Previously on the chosen people.

Gather the people, every tribe, every elder, every priest, meet me on Mont Carmel.

Bring your your profits of bail, all four hundred and fifty of them, in settle this right here, right now.

Ah competition.

The mountain was packed.

Thousands had gathered, pressing against the rocky slopes, lining the ridges, standing shoulder to shoulder, and.

Show them, wake them, drop them to the leaf, lend them feet with their own eyes.

Without the downs and you.

The sky ripped open.

The heavens roared.

Fire erupted, crashing down, down, blinding, consuming.

In an instant, the flames consumed everything.

Seize them for too long they perverted our minds.

With witchclap, no longer not one.

The crowd moved as one Bal's prophets tried to run.

They were tackled, dragged and beaten, Screaming to the river to judgment.

One by one they fell.

The water ran red.

Jezebel stood by the window, watching the storm from below.

So the profit of fires thinks he can toy with my kingdom.

Mark my wounds.

Husband.

By this time tomorrow, Elijah.

Will be dead.

Elijah called down fire.

Jezebel answered with blood Shelloh my friends, from here in the holy land of Israel, i'm l extein with international fellowship of Christians and Jews, and welcome to the Chosen People.

Elijah had seen the fire fall, he had heard the people cry out in the name of God.

He had outrun chariots in the rain, laughing like a man finally free.

But the very next morning his knees were in the dirt, trembling.

Why does it go this way?

Why did the biggest moments of triumph so often lead straight to the wilderness today?

In One King's chapter nineteen, we enter the aftermath.

The smoke is cleared, the crowd is gone, and a prophet finds himself pursued not by armies but by silence.

Where is God?

When the miracles are gone and were left only with silence?

The morning after Mount Carmel was quiet, the hills stretched golden under the first breath of sunlight, soft and untroubled.

Somewhere in the distance, birds chattered, indifferent to the struggles of men and kings.

Elijah sat outside his home, cross legged, his fingers curled around a simple clay cup of watered wine.

He drank slowly, savoring the way, the warmth settled in his chest.

This was a moment of peace, calm long overdue.

For the first time in years, the tension in his body had begun to uncoil.

He exhaled, stretching out his legs, letting the morning sink into him.

He had spent too long fighting, running, carry the weight of a prophet's call like a stone pressed into his ribs.

But now, maybe, just maybe he could allow himself to believe it had all meant something.

The fire had fallen, the heavens opened, rain had come, and the people collapsed in worship to Yahweh.

Even Ahab, that spineless fool had been shaken.

Maybe the war was over.

Maybe Israel would finally return.

Maybe Jezebel's grip had begun to slip.

Elijah smirked, raising his cup slightly as if toasting the dawn.

Well, Lord, that was quite the spectacle, wasn't it.

You got their attention.

Now.

I may be wrong, but it seems like perhaps you were enjoying yourself.

I know I was.

Elijah lifted the cup to his lips, but the quiet was interrupted by the sound of running A shadow stumbled into view, a messenger, the boy skidded to a stop in front of Elijah, clutching his knees, gulping down air in sharp, ragged gasps.

Elijah a message from the palace.

Elijah barely glanced up, still swirling the wine in his cup.

Yes, Ahab sending his apologies, or perhaps his summons, now that he's found his spine.

The boy didn't answer.

His face was too pale, too drawn, eyes wide with something deeper than exhaustion.

He swallowed, then reached into his robe, pulling out a tightly wound scroll and thrusting it toward Elijah with unsteady hands.

Elijah took it without urgency, still half convinced this was the formal letter of surrender he had been waiting for, But when his fingers curled around the parchment, he hesitated.

It was rough, not the usual soft scrolls of the Pallas scribes.

This was cruder, thicker, like something torn from old skin rather than woven from reeds, and it was stained dark red.

Elijah's pulse slowed and his contented smirk faded.

He unrolled it.

The letters were harsh, jagged, carved more than written, as though the hand that had scrawled them had been trembling not with fear but with rage.

Elijah's eyes traced the.

Words, Elijah of tishby no, by this.

Time tomorrow your blood of stained earth.

Your bones will lie unburied, flesh will be torn by the same vultures that feasted.

On my priests.

The sun will set on your cross, and when it does, I will smile.

You will not die a hero, You will not die a martyr.

You will die as a man abandoned, screaming for a god who will not answer, and only the rats will mourn you.

When you take your last.

Breath, Know this, your name will be ash and your God will be forgotten.

Elijah's breath hitched.

The parchment trembled in his grip.

Why is it.

Right?

The boy swallowed.

His voice when it came was barely more than a whisper.

