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The night was dark and dreary, the screams of savages echoed through the dry night air, and here I was, finding myself face to face with the triune God—a deity who, until about five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have even said I believed in.
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But I’m getting ahead of myself. Allow me to explain who I am, and how I got here.
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My name is Ahuzzath, I was born on the 3rd of Av in the dead of night to a mother who didn’t love me enough to survive the trials of labor. As she slipped away, my small voice entered the world. I wasn’t made of much, I knew that much—greatness wasn’t in my blood. I was destined to be a servant of man—nothing more. But it was suggested when I was young that someone named Baal may have other plans for me.
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The Isaraelites, our neighbors, all believed that Baal was a synonym for Shaitan. Actually, it just meant Lord, and it was who we worshipped because we had no other name for God. The Israelites had a name for him, but it was so holy they could never speak it aloud. And so, we just called him Baal, and they called down curses on us for it.
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On the night in question, the citizens of my small town had taken part in a great invasion. The Israelites had something great and mysterious within their camps—something they used to harness the power of God. Rumor had it that not even their high priests could look upon it, except for once a year, and then only one of them. Rumor had it they tied a cord around his foot in case the power of the almighty proved too much for him, and he perished in the glory.
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I had heard such rumors, but had never put much stock in them. Israel was a very silly nation, that did very silly things. As far as I was concerned, they followed a very silly God. Everyone had heard the legends of their escape from Egypt, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed the sheer number of plagues they were forced to endure before their God allowed them to leave.
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12 plagues? Really? 12 plagues before they were finally set free—all of that just to die in the wilderness?
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What kind of God was that?
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No, I didn’t believe it. It was an uncanny series of coincidences—nothing more.
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It was obvious that the Egyptian sorcerers were not as powerful as they had been in the past. Previous dynasties would’ve easily replicated all twelve plagues. We’d all heard stories of Egypt’s esoteric handiwork. But as far as Israel’s claim that they followed the one true God, and that the Messiah to come through their ancestral lines would one day save the world?
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Honestly, it was so far-fetched it was funny.
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I appreciated the Israelites—really, I did. I didn’t see them as the threat my friends and compatriots did. When the opportunity to steal their ark arose, I was quick to get in on the action—who wouldn’t want the opportunity to steal the most prized possession of another country? And so I volunteered to be on the team that would be personally responsible for stealing the ark. Once on the team, I was for some extraordinary reason chosen to be one of the people responsible for actually going into what the Israelites called the “Holy of Holies.”
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Our men had provided a diversion, and then the four of us had slipped into the temple court through the narrow gate, two by two, so as to avoid notice. With grins on our faces, we had made profane gestures toward the bronze laver. Barely able to hold back giggles, we had run our hands over the table of shewbread, stroked the lampstand, and played with the incense.
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Mockery aside however, we had a job to do. We needed to get the Ark, and get out.
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The curtain before us was impressively thick. Who was capable of weaving such a thick piece of fabric, none of us knew. We only knew there was no way of cutting it with a knife, or even a sword. Once we had the Ark, we would need to slice our exit through the back of the tabernacle.
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My compatriots and I were ready. Looking at one another, we nodded. Shimei slid under the curtain first.
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After he rolled under, one of the others tentatively called out: “Shimei—you ok? Is it in there? What does it look like?” and then, after a moment, hesitantly, “Can you see God?”
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But no amount of calling after him raised his voice.
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Either something awful had happened to Shimei in there independently of God, or something horrible had happened because of God. Whatever the truth might be, we were collectively unprepared to face it.
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Regardless of our desire to escape with our lives, we were under orders to bring back the Ark, no matter the cost.
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Jasper was next. “I’ll go,” he nodded. “Shimei must just be shell-shocked from its beauty. I will call to you to let you know he’s ok.”
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We nodded.
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But the same thing happened to Jasper. We heard a slight catch in his throat—something like surprise, or maybe awe. Then nothing.
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And so it was between Lo Ammi and I.
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Lo Ammi shook his head vehemently.
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“You owe me one,” he said. “Last year. We were playing in the river together. I saved you. You owe me one.”
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But I shook my head. “I saved your sister when we were just 5,” I said. “I have never demanded any sort of payment for it. No, my friend. It is you who owe me one.”
