by Tim LaHaye
“Flashes from such events can emit as much energy as the sun would produce in hundreds of years. Normally these bursts are contained in the upper atmosphere, which absorbs all the radiation. While we have not detected harmful levels of radiation, this flash clearly occurred at an altitude low enough to affect the brightness of the sun. Current readings show a decrease in light between 30 and 35 percent.
“The GCASA will maintain constant watch on the situation and report significant changes. We expect the situation to normalize before the end of next week.”
Rosenzweig shook his head and looked into Buck’s eyes. “A convincing piece of fantasy, no?”
“I’d buy it if I didn’t know better,” Buck said.
“Well, this is not my field, as you know. But even I can see through this. The creation of a magnetar would have no effect on the brightness of the sun, moon, or stars except maybe to make them brighter. It would affect radio waves, maybe knock out satellites. If it happened low enough in our atmosphere, as they imply, to affect earth, it would probably knock the earth off its axis. Whatever this was, it was not the creation of a magnetar from a supernova.”
“What do you mean, ‘Whatever this was’? You know as well as I do what it was.”
“As a matter of fact, I think I do.”
Dr. Rosenzweig tried out on Buck what he planned to say live on the air when asked about the event. “I’ll even carry the document solemnly in my hand, rolled up and dog-eared, as if I have been agonizing over it for hours.”
“I love it,” Buck said. He phoned the States, something that grew increasingly difficult as the hours of darkness continued and would become nearly impossible within days.
Chloe answered. “Yes, dear,” she said. “Your phone call from Chaim lasted this long?”
“No, sorry. Got tied up. I just wanted to tell you to watch for him on the news with his assessment of what happened.”
“What is his assessment?”
“I don’t want to spoil it for you. Just make sure nobody misses it. It’ll make your day.”
“We’re having power problems here already, Buck, and this connection isn’t the best.”
“Save enough to watch Chaim. You’ll be glad you did.”
CHAPTER 15
Eating a late dinner that evening, Tsion shared with the Stateside Tribulation Force his joy over a wildly successful effort by many believers on the Internet. “I merely put out a simple request—you all saw it—for translators in various countries to interpret the daily messages in their own languages. You can imagine how much of the web is made up of Asian language groups, Spanish, German, and others.
“Well,” he added with a twinkle, “not only did I get far more volunteers than I needed, but some very advanced computer types are offering free software downloads that automatically translate into other languages. It’s Pentecost on the Net. I’m able to type in unknown tongues!”
Rayford was always warmed by the joy Tsion took in his work and ministry. He had sacrificed as much as anyone in their little group—a wife and two children. Chloe had lost her mother and brother and now two friends. Rayford had lost two wives, his son, his pastor, and more new acquaintances than he wanted to think about. Everybody around the table, Doc Charles and Hattie included, had reason to go mad if they allowed themselves to dwell on it.
Momentary smiles were all they could muster when Tsion shared a story like that or someone made the occasional wry comment. Raucous laughter or silliness just didn’t have a place in their lives anymore. Grief was wearying, Rayford thought. He looked forward to that day when God would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there would be no more war.
That was one reason he looked forward with relish to the ten o’clock news event that had been trumpeted on the GC Broadcasting Networks all day. The GC was bringing together experts who would speak to the official statement of the government related to the darkness that had already begun to take its toll. Buck had insinuated that Chaim would be entertaining. Although Rayford couldn’t imagine a belly laugh, he looked forward to the diversion.
“I just hope,” Tsion said, “that we detect some movement in Chaim’s spirit. When I was laying out all the prophecies again for him, I challenged him. I said, ‘Chaim, how can a man with such a mind as yours ignore the mathematical impossibility of so many dozens of prophecies referring to just one man unless he is the Messiah?’ He started with the typical argument about not knowing whether the Bible is authentic. I said, ‘My mentor! You would doubt your own Torah? Where do you think I am coming up with this stuff?’ I tell you, young people, it won’t be long for Chaim. I just don’t want him to wait too long.”
Rayford, just three or so years younger than Tsion, loved being referred to as a young person.
Hattie spoke up, her voice stronger than ever. “Do you still feel that way about me, Dr. Ben-Judah? Or have I convinced you I am a lost cause?”
Tsion put his fork down and pushed his plate away. “Miss Durham,” he said quietly, “are you sure you want to hear my thoughts on your situation in front of the others?”
“Go for it,” she said, just short of gleeful. “I have no secrets, and I know you people sure don’t.”
Tsion entwined his fingers. “All right, since you brought it up and gave me permission. You and I rarely interact. I hear what you say and know where you stand, and you know that my whole life is now dedicated to proclaiming what I believe. So my views are not a mystery to you either. You are nearly twenty years my junior and we are of opposite sexes, and so there is a generational and gender barrier that has perhaps caused me to be less frank with you than I might have been with someone else.
“But it might surprise you to know how frequently during each day God brings you to my mind.”
