Prologue
Temple Mount, October 16th (the third day of Sukkoth) 9:12 am
When Isaac Barresh was a boy, he knew without question that the promised messiah was about to arrive. His family had moved to the Holy Land in 1953 to become proud citizens of the new nation ofIsrael Temple Mount Israel
That was sixty years ago.
Now, half a mile from the Wailing Wall, Isaac could already see the crowd of Muslims gathering near Al Aqsa. They’d be boys mostly— teenagers full of vigor and purpose ready to defend their faith with rocks and insults. Rabbi Baird had weeded out the worst of the trouble makers from their own procession, but Isaac could still see fervor in the eyes of the young men who walked with them. There would be bloodshed today.
“It wasn’t always like this.” he said to the closest of them.
“What!?” the boy replied, barely registering Isaac’s voice above the chants.
“I said it was not always like this.” Isaac repeated, louder this time. “The Six Day War. I was there. I was part of the first brigade to pass through the Lion’s Gate and take control of theTemple Mount
“We should have killed them all back then and been done with it!” the boy said, smiling. When he realized that Isaac was not smiling back he turned away abruptly, losing himself in the crowd.
Their procession followed the old roads to the Mugrabi Gate. There, Rabbi Baird stopped the pickup truck that carried the Cornerstone of theNew Temple Temple
Still, he hoped. He prayed. And he walked.
The turnout had been good. By the time they were at the gate their numbers had grown to several hundred. There had been demonstrations earlier in the week, and the Knesset had been forced to prevent the stone from actually passing onto theTemple Mount
It seemed that the plan to keep the peace had worked. As they neared the gate, the priests were singing the old hymns, unimpeded by the Muslims who looked on from above. For the moment, Isaac allowed himself to believe that it would all go well. They would finish the blessing, say their prayers, and he would be back home before noon. He eyed the walls above, wary, but content that the Muslims there meant them no harm so long as they did not carry the stone across the threshold.
It was because he was watching the Muslims that Isaac missed the real threat. Without warning their small crowd suddenly grew to a thousand as armed men erupted from every side street and building, easily overwhelming the procession. The first of them, presumably their leader, leapt on the back of the pickup, pushing Rabbi Baird aside. The singing stopped.
“People ofIsrael
Isaac groaned. Though they had kept the enemy at bay, they had failed to keep their own zealots in check. There were hundreds of them, far more than he had ever seen at any one time.
“You have brought this stone here to have aTemple
Isaac had seen what a few fanatics (from either side) could do. This many at theTemple
“None of your number need die here today.” the man continued. “Before we take the Mount, I ask that each of you go home to your loved ones. This fight belongs to all Jews, but this battle is ours! We have planned for it! We are ready for it! I ask that each of you step aside and watch as the power of Yahweh is manifested for His people!”
Isaac opened his eyes, as if checking to see that he had heard the words correctly. They were being given the chance to leave before the bullets started flying. It was unprecedented.
Rabbi Baird spoke next.
“People!” Baird said to the assembly. “These men are here for their own purposes. If we need not be harmed in this madness, I say we should do as he asks. Go home. I want my people safe.”
Baird had barely finished the sentence when the strangers moved forward, seizing control of the truck and the Cornerstone. The congregation was pushed back, leaving Isaac and his assembly on the outside of a growing mass of weapons and men.
He immediately understood his position. Once free from the throng, Isaac moved quickly toward the open boulevard, searching for cover before the onslaught began. It was only a few hundred yards to the old buildings that would shelter him, but his bones rattled with the effort. The first shots were already firing as he threw himself around the corner, huddling behind ancient brick.
He watched from his hiding spot. The first string of shots quickly became a chorus. Muslim gunmen had the high ground, but the insurgents cared little about this. They rushed the guns, allowing the first of them to be cut down by the initial volley. Those behind stepped over, brazenly running straight into the next shot. Eerily, Isaac began to see their strategy; make the Muslims empty their magazines, then charge while they reloaded. It was macabre, but it was working. They were gaining ground fast.
“There is still the problem of the Cornerstone.” a voice said from behind Isaac. “The bridge is built for people, not trucks. They are not going to get that stone across it.”
Isaac turned to acknowledge his fellow witness, assuming it to be another of the procession who had taken cover behind the building.
