Ishmael Covenant

by Terry Brennan

  But in the fourth century, the Roman emperor Constantine, a convert to the Christian faith, not only legally protected the church after decades of persecution, but also stripped it of much of its Jewish heritage. Constantine imposed many changes on the church, such as hierarchical clergy, but he also laid the foundation for a church where the Jews were no longer the carriers of The Word; they were now the enemies of The Word. And the world changed into open, often bloody, conflict between Christian and Jew—those people “who killed Jesus.”

  When Cleveland read Scripture, however, he was shown in the book of Romans that a day would come when Jew and Gentile would once again be joined together, when “the fullness of the Gentiles has come in.” And with that day, Cleveland believed, would come another portent of the last days—the countdown to Messiah’s second coming. Just as the creation of the Israeli nation in 1948 started the last-days clock ticking, just as the return of ritual sacrifice to a restored temple if it ever occurred would accelerate that timetable, Cleveland was convinced that once Christ’s church became a “completed church” of Jew and Gentile, where the Jewishness of the early church was embraced by today’s believers, the days of Revelation could not be far behind.

  And he saw in each day’s headlines and in the minutiae of his daily work, the inexorable march of humanity to the brink of Armageddon. Because of this, Cleveland was caught in the claws of both foreboding and expectation.

  Finding his voice, Cleveland asked a question he knew would have an answer. “You said there were two prophecies?”

  “Ah … yes … good.” Rabbi Kaplan rose from his chair and crossed the room to the wall on his right. He moved aside a table on which sat a large, twin-chambered silver ark holding the Torah scrolls and then the curtain behind it. The wall that this revealed was covered with large squares of carved olive wood. Kaplan pressed his fingers against the side of one of the squares and a four-square section slid up into the wall, revealing a large safe with two tumbler locks. Twisting in the combinations, freeing the safe’s door, the rabbi withdrew a large wooden box about ten inches square. He carried the box to his desk and laid it in front of Cleveland. With the care of a nurse with a newborn, Rabbi Kaplan raised the hinged lid of the wooden box and revealed overlapping folds of purple velvet. Peeling away the velvet cloth, Kaplan revealed a smaller metal box inside.

  Cleveland was intrigued with the metal box before him. He guessed it to be bronze, weathered by many years, about six-inches square. He could not tell its depth. But most fascinating were the symbols on what appeared to be the lid. Rather than being etched into the metal, the symbols were hammered from behind into raised, three-dimensional shapes. In the middle of the lid was what looked like a three-dimensional Star of David. At each of the corners of the box were other symbols, only one of which Cleveland recognized.

  He looked up at the rabbi. “What are the symbols?”

  Rabbi Kaplan stood beside Cleveland and swept his hand above the lid and its symbols. “These are kabbalah,” he said. “Symbols of the ancient discipline of Jewish thought that, essentially, tried to explain the relationship between the eternal and the mortal, between God and God’s creation. This symbol in the middle is the Merkabah, a three-dimensional representation of the Star of David. Worn as a talisman, it is believed to access both blessing and protection. Meditating on the Merkabah brings a person into the spiritual realm where wisdom and knowledge of the eternal can be found. Again, the heavenly and the earthly.”

  “And these symbols in the corners? These two opposite each other are mezuzahs, correct?”

  “Yes,” said the rabbi, “they are mezuzahs. The other two … the one with the intersecting lines and circles is called the Tree of Life.” Kaplan looked at Cleveland to get his attention. “Very complicated. The other is Hamsa, the five. Like a hand.”

  Cleveland turned toward the rabbi. “So what does it mean?”

  Rabbi Kaplan walked back around his desk and took his seat, leaning back. “Inside the box is the parchment with the Vilna Gaon’s second prophecy. This box was sealed at the end of the eighteenth century, hidden, and protected by the chief rabbis in Konigsberg, Prussia. Two days before Kristallnacht, when the Nazis began their reign of terror against Jews in November of 1938, the box was brought here to the relative safety of the large Jewish population in Constantinople. The knowledge and safekeeping of the box has passed from one chief rabbi to the next, awaiting its appointed time.”

