A Premature Apocalypse
Page 32
Rabbi Levi turned a page in his notes. Jacob’s dramatic courtship of Rachel formed a stark contrast to that of his parents, Isaac and Rebecca. Isaac didn’t lift a finger. Father Abraham dispatched his servant to Haran and arranged the marriage by proxy. Only after Isaac took Rebecca as his wife do we read of their love.
Nat shifted forward, clearing Dave’s line of sight. For an instant, New Girl’s eyes locked with his.
Dave’s head snapped back toward the rabbi. He felt the color drain from his face.
Crap, crap, crap! Caught staring. Perfect. Dave, the leering weirdo. Before he even had the chance to make a fool of himself. Crap!
He focused on Rabbi Levi as though his life depended on the rabbi’s every word.
“Two dating models exist,” the rabbi said, no stranger to the demographics of his audience. “One is full of fireworks, adventure, and drama; the passion of Jacob and Rachel. The second model is quiet and calm; practical and rational. The pairing of Isaac and Rebecca. Both models are equally valid.”
Dave hazarded a glance at the women’s section. New Girl trained her eyes on the rabbi, with no indication that anything untoward had occurred.
“In recent times,” Rabbi Levi continued, “books and films have idealized romance. Fireworks and adventure are no longer an option but a necessity. Young men and women discard relationships when there is no spark, no immediate passion.”
Elderly heads nodded in agreement. Embarrassed smiles spread on many of the younger listeners. The façade of normalcy shattered on the tiles of the synagogue floor. More than ever, Dave wanted to be alone in his bachelor pad, away from probing eyes and good Samaritans.
Rabbi Levi hammered the point home. “Young men and women need to realize that another courtship model exists, slow and steady but just as likely to foster long-term marital content. Getting along, enjoying each other’s company, can be the basis for a life-long, satisfying relationship, even without the thunder and lightning, heroic acts, or superhuman feats.”
The rabbi wished them Shabbat Shalom and collected his notes. Before long, a chattering human sea filled the floor and blocked Dave’s escape route. Mike had already engaged a young, dark Israeli in conversation, while Dave drifted, buffeted toward the great wooden door.
Nat and New Girl bobbed toward the exit. Their trajectory would converge with his at the door. Nat raised a hand and signaled at Dave.
Too late to duck out now.
New Girl whispered in Nat’s ear. They smirked. Dave’s beating heart rose up his throat. Crap, crap, crap!
“Hi, Dave,” Nat said.
“Hi, Nat.” Dave kept his eyes on Nat. The stream of bodies bumped against him. The expectant lull in conversation sucked on his mind. He searched for something witty to say. A pivotal moment welled up. Ask her number. Ask her name. Make your move.
He opened his mouth. “Got to run,” he said and slipped out the door and into the night.
***
Deep within the Talpiot industrial zone, two men entered a dark alley and prepared to face their destiny. Their shadows stretched along the wet tarmac strip that squeezed between dormant warehouses. Passing traffic on Pierre Koenig threw Doppler echoes against the hoods of their anoraks. The deserted street smelled of trash and cat piss. Raised loading platforms watched them pass in the gloom.
Beyond a single, flickering fluorescent lurked a large white transit van. The van had seen better days.
“Stone the crows,” Jay said. Clouds of mist formed at his mouth and evaporated. He had copied the directions onto a Falafel King napkin in an Internet café off Ben Yehuda Street. This was the right address, but he had expected something… well, different. Scratched and dented, the vehicle did not look like the ride of the prophet, whom Jay knew only as “the Teacher.” Then again, God favored the humble and the meek. And the meek would inherit it all.
“What a bomb,” said his companion, who was shorter and stockier than Jay, his coffee-toned skin foreign to this continent. “I don’t like the looks of this, Jay.”
Time for another pep talk.
“O ye of little faith,” Jay began.
He had memorized a handful of quotes from the Scriptures, and this one had come in particularly useful.
“All right, all right,” said his friend. “Let’s have a gink and be done with it. This place gives me the willies.”
The driver’s compartment was empty. Jay reached for the Falafel King napkin in his pocket to recheck the directions when he heard the clunk of a heavy door unlocking at the back of the van.
The two men circled the vehicle. The doors swung easily.
“Get in,” said a deep voice in the darkness. “And shut the door.”
They climbed inside and sat opposite one another on metal benches built into the interior of the van.
As the doors closed, there was a click and white light flooded the interior.
Jay squinted. At the back of the van, beneath the ceiling light, a cloak of gray sackcloth faced them. A black void filled the cowl where a face should be.
That’s more like it.
“You didn’t mention your friend.” The voice spoke with a slight British accent.
“This is John, my cuzzy bro,” Jay said. “He’s no trouble.”
The dark cowl considered this for a few breaths, then said, “Do you have it?”
Jay slid the knapsack off his shoulder.
“Here you go. Right where you said it would be.”
Jay handed over the bag. The object he had pinched was too plain and simple to be of any real value. Jay’s mission had been a rite of passage, nothing more, or so he had thought, but the long gloved fingers in the sleeves of the cloak trembled as they snatched the bag.
Time to collect.
“Now then,” Jay said, “about this Hidden Treasure—”
“I believe,” the cloak interrupted, “there was an incident.”
Jay blinked.
“The security bloke? I wouldn’t worry about him.” Jay winked at John, who studied the corrugated floor of the van. “He won’t remember a thing.” Jay had floored the baldy in the official City of David polo shirt with a single blow.
The cloak was not impressed.
“Assault was not part of the plan. We don’t want to… attract attention.”
Jay gritted his teeth. He had expected praise. A coronation. Anointment with Sacred Oil. But this first meeting had to go well if Jay was to move to the next level.
“I understand,” Jay said.
“Very well. But you must keep a low profile. People will not understand your… unique gifts. Not until the End.”
“The End?”
“The End of Days. You will learn more in due time, my son.”
My son.
Jay hadn’t heard those words in what seemed a lifetime.
“And the treasure?”
“The treasure, yes. We are very close and this”—the Teacher raised the knapsack—”brings us one step closer. More steps remain. You must learn The Way and then you will change the world forever. We have waited centuries. We must wait a little longer. Patience, my son.”
Jay nodded. He felt the tingle of destiny spread though his bones. The Teacher understood. The Teacher would show him The Way.
“Enough for now,” the Teacher said. “I will send further instructions in the usual manner.”
John didn’t need to be told a second time. He pulled the handle of the door and bailed out. Jay’s head swam with questions but his time was up.
“One last thing,” he said on the threshold. “What’s your name?”
The cloak straightened. The deep voice uttered two unfamiliar words. Jay repeated them. Hebrew always tripped up his tongue.
“What does it mean?”
“Teacher. The Teacher of Righteousness.”
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Dan Sofer, A Premature Apocalypse