“I doubt they have any inten—” Isaac said, stopping in mid-sentence. A figure was hovering just above him, its immense ankle wavering mere inches from Isaac’s face.
“I have fought many battles in my day.” the being continued. “Some of them on this very spot. But the strategy of this… It is either insanity or genius. I can not yet decide.”
Isaac could only gape as the being’s enormous head peered over the wall, studying the battle. Huge white wings silhouetted him. Massive arms, bronze and muscular, were folded leisurely across a leather battle harness. The sword sheathed at his side licked flames at the edge of a six-foot scabbard.
Isaac fell to his knees. The being diverted his glance long enough to cast a quizzical look at Isaac’s prostration, but promptly returned his attention to the battle.
“They’re going to win.” he continued. “Though to what end remains to be seen. I can only assume that there is a plan at work here that I have not yet discerned.”
“Lord…” Isaac said from the ground.
“I am no one’s lord.” the being said, a note of annoyance in his voice. Then, tearing his attention from the Mount, he lowered himself to the ground in front of Isaac. “I serve no man, and no man servesme.
“Why have you appeared to me?” Isaac asked without looking.
Michael tilted his head slightly. “I was watching the battle. It was you that ran intome.
Isaac braved a glance toward the archangel. Michael’s colossal form was leaning over him now, stretching past the protection of the wall to catch every bit of the action. The lowest of his feathers were hovering just above Isaac’s bowed head, brisling against his scalp. He recoiled from the sensation.
“Sorry.” Michael said perfunctorily. The giant wings leapt up, their span billowing over the archangel’s shoulders.
“There…!” Michael said suddenly. Isaac jumped, sliding across the dust to the corner of the wall. When he looked up Michael was standing back, his face casual.
“They are in. The Muslims will put up no more fight. Though that is not to say that this is over.” Michael said, his eyes still scanning the area.
Isaac was breathing hard, but his wits were still with him. He summoned the courage to speak.
“Michael...” he said lowly. “If I may call you Michael..?”
“I’d prefer it.” the archangel replied without looking.
“Tell me… Is your presence a sign that the messiah is coming?”
“No.” Michael replied flatly, his focus still on the Mount.
A hope died in Isaac. “But the prophesies are true, are they not!?” Isaac asked.
Content that the battle was over, Michael turned his full attention to Isaac “You asked if my being here was a sign of His coming. It is not.”
“But there is a messiah.” Isaac affirmed.
Michael seemed to pause, then answered. “There is.”
“When will he come to us?” Isaac implored.
The archangel allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. His countenance was strong and resolute, but there was a hint of trouble in his eyes. Isaac watched, terrified but anxious to hear what Michael could tell him.
“I wish I knew.” Michael said.
“You do not know?” Isaac asked, incredulous. “You are an angel. An archangel! For sixty years I have prayed that the signs would bring to us he who we are promised… God’s anointed who will leadIsrael
“I know the prophesies.” Michael answered, slightly indignant. “But the signs are not as they should be. This battle… the taking of the Mount… I can not reconcile the timing of it with what The Voice has prophesied for the messiah’s return. It is why I am here… measuring the events against the words I have been given.”
“You do not know God’s plan?” Isaac asked, his voice trembling.
“I am a warrior. I act only on the orders given me. Beyond this, I interpret the signs as you humans do.”
For a few moments there was silence between them. Isaac digested the archangel’s words. Michael, for his part, busied himself with his wing, examining it for defects. Eventually he pulled a single feather loose, letting it drop to the ground with a look of satisfaction.
“You know only as much as humans?” Isaac asked, unable to hide his disappointment.
“I know only what The Voice tells me.” Michael said. “There is a battle to come. The Demons of Darkness will rise to fight the angels of Light, and the Earth will be laid waste by their battles. There will be earthquakes, plagues, and death the like of which the world has never seen. And yes, there is to be a new messiah on the throne ofIsrael
“But… you lead the army!” Isaac protested. “You must have some idea of when this final battle is supposed to happen!”
Peering past the wall, Michael took stock of the situation on the Mount. The gunfire had stopped. Military vehicles were on the scene now, as were the news crews. The archangel stepped back to consider it.