  Cleveland’s mind was already tracking ahead of the rabbi’s words. “Which is now, because of the Russians taking over Crimea, correct? And you are telling me all this because you need to get the box to Jerusalem, to the chief rabbi and the Rabbinate Council.”

  Kaplan was nodding his head. “Yes. My hope and expectation is they will know what to do with it. They will know how to read and understand the message.”

  “And you believe you can’t take it yourself because you fear it won’t be safe for you to travel with it. So you want me—and my diplomatic immunity—to carry the box back to Israel and get it in the right hands. Correct?”

  The ambassador tried to bring his discernment to bear on the conflicting emotions he witnessed in Kaplan’s response. “And there is something else, isn’t there, Moische? What have I missed?”

  Succumbing to his curiosity, Cleveland stretched out his right hand toward the top of the box.

  Faster than he could imagine, the rabbi lunged across the desk. Kaplan’s left hand clamped onto Cleveland’s right wrist and held it, suspended as if it were locked in cement. Off balance, the sudden action caused the rabbi’s shoulders to dip toward the desk. He reached out to steady himself and his right hand landed square on top of the Merkabah pounded into the lid of the metal box.

  “No, Atticus! You must not touch the box.”

  At that moment, Cleveland felt torn: one part of him wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible, while another wouldn’t leave the room for love or money. At least, not until … “All right, Moische, now that my heart rate is a bit more normal, I’m all ears.”

  Rabbi Moische Avi Kaplan pulled closer to his desk and reached his hands toward the box. “The mezuzah is a talisman of protection,” he said. “It’s a warning to messengers of evil, like the angel of death in Egypt, that God is watching. The word mezuzah is a combination of maveth and zaz, which together mean ‘Death, remove thyself.’ The use of two mezuzahs indicates that this is more than just a warning.”

  Cleveland held the gaze of the rabbi. “Pretty melodramatic stuff.”

  Kaplan took a deep breath. “Beyond melodrama, my dear Atticus. The five kabbalah symbols are a message to those who understand. The dual mezuzah is only part of the warning. If a hand, the Hamsa, touches this box, the Tree of Life will be severed. But the Merkabah, the Star of David, is protection.”

  “Okay … now I’m confused,” said Cleveland. “Warning and protection at the same time?”

  “Let me put it this way,” said Rabbi Kaplan. “For generations, the rabbis guarding the Gaon’s prophecy have passed down a belief that it’s the messages themselves that are imbued with the deadly promise on the box.” He pointed at the metal container. “I don’t believe this box itself has any power. Like the ark of the covenant, it’s what is inside the box that has the power. But like the ark, only those who are consecrated, anointed for that purpose can touch the box without losing their lives.”

  “Like a curse.”

  “No, not like a curse,” said Kaplan. “Like the power of God. The tablets of the Ten Commandments were in the ark, as was Aaron’s staff and the jar that held manna. Objects touched by the hand of God, through which the power of God flowed. And only the priests, the anointed ones, could touch the ark without invoking the deadly wrath of God. I’ve been taught all my life that the power of God resides within this box and to touch it without the anointing of the Aaronic blessing is sure death. That anointing and protection has passed from generation to generation. And I will pray that anointing over
you, Atticus, to preserve your life, if you accept this task.”

  Cleveland’s mind raised what he thought was the obvious question. “So Rabbi, what is in this message that requires the protection of God’s wrath?”

  Rabbi Kaplan raised his hands, palms up toward the ceiling, and shrugged. “No one knows for certain, Atticus. All I can tell you is that the belief passed down from father to son for more than two hundred years is that this prophecy of the Vilna Gaon contains the identity of the man of violence … God’s adversary in the last of days.”

  “And you think that’s why this synagogue has been attacked so many times over the years? Because of this prophecy and its adversary?”

  “Yes. And my heart breaks for the task I am asking you to accept.”

