The Gates of Zion by Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene Read Free Book Online Page A

that he could not wait for the Messiah to come and bring His blessings to the bare cupboards of their basement room. He knew the commandments but hoped that somehow God would understand the ache of hunger that sometimes gnawed at him and kept him from sleep. Besides, he reasoned, were the British themselves not thieves? Had they not stolen the land of Palestine from her people?
    But his most immediate worry was that of losing his quarry. There was talk, so much talk that he didn’t understand. Many people in the Old City thought perhaps the British soldiers would be leaving Palestine and the streets of Jerusalem forever. Tonight, he knew, some place far away in America, men who had never even seen Palestine were voting about something called Partition.
    Grandfather and the other rabbis raged against it and against the young Zionist Jews who supported it. The baths and coffeehouses of the Old City had become centers of hot debates. Should Palestine become two states—one Arab and one Jewish? Shouldn’t they put their faith in the restoration of Israel when Messiah came?
    Yacov understood little of the issues. But if the soldiers left, whose pockets could he pick? Arabs’? Many of his playmates were from the Arab Quarter, friends and neighbors who came to light the lamps for him and Grandfather on Shabbat. He could expect no mercy from God if he stole from his neighbors. That much Grandfather had taught him. But the British—they were the enemy. And like David, who took Goliath’s sword, Yacov was determined to take whatever he could win in his battle against the British “Philistines” who roamed the streets of his city. Whatever this Partition was, whatever his motive, Yacov stood by the rabbis’ stand: “May the English thieves stay until Messiah comes,” he whispered to Shaul.
    The boy rubbed Shaul’s ear as he turned these things over in his mind. Sleep began to settle on him as he grew warmer beneath the dog’s weight. Scenes of tall British officers in kilts and tunics bulging with money drifted into his mind. The souks were crowded with Arabs and Jews and soldiers. A strong wind began to blow through the streets, tearing at robes and tunics until the English soldiers’ pockets burst open, and the streets became littered with British pound notes. Yacov scrambled to retrieve the money as a captain shouted, “Mind the little Jew beggar; they’re all thieves, you know!” Yacov filled his pockets and stuffed his yarmulke full, then scampered across the rooftops as the captain chased after him, blowing a horn and shouting, “Stop, Jew!”
    Then through his dream he heard a sound that made him sit straight up in bed, sending Shaul tumbling to the floor. Seconds ticked past until, beyond the darkness of the room, the sound of a solitary shofar cracked the stillness of the night.
    Shaul whined impatiently. “Shhh,” Yacov warned, listening closely.
    Had it only been a part of the dream? he wondered.
    He knew the sound he had heard—the ram’s horn, the ancient call to freedom for the Jewish people. Why was it being blown this night?
    Had Messiah come?
    Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he climbed out of bed and stumbled to the shuttered window. Too short to reach the latch, he felt in the darkness for the one wooden chair they owned. He carried it carefully to the window and climbed up, unlatching the shutters and peering out into the darkened streets of the Old City.
    Then, clearly, he heard the sound of the shofar as it echoed mournfully in the Old City. The solitary blast of the horn was joined by another, then another, until the streets reverberated with the sound. A knot of warm excitement grew in the pit of Yacov’s stomach, and chills caused him to tuck the blanket more closely around him.
    He was unaware of Grandfather standing behind him until he felt a gnarled hand on his shoulder.
    “What does it mean, Grandfather?” Yacov asked.
    “The ending of things as we know them, I fear,” the