The End-Time Foretellers

  Since each man must say: The whole world was only created for me (Sanhedrin 37) -- hence, insofar as the world was created for me, I must at all times see and look into rectifying the world and to fill what’s lacking in the world and pray for them.

  (Likutei Moharan 5:2)

  Ran Weber

  The End-Time Foretellers

  Copyright © 2018 Ran Weber

  All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

  Translated from the Hebrew: Yaron Regev

  Contact: ranweber@gmail.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  76

  77

  78

  79

  80

  81

  82

  83

  84

  85

  86

  87

  88

  89

  90

  91

  92

  93

  94

  95

  96

  97

  98

  99

  100

  101

  102

  103

  104

  105

  106

  107

  108

  109

  110

  111

  112

  113

  About the Author

  Message from the Author

  Prologue

  “Yoav, do you still dream of Hebron?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought that went away.”

  “Went away? It doesn’t feel like it’ll ever go away. It haunts me, Uri. Gives me no respite. Though it’s very strange.”

  “Strange? Why?”

  “Because in the dream I never run away. In the dream, I always stay there.”

  “Stay?”

  “Yes. When they shoot Yossi - I’m always there.”

  1

  Yehuda Halevi Street, Tel Aviv, Israel

  Slowly, the evening descended on the city. The street reorganized itself. At nightfall, the owners of the small shops and businesses relinquish their spot in the urban puzzle and prepare the ground for the next shift – the nightlife shift. Yossi the upholsterer is having dinner with his wife, not saying a word, as always, I thought to myself. Mr. Levy probably already closed the old iron shutter at his furniture store, and only Charlie in the bodega is flipping channels.

  “The Fortress.” That’s what I named her, my digital city of refuge. The store that every self-respecting gamer in town knows. We try to get hold of all the new games before anyone else. Gadgets, keyboards, screens, whatever. The word was out in town that you could get a hold of anything in the Fortress. Everyone was excited about it except for me, who had grown tired. Another game, another gadget, another day gone.

  Amos was arranging video games in the back of the store, organizing the shelves. “We closing up, boss?”

  I consulted the big clock hanging above the door. “Yeah, I guess we can close up for today.”

  I glanced from the clock to the laptop. The figures were all right. According to Yossi and Mr. Levy, the markets were seeing tough times. For several months now the threats from Iran had been intensifying, a sense of growing panic in the air. The only one not complaining about the recession, was Charlie.

  “Folks are always snacking,” he says with a smile, “recession or no recession.” I try not to keep up with the news too much. I don’t remember when I last read a newspaper.

  I heard something and the door opened, the brass bells hanging over the entrance rang. The bells are an inheritance from the store’s former owner, a preoccupied old man who ran a second-hand bookstore piled high with yellowing books and short on customers. The bells allowed him to hear when someone entered the shop and broke up the silence that prevailed most of the day. In the twenty-first century, the used bookstore became “The Fortress.” the books were replaced by computer games, and the customer base was replaced by kids eager for the next big thing in the gaming world. Only the bells remained, a remnant of times gone.

  Before me stood a rotund, ten-year-old boy with drooping shoulders and a questioning look, his eyes slightly squinted. To his left stood a determined woman of about forty with short black hair and glasses, holding a small purse in her hand. Mom.

  “What is it you’re looking for?” I asked the boy fondly. He didn’t answer, just continued looking at me with his sad eyes. His mother pushed ahead of him and said, “A keyboard with quiet keys.” I looked at him as he nodded helplessly, and I asked Amos to bring the keyboard. The boy glanced at the keyboard and was about to say something. His mother spoke before him - “Excellent, we’ll take it.”

  I felt for him. She’s probably not at fault, trying to do her best but there’s so little free time and so much pressure, it’s hard to be a mom. It’s harder to be a kid, I thought. I promised myself I’d behave differently if I ever have kids.

  “Go home, Amos, I’ll close up.”

  I was left alone in the shop; another day was done. The way I saw it, nothing happened in it apart from the encounter with the sad-eyed kid. I shut the laptop, switched off the lights, and locked up the shop. I didn’t feel like going up to my apartment, so I went for an amble down the street.

  I saw Charlie staring at the TV, looking worried. I stopped for a minute and looked at the screen. “The Iranians said that they’re able to arm the missiles,” Charlie said, his eyes glued to the screen. “We’re told we have a new defense system but I don’t believe anything. Hell, Yoav, I don’t believe anything they say anymore.”