  Part of Cleveland was afraid to say the words, because saying the words would make it true … make it real. “If the Gaon’s prophecies are accurate and the Jewish Messiah is about to come any minute, as it claims, then the man of violence is already here on the earth.”

  “Yes, Atticus, that is also what I believe.”

  “Moische, are you speaking of the Antichrist when you say the man of violence?”

  The rabbi shook his head with such emphasis that his ears were quivering. “Honestly, Atticus, I don’t know for certain. All I know is what my father told me and what his father told him. Through the generations, our rabbis have believed this prophecy will reveal the name of the man of violence. Is he your Antichrist? I don’t know.”

  Cleveland felt his stomach turn over. “If this man of violence walks this earth, then I expect there’s a good chance he probably knows where the second prophecy lives … here. He may even suspect what it says. And he will move heaven, if he could, and hell to keep that secret from being revealed.”

  “Yes, Atticus, that is what I believe.”

  Getting up from his chair, Cleveland began to pace around the rabbi’s office, having a hard time trying to extricate his State Department responsibilities from his understanding of Scripture. The scriptural implications of everything he was hearing were overwhelming his thought patterns. And muddied thinking was dangerous for a diplomat.

  “Moische, forgive me if I oversimplify all that you’ve just told me, but whether you slice this revelation of yours with an Old Testament knife or a New Testament knife—from a Jewish perspective or a Christian perspective—the end result is the same. I trust you and respect you, so I expect all that you have told me is true. If that conclusion is correct, then we are entering a time that has been predicted for more than two thousand years. On that front, I’m awestruck and I don’t know what to think or feel or hope.

  “But there is another side to this that I need to consider.” He turned to face Kaplan. “Rabbi, I value our friendship and all your assistance these last three years. So I apologize for being blunt. But … why would I do what you ask? Why would I take possession of this potentially deadly box, which is probably sought by determined agents of evil, and carry it under the auspices of our flag into another sovereign nation? I represent the United States of America. Why would the US government allow me to take this task upon myself?”

  His eyes closed, his head nodding down onto his chest, it almost looked as if Rabbi Kaplan was asleep. Cleveland wondered whether the rabbi had heard his questions. When he responded, it was as if his voice came out of a dream. “Atticus … as I said, no one knows what is written in this prophecy. But I believe”—his eyes opened—“and ten generations of rabbis before me believed, that this second prophecy also speaks of the coming Messiah. His coming will change everything, for every living soul.

  “Tell me, my friend, if you don’t agree with me. But when our Messiah comes, or when your Yeshua H’Mashiach comes again, everything changes—for Israel first, and most completely, yes. But also for Israel’s neighbors … for those who give Israel their wholehearted support and for those who hate Israel with a black-hearted vengeance. I would think, Atticus, that you and your government would benefit mightily from knowing, in advance of everyone else, what is written on the parchment in this box.”

  Rabbi Kaplan rose from his chair, came around to the front of his desk, and placed a hand on Cleveland’s arm. “Take this message to the leaders of the Rabbinate Council in the Hurva Synagogue,” he said, his voice the plea of a parent for a child. “They will know what it says. And you, my friend … there are few men in this world I would entrust with this task. You, Atticus … I am confident that you will know the right thing to do once you hear the Gaon’s prophecy.”

  The rabbi’s argument was valid. If all they had discussed today was true, having the information first would be a vital advantage for his country.

  “And you are expecting me to walk out of here today with this box under my arm?”

  “No … no,” Rabbi Kaplan waved his hands in front of him. “No. I will give you a leather satchel. And a very important anointing.”

  It was a solemn moment. Rabbi Moische Avi Kaplan recognized the gravity of what he was doing. For the first time in more than two centuries, a rabbi would no longer be responsible for protecting the box of prophecy. He felt he had no other choice. But a piece of his heart broke, nonetheless.

  He placed his hands on Ambassador Cleveland’s shoulders, then moved his right hand to the top of Cleveland’s head. Kaplan looked over at the box of prophecy sitting atop his desk; the purple velvet was still pulled aside, the kabbalah symbols visible on its lid. I hope I am doing the right thing.