That's not ink, my lord.

What The messenger's hands clenched into fists.

His voice trembled.

It's blood, the blood of the prophets of ball.

Elijah went white, his stomach lurched, his legs felt suddenly hollow beneath him.

His fingers slackened, and the parchment drifted to the ground, curling slightly at the edges, like something still alive.

He didn't think, didn't speak, didn't breathe.

He just ran.

The hills blurred passed him, his body moving on something beyond instinct, beyond thought, something primal and urgent and stupid, because running was useless, wasn't it.

He could run across the whole world and still wake up with her voice echoing in his ears.

He could cross the sea and hide in the cliffs of Tire, and still Jasubh would reach him.

The fire of Carmel hadn't moved her to repentance.

It had only stirred her to anger.

Fools, solifire.

They saw this storm, they saw it all, and yet is still bow to Jezebel, What is wrong with these people?

His breath came in ragged bursts, his ribs aching with every step, his mind an unspooling tangle of rage and confusion and something else, something deeper, something darker.

Ahab had been a fool from the beginning, but he was weak.

Jezebel was something else.

She did not hesitate, she did not kneel, she did not fear, And the worst part was that maybe she was right, Maybe this was what the world really was.

Maybe Yahue could burn altars and split seas and call down plagues, and people would still do what people always did.

What did Boss say?

These people are stiffness as.

The words stiffness.

Proud blind.

They have seen, they have seen everything, and they still don't believe.

The Lord had worn them again and again, through Moses, through the Judges, through David, through Elijah himself, he had shown them, Yet still they rebelled idiots.

You claim Yahweh with its convenience, and the second Jeshiber speaks to come back to your filth, back your asherables, back to your pale feasts or porgies or bindeless, fideless, cowardly excuses for worship.

How many times must the Lord prove himself to you?

His legs folded, his knees hit the dirt, his lungs burned, his arms shook a single, lonely boon tree, barely cast enough shade to soften the heat, but he crawled under it, burying his face in his hands, shouting, now, wild, raw, furious en all them.

I can't do this anymore?

Do you hear me?

Long?

I can't do this.

His voice cracked, but he didn't stop.

He wouldn't stop, not until he had said it all.

This is what you wanted, isn't it?

This is why you can't me now waste my life on these people who don't.

Care, to watch them build their knees one day and break their boughs the next, Moses wasting his stick dog That was Judgua were.

All of us?

Did you know when you split the sea that they were still chase up for every false nothing of jars with their filthy little hands.

The wind hissed over the sand, carrying his words nowhere.

Elijah's chest heaved in anger.

He was wrong, of course, oh Berdea and many others had remained faithful, but Elijah, in his grief, felt completely alone.

He let himself collapse, dust and sweat streaking his face, silence, and then a hand reached out and touched his shoulder, warm, solid, reassuring.

That's a bit dramatic, don't you think.

Elijah flinched so hard he nearly threw himself sideways.

A man was kneeling next to him.

No, not just a man.

He was young or old, a stranger yet familiar.

His robes were plain, His face was knowing, amused, affectionate.

The smirk at the edge of his mouth.

Ate something in Elijah's already frayed mind.

Snap, who are you?

The man gestured lazily to a rock beside them.

There was bread, fresh warm.

Next to it a jug of water.

Eat, drink.

A little food will do you well?

Elijah just stared.

Go on, you'll need your strength for all the flailing and whining you plan on doing later.

Elijah's mouth opened, nothing came out.

His mind was still reeling, still caught between his grief and his rage.

He hesitated, what you think I poisoned it?

Do you always act like this when someone gives you food?

I sent the crows.

You seem to get along with them, just fine?

Elijah scowled, reaching for the bread without thinking it was soft, he ate.

The warmth filled his stomach, slow and steady, the first real thing he had felt in days.

He drank.

It was pleasant, if only for a moment.

The man watched him, grinning like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

Better maybe good now, sleep, You've got a long journey ahead of you.

For forty days and forty nights, Elijah had wandered through the wilderness, driven by hunger, fear, and something deeper, nameless, gnawing, pulling him forward.

Mount Horror loomed before him, dark against the endless sky.

The air here was different, thicker, heavy with the weight of things too ancient to name.

No mere mountain.

It was a graveyard of past revelations.

This was where Moses had stood, where the Lord had split the heavens in thunder and glory.

This was where the Law had been carved into stone.

Elijah approached a large cave carved by the wind, somewhere between the base and its peak.

He stepped inside, sat and waited.

Suddenly, in the stillness, a voice came, what.

Are you doing here, Elijah?

Elijah exhaled sharply, his whole body tensed.