“Saturday.” Michael guessed. “But as I said, the signs are imprecise. It could begin any time between Thursday and Sunday.”
When Isaac Barresh was a boy, he knew without question that the promised messiah was about to arrive. His family had moved to the Holy Land in 1953 to become proud citizens of the new nation of
That was sixty years ago.
Now, half a mile from the Wailing Wall, Isaac could already see the crowd of Muslims gathering near Al Aqsa. They’d be boys mostly— teenagers full of vigor and purpose ready to defend their faith with rocks and insults. Rabbi Baird had weeded out the worst of the trouble makers from their own procession, but Isaac could still see fervor in the eyes of the young men who walked with them. There would be bloodshed today.
“It wasn’t always like this.” he said to the closest of them.
“What!?” the boy replied, barely registering Isaac’s voice above the chants.
“I said it was not always like this.” Isaac repeated, louder this time. “The Six Day War. I was there. I was part of the first brigade to pass through the Lion’s Gate and take control of the
“We should have killed them all back then and been done with it!” the boy said, smiling. When he realized that Isaac was not smiling back he turned away abruptly, losing himself in the crowd.
Their procession followed the old roads to the Mugrabi Gate. There, Rabbi Baird stopped the pickup truck that carried the Cornerstone of the
Still, he hoped. He prayed. And he walked.
The turnout had been good. By the time they were at the gate their numbers had grown to several hundred. There had been demonstrations earlier in the week, and the Knesset had been forced to prevent the stone from actually passing onto the
It seemed that the plan to keep the peace had worked. As they neared the gate, the priests were singing the old hymns, unimpeded by the Muslims who looked on from above. For the moment, Isaac allowed himself to believe that it would all go well. They would finish the blessing, say their prayers, and he would be back home before noon. He eyed the walls above, wary, but content that the Muslims there meant them no harm so long as they did not carry the stone across the threshold.
It was because he was watching the Muslims that Isaac missed the real threat. Without warning their small crowd suddenly grew to a thousand as armed men erupted from every side street and building, easily overwhelming the procession. The first of them, presumably their leader, leapt on the back of the pickup, pushing Rabbi Baird aside. The singing stopped.
“People of
Isaac groaned. Though they had kept the enemy at bay, they had failed to keep their own zealots in check. There were hundreds of them, far more than he had ever seen at any one time.
“You have brought this stone here to have a
Isaac had seen what a few fanatics (from either side) could do. This many at the
“None of your number need die here today.” the man continued. “Before we take the Mount, I ask that each of you go home to your loved ones. This fight belongs to all Jews, but this battle is ours! We have planned for it! We are ready for it! I ask that each of you step aside and watch as the power of Yahweh is manifested for His people!”
Isaac opened his eyes, as if checking to see that he had heard the words correctly. They were being given the chance to leave before the bullets started flying. It was unprecedented.
Rabbi Baird spoke next.
“People!” Baird said to the assembly. “These men are here for their own purposes. If we need not be harmed in this madness, I say we should do as he asks. Go home. I want my people safe.”
Baird had barely finished the sentence when the strangers moved forward, seizing control of the truck and the Cornerstone. The congregation was pushed back, leaving Isaac and his assembly on the outside of a growing mass of weapons and men.
He immediately understood his position. Once free from the throng, Isaac moved quickly toward the open boulevard, searching for cover before the onslaught began. It was only a few hundred yards to the old buildings that would shelter him, but his bones rattled with the effort. The first shots were already firing as he threw himself around the corner, huddling behind ancient brick.
He watched from his hiding spot. The first string of shots quickly became a chorus. Muslim gunmen had the high ground, but the insurgents cared little about this. They rushed the guns, allowing the first of them to be cut down by the initial volley. Those behind stepped over, brazenly running straight into the next shot. Eerily, Isaac began to see their strategy; make the Muslims empty their magazines, then charge while they reloaded. It was macabre, but it was working. They were gaining ground fast.
“There is still the problem of the Cornerstone.” a voice said from behind Isaac. “The bridge is built for people, not trucks. They are not going to get that stone across it.”
Isaac turned to acknowledge his fellow witness, assuming it to be another of the procession who had taken cover behind the building.
