Petra
For three days Chaim Levin, the high priest of Israel, had not eaten or drunk anything. Nor had he spoken. That in itself wasn’t unusual for a rabbi seeking to know God’s will, and so he was left alone to meditate and pray. Even his wife, Rose, didn’t disturb him.
No one wondered what he prayed about. They were as aware as he of what was happening in the world outside Petra; no one with a radio or access to the internet could have missed it. The signs promised by Christopher were coming to pass, and very soon the armies of the world would assemble to march on this place of God’s provision. Levin’s followers in Petra wanted to know God’s answer as much as the high priest did.
On the third day at about noon, Chaim Levin rose to his feet, broke his fast, and bathed. He then called for Samuel Newberg, his assistant and confidant. Newberg was already waiting, having been notified by one of the common priests that Levin had ended his fast.
“Sam, I want to speak to the leader of the KDP,” he said straight away.
Newberg looked confused. “Rabbi, I . . . uh . . . I don’t think . . .”
Chaim Levin nodded reassuringly; he knew his request might be a bit surprising. “It’s all right, Sam, just bring him to me.” Noticing the expression on Newberg’s face, a thought occurred to him. “Unless you don’t think he’ll come.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that, well . . . I don’t think they have a leader.”
This was a possibility that Levin hadn’t considered. He frowned, struck by how little he really knew about the other residents of Petra. Still, he wanted to talk with someone who could speak for the KDP and on their behalf. “Is there no one who is pre-eminent among them?” he asked.
“Not since the deaths of John and Saul Cohen,” Newberg answered. The high priest looked perplexed, and Newberg blurted out the only suggestion he could think of. “I have heard that Cohen had a son,” he said, immediately regretting the suggestion as he realized he had no idea how to contact Cohen’s son.
The high priest stroked his beard as he quickly pondered the option. The idea had merit. “I would like to speak with him,” he said.
Jerusalem
The Resistance in Jerusalem existed for one purpose only: to assist those who wanted to flee to Petra. As such their usefulness was nearly spent. It had been a month since anyone from outside the country had come through Israel on their way to Petra. Only a few in Israel did not bear Christopher’s mark, and most of them were part of the Resistance. With their work completed, the leaders of the Resistance gathered at an abandoned kibbutz outside Jerusalem to plan their own escape to Petra. There to meet with them was Benjamin Cohen, son of Saul Cohen, and a member of the KDP. When the meeting concluded, Cohen’s long-time friend, Jim Carp, asked Cohen to wait. When everyone else had gone, Carp said he had someone he wanted Cohen to meet.
“Who is it?” Cohen asked.
“My sister, Gabrielle,” Carp answered.
Cohen smiled in surprise. “As long as I’ve known you, I didn’t even know you had a sister. Has she just arrived in Israel?”
“No,” Carp answered. His voice revealed discomfort. “She’s been in Jerusalem for several years.”
“Why have I never met her?”
“Well, it’s possible you have. Actually, she changed her last name when she first came to Israel.”
“Really?” Cohen began, but before he could finish, Carp’s guest came in.
Cohen was stunned. He looked back and forth between Carp and the woman. It seemed beyond belief, but before him stood Gabrielle Ben-Judah, Prime Minister of Israel, a woman who had served for the last three and a half years as a puppet of the UN occupation government, a woman who on every occasion had served as Christopher’s pawn in the region. “You have betrayed us,” Cohen told Carp.
“No,” Carp insisted.
“Your sister is Gabrielle Ben-Judah?” Cohen exclaimed incredulously. The resemblance was less than obvious.
“She’s changed her mind!” Carp said. “She realizes she’s been wrong.” Somehow talking about Ben-Judah in the third person, as though she weren’t there with them, made the conversation at least a little more endurable.
“She’s changed her mind?” Cohen repeated, spitting out Carp’s words as if they were some vile poison. “She’s changed her mind?!” The idea was preposterous.
“Yes, Mr. Cohen,” Ben-Judah said, finally joining the conversation, “I have. I realize that I’ve been wrong, as do many of the people of Jerusalem.”[174]
“Well, that’s all very nice,” Cohen said contemptuously. “But I’m afraid you’re a little too late.” Cohen cast his eyes toward Ben-Judah’s right hand and Christopher’s number, which marked it. “You made your choice! You could have resisted. You could have left with those who went to Petra. You could have gone into hiding like your brother.” Cohen looked back at Jim Carp, still in disbelief that the two were related. “But you chose to go along with Christopher Goodman. Even after he defiled the Temple and destroyed the tablets of the law; even when he set up his image on the wall of the Temple, which was clearly the abomination that the prophet Daniel warned about;[175] still you went along! You even turned against your own people, betraying them to UN executioners if they refused to worship the image.[176] How many have died because of you?”
