mosheh knew in his soul that something was terribly wrong. He closed his eyes, and light flooded his memory. White, piercing light, accompanied with the voice of angels.
He opened his eyes again, and all that was gone. There was the cave, and nothing more.
Mosheh walked from that cave, walked out into the desolate landscape of the Arabian Desert, untouched by humanity. The heat beat down on the empty man; the man who barely felt it, barely felt anything at all.
For an hour he walked aimlessly, hoping death would come to him; praying death would come to him. But it would not. He screamed with the agony of the fact he was still alive. He shuddered, and then he could scream no more, and then the desert was quiet.
“Mosheh. Mosheh. Moseh.”
“Who is it?” the fallen man screamed. “Who are you?”
“Something within.”
Mosheh reached up, and touched his dry, parched lips. They were still, as he had expected. He was not so crazy as to be talking to himself.
“No Mosheh,” came the voice, once more. “This is you.”
And Mosheh felt his lips move, as those alien words were spoken. He realized he was insane. Had he always been insane?
Mosheh collapsed against the sand, his black robe pooling around him.
Hours latter, rough hands pulled him up.
“You have a job to do,” said a different voice. It was the cold, strong voice of Judge David ben Yishai, a man Mosheh knew to be real.
As Mosheh blinked, he saw horsemen all around him. Israfanid horsemen. Not a single one looked happy to see him, and David, clearly their leader, supported Mosheh’s ailing body with a look of contempt. He shouted for some of the soldiers to dismount, to help him, and they did so. With effort, they heaved Mosheh’s limp form into a saddle.
Mosheh’s head drooped, as he could barely keep himself from falling off his mount.
As the horsemen shouted to each other, and prepared to ride off, their task here finished, David walked over to Mosheh, and mounted a horse beside him.
“Why?” Mosheh asked the man, the man who had once been his friend. “Why did you save me? I deserved to die. I broke my nation.”
“Aye,” said David. “You destroyed the work of centuries of Judges before you. And then you ran off, and left me in charge of the mess you had created! I was barely able to hold it all together. And my work, now, is merely holding up the floodgates. I am not strong enough to support our nation, now that you have broke it!”
Mid rant, David halted. “You do deserve to die,” he said. “And die you will. But you must fix what you have wrought, first.”
As David whispered the plan to him, Mosheh smiled. The plan was pure insanity, of course. But insanity was what he was good at, after all.
As he, David, and the accompanying horsemen all rode towards Yamama, Mosheh felt an emotion he had not experienced in a long while.
Hope.
“What have you become, oh Israel? Why have you broken? Why do you not see the truth of the world, the truth of ages? We are one.”
“Silence, Mosheh.” The words rang out as if from the back of his own mind. The mind of one who had once been High Judge, but now, was no one. No one who hid in a cave, to try to protect his own pathetic life from those he knew were after him.
“Silence?” asked Mosheh. “Who are you? Speak to me!” He stood from behind his rock, and looked about the cave. It was empty. It was as empty as it had ever been; for certainly he was not enough to fill it.
“You are a fallen one.”
The words came again, and Mosheh understood them, if not who was behind them. “I have sinned,” he agreed. “I have sinned against YHWH; I have sinned against God. I thought the people wanted to bring evil into their lives, when instead they wanted purity.”
“That is not what you said before,” chided the other voice. “You said that the Children of Israel were broken.”
Silence.
Mosheh ben Gershom realized something then. He realized he was but a man. He realized he was confused. He realized the he knew not the words he spoke, knew not what side he was on. Mosheh knew in his soul that something was terribly wrong. He closed his eyes, and light flooded his memory. White, piercing light, accompanied with the voice of angels.
He opened his eyes again, and all that was gone. There was the cave, and nothing more.
Mosheh walked from that cave, walked out into the desolate landscape of the Arabian Desert, untouched by humanity. The heat beat down on the empty man; the man who barely felt it, barely felt anything at all.
For an hour he walked aimlessly, hoping death would come to him; praying death would come to him. But it would not. He screamed with the agony of the fact he was still alive. He shuddered, and then he could scream no more, and then the desert was quiet.
“Mosheh. Mosheh. Moseh.”
“Who is it?” the fallen man screamed. “Who are you?”
“Something within.”
Mosheh reached up, and touched his dry, parched lips. They were still, as he had expected. He was not so crazy as to be talking to himself.
“No Mosheh,” came the voice, once more. “This is you.”
And Mosheh felt his lips move, as those alien words were spoken. He realized he was insane. Had he always been insane?
Mosheh collapsed against the sand, his black robe pooling around him.
Hours latter, rough hands pulled him up.
“You have a job to do,” said a different voice. It was the cold, strong voice of Judge David ben Yishai, a man Mosheh knew to be real.
As Mosheh blinked, he saw horsemen all around him. Israfanid horsemen. Not a single one looked happy to see him, and David, clearly their leader, supported Mosheh’s ailing body with a look of contempt. He shouted for some of the soldiers to dismount, to help him, and they did so. With effort, they heaved Mosheh’s limp form into a saddle.
Mosheh’s head drooped, as he could barely keep himself from falling off his mount.
As the horsemen shouted to each other, and prepared to ride off, their task here finished, David walked over to Mosheh, and mounted a horse beside him.
“Why?” Mosheh asked the man, the man who had once been his friend. “Why did you save me? I deserved to die. I broke my nation.”
“Aye,” said David. “You destroyed the work of centuries of Judges before you. And then you ran off, and left me in charge of the mess you had created! I was barely able to hold it all together. And my work, now, is merely holding up the floodgates. I am not strong enough to support our nation, now that you have broke it!”
Mid rant, David halted. “You do deserve to die,” he said. “And die you will. But you must fix what you have wrought, first.”
As David whispered the plan to him, Mosheh smiled. The plan was pure insanity, of course. But insanity was what he was good at, after all.
As he, David, and the accompanying horsemen all rode towards Yamama, Mosheh felt an emotion he had not experienced in a long while.
Hope.
