They called him a prophet.
He had a strong voice and eyes that pierced like a sword. I remember how he stood in the center of our camp, robes flowing, hands lifted toward the sky. Fire fell from the heavens—just like he said it would—and the people gasped in awe. Even my own knees buckled.
I am Eliav, a simple tent-maker from the tribe of Reuben. You won’t find my name in any scroll, but I was there when our nation’s faith was tested.
The man spoke with certainty, declaring dreams and visions. He said God had a new path for us now, that we had misunderstood Moses, that the commandments needed “adjusting.” He even used the miracle—fire from the sky—as proof.
Some followed him.
Even my brother.
“You saw the fire,” Lemuel whispered to me one night, eyes wide with wonder. “How could it come down from heaven if he isn’t speaking truth?”
I didn’t have answers. So I went to the Levites—those who studied the laws Moses gave us. I asked them, “If a man shows signs and wonders, and they come true, but he says we should follow other gods—what then?”
They pointed me to the words Moses gave us in Devarim—what we now call Deuteronomy—chapter 13. The words chilled me. “Even if a sign comes to pass,” they warned me, “if he tells you to go after other gods, do not listen. For the Lord your God is testing you—to know whether you love Him with all your heart and soul.”
Testing us.
I walked home in silence, the desert wind tugging at my cloak. That night, I didn’t sleep. I stared at the stars, whispering prayers until sunrise. I thought about Egypt—how God spared us with miracles. I remembered Mount Sinai, when we heard His voice thunder on the mountain. Could I forget all that just because I saw fire again?
In the morning, I stood before Lemuel and others gathered around this so-called prophet.
“I will not follow him,” I said. “Even if he calls fire from the sky again, I will not walk away from the God of our fathers.”
The man turned to me. His voice was calm, yet sharp. “You choose the old ways, the path of struggle.”
“I choose the path God gave us,” I said. “And I choose to trust Him—even when it’s hard.”
Some mocked me. Even Lemuel turned his face. But others looked uncertain. One young girl, no more than thirteen, stepped back from the crowd and stood beside me.
That day, our leaders acted. They exposed the man’s lies and reminded the camp that no sign—no matter how spectacular—can overrule the word God gave through Moses.
I lost the closeness of my brother for a while. But not my faith.
And over time, Lemuel returned, humbled. We wept together, brothers reunited—not through signs, but through truth.
The desert was a place of testing—for the body, yes, but even more for the soul. And now I know: God sometimes allows us to see lies… to test if our hearts still know the truth.
They called him a prophet.
He had a strong voice and eyes that pierced like a sword. I remember how he stood in the center of our camp, robes flowing, hands lifted toward the sky. Fire fell from the heavens—just like he said it would—and the people gasped in awe. Even my own knees buckled.
I am Eliav, a simple tent-maker from the tribe of Reuben. You won’t find my name in any scroll, but I was there when our nation’s faith was tested.
The man spoke with certainty, declaring dreams and visions. He said God had a new path for us now, that we had misunderstood Moses, that the commandments needed “adjusting.” He even used the miracle—fire from the sky—as proof.
Some followed him.
Even my brother.
“You saw the fire,” Lemuel whispered to me one night, eyes wide with wonder. “How could it come down from heaven if he isn’t speaking truth?”
I didn’t have answers. So I went to the Levites—those who studied the laws Moses gave us. I asked them, “If a man shows signs and wonders, and they come true, but he says we should follow other gods—what then?”
They pointed me to the words Moses gave us in Devarim—what we now call Deuteronomy—chapter 13. The words chilled me. “Even if a sign comes to pass,” they warned me, “if he tells you to go after other gods, do not listen. For the Lord your God is testing you—to know whether you love Him with all your heart and soul.”
Testing us.
I walked home in silence, the desert wind tugging at my cloak. That night, I didn’t sleep. I stared at the stars, whispering prayers until sunrise. I thought about Egypt—how God spared us with miracles. I remembered Mount Sinai, when we heard His voice thunder on the mountain. Could I forget all that just because I saw fire again?
In the morning, I stood before Lemuel and others gathered around this so-called prophet.
“I will not follow him,” I said. “Even if he calls fire from the sky again, I will not walk away from the God of our fathers.”
The man turned to me. His voice was calm, yet sharp. “You choose the old ways, the path of struggle.”
“I choose the path God gave us,” I said. “And I choose to trust Him—even when it’s hard.”
Some mocked me. Even Lemuel turned his face. But others looked uncertain. One young girl, no more than thirteen, stepped back from the crowd and stood beside me.
That day, our leaders acted. They exposed the man’s lies and reminded the camp that no sign—no matter how spectacular—can overrule the word God gave through Moses.
I lost the closeness of my brother for a while. But not my faith.
And over time, Lemuel returned, humbled. We wept together, brothers reunited—not through signs, but through truth.
The desert was a place of testing—for the body, yes, but even more for the soul. And now I know: God sometimes allows us to see lies… to test if our hearts still know the truth.