The voice had been neither harsh nor condemning, just a question, simple and direct, But something in it unraveled him.

Oh, I was worse that I thought you knew everything.

A flicker of shame curled in his chest.

Had he just spoken to the Lord like that?

He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing down his hands, loosening for half a breath.

Irreverence spurned on his tongue, bitter, unworthy.

But then he recalled all he had been through his voice wavered, then rose hot, furious.

Undone, my God.

I have been very zealous for you.

I fought for you, stood alone for you.

And what has that got in me?

Oh?

Israel has forsaken your covenant, torre down, your.

Art, has murdered your propits.

I am the last one left, and now they want me dead too.

You're asking me what I'm doing here?

Lord?

What are you doing here?

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

His voice cracked, his chest heaved.

Elijah waited, wondering if this was the moment he would die, But his words were met with silence.

Not fire, not brimstone, just silence.

Elijah's heart pounded against his ribs.

His breath was sharp and steady.

He braced himself.

Suddenly, the Lord spoke, go out and stand on the mountain before me.

I have something I.

Wish for you to see.

Elijah's breath hitched, his pulse stammered.

He knew what this meant.

He had read of Moses of Sinai.

He had read of the cloud and the fire, and the trembling of the earth when the presence of the Almighty moved.

He had read of how even the great prophet had been forced to turn away, shielded in the cleft of the rock, because to see Yahoueh was to die.

His feet moved forward, slow, deliberate.

He did not cower, He did not shield his face.

Let it come.

Let the wind split the sky, Let the fire consume him.

Let the ground crack beneath his feet.

Let Yahoeh take him.

He stepped forward.

The wind came first.

It howled down the mountainside, a living thing, a force with teeth.

It roared past him, tearing to.

The rock, ripping it apart.

Or the stones cracked and shattered, debris flying in every direction.

It screamed with a sound that did not belong to the earth, a sound that felt like it was ripping the world apart.

Elijah staggered back, hands raised to shield his face, his heart pounding wildly, his breath hitched.

His whole body was tense.

This is its s.

The wind shrieked, it raged, It broke the mountain, and when silence and jahue was not there, Elijah's stomach twisted.

His hands dropped slowly.

He swallowed hard.

He barely had time to process the disappointment before the earthquake came.

The ground beneath him lurched, cracked and split.

The whole mountain shook, the rocks beneath his feet rolling.

He had to brace himself against the wall of the cave, his legs bubbling, his breath stolen from him.

Yes, yes, this is it.

The trembling suddenly his shorts I read.

The quake rumbled and roared, and then it stopped.

The dust settled, the mountains stood still, and Jahweh was not there.

Elijah let out a sharp breath, his chest tight he clenched his jaw.

Wasn't it always bakers?

The sea split, the cloud of fire, the mountain in flames.

Mortals needed spectacle of faith.

Without it, they they ran back to their idols, like dogs to feel.

Where are you?

And then the fire came.

It rose before him, searing, blinding and pure.

It licked at the air, twisting, raging.

It was a consuming force.

The heat alone should have killed him.

Yes, yes, Lord, here you are.

I do it?

Take me, Lord, I'm ready.

And then the fire faded.

Yahoeir was not there, and something inside Elijah broke.

His fists clenched, his throat tightened, his heart hammered.

But it wasn't In awe anymore.

It was rage.

Where are you?

Where is your voice?

I've seen you said fire, I'm saying.

You stop the rain.

I've seen you strike down the province of Berlin, Splitney waters before Moses.

Where are you?

There was a long stretch of silence.

Then suddenly there was a breath, a hush, a whisper, a still small voice.

Elijah, Elijah froze when the Lord said his name.

It wasn't booming, it wasn't thundering, it wasn't consuming, but it was near, And in the stillness, in the quiet, in the absence of fury and spectacle, Elijah felt something he had not felt since he was a little boy.

He felt the tenderness of God.

He didn't feel like the renowned prophet of fire.

He felt like a child wrapped in his father's embrace being hushed to calm after a tantrum.

Elijah's whole body, taught with anxiety and rage, began to loosen.

His knees hid the earth, And then, in the silence he felt it, his calloused heart began to soften.

Tears stunn'd the corners of Elijah's eyes.

You are not alone, Elijah, You never have been Elijah thought about the ravens, the stream, the fire, and the widow's son.

Of course, he'd never been alone.

Elijah just press'd his forehead to the dirt and listened.

Your mission is not over, Gore, annoyed has ale As, king over Alarm, annoyed Jail, son of Ninshi, king over Israel.

He will be my hand against the house of a Ab.