Rayford thought Hattie looked more than surprised. She had a glass of water suspended between the table and her lips, and her bemused smile had frozen.
“Again, I do not intend to embarrass you—”
“Oh, you can’t embarrass me, Doc. Let me have it.” She smiled as if she had finally reeled in a big one.
“If you would permit me to speak from my heart. . . .”
“Please,” she said, setting her glass down and settling herself as if ready to enjoy this. Rayford thought she enjoyed being in Tsion’s spotlight.
“I feel such compassion for you,” Tsion said, “such a longing for you to come to Jesus.” And suddenly he could not continue. His lips trembled, and he could not form words.
Hattie raised her eyebrows, staring at him.
“Forgive me,” he managed in a whisper, taking a sip of water and collecting himself. He continued through tears. “Somehow God has allowed me to see you through his eyes—a scared, angry, shaken young woman who has been used and abandoned by many in her life. He loves you with a perfect love. Jesus once looked upon his audience and said, ‘O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!’
“Miss Durham, you know the truth. I have heard you say so. And yet you are not willing. No, I do not consider you a lost cause. I pray for you every bit as much as I pray for Chaim. Because Jesus went on to say about the hard-hearted people of Jerusalem, ‘I say to you, you shall see Me no more till you say, “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”’
“I look at you in your fragile beauty and see what life has done to you, and I long for your peace. I think of what you could do for the kingdom during these perilous times, and I am jealous to have you as part of our family. I fear you’re risking your life by holding out on God, and I do not look forward to how you might suffer before he reaches you.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, but you asked.”
Hattie sat shaking her head, and Rayford had the impression she was more surprised than embarrassed. She did not respond except to go from shaking to nodding. “What time is tha
t news thing?” she asked.
“Right now,” Chloe said, and everyone cleared his own dishes.
Buck settled in front of the television in Jerusalem with his notebook, fascinated by the foreboding dusk at dawn. He was grateful that both Jacov and Stefan were off and had showed up to watch the press conference with him.
“Press conference” was a misnomer, of course, now that the Global Community owned the media. Only in underground publications like Buck’s did readers get objective substance. That was what made Chaim’s appearance so intriguing. If he had the guts to follow through on what he told Buck he would say, it would be the most controversial thing on television since Tsion’s startling testimony. No, Rosenzweig had not become a believer, at least not yet. But he had clearly grown tired of being used by the GC regime.
The program began with what had become the obligatory fawning over the panelists. It seemed every time the GC wanted to persuade the populace of some cockamamie theory, it paraded pedigreed know-it-alls before the camera and buttered them up.
The host introduced the head of GCASA, the head of GCP&L, various and sundry scientists, authors, dignitaries, and even entertainment personalities. Each luminary had smiled shyly during the recitation of his or her litany of achievements and qualifications.
Buck snorted aloud when the host actually used the phrase “And last, but certainly not least.” The camera panned to the tiny Albert Schweitzer–looking man on the end, and the scrolling legend along the bottom of the screen bore his name. Chaim looked neither shy nor humble, but rather bemused, as if this whole thing was a bit much.
Chaim tilted his head back and forth as if mocking himself as the plaudits rambled on and on: former professor, writer, botanist, winner of the Nobel Prize, honorary this, honorary that, speaker, diplomat, ambassador, personal friend and confidant of His Excellency the potentate. Chaim drew circles with an open hand as if they should wrap it up. The host finished, “Once Global Weekly’s Man of the Year and inventor of the formula credited with making Israel a world power, Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig!”
There was no studio audience, and even the GC press corps was against applauding. So the energetic intro died a conspicuous, awkward death, and the show moved on.
The host first read the entire GC statement while the text scrolled on the screen. Buck’s tension mounted when—as he feared—the host began by asking for the opinion and comment of the first expert on the left. He would continue in the same order they had been introduced. Buck worried that viewers would lose patience and nod off from boredom by the time they got around to Chaim. One advantage to the GC-controlled media: Despite five hundred channel choices, this was on every station.
Buck had to remind himself that even for millions who ignored what they considered the ravings of a madman like Tsion Ben-Judah, the sudden darkness was frightening. They tuned in for answers from their government and likely considered this the most important program they had ever watched. Buck only hoped they would stay around for the last guy. The payoff would be worth it.
Everyone on the panel, of course, praised the fast and efficient and thorough work of the GCASA and assured the public that this was a minor event, a temporary condition. “As alarming as the darkness is,” a woman on the management staff of Global Community Power and Light said, “we agree it will have negligible impact on the quality of life as we know it, and it should correct itself in a matter of days.”
When at long last they got to Chaim, Buck felt a sense of community with his people in the States. The idea that they were all watching the same thing made the miles shrink momentarily, and he longed to have his wife cuddling next to him.
“Well,” Chaim began dramatically, “who am I to add to or detract from anything said by any of these brilliant aficionados of interplanetary galactic astronomical phenomena? As for the dear woman who promises this will have no impact on our quality of life, let me say how disappointed I am. Our quality of life the last few years has been nothing to write home about.
