by Liam Fialkov
“It has something to do with the moon,” Ruth said.
“Thank you, Ruth,” Bishop said. “I’m glad we have a Hebrew speaking soldier among us.”
Ruth smiled, clearly pleased.
“Now,” Bishop continued, “by marching around Jericho’s walls for six days, and encircling it for 2160 degrees, the Israelites marked the diameter of the moon in modern mile measurements.”
Bishop paused, and everyone was quiet, trying to comprehend what he has just said.
“Could you clarify?” Mary asked quietly.
“Fine, Mary,” Bishop said. “All you need to do is go to the internet and ask what is the diameter of the moon. Last time I checked, I received 2,158.8 miles, which is definitely within the margin of error.”
“This is quite amazing!” Mary said.
“Indeed,” Bishop confirmed. I want you people to realize that God created his world according to rules that he left for his most devout followers to decipher. Within these rules, Jerusalem, the temple, and the Ark of the Covenant takes a central role. Sir Isaac Newton knew that, and now it’s our turn.
“Before we go home,” Charles continued, “I would like to let you in on one more number.” Charles smiled. “I hope you people are not too tired to receive this information.”
“We could sit here with you all night,” said Roger, a man with whom Michael was just briefly acquainted.
“Thank you, Roger,” Bishop nodded in his direction. “Okay, people, does anyone knows what is the diameter of the earth?”
There was silence, for a few seconds before Ruth called out loud, “seven thousand, nine hundred and seventeen point five miles.”
Some people turned their heads toward her in surprise and appreciation.
“Very good, Ruth,” Bishop smiled. “I see that you know how to access the internet on your smartphone. Now, people, Ruth said, and she is correct, that the diameter of the earth is 7,917.5 miles. Let’s look at the calculator on our phones. How much would 2520 times Pi be? Let me remind you that Pi is approximately 3.14159265.
There was silence as people reached for their phones.
“This is absolutely incredible!” David proclaimed. Everyone knew that David was the computer genius and that he didn’t require the use of a calculator.
“Fascinating,” Roger said.
“I’m astonished,” Ron echoed.
“Unbelievable,” Ruth said.
“Oh, Ruth, in fact, it’s very believable.” Charles said, “People, you are seeing just a few of the clues that God left for his most sincere disciples.”
Michael followed Bishop’s presentation, and like everyone, he was amazed. He also noticed that Bishop didn’t need notes or a calculator to pull his surprising numbers. But there was something that didn’t sit well with him—regarding Bishop’s calculations.
Somewhat apprehensively, Michael slowly raised his hand.
“Yes, Michael,” Bishop nodded in his direction and smiled in an encouraging way.
“Like everyone here, I’m quite astonished,” Michael said. “But aren’t we mixing two unrelated eras? I mean, we are using units of measurements—like miles and Pi—derived from our time, and imposing them on a completely different era. I’m quite certain that the Hebrews who encircled Jericho used very different measuring units and standards.”
For several eternal seconds, there was silence in the hall, and an atmosphere of perplexity descended on the people who sat next to him. Michael started to regret asking the question, as he hated to be the one spoiling the party.
“A great question, Michael!” Bishop nodded at him and smiled in a friendly way. “People, I’ve asked Michael to join us because I thought we could use his rational thinking and courage. I saw that he could point us to issues that our deep conviction may not allow us to see.
“So, first, I agree with Michael that the Hebrews didn’t use miles. As far as Pi is concerned, it was widely known amongst the wise sages of antiquity, Greeks, Egyptians, Babylonians, Persians, and also the Hebrews who just came out of Egypt.
I have spent a considerable amount of time, tackling the issue that you’ve just brought up, Michael. In my studies, I discovered a striking correlation between our modern forms of measurements, namely inches, feet, and miles, and the old ways of calculating sizes—primarily the cubit, used by the ancient Hebrews. It is late, and I don’t want to tire you with unnecessary details. What’s important is that the modern measurements are suited for us, people of the twenty-first century. I’m sure using the cubit system would have worked for the Hebrews as well, though obviously, they didn’t have the means to conduct the measurements of the moon or earth. By the way, although Isaac Newton suspected such correlations existed, back in the 17th century, he didn’t have the means for such measurements either.
Chapter 29
Jerusalem 1099 AD
They were nine siblings in the family, and Fatima was the fifth to come to the world. She had four brothers and four sisters, who nicknamed her the sandwich girl. They rarely ate bread in her house, but still, they knew what a sandwich was. Their neighbors were Jews, and they ate bread regularly, but Fatima’s Muslim family ate pitas that her mother and her older sisters made. Her best friend was the neighbor’s daughter, Rivka. Both of them were born in the spring, eleven years earlier; Rivka was born only a few days before Fatima.
The two girls liked to play together on the streets of her city, Al-Quds, and they also liked to visit each other’s house. While visiting Rivka’s home, Fatima was fascinated to explore the different way of life of her next-door neighbor. She saw how they lit candles every Friday evening, to welcome the Sabbath, and she especially liked to observe the Jewish holidays.