  He turned the volume up and a news anchor appeared on the screen: “Pillar
of Fire, a new missile defense system, was installed in Israel with the support of the US government. Experts say the system is impenetrable. This is the US military’s most advanced system, and is being tested for the first time, in Israel. There is no doubt that Pillar of Fire will change the balance of terror in the Middle East. The Iranians, who last month declared the completed development of one of the missiles most dangerous to Israel, are stunned by the system.” On the screen, pictures showing the system were replaced by computer simulations over which the anchor’s voice read: “The system works in coordination with American spy satellites for maximum effectiveness.”

  I stared at the screen for a bit and continued down the street.

  2

  Charles Clore Park, Tel Aviv

  “The Iranians got the message,” said the fat man, and sat laboriously on the bench facing the sea, drops of perspiration streaming down his reddened neck. The sun – soon to set - aimed its final rays at him. He blinked, trying to shield his eyes with his right hand to get a better look at Rami. Rami wore sunglasses and had been sure to sit on the less sun-exposed side. Far behind him the skyline of Old Jaffa was visible.

  “Good,” replied Rami. “Now we have to get hold of Yoav and wrap this up.”

  “Do you think we can persuade him?”

  “Of course. Do you have the indictment? “

  “Yes”, said the fat man looking around tensely. “Will he work it out?”

  “No chance. I know him well enough. We’ll press him and he’ll go for it without looking into the details. “

  “How much ...” asked Fats, “do you want to do this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How much to pressurize him?”

  “However much is necessary.”

  Two runners passed by at a slow pace, dressed in running exercise clothes, wearing heart rate wrist bands and headphones. They ran adjacent to each other, each absorbed in his own world. The fat man looked at them for a moment and then looked back at Rami.

  “This time it’s way beyond state security, it’s live or die. A lot of people will try to torpedo this if they can – don’t forget that,” Rami said.

  The fat man got up from his seat and looked at the sunset. A small fishing boat went by at sea, and drew away, the fishermen casting nets. He clasped his fingers behind his back and muttered in a low voice, “You can count on me.”

  3

  The Marina, Tel Aviv

  “Why did you think to meet here, Uri?”, I asked. “Why didn’t you come for coffee in the store?”

  We stood at the entrance to the marina in Tel Aviv. I glanced at the sky for a moment and then looked back at Uri. I wasn’t used to being outside. I spent most of my time under fluorescent lighting - it felt safe to me. Three men in their thirties approached the marina, one of them bragging to his friends about renovating his yacht and how they had to see it. No thanks, I thought. I wanted to go back to the store.

  “Just because”, Uri said, interrupting my thread of thought. “This exactly is the reason why you’re buried in that store with that boy who helps you.”

  “Amos”.

  “What?”

  “He’s not called ‘that boy’, his name is Amos and he is very helpful.”

  “He’s weird, Yoav.”

  “He isn’t weird.” I paused for a moment to think of Amos. “Not everyone was born into the lap of luxury like you. He has his problems. But he’s an amazing person. If only he had a little faith in himself and in his abilities and didn’t feel like some piece of dirt that... “

  “Stop being defensive. You asked me a question so I’m answering it”, Uri said. “You have to start living, Yoav. Living. You know what that is?”

  “I guess not,” I said, caving inside. “Whose yacht is it anyway?”

  “The boat? My friend’s.”

  “Does your wife let you sail around just like that?”

  “Yes. She’s glad that I do things that I love. You’re not even married and already you limit yourself to that little hovel.”

  “I think she just wants a little peace from you.”

  “Unlike you,” Uri said, “your sister cares about some things other than peace. Such as creativity, self-fulfillment, you know... living.”

  Faultless Adi. She was always successful by any measure; good grades, good friends, all perfect. I’ve always envied her, it’s strange to be envious of your little sister.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s go into the marina. I brought some beer, we’ll take the Enchanted Princess sailing and we’ll see what happens to your foul mood. “

  Uri walked towards the distant docks and I followed him. The weather was pleasant, a light breeze blew, and the smell of the ocean rose in the air. It’s been so long since I was out at sea, I thought to myself, perhaps Uri is right and I’m holed up in the store too much of the time. Maybe I need a change; maybe I need to travel, to get some space and start over.

  We walked past huge yachts, I have no idea how people can afford to maintain them. To my left I saw an elegant yacht with a large sail. The body of the yacht was white and gleaming. I looked for the lettering on it, hoping it was the bride. She was beautiful. I began to get excited – I haven’t been on a yacht like this for a long time. I found her name, “Bonnie.” I sorrowfully bid farewell to Bonnie.