He will strike them down, and not one of them.

Shall escape the prophecy of Judgment sent a flicker of something electric through Elijah's exhausted mind.

Ahab Jezebel, their stolen vineyard, their slaughtered prophets, their golden idols gleaming in the filth of Samaria.

Elijah's breath hitched.

He had thought it was over, thought he would die in a cave, bitter than forgotten.

But here God was giving him hope that good could actually triumph over evil.

Elisha, so of Chaffrat shall be a prophet in your place.

So you aren't done burning things down yet, not yet.

Elijah wiped his face.

He stood, He turned toward the path ahead, and he walked.

Elisha had always known the land.

His father's fields stretched wide, their furrows deep, the soil dark and rich beneath his hands.

It was a good life, a steady life, the kind of life most men dreamed of, with its quiet certainties, oxen in their yoke, the slow rhythm of plowing, the knowledge that seasons turned as they always had, as they always would.

He had spent his youth with his hands in the dirt and his mind in the scrolls, learning the laws of Moses by lamplight, whispering the psalms under his breath while the oxen pulled forward.

But the truth, the truth he had never said aloud, was that the steady life had never quite fit him.

The land was good, the work was good, but some restless thing inside him had never stopped looking toward the horizon.

He had read of Abraham, Joseph, Moses, Joshua, and David, of the men who went.

He had wondered what it would be like to be called to leave, to follow, to live a life where God's voice was not a story in the past, but a presence in the present.

The plow dug into the soil, the wooden yoke creaking under the strength of the twelve yoked oxen.

Elishah squinted against the sun, dust curling in the dry wind.

Another day, another field.

Then suddenly he saw a tall, wild haired figure walking straight toward him from the horizon.

Elisha blinked.

The man did not slow, did not stop, did not announce himself.

He just walked right up to Elisha without a word, and unceremoniously threw a cloak onto him.

It landed across his shoulders like a verdict.

Elisha stared at it, then at the man.

Hello, there, may I help you?

The man, if he could even be called that, stared back at Elisha with eyes of fire.

There was something unearthly about him, something almost elemental.

The man tilted his head slightly.

His beard was thick, his eyes sharp, his robes dustained and travel worn.

No, no, I think it is you who will be helping me.

Ah, of course, naturally, a mysterious, wild eyed man throws a cloak over me, and now I'm his assistant.

Ha ha.

Apprentice, a disciple prophet in draining herald of the Empire's doom.

Take your pick.

Elisha ran a hand down the fabric draped over him.

It was rough, woven, heavy.

There was something ancient about it, something that carried weight beyond its threads.

A thought flickered in his mind, sharp and sudden.

This was the mantle of a prophet.

His chest tightened, his breath came short, and then it clicked.

The wild eyes, the sunbeaten face, the dust caked robes, the eyes of fire.

He knew who this was.

Elijah.

The name landed like a stone in his gut.

This was Elijah, the tishpite, Elijah, the prophet of fire, Elijah, the slayer of Baal's priests, Elijah who called down flames from the heavens and rained from an empty sky.

Elijah, whom Ahab feared, whom Jezebel hated, whom jahwere had chosen.

Elishah straightened beneath the weight of the mantel, the weight of the moment.

He swallowed hard, steadying himself.

Let me ask you this, Elisha, does your blood not boil?

See how ahab ravaged Jesus Land, How Jezebel paints her face and plays queen Well Israel falls into ruin.

Elisha exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable, then tilted his head as if considering something.

I imagine it takes her longer to get ready in the morning than it does for Ahab to lose a battle.

Elijah blink then grinned a wild grin.

I like you, so.

Are you mean?

Elisha only nodded, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders.

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

I only ask.

Let me go kiss my father and mother goodbye.

Then I will follow you.

Elijah shrugged, the smug still lingering at the corner of his mouth.

You're go ahead, kiss whoever you want.

What have I done to you.

That remains to be seen?

Oh?

You're quick, This will be fun.

Elisha had spent his whole life behind the plow.

It was his father's before him, and his father's before that.

It was stability, It was tradition.

It was the kind of thing that men were supposed to hold on to.

Elisha burned it.

He slaughter the oxen, broke apart the plow, and lit it all ablaze.

The fire roared, snapping at the air, the scent of roasting meat rising with the smoke.

The entire village gathered, the smell to inviting to ignore.

They ate, They feasted.

They watched as Elisha, son of Safat, walked away from his family's fields forever.

Because there was no going back because Elisha knew when Yahweh called, you do not hesitate, Because a prophe's life was not a life of safety or comfort or return.

It was a life of fire, and Elisha was ready.

