Harken unto my words, oh best belov-eds, for I bring you tidings of our enduring friend, Jonathon (pronounced yo-nah-TAHN) ben Macabi (pronounced ma-CAH-bi), one vahmpeer, late of your American Philadelphia, but now abroad on Hah Adon's (The Lord's) Highway. He goes to 'heal the world' and right wrongs and all that... A knight errant, with fangs instead of knives and an abiding magic more potent than Old, Yemeni cava (coffee).
On the night before he left, our faithful one slipped into the darkened sanctuary(save for the warm russet glow of the 'nair tameet' (light eternal)) in a venerable, beit k'nesset (meeting house)) and silently danced up and down the central aisle and all about the bima (beemah -- Table of The Book), as he prayed. The little angel guarding that House of The Book, for all consecrated places of prayer and introspection have guardian angels, said he sang. In a still, small voice, he sang. Our reverent vahmpeer gave voice to a collection of old hymns and cantorials first heard in Toledo, Granada and Sevilla many centuries ago....
Who am I, that a heavenly messenger should address me? I am Zebulon, a well known disembodied spirit narrator of this tale... the ghost of a thirteen year old Judean boy stoned to death during the reign of the last Hasmonean king, either John Hyrcannus II or Aristobolus the whatever. ... Family records indicate that Jonathon hails from that line. Believers never lie about such things. For kings are raised up by The Lord and he who bears false witness to The Divinity fears The Resurrection for obvious reasons. But I know God is merciful and although I was stoned for consorting with Assyrian Witches, I fear not The Day. For He who saved The unobservant Children of Israel from the flesh pots of Egypt with compassion and grace seeks not the eternal banishment of a curious young Jerusalemite.
So I have taken it upon myself to accompany our hero and relate the parts he does not tell in his own voice. At times our story may be told by an unnamed voice much greater than I. You know who I mean... No, not God, but Metatron, the Angel of angels, the chancellor of Heaven. He must like books, for he narrates so many of them. Perhaps he curates the libraries on High?
When next the dark time comes again, we go to your national capital, the City of Washington. He seeks to play conscience to the president. He seeks to pierce the royal bedchamber and waken your ruler from his sleep. The vahmpeer, Jonathon, knows how to convince even the most hardened and ignorant of souls. Failing that, he'll bring him 'over.' How can a vampire function as president of a great land, such as yours?...What would they say? How could they explain it? ... 'Oh, he likes to sleep in. You know how it is?'..... Hardly.
So for a while we shall be vagabonds... hiding in the modern equivalent of root cellars and..... well, more root cellars. Jonathon doesn't like mausoleums. '... Attend to the living. Let the dead take care of the dead' and all that. It's a very Hebrew thing. God does His thing and we ( all right. I'm no longer in the flesh, but you know what I mean) do ours. In the physical world, our hands are His hands.
Now permit me to prepare myself for what is to come. True, I pack no 'things,' but thoughts and dreams and memories are 'things' too.
Don't I talk nice for a thirteen year old? ... I think I do.
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