The Keeper of the Scroll

By Daniel Kunin

World War II has been over for many years. But no one has forgotten Lilith’s Abode, where the fires raged and the chimneys touched the sky.

Eleven-year-old Ada encounters some of the survivors when she visits her grandfather for the summer. These “lost souls” live in a manoir under the watchful eye of the Keeper of Spinka, who is a friend of her grandfather’s.

The keeper is an old man now, but Ada can still see the numbers that were branded on his arm during the war. She can also see his magical gifts.

As the keeper gets to know Ada, he reveals the source of his magic and the prophecy that will utterly transform Ada’s life. She is burdened and uncertain whether she can shoulder the enormous responsibility with which she is entrusted. And then she’s called upon to embark on an important and dangerous mission—to travel back in time to try to right a wrong. But the journey is perilous. Does Ada have the courage to accept her destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Kunin
• Release date: Nov 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533599322

Daniel Kunin

Daniel Kunin is a clinical psychologist and a grandchild of two Holocaust survivors. He received his doctorate in clinical psychology from Concordia University. Keeping the promise he made as a child to his grandparents—a promise to always remember those who were lost—he was inspired to write The Keeper of the Scroll. Daniel lives in Montreal, Canada. This is his first novel.

Book preview

The Keeper of the Scroll

by Daniel Kunin

© 2016 Daniel Kunin

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1533599327

ISBN 13: 9781533599322

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016909314

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

North Charleston, South Carolina

Prologue

Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.

Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5; Yerushalmi Talmud 4:9, Babylonian Talmud Sanhedrin 37a

In the land of the Maramures, in the village of Spinka, a boy was born between the Great Man Wars. Some said he was a messenger of the Lord sent to watch over and protect them from the evil invading their land. And the Lord fashioned the boy a tiny scroll of parchment, etched with the names of the angels whom he could summon in times of need. And wherever the boy went, the scroll went, and the Lord’s presence was felt.

The revered sage had already seen that the boy, still in childhood, was righteous among his peers and that the Lord had given him many heavenly gifts, including a voice that could move the souls of men. So he tutored him in the ways of the Lord and prepared him for the honorable role of keeper of Spinka. And never once did he divulge the secret of the boy’s identity: that he was among the blessed concealed.

And as the years passed, and the feather hats overran their land, the time had come to board the boxcars. The keeper bowed his head, shamefaced, convinced he had failed in the eyes of the Lord. My heart pains me on this day of mourning as the exodus of Spinka unfolds. Teacher, I am humbled by my helplessness.

Angered, the sage tugged at his lapel. Keeper of Spinka, righteous among men, you have served the Lord dutifully and have no reason to bow your head. We shall make this journey, if this is his will. Teary eyed, the keeper helped the sage into the boxcar, then his son, and then his kinsmen, one by one.

Seal the wagons. The feather hat’s voice echoed through the boxcars. Without delay, the steam train commenced, the whistle sounded, and the locomotive began to roll.

Before long, the train came to a halt amid the beautiful Carpathian landscape. I’m thirsty, Papa. The keeper removed a canteen from his rucksack and poured a few drops of water into his son’s mouth. A little more, Papa, the boy pleaded, his lips pruned.

We must conserve our water, for the journey is long. The keeper wiped the sweat from his son’s brow.

Just then, the boxcar opened, diluting the suffocating stench from inside. Abraham. The feather hat mocked the elderly, God-fearing man. Empty the crapper. He pointed to a gully some meters from where the boxcar stood. In haste, the old man tried to lift the overflowing waste bucket only to buckle under its weight. Stinky sod. The feather hat cackled as the old man lay covered in filth. But the others in the boxcar were hardly amused, cursing at the old man for adding to their misery.

With each train stop, the feather hats robbed them of their remaining possessions. Water for gold, they said.

With his canteen empty, desperate to comfort his son, the keeper wrested a gold crown from his mouth. He called to the feather hat through the small wired aperture. I have some gold to trade.

Show me your gold, Abraham.

The keeper wiped his bloodstained crown and dangled it before the wires. All at once the boxcar opened, and the keeper extended both hands, his gold crown in one and his empty canteen in the other. The feather hat inspected the crown, placed it in his pocket, and filled the canteen with water from his own flask.

Within the overheated boxcar, the revered sage urged his kinsmen not to lose faith. Shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?

But they said desperately, There is no justice in this suffering. The Lord has forsaken us and left us to the Lilith. Curse God and die.

When nightfall came and the people slept, the sage awoke from a prophetic dream. In the distance was a towering tree that touched a brilliant blue sky. All at once, there was a thunderous roar, the blue sky turned ashen, and the ground was stained blood red, but the towering tree stood unscathed. Roused by his dream, the sage called to his disciples to bring forth the keeper.

The keeper knelt beside him. You have called for me?

"Not I but the Lord speaks out to you. Darkness is upon us, and death is near, but you will be spared. Guard the scroll close to your heart lest it should fall into the hands of the wayward ones, who may misuse its powers to wreak havoc upon the world. And when you have grown old in years, long after this churban has passed, a descendant of Spinka will emerge with a soul that is as righteous as your own, and on this descendant you will confer the scroll." The keeper kissed his teacher’s hand and returned to comfort his son.

The next morning, as the dream had