  “The Lord bless you, and keep you.” Rabbi Kaplan spoke the words quietly, with the reverence of a personal prayer. “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.” Kaplan looked down at Cleveland, whose eyes were closed. “Be safe, Atticus. Bring the prophecy to the rabbis at the Hurva, but please … be safe.”

  Without waiting for Cleveland to open his eyes or raise his head, before the rabbi had a change of heart, he turned to his desk, took the wooden box in his hands, and pulled it closer. Wistfully, Kaplan traced the outline of the Merkabah with his index finger. A current of warmth emanated from the metal. Taking a breath, he folded the purple velvet back over the metal box, attached the wooden lid, pushing it down tightly so it sealed. Kaplan picked up the wooden box and slid it inside a large, leather satchel he had fetched from a closet.

  When he turned, Cleveland was already standing alongside the chair. The dark skin of his face looked ashen. Grasping it by its sides, the rabbi lifted the leather bag and held it out toward the ambassador. The clock on the mantel in his office ticked away the seconds as he waited. Pulling in a deep, short breath, Joseph Atticus Cleveland reached out his hands. With great care, he took the handle of the satchel in his right hand, put his left hand under the bag, and lifted the weight … from the rabbi’s hands, from his heart, and from his shoulders.

  Cleveland knew that Agent Nelson was miffed. But he was going to carry this bag himself. He didn’t plan to leave it out of his sight until the day he handed it over in Jerusalem.

  “He has a bag … he’s carrying a bag, like a leather briefcase.”

  The Turk blew the acrid smoke out of his lungs. “Get it. Kill him. Kill them all if you have to. But get it.”

  Holding the leather satchel against his chest, Cleveland slipped into the back seat of the limousine as Agent Nelson closed the door.

  “Gifts, Mr. Ambassador?” asked Hernandez, still at his station behind the steering wheel.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Any chocolate in that—”

  “Tommy, we are leaving for the airport now and returning to Ankara,” Cleveland said crisply. “Get the escort around here pronto. Agent Nelson, contact the crew and tell them to get the plane ready. Then call my secretary and have her cancel the rest of the day’s meetings. Tell her I’ll send personal notes.”

  Agent Hernandez had the car started. “The SUV is halfway down Kule Street, parallel to us. They’ll swing through Towe
r Square and come up behind us.”

  Cleveland’s escort vehicle, a hulking black SUV, edged its way down a narrow street of retail shops and markets. Behind the blacked-out windows, four DSS agents were outfitted with body armor and big-punch automatic weapons.

  “Radio Hernandez,” the driver said. “Tell him we’re coming into Tower Square.”

  The agent riding shotgun turned his head to the right to speak into his shoulder mic, just in time to see the massive tow truck hurtling toward them like a missile. “Incomin—”

  The tow truck T-boned the SUV, picking it up off two wheels and driving it across the narrow confines of Kule Street at the intersection with Tower Square, up onto the sidewalk, and into the corner pillar of the Anemon restaurant.

  In his last instant of consciousness, his hands still firmly gripping the steering wheel, the driver managed one word into his mic. “Move!”

  DSS Agent Tommy Hernandez mashed the gas pedal, laid his hand heavy on the horn, and accelerated wantonly over the cobblestones of Buyuk Street. There was no pity in his driving, and no levity in his voice.

  “Buckle up, Ambassador. This isn’t going to be pretty. Jack, alert the marines at the airport. We’ll be coming in hot.”

  “Catch him. He’ll have to slow at the circle.”

  The white van bolted out of a side street as the ambassador’s car hurtled past.

  From the passenger seat, the leader looked into the back of the van to the five hooded men dressed in black. “Prepare.”

  The Ford shot into the Isekender circle, Hernandez ignoring the traffic and using his horn for leverage. He pulled the car into a tight right, just missing a milk truck, cut across the traffic coming into the circle from his right, and jammed his foot on the gas, fishtailing out of the circle on the other side.