  We stopped near a rickety fishing boat. “Is this the Enchanted Princess?” I asked in amazement, pointing to the words ‘The Enchanted Princess’, written in gold lettering. “This one?”

  “Yes,” Uri said, possibly a little hurt.

  I scanned the boat anxiously. I wondered whether anyone maintained it. It wasn’t clear to me whether we would be able to return to the harbor once we took it out. It was on the brink of disintegration, painted a dark blue, most of which had peeled off over the years, it was made of time-worn timber, and still, it persisted stubbornly against the bright new yachts. Another glance led me to conclude that the only maintenance work that took place was the addition of a coat of glittering gold paint to its name.

  “You said it was a yacht.”

  “I said that we’d meet at the marina and sail with some beers.”

  “Okay”.

  “Get on the boat and stop complaining. You can leave your grumbling in coat check.”

  “You stubborn man.”

  Uri smiled. “It’s good to finally get a compliment from you, bro. What a treat. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  We boarded the boat and Uri, a former naval officer, quickly took control of steering the boat. He sat down beside the engine and pulled the pull cord, the engine rattled. Very quickly we found ourselves in the open sea far from shore. Uri switched off the engine and got the beers. He passed one to me. The boat rocked gently. “So?” He finally asked. “What do you think?”

  I took a big chug of the beer, took a deep breath, and said, “This is pleasant actually.”

  “Really?”

  I sighed and looked at the beer. “The city suffocates me. I’m tired of Tel Aviv, maybe of my whole life here.”

  Uri looked at me intently and drank from the beer.

  “You mean to do something about it?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Probably not.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t have the energy, Uri.”

  The boat swayed in the sea, small waves lifted and lowered us. I felt sick.

  “That’s because you’re numb.”

  “Numb?”

  “Yes. You’re always switching yourself off, switching off your fire.” Uri grabbed another beer and passed it to me.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my center of gravity fall back. A pleasant breeze blew, I let go of my body. There’s nothing to hold onto, there’s no need to fight. I let myself be. We were in the middle of the emptiness and I felt that I had it a
ll – the breeze, the sunshine, a good friend, a beer... Almost everything. It was in this ‘almost’ that the shadows began to appear. I opened my eyes and took a sip of beer.

  “You switch yourself off, bury yourself in the store. It’s no solution, Yoav, I barely recognize you. As a friend I’m telling you, get a hold of yourself and make a change. I don’t know…” He looked at the sea around us and added, “Look, it’s infinite. There is an infinity of things you can do and be, just get out of your bubble.”

  I knew he was right, but I felt as though I couldn’t do anything, I was frozen in comfort. I believed no one could possibly understand how I felt. I just wanted to pass the days without anyone troubling me. Stagnant, but familiar at least. Who has the wherewithal for change?

  I took another deep breath and finished my beer.

  4

  Again, these dark alleyways that I’m sick of seeing. When will we get the hell out of Hebron? We advance in absolute darkness in the last place I want to be. Since Uzi was wounded I have almost no one to talk to. Yossi is the only person left whom I can trust. Danny doesn’t speak at all. He’s been withdrawn and silent since the clash two weeks ago. I hate this place, I’m dying to get out of here. I glance at my watch and press the light button -- 3:27 am, just in time. Before the muezzin. I’m drowsy with tiredness.

  My body is drenched in cold sweat, I’m scared to death. The flashlights pummel light onto walls littered with doors. “This is the house,” Danny says, “the second house from the right”. That sounds strange to me, I don’t remember it being the second house from the right. I obtained the information from the main computer that we hacked. That’s the procedure, at any rate -- I crack the database and pull the data and Danny organizes the mission and divides the teams.

  We retreat somewhat and conceal ourselves around the corner. Waiting, like ducks in a shooting range. Waiting for Mr. Amir to finish. Why is it taking Amir so long to plant the charges? He’s usually fast, I hope everything is going okay. There’s a slight noise and we get a signal. Amir joins us. Three small charges on the hinges of the blue iron double doors and one charge on the lock. If they weren’t installed on magnets I’d understand Amir, but why did it take him so long?

  A blast.

  No time to think. The heavy doors are pulled from their hinges and leaned against the doorpost. I storm in, quickly glance behind me, Danny and Yossi have got my back. The moment has come, if it goes smoothly at least we’ll be rid of this mission. I take a deep breath, we go in.