Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest Read Free Page A

interrupt the collection and
read some of the text tormented him. It was possible he had
stumbled onto a great discovery, but how would he know until at
least some of these fragments had been deciphered? He was sure they
were of historic value, for why else would ancient people go to the
trouble of storing them in this remote, nearly inaccessible place.
Almost everything taken from previous Dead Sea caves had proven to
be of historical significance, shedding light on the lives of
recluses at the dawning of the modern age. Why not the documents in
his hands? "Collect, collect," he urged himself, driving his
fingers relentlessly into compliance. "Don’t read. Don't even
glance at the words. Just get this stuff up!"
    It was necessary to remind himself that he
was handling precious treasures, not mere scraps of paper. His plan
was to place small clusters of parchment in separate Ziplocs,
squeeze out the surrounding air to prevent deterioration, then seal
the tops. But in fact, he was stuffing bunches of fragments into
the containers with abandonment, almost as if they were carrot or
celery sticks packaged for a Sunday picnic. Simultaneously, he
found himself cursing Father Benoit for setting an arbitrary time
limit and wondering if he had surrendered to the priest's judgment
too easily. But even if he had, he lacked confidence in his own
ability to escape through the mountains without the priest's
experience in the desert.
    His breathing seemed to echo the metronomic
clicks of the second hand on his wristwatch. If only there was more
time, these fragments might be displayed beside the revered Dead
Sea scrolls in Jerusalem’s Shrine of the Book. Written words in his
fingers collapsed time, binding him with a distant generation. In
that moment, he imagined that, through these ancient documents, he
was actually conversing with his forefathers over the expanse of
millennia. Yet this sensation morphed quickly into a darker vision
in which the delicate thread linking the past and present
shattered. When he dared glance at his watch, he was tardy by seven
minutes. Had the Dominican father already made his way to the cave
entrance without him?
    Tim started to squeeze backwards through the
tunnel, but as his head turned, he noticed in the beam of his lamp
a tab of parchment stuffed between cracks in the inner wall. This
new discovery caused him to hesitate. More time would be lost
retrieving it, but then he was already overdue. To snatch it, he
was forced to reverse directions and crawl forward. When he
inserted his fingers into the crevice, he experienced a familiar
sensation of dried animal skin, but this was different from
fragments on the ground. The parchment felt as if rolled into a
scroll, the holy grail of Dead Sea discovery!
    In the course of millennia, the organic
composition of the material had evidently expanded like mortar
between bricks, making extraction nearly impossible without
damaging the very thing he wanted to preserve. A prayer for
dexterous fingers slipped from his lips as he attempted to pry the
document free. When the scroll refused to budge, he decided to
manipulate it to a new location where the groove appeared larger.
At that moment, he heard Father Benoit thundering behind him, his
words garbled by the echo in the confining conduits.
    "Give me another minute," he yelled back in
the loudest voice he could muster, having little faith the
Dominican would understand.
    The scroll seemed determined not to move.
Each new degree of pressure Tim applied threatened either to
collapse the precious document or damage whatever was written
inside. He nevertheless applied additional force, pushing hard with
his index finger and thumb. A responsible archeologist would leave
the document in place and return with proper tools and adequate
time for careful removal. For an instant, Tim considered choosing
this path and abandoning this treasure for another scholar to
retrieve. Still, a deeper, more determined voice commanded him