Gabrielle Ben-Judah sighed and clenched her teeth. She didn’t answer the question. It didn’t need an answer. Even one death was too many, and in truth she didn’t know the number. “All that you have said is true,” she acknowledged. “I’ve done all these things, and I realize it’s probably too late for me. But the others—”
“You heard the angel’s warning,” Cohen said.[177] “They all heard it: Anyone who receives the mark will drink of the wine of God’s fury and will be tormented with burning sulfur forever. There will be no rest for those who worship the beast and his image, or for anyone who receives the mark of his name,” he said, paraphrasing the angel’s words.
“But there must be something that can be done,” she appealed. “Most of these people never really rebelled against God. They took the mark only because if they hadn’t, they would have lost everything.”
“And so they have,” Cohen shot back. “So they have. They traded away their birthright as God’s chosen people for the sake of their possessions, just as Esau traded his birthright to Jacob for a little food.”[178]
Cohen’s response was not unexpected, but that made it no less difficult for Ben-Judah to bear. “Please, there must be something.”
“Even if I wanted to help you, there’s nothing I can do. You’ve taken the mark and bowed down to the image. As the angel warned, you’ll drink of the wine of God’s fury. There’s nothing in what the angel said, or anywhere in the Bible, to suggest that you can now change your mind. Just as Esau could not regain his birthright, neither can you or the others that you represent.”
“But will you not at least pray for us?” she pleaded.
“I cannot pray for the enemies of God,” Cohen responded.
“But we do not wish to be his enemies.”
There was sincerity in Ben-Judah’s voice and in her eyes. For a long moment Cohen silently studied her face. “No,” he said finally.
“I beg you to at least pray and ask God if there is anything that can be done.”
“I’m sorry,” Cohen answered, his voice now showing at least a hint of regret mingled with his loathing.
“But there must be something.”
“There isn’t.” His words had been final, but then something occurred to him. It startled him and it was obvious to the others in the room.
“What?” asked Jim Carp.
Benjamin Cohen shook his head, dumbfounded. It was absurd, he thought. But then, with God, perhaps it was not.
“Please, what is it?” Ben-Judah urged.
Cohen wasn’t ready to answer, but he made an attempt to explain. “I don’t know if this is from God or if it’s only a random thought that has passed through my mind.”
“Please, tell us.”
“No,” Cohen answered. “But I will pray about this.”
“May I wait while you pray?” Ben-Judah asked.
“If you wish. But I don’t know how long it will be.”
“I’ll wait.”
Jim Carp showed Benjamin Cohen to a room where he wouldn’t be interrupted, and then returned to wait with his sister.
Two hours passed before Cohen returned. His expression gave no hint that God had provided him an answer. Ben-Judah didn’t ask; she was afraid of what Cohen’s response would be. Nevertheless, the question was obvious on her face.
Cohen shook his head. “God has not chosen to answer me,” he said finally. “I still do not know if this is from God or from my own imagination, and he has not seen fit to reveal it to me.”
“Please tell me,” Ben-Judah asked.
“I don’t think you’ll like the answer.”
Ben-Judah waited silently.
“You must understand,” Cohen advised, “that what I say is not by God’s command, but by his permission. It may not be from God at all; it may be just my own wishful thinking.”[179]
“I understand.”
“And you must also understand,” Cohen continued, “if you and those you represent choose to accept what I’m about to tell you, and if you’re spared, it’s not your action that’s saved you. God’s forgiveness cannot be earned or bought, lest anyone should be able to boast.[180] God’s forgiveness has been purchased at the price of his son’s own life. If you do what I’m about to suggest, it’s not your deed that will save you, rather it’s because he has already saved you, that you’ll do this. Still, I don’t know how it’s possible that you, bearing the mark, could be saved.”[181]
“God showed his love for us in this,” Gabrielle Ben-Judah said, paraphrasing from the fifth chapter of the book of Romans, “that while we were still sinners, Messiah died for us.”[182]
Cohen studied Ben-Judah, amazed that she could cite the Bible at all, much less find an appropriate verse from the New Testament. “Perhaps then you also know the verse in Matthew,” Cohen replied, “‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.’”[183]