“They have such nice holidays,” she once complained to her mother. “Why don’t we have some holidays too?”
“But we do,” her mother said. “We have two long holidays, or have you forgotten?”
“But it’s not the same,” Fatima argued. “Their holidays are so different, and each holiday comes with different foods and stories. They have a holiday when they all dress in costumes, and a holiday when they light candles, and a holiday—”
“Fatima, that’s enough!” her mother was clearly annoyed, “It’s time you start to appreciate what you have and how hard we work, so that you can run around and fill your head with all kinds of nonsense.”
Fatima knew that Rivka’s parents had to pay heavy taxes because they were not Muslims. Rivka, however, never said anything about it, and perhaps she didn’t understand what it meant.
One time, when there were no grownups around, Rivka secretly told Fatima: “I heard my father saying that the name of our city wasn’t always Al-Quds. He said that the Jews had once ruled the city, and they had a great king named David, and the name of the city was Jerusalem.”
“Nonsense,” her father said when she asked him if it was true. “The Jews like to make up stories because they have a vivid imagination.”
When Fatima was eight years old, she once overheard her father, Ahmed, discussing the events of the day in the grocery stand that he had in the market.
“I’m worried, Abdallah,” he told his friend. “There are rumors that the Christians are coming to fight us. They want to conquer our beloved Al-Quds and turn it into a Christian kingdom.”
“I wouldn’t get too concerned about it,” Abdallah answered calmly and sipped his bitter coffee from a small cup. “You know that rumors tend to come and go, and if those Christians ever get here, which I certainly doubt, then we’ll fight them. You remember that they once held the city, and we conquered it from them.”
“Of course, I remember,” Fatima’s father said, “but back then, the Muslims were united, and today we are divided and fighting amongst ourselves.”
“Don’t worry, Ahmad,” Abdallah said. “With Allah’s help, they wouldn’t even get here. It’s a long journey from wherever it is that they come.”
Fatima heard the discussion and tried not to thin
k about it. Let the grownups worry about such matters.
But a year later, and Fatima was already nine years old and helping her father in his little store, she once again heard her father expressing his concerns to his friend.
“Antioch has fallen, Abdallah,” her father said. “Do you still think these are just passing rumors?”
“I don’t know, Ahmed,” Abdallah said. “But what can we do? Worrying isn’t going to help, you know, and besides, they are still far away.”
Two years later, the Crusaders arrived and besieged Al-Quds. Fatima ran to the walls and saw them marching in a strange procession around the city walls while blowing horns.
“What are they doing?” Fatima asked her father, who heard the horns and came to look at the unusual seen.
“I heard that they believe that if they’ll circle the wall seven times and blow their horns, the walls will collapse.”
“Will they collapse?” She was scared.
“Of course not,” he said. “It’s just an old tale from the Jewish bible.”
“Are they Jewish Or Christians?”
“They are Christians. So, they believe in the Jewish book, and they also have their own book, which is mostly about Jesus.”
“Will they kill us?”
He kneeled in front of her and looked into her eyes. “Sweetie,” He said. “I can’t lie to you and tell you that I know all the answers. But I know that Allah is the most powerful God. We must pray to him in this difficult hour so that he’ll save us, and help us defeat the infidels.”
After her conversation with her father, she tried hard to follow his directions. She looked at the Crusaders through the firing loopholes in the wall, and then she closed her eyes and prayed. Oh, Allah, most powerful and merciful God, make them go away. But when she opened her eyes, they were still there.
It turned out that her father was right. The Crusader’s attempt to bring down the walls by using the biblical method failed. But then, the crusaders laid a siege to the city, and their constant attacks were helped by the fact that the fortifications were weakened be internal Muslim wars.
The crusaders built tall siege towers, a battering-ram, and several catapults. After five weeks of the siege, they managed to break into the city.
From her house, horrified Fatima watched the Christian soldiers advance through the city streets. They were jubilant, even ecstatic, as they massacred everyone on their path, soldiers, and civilians. Fatima saw how the streets became saturated with blood and dead bodies piled. She raised her gaze to the sky. God, where are you?
Chapter 30
Not all of Bishop’s discourses were fascinating; still, Michael found that he liked the meetings regardless of the teachings.
There was something else in there. A brotherhood like he’d never experienced. A common goal. A sharing of hearts and space. And also, genuine care for one another.
Maybe when this will all be over, I should look for a community for my family?
There was something else that Michael liked about the meetings. Honest with himself, he couldn’t evade or ignore it. Michael enjoyed looking at Mary’s beautiful face, as she was sitting next to Charles, all absorbed and attentive. She looked mysterious in a way that he couldn’t define. The Madonna, to himself, that’s how he called her.
Ever since his childhood as an adoptive son, Michael wanted to belong, to be an integral part of a larger group. And yet, no matter how far he advanced in his life, how successful he became—at some hidden place deep inside his being, he always remained an outsider.
