The Fall of Zeboiim (a story)

Zeboiim, a city gleaming with opulence, was renowned for its wealth and beauty. Its grand palaces and temples to false gods made it a beacon of indulgence in a world ruled by greed. The streets were lined with merchants hawking expensive wares, the air thick with the laughter of banquets, and the air so saturated with luxury that it drowned out any thought of the divine. The people of Zeboiim were untouchable, or so they believed. Their hearts were as cold as the gold they wore, their souls rotting beneath the veneer of power.

At the center of this city stood the Erez family. Eliab, the patriarch, was a man of sharp wit and sharper deals. His wealth knew no bounds, his influence extended to the highest circles of power in Zeboiim. His wife, Jelah, was the picture of beauty and grace, beloved by all but untouched by any true compassion. Their two sons, Yonah and Zikri, were raised in the lap of luxury, taught only the importance of status and wealth-and how to achieve it.

The Erez family lived in a chateau, high above the city’s humble dwellings, looking down from their perch of superiority. They had all they could ever want—except, perhaps, a sense of humility or a heart willing to listen. They were the living proof that pride, once nurtured, could turn to arrogance so thick that it choked the voice of reason.

    It was on an evening thick with the promise of decadence when the stranger arrived. His name was Malak, a wandering prophet with eyes that burned like coals, his clothes threadbare and worn, his face shadowed by a deep sorrow. He had come not to the city's leaders or the wealthy houses first, but to the people. He went to the temple, to the market, and to the crowded streets, delivering the same unrelenting message to anyone who would listen:

"Repent, O people of Zeboiim! For the Lord has seen your sin and will not delay His judgment much longer. Your hearts are filled with wickedness and pride, and unless you turn back to the Creator, the fire will fall and consume you!"

Most ignored him. Some mocked him. Few cared. But there were whispers of his words—disquieting, yet easily dismissed amid the clatter of feasts and the glow of golden treasures.

Malak, though, did not relent. He knew the time was short. So, he made his way to the grand home of the Erez family, drawn there by a deep sense of foreboding. The gates of their mansion stood open, and from within came the sounds of laughter and clinking silverware. This, he knew, was where his message needed to be delivered.

    Inside, the Erez family gathered for a lavish banquet. The table was laden with meats from distant lands, fruits of every color, and goblets of wine poured high. Eliab sat at the head, proudly recounting his latest business deals to a small circle of guests. He was the picture of confidence, his life a series of well-calculated moves that had brought him wealth beyond his wildest dreams.

Jelah, his wife, sat at his side, her attention half on the conversation, half on admiring the sheen of her golden bracelets. Yonah, the older son, was discussing his latest venture in trading exotic spices, while Zikri, the younger, was amusing himself with a golden trinket from the feast.

When Malak entered, the room fell silent for a brief moment. His presence was strange—an unsettling ripple in the otherwise smooth fabric of the night. But it was the sharpness in his eyes, the weight in his voice that made those who were looking pause.

"Eliab, Jelah, Yonah, Zikri," Malak began, his voice ringing clear and firm. "I have come with a message for you, from the Lord, The Almighty One.  You are blind to your own destruction. The city of Zeboiim is filled with wickedness, and unless you repent, it will be consumed by the fire of judgment. You will not escape it."

The Erez family looked at one another, exchanging glances. Eliab scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "What is this madness? A beggar coming to our home to speak of judgment? Do you not see that we have all that we need?" He gestured grandly at the opulent surroundings. "Our city is prosperous, and we—" He paused, locking eyes with Malak. "We are untouchable. The gods favor us. You have no power here."

Malak’s eyes darkened, but he stood still, his posture unwavering. "It is not the gods of Zeboiim who hold power over you, but the one true God. You feast while others starve. You mock the laws of righteousness and turn away from mercy."

Eliab stood up, his face contorted in contempt. "Enough of your nonsense," he snapped. "You must be hungry from your travels. We will give you some bread and wine, as is customary to a traveler." He waved to one of the servants.

But as the servant moved to bring the offering, Malak’s gaze never left Eliab’s face. "I do not seek your charity, nor your bread," he replied, his voice calm but heavy with weight. "I seek repentance. Your heart is hardened by your wealth, but your arrogance will not save you when The Lord’s fire descends upon you. A man who cannot see the plight of those around him is blind, and no feast will cure his blindness."

At this, Jelah, who had been silent until now, stood up, her voice laced with a mixture of pity and disdain. "You are but a ragged prophet, speaking of things you cannot understand. We have wealth, we have power—what do you have to offer us?" Her words were sharp, dripping with mockery. "You speak of repentance as if we are in need of it."

Malak’s eyes met hers with unflinching sorrow. "You have nothing that will save you from what is to come. All your wealth, your fine food, your power—they will be dust. Only the humble and the contrite will be spared, and you have neither humility nor repentance."

Before Jelah could respond, a tremor suddenly shook the ground beneath them. The light in the room flickered, and the air grew cold. The flames of the candles in the chandeliers wavered, casting strange shadows upon the walls. It was as if the very earth itself was groaning in agony.

Yonah, eyes wide with panic, looked around. "What… what is happening?"

Eliab, still defiant, gripped the edge of the table. "This is nothing but a trick. A warning from no one," he growled.

But as if in response to his words, a bolt of lightning streaked through the open door, striking the great tower in the distance. The thunder that followed shook the very foundations of their mansion, rattling the windows and causing the floors to tremble violently. The once-stable walls began to crack and crumble.

Malak, his expression now solemn and unyielding, turned toward the family. "You were warned, but your hearts are hardened. Now, the time has come."

As the ground split beneath them, and the flames began to spread from the tower, the Erez family, paralyzed by their pride, tried to escape. But the earth opened wide before them, swallowing their opulent home and everything they had built. Their cries for mercy were drowned in the roar of the fire, their once-grand mansion reduced to smoldering ruins.

The city of Zeboiim burned. The streets were engulfed in flames, the temples to false gods crumbled, and the cries of the people were silenced by the roar of destruction. The Erez family, too proud to listen, had perished in the fire they had long been warned of.

Malak stood at the edge of the city, watching as the judgment of Adonai unfolded. His task was complete, and the lesson was clear: no amount of wealth or power could stand against the righteous fury of the Creator. The arrogance of the Erez family, their refusal to show mercy or humility, had led to their downfall.

And so, Zeboiim was no more. In the ashes, only one truth remained—those who ignore the call to repentance will ultimately fall, no matter how high they may rise.

 

 

 

Image is ai generated