“I am but a simple botanist who happened upon a combination that turned out to be magic water, and suddenly my opinion is sought on everything from the price of sausage to whether the defiant preachers at the Wailing Wall are real or make-believe.
“You want my opinion? OK, I will give it to you. To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I don’t know who turned the lights out, and I’m not sure I want to know who the two gentlemen are at the Wall. I just wish they would bring back the pure water and let it rain once in a while. Is that too much to ask?
“But let me tell you this, now that I have your attention. I do have your attention, don’t I?”
The camera, panning back to the speechless host, exposed the shocked expressions of the other guests. It was clear they thought Rosenzweig had finally stepped off the edge.
“As should come as no surprise to anyone, I am not a religious man. A Jew by birth, of course, and proud of it. Wouldn’t have it any other way. But to me it’s a nationality, not a faith. All that to say this: Many, myself included, were horrified to hear what happened to the family of my beloved protégé and former student who grew up to be the respected linguistic and biblical scholar, Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah.
“I confess, in my heart of hearts I had to wonder if he hadn’t brought this on himself. Condone the killings? Never as long as I live. But would I advise a man to go on international television, from the very land where the name Jesus Christ is anathema to your neighbors, and tell the world you had become a turncoat? A Christ follower? A believer that Jesus is the Messiah?
“Madness.
“I was doubly horrified when he became a fugitive, exiled from his own homeland, his life worth nothing. But did I lose respect for him? Admire him less? How could I? Knowing such risks, taking such stands!”
“Thank you, Dr. Rosenz—,” the host began, obviously getting instructions through his earpiece.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Rosenzweig said. “I have earned the right to another minute or so, and I demand that I not be unplugged from the air. I just want to say that I am still not a religious man, but my religious friend, the aforementioned rabbi, has spoken to the very issue we address today. Now you may rest easy. I have come back to the point.
“Ben-Judah was ridiculed for his beliefs, for his contentions that scriptural prophecy could be taken literally. He said an earthquake would come. It came. He said hail and blood and fire would scorch the plants. They did. He said things would fall from the sky, poisoning water, killing people, sinking ships. They fell.
“He said the sun and the moon and the stars would be stricken and that the world would be one-third darker. Well, I am finished. I don’t know what to make of it except that I feel a bigger fool every day. And let me just add, I want to know what Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah says is coming next! Don’t you?” And he quickly added the address of Tsion’s Web site.
The host was still speechless. He looked at Chaim, brows raised.
“Go ahead now,” Chaim said. “Pull the plug on me.”
Rayford was frustrated that he had not made it to Palwaukee that day. And he wouldn’t make it the next day either, or the next. The reduction of solar power affected every facet of an already difficult existence including the transmission of Tsion’s lessons. Dr. Rosenzweig’s endorsement of Tsion’s teaching resulted in the most massive number of hits on what was already a site ten times more popular than any other in history. And yet broadcasting Tsion’s daily messages became an arduous chore that forced Rayford to delay any other activity.
Repeated failures on the Internet were blamed on the solar problems. Believers all over the globe rallied to try to copy and pass the teaching along as necessary, but it became impossible to track the success of that effort.
Chloe’s efforts at building a private marketplace in anticipation of the mark of the beast nearly ground to a halt. Over the next several weeks, seasons were skewed. Major Midwest cities looked like Alaska in the dead of winter. Power reserves were exhausted. Hundred
s of thousands all over the world died of exposure. Even the vaunted GC, having conveniently ignored adjusting their initial assessment, now looked for someone to blame for this curse. Confused in the tragic panic surrounding the crisis was the role of Ben-Judah. Had he predicted it, as Rosenzweig had asserted, or had he called it down from heaven?
Peter the Second decried Ben-Judah and the two preachers as reckless practitioners of black magic, proving it by showing live shots of the Wailing Wall. While snow swirled and drifted and Israelis paid top dollar for protective clothing, stayed inside, and used building material for fuel, there stood Eli and Moishe in their same spot. They were still barefoot! Still clad only in their loose-hanging sackcloth robes, arms bare. With only their deeply tanned skin, their beards, and long hair between them and the frigid temperatures, they preached and preached and preached.
“Surely,” the self-ascribed supreme pontiff railed, “if there is a devil, he is master of these two! Who other than deranged, demonic beings could withstand these elements and continue to spout irrational diatribes?”
Nicolae Carpathia himself was strangely silent and his visage scarce. Finally, when the Global Community seemed powerless, he addressed the world. During a brief season of solar activity at midday in the Middle East, Mac was able to place a call to Rayford, who answered a cell phone with ancient batteries that had been recharged by a generator. The connection was bad, and they couldn’t talk long.
“Watch the potentate tonight if you can, Ray!” Mac shouted. “We’re warm as toast even in the snow here because he has marshaled all the energy we need for the palace. But when he goes on TV he’s going to be wearing a huge parka he had shipped in from the Arctic.”
