Just when you thought I’d spared you all those tedious battles in the Old Testament, I hit you with The Big One. Yes, I mean World War II.

When the war broke out in Europe, thousands of Canadian sch0olboys flocked to enlist. They had no idea what they were getting into–how could they? But the world needed saving, and they were eager to do the job.

Dodging Shells lets you into the mind of one of those boys, and I think you’re going to like it there. Oh, there’s plenty of grit and sweat and blood–it was a nasty bitch of a war, after all, and Tommy’s fighting in the front lines. But his letters to his twin sister in Toronto show all the spunk and fun he brought over from home–he’ll keep you laughing.

Why am I the one to tell the story? Well, on this blog, I’ll be filling you in on that, as well as a lot of other things about Tommy, and Toronto during wartime. I’ll post a poll, and you can tell me what you want to know. For now, suffice it to say that in the course of writing the book, I’ve learned how to fire a WWII mortar. Okay, I’ve never actually seen one in person, but I’d recognize one if it appeared, in pieces, on my front lawn, and my enemies would have cause for mild concern. Can you say the same? (If you can, you’ll love the book.)

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pickup sticks (not the ones The Lord used)

Finally – and solely for his own amusement this time – God performed one more little trick with sticks that appeared to forge the tribes of Israel into one people again, and he fondly imagined them living happily in the land of Israel, peaceful and prosperous and gratefully honouring their Lord forever. This was clearly just a bit of wishful thinking. But he truly was determined to return them to Israel from Babylon…just as soon as they learned their lesson.

In anticipation of this happy homecoming, The Lord started developing plans for the kind of house he felt he’d be comfortable in. He certainly wasn’t about to simply trust the children of Israel to get it right – he knew by now how quickly his needs could be brushed aside if he wasn’t forceful in his demands – so he presented his design concept to Ezekiel in an instructional vision hosted by a virtual handyman with a flax string and measuring reed who bustled about throughout the tour, measuring everything in sight and ostentatiously making notes of the particulars. Everything was documented: walls and gates, doors and windows, serviceable tables and stylish, custom built altars. The design included a large, up-to-date kitchen area, suitable for baking and boiling sacrificial offerings during major feasts. Nothing was left to chance.

Gradually, the vision expanded to encompass the city of Jerusalem itself, as it was to be rebuilt, complete with suggested landscaping; walled, and with twelve separate gates: one for each of the tribes, in order to avoid petty squabbles.

The Lord knew better than to rely too heavily on Ezekiel’s memory. “You’d better get busy,” he insisted. “You’re going to want to prepare some effective visual aids to help you sell this concept to your fellow Jews.”

Obediently, Ezekiel pulled a spare scrap of scroll out from the sleeve of his robe and started sketching feverishly, while the details were still fresh in his mind. Just as he was jotting down the final few notes, The Lord added one final instruction:

“By the way,” he said, “I want the priests to wear linen from now on. No wool. Wool makes them sweat. And then they scratch. I don’t want people scratching in my house. It’s annoying.”

Ezekiel’s dismay at the impending destruction of Jerusalem was alloyed, it must be admitted, with a smidgen of guilty satisfaction. He’d developed a really distasteful habit of visualizing that unfortunate city personified as the lewdest of harlots, and he spent far too many of his lonely midnight hours lasciviously picturing her spreading her legs for every handsome foreign god who wandered by. His eagerness to embrace this new image of her, stripped naked and brutally murdered by her Assyrian paramour was just downright unhealthy.

Perhaps a little uncomfortable with the corollary image of Himself in the undignified role of cuckolded husband to this faithless city, The Lord quickly whipped up yet another vision to distract the over-imaginative prophet. Ezekiel was immediately whisked away to a valley strewn thick with bones. As he watched (it was hard to tear his eyes away!) the bones hopped and scuttled about, sorting themselves into appropriate stacks and rebuilding themselves into human skeletons. After a few mismatched limbs hurriedly located their assigned locations, flesh and skin was laid on in a most realistic fashion and the wind breathed life into the lot. The Lord hovered nearby, touchingly proud of this impressive bit of illustrative drama.

This time he was barely disappointed when Ezekiel failed to perceive the underlying symbolism. “How can you not grasp this?” he groaned. “It’s crystal clear! My long-term goal – not anytime soon, you understand, but when the time is right for best dramatic effect – is to open the graves of the ages and bring the dead back into Israel!”

The prophet felt somewhat ambivalent about this particular scheme . . . who wouldn’t be? But he hid his reservations, and applauded supportively.