“I doubt they have any inten—” Isaac said, stopping in mid-sentence. A figure was hovering just above him, its immense ankle wavering mere inches from Isaac’s face.
“I have fought many battles in my day.” the being continued. “Some of them on this very spot. But the strategy of this… It is either insanity or genius. I can not yet decide.”
Isaac could only gape as the being’s enormous head peered over the wall, studying the battle. Huge white wings silhouetted him. Massive arms, bronze and muscular, were folded leisurely across a leather battle harness. The sword sheathed at his side licked flames at the edge of a six-foot scabbard.
Isaac fell to his knees. The being diverted his glance long enough to cast a quizzical look at Isaac’s prostration, but promptly returned his attention to the battle.
“They’re going to win.” he continued. “Though to what end remains to be seen. I can only assume that there is a plan at work here that I have not yet discerned.”
“Lord…” Isaac said from the ground.
“I am no one’s lord.” the being said, a note of annoyance in his voice. Then, tearing his attention from the Mount, he lowered himself to the ground in front of Isaac. “I serve no man, and no man serves
“Why have you appeared to me?” Isaac asked without looking.
Michael tilted his head slightly. “I was watching the battle. It was you that ran into
Isaac braved a glance toward the archangel. Michael’s colossal form was leaning over him now, stretching past the protection of the wall to catch every bit of the action. The lowest of his feathers were hovering just above Isaac’s bowed head, brisling against his scalp. He recoiled from the sensation.
“Sorry.” Michael said perfunctorily. The giant wings leapt up, their span billowing over the archangel’s shoulders.
“There…!” Michael said suddenly. Isaac jumped, sliding across the dust to the corner of the wall. When he looked up Michael was standing back, his face casual.
“They are in. The Muslims will put up no more fight. Though that is not to say that this is over.” Michael said, his eyes still scanning the area.
Isaac was breathing hard, but his wits were still with him. He summoned the courage to speak.
“Michael...” he said lowly. “If I may call you Michael..?”
“I’d prefer it.” the archangel replied without looking.
“Tell me… Is your presence a sign that the messiah is coming?”
“No.” Michael replied flatly, his focus still on the Mount.
A hope died in Isaac. “But the prophesies are true, are they not!?” Isaac asked.
Content that the battle was over, Michael turned his full attention to Isaac “You asked if my being here was a sign of His coming. It is not.”
“But there is a messiah.” Isaac affirmed.
Michael seemed to pause, then answered. “There is.”
“When will he come to us?” Isaac implored.
The archangel allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. His countenance was strong and resolute, but there was a hint of trouble in his eyes. Isaac watched, terrified but anxious to hear what Michael could tell him.
“I wish I knew.” Michael said.
“You do not know?” Isaac asked, incredulous. “You are an angel. An archangel! For sixty years I have prayed that the signs would bring to us he who we are promised… God’s anointed who will lead
“I know the prophesies.” Michael answered, slightly indignant. “But the signs are not as they should be. This battle… the taking of the Mount… I can not reconcile the timing of it with what The Voice has prophesied for the messiah’s return. It is why I am here… measuring the events against the words I have been given.”
“You do not know God’s plan?” Isaac asked, his voice trembling.
“I am a warrior. I act only on the orders given me. Beyond this, I interpret the signs as you humans do.”
For a few moments there was silence between them. Isaac digested the archangel’s words. Michael, for his part, busied himself with his wing, examining it for defects. Eventually he pulled a single feather loose, letting it drop to the ground with a look of satisfaction.
“You know only as much as humans?” Isaac asked, unable to hide his disappointment.
“I know only what The Voice tells me.” Michael said. “There is a battle to come. The Demons of Darkness will rise to fight the angels of Light, and the Earth will be laid waste by their battles. There will be earthquakes, plagues, and death the like of which the world has never seen. And yes, there is to be a new messiah on the throne of
“But… you lead the army!” Isaac protested. “You must have some idea of when this final battle is supposed to happen!”
Peering past the wall, Michael took stock of the situation on the Mount. The gunfire had stopped. Military vehicles were on the scene now, as were the news crews. The archangel stepped back to consider it.
“Saturday.” Michael guessed. “But as I said, the signs are imprecise. It could begin any time between Thursday and Sunday.”
*****
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)