As Elisha and his new master walked away from the smoking fields, silence stretched between them for good silence, the kind that men.

Something had shifted.

A new hope was dawning in Israel.

Yahue was on the move.

Elisha pulled the manful tighter around his shoulders and turned to his master with a grin.

Elijah and Elisha, well, I'm sure that won't get confusing at all.

Oh God, You've got some withd in you.

In this line of work, you'll need it.

Let's start with a strange phrase.

In Hebrew, we say call dmamma dakka.

That's what the scripture say.

It translates to a still small voice.

This story begins with God coming to Elijah and the desert, in the Sinai Desert, at a very special spot.

It was the very same spot where God had spoken to Moses, revealed his compassionate nature and the Torah.

But here, as God speaks to Elijah, there's a great and powerful wind smashing mountains and breaking rocks, and Elijah is told, God is not in the wind.

This is followed by a huge earthquake, and again Elijah is told God is not in the earthquake.

Then there's a fire raging and Elijah hears God is not in the fire.

Finally, there's a cool maama decca, a still thin voice, and that that's the voice of God.

You see, even in this story, God was continuing to shape Elijah's delivery of his prophecies.

God was still teaching Elijah how to minister, and God was teaching him that a still thin voice often works better to bring people back to God than the thundering power of earthquake winder fire.

And just as the phrase we discussed in the last episode, this beautiful phrase called mama taka appears in one of the main prayers of the service on Yom Kipur, the very important Jewish holiday completely dedicated to repentance.

One of my greatest teachers, Rabbi Jonathan Sachs of Blessed Memory, had a beautiful statement about the still small voice, and I want to share it with you.

Rabbi Sach said, the desert is a place of silence.

There's nothing visual to distract you, and there's no noise to muffle sound.

Of course, when the Israelites received the Torah, there was thunder and lightning and the sound of a shofar.

The earth felt as if it were shaking at its foundations.

But in a later age, when the prophet Elijah stood at the same mountain after his confrontation with the prophets of Baal, he encountered God not in the whirlwind or the fire or the earthquake, but in the cold mamadka, in the still small voice, literally the sound of a slender silence.

I define this as the sound that you can hear only if you're listening.

To hear the voice of God.

You need a listening silence in the soul.

We've seen in the past couple of episodes that Elijah's life is still remembered by the Chosen people today in many of our traditions and customs.

We see it.

We see Elijah's life that is taking hold in what we do.

There's more than one Jewish custom that we do in the name of Elijah.

I'll share this one with you twice.

In this story, Elijah told God that the children of Israel have forsaken your covenant, and that's a pretty harsh statement, isn't it.

Well, there's actually a Jewish custom that still followed today that is explained by this story.

The bris or the breet.

The Jewish naming and the circumcision ceremony for every Jewish male baby begins by welcoming Elijah the prophet.

Jewish tradition says that God required Elijah to attend every Jewish circumcision ceremony for all of eternity as a reminder that the Chosen people have not abandoned God's covenant, the covenant that we are still performing today, just as Abraham did so long ago.

We believe that Elijah's spirit still comes to these ceremonies, and we welcome him in so that he can see that we have not abandoned God's covenant.

As he once said, Elijah had seen miracles, but he didn't find peace there.

He saw fire, but that didn't soothe his ache.

It was the silence that held him.

The theologian Kureker Guard once wrote, the function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.

I think that Elijah learned that in the silence of the cave.

He came wanting answers, and he left with a mantle to pass and a journey to finish.

And maybe that was better than clarity.

If you've felt like the cave lately, if you've screamed to heaven and only heard your own echo, maybe the whisper has already come.

Maybe it was in the friend who checked on you, the breath that finally came after sobbing, the moment your child smiled when you had nothing left to give.

Elijah didn't need another storm.

He needed to remember that God still speaks when the fire dies down.

So eat the bread, drink the water, let yourself sleep, and then rise.

There's a road ahead, still a mission still unfolding.

There's still a God who speaks, even if it's in a still small voice, Especially if it's in a still small voice.

You are not abandoned, You are not forgotten, You are never alone.

Listen to the Chosen People with Yle Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the Prey dot Com app today.

This Prey dog comproduction is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents, Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabager and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of The Chosen People with Yile Eckstein, edited by Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Coltofianu.

Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Junior, Rosanna Pilcher, and Mitch Leshinsky, and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore.

Music by Andrew Morgan Smith, written by Aaron Salvado, bre Rosalie and Chris Baig.

Special thanks to Bishop Paulinier, Robin van Ettin, kayleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, Rabbi Edward Abramson, and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews.

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