He came to the land on a spying mission and found himself laboring long hours in the field, apart from his beloved wife and daughter, and away from his position at the university. Still, he couldn’t deny that he experienced moments of sharing, of being part of something greater than him—that filled his heart with joy and gratitude. But when he came to his senses, he always realized that despite those moments of elation, he was the spy, an infiltrator, and definitely the outsider. So, it must have been his destiny.
It was Sunday morning. Michael packed a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of water, and went for a hike in the large estate. Walking through green pastures, woods, next to the small lake and by a creek, he enjoyed the peaceful surrounding.
The sun reached its high noon apex when Michael entered the forest. Walking at a leisurely pace, he relished the sound of the breeze passing through the treetops.
All at once, there were no more trees as he exited the forest and stepped into a large meadow. Right there, in front of him, stood the magnificent building that he saw when he visited the place with Charles on his first day in “God’s Land.” The temple. Even though he’d seen it once before, it was still a breathtaking sight.
Michael wasn’t sure whether he just stumbled upon the temple, or in some unconscious way, that’s where he directed his walk all along.
Slowly and somewhat hesitantly, he approached the structure. There was a door but it wasn’t locked. Should he ask permission to enter? From who? He stepped in and closed the door behind him, noticing his heart’s pounding. Inside, it was mostly one large hall. Bishop and his people either didn’t finish the interior sections, or they opted not to construct them since it would have been another enormous undertaking. Michael liked it that way.
He sat in the center. Michael never considered himself to be a spiritual person, and he never attended meditation classes or retreats. Still, being alone in the temple, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, in what could have been looked upon as a meditation posture.
Silence prevailed inside the temple. Michael regulated his breathing and attempted to relax.
For some reason, he felt sleepy, although he didn’t use to take afternoon naps. As his head curved forward and his eyes closed, he remained in his sitting posture while allowing himself to fall asleep.
Michael didn’t know how much time elapsed. When he woke up, he was still sitting. He looked all around to remind himself where he was. He keenly saw the dream from which he just woke up. A dream or a vision? He wasn’t sure. In the dream, he saw himself as a baby, right after birth. He laid in the bosom of his mother, curled in a loving embrace, and both of them drifted into a deep sleep. After several minutes, a nurse walked into the room, accompanied by a nun. Both of them stood around the bed for a while, observing the sleeping mother and son. At that moment, it seemed that the nun instructed the nurse to continue and perform what they came to do. The nurse nodded in approval and swiftly pulled the baby from his mother’s grip and took him into her own embrace. Then the nun and the nurse walked out of the room with the sleeping baby. His mother didn’t wake up.
He had this dream once before, but this time it was even more vivid. The last time had happened while he fell asleep in front of the television while watching a TV show called The Broadcast. Back then, he thought it was a vision, a message that pointed to the circumstances of his birth—that may point him in the direction of his biological mother. This time the pictures were clearer and more memorable, and he wondered whether the message is different. How so? He wasn’t sure, but perhaps, considering where he was—in the replica of the temple, a building and a concept that was coveted by so many people over the centuries; could the message be more universal? Aren’t we all removed from the bosom of our mothers after birth, and we spend our lives struggling to reunite with her? To return to the source? To be innocent again? Before this world and this life corrupted us? And who removed the baby from his mother? A nurse, true, but she was instructed by a nun…
Michael thought that the nun could have symbolized organized religion. He remembered that Isaac Newton asserted that most religions had gotten corrupted over the centuries.
Suddenly, Michael felt a presence. He was not alone in the temple. For a moment, he got frightened and cautiously looked all around him. It was getting dark inside the temple, and it took him some time to spot her, but there she was, sitting where he saw her the last time he visited the temple. The woman wh
om in his mind, he referred to as the Madonna.
She smiled at him.
“How long have you been here?” He asked.
“A while,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb you, because you seemed busy,” She nodded. “I thought you might be having a vision. I often come here to get guidance.”
He contemplated for a while. “Does the community use the temple?”
“Charles likes to use it only for special occasions. He doesn’t want it to be a mundane place, so we use it for holidays, like Christmas and Easter, and also for weddings and funerals.
“Funerals?”
“We didn’t have many of those, thank God.”
He was silent for a moment.
“You know,” she said. “I’m not a Madonna…
“What did you say?” Did she read my mind? He worried.
“I’m more like Mary Magdalene that the Virgin Mary.”
It was getting dark in the temple, and he had a hard time spotting her, even though she sat just a few feet away from him.
“Do you want a ride?” She asked. “I came here with our golf cart.”
“Yes,” he responded. “That would be nice.”
They both got up on their feet. He started to head for the door, but she blocked his way.
“Mary?”
Instead of turning towards the door, she moved a step closer to him.
He could sense her being, breathing next to him but not touching him. She smelled like the forest.
“Mary,” he whispered. “If we were not married, then we could—
“Shut up, Michael,” she said, and move towards him.
He accepted her with an embrace, knowing that his body was yearning to hold her in his arms.
They held each other. Felt each other, and breathed together as their breathings synchronized. He caressed her hair and had his lips on her forehead. For a few minutes they stood in a loving embrace. In the stillness of the temple, they heard their hearts beat like one entity. She then took a deep breath and separated from him.