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Lo Ammi’s eyes glistened. He balled his fists up, and looked as though he was calculating his odds of winning in a fight.
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“Alright,” he finally said, after several long seconds, unballing his fists. “Alright,” he said. “But you have to tell my mother I love her.”
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“Done,” I answered.
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And so, Lo Ammi also slipped beneath the curtain. One moment I could hear him moving. And the next—it was as though his breath was stolen out of his lungs.
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I was alone now.
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I had a choice to make.
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Would I join my compatriots in their fate? Was I going to follow my orders and slip under the curtain? Or would I get out now, run home with my tail between my legs, and report that the others had martyred themselves, but I refused?
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No. Our commander was unforgiving, and my family cared far too much about honor. If I returned home after abandoning a mission like this, it would be to lifelong shame.
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Even as I committed to slipping under the curtain, I hesitated. Should I…make some attempt to contact the Israelite God prior to invading his holy place? Would that be wise?
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I didn’t know.
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It seemed prudent.
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I whispered.
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“I have mocked you and your ways,” I began. “You have killed my friends. It was not for no reason.”
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I sighed, unsure of what else to say.
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“I was wrong,” I admitted, “I beg for mercy, but I understand that I deserve nothing.”
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The edge of the curtain loomed.
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“Do with me what you will.”
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I rolled under the curtain.
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You cannot begin to imagine what real holiness feels like until you experience it for the first time. That which can be felt, but not touched. That which can command with a single word. That which is timeless, that which invades the natural and shifts its destiny, that which is nameless but is felt within every name—that which gives life to void and overcomes oblivion.
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I stood up, expecting to see bodies and grandeur. Instead, I saw—nothing.
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I saw nothing.
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There was darkness, and there was a single light. I could not see the space where I was, nor could I see the glint of the gold of an Ark.
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No, all was quiet and peaceful, and the faint scent of incense was replaced by a wonderful smell I had never experienced before, nor would I ever experience again.
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Angelic beings surrounded me. I tell you this not because I could see them, but because somehow I was granted an inner knowing about their presence.
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Where were my friends?
Where was I?
Where was time itself?
Three questions I would never learn the answers to.
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When you are in that place, and there is only you and the infinite, such questions tantalize the mind only momentarily, before passing forever into oblivion. Slowly, almost without realizing it, I prostrated myself, and then I simply released my consciousness to the undertow of eternity, and submitted myself to the irresistible pull of the divine.
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The God of the Israelites was good. I could see that now. He didn’t take kindly to mockers. He loved deeply, but he hated deeply too. And he was always waiting—waiting for each and every person to stop living for themselves, and incline their hearts and thoughts to him.
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The rest of us—well, we lived mostly for our bellies—and for our spouses, our careers, glory, or honor.
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But him—he lived for that one moment, however scarce or brief, when each one of us would turn and look at him, their hearts open, ready for some semblance or taste of the divine.
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Caught in his grip, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to make it back to earth. Could it be that I was now a citizen of heaven forever? Could it be that my friends were too? Surely God would never allow anyone who had mocked him as such to return to earth and tell anyone about it.
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But neither was God cruel. Just as I began to accept my fate, he opened my eyes.
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Back in my body, I was no longer in the Israelite camp! No, I was sitting under a tree on the hill above my family home. It was winter, but as I looked at it, I could see that a single branch had bloomed.
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This tree, it was said, only bloomed when the gods decided to bless someone with a second chance. They said that it only happened if the person had truly committed in his heart to live a different life.
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A stared at the branch in shock and awe. It must really be true, then—The Israelite God had forgiven me.
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I hesitated to laugh or even feel happiness. It wasn’t every day that one came face to face with God.
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I wasn’t sure anyone would believe me. But for the moment, I could see my aunt wandering out of the house to put the laundry out to dry. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I would tell her all that had happened, and God would guide me forward. Little by little, step by step, day by day, I would make changes to follow this new God of the Israelites I had discovered. And eventually, perhaps I could convince all those I knew to do so too.
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Relieved, exhausted, stunned, but with a new lease on life, I rose and waved, taking my first step down the hill, and into a new life.
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