First, God helped Ezekiel build a model of Jerusalem out of a few tiles and a pan. Waiting till a crowd gathered around the cunningly crafted model, The Lord whispered his instructions in Ezekiel’s ear, “Lie down on your left side . . . that’s it. One day for each year of the iniquity of the house of Israel. That would be three hundred and ninety days. Then on your right side. One day for each year of the iniquity of the house of Judah . . . that’s another forty days. Keep your eye on the teeny Jerusalem, there, so that you don’t forget the point of all this! Here, just in case your mind wanders, I’ll tie you down so you can’t move.”

Naturally, Ezekiel wasn’t left without food for the duration of this prolonged piece of performance art. In preparation, God had given him a strict diet to follow – so much meat, so much water per day – and had instructed him to bake a nourishing supply of multi-grain bread, fortified with beans and lentils. Playfully checking to see whether the little chef was still listening, The Lord slipped human excrement into the list of ingredients. This caught the prophet’s attention! Ever so respectfully, he asked whether this particular ingredient might be optional, pleading a sensitive stomach . . . he had always been very careful about his diet—

The Lord, chuckling, relented and allowed him to substitute cow’s dung.

In case it hasn’t become clearly apparent by now, this amusing entertainment was somehow supposed to teach the captive Jews that Jerusalem would be under siege by the Assyrians before long. Food would be scarce, as would water. The lesson might have had even greater impact if the people had been forced to eat the dung cakes themselves instead of just hearing about the experience at second hand from Ezekiel – however dramatically described.

Another complicated object lesson required that Ezekiel sacrifice his coiffure and his beard, abusing the hairs in various carefully prescribed ways designed to represent the punishments The Lord planned to visit on the remaining inhabitants of Jerusalem. The captive Jews no doubt enjoyed a rich chuckle from the spectacle of the diminutive prophet hacking away at his fistful of hairs, and before long, they were treated to the ridiculous sight of a hairless Ezekiel, stamping out a grim little dance and smacking his hands together to illustrate God’s assault on the house of Israel.

But when famine, fire and pestilence struck their relatives at home, and fathers cast hungry eyes on the more tender parts of their sons, and the sons balanced their waning fondness for their fathers against the nutritional value of very close relatives . . . well, Ezekiel and The Lord had the last laugh. Jerusalem was in big trouble.

During the period of their captivity in Babylon, the Jews had to become quite inventive in order to keep their spirits up. Even the priests were expected to contribute an interesting selection of visions to augment the traditional tales with which the people whiled away the dreary hours. Naturally, some were more successful than others. One of the most creative was a self-effacing little priest named Ezekiel.

Among his most popular offerings – it came to him in broad daylight – was a set of four brassy multi-winged creatures, sporting four faces apiece, only a scattering of which were human, and accompanied by wheels . . . with eyes. Above them perched a throne, with what appeared to be a man sitting thereon. This was understood to be merely an image of the Glory of God, of course, because it will be remembered that God was rather shy about having his own likeness on display, and would never have allowed it (a subtle distinction, to the common layman.)

What might have seemed like a hallucination in a lesser man satisfied Ezekiel that he was in the presence of The Lord himself.

Having hand-picked Ezekiel to deliver a most important message to the Jews, The Lord was acutely aware of his messenger’s weaknesses as well as his more stellar qualities. The wee prophet was as faithful as any master could have required, but his memory left a little something to be desired. Anticipating a potential problem and not wishing to put any unnecessary strain on Ezekiel’s limited intellectual capacity, The Lord had the foresight to write his message on a scroll, which he instructed the obliging priest to eat – perhaps intending the information to be absorbed through his stomach lining by an innovative application of osmosis. The addition of a celestial sweetener made the words taste of honey, and Ezekiel was able to nibble his way through the entire scroll without even the hint of a bellyache.

He was finishing up the last few phrases when God thought to give him a heads-up. “Just so you know,” he warned, “you’ll be kidding yourself if you think the house of Israel will listen to one word of it.” This must have made the whole meal seem a bit pointless, but Ezekiel was much too loyal to say so.

In fact, The Lord must have had some very serious concerns about the prophet’s safety, for he took the singular precaution of strengthening Ezekiel’s forehead so that it would be harder than flint. (It must be assumed that the children of Israel had formed an unseemly habit, at that time, of butting heads with anyone whose pronouncements displeased them; otherwise The Lord would not have found it necessary to provide Ezekiel with this particularly unusual form of protection.)

The wheely, winged creatures – which must have been much more corporeal than he had any reason to suspect – carried Ezekiel from vision dream-land back to Babylon where he sat, stunned, for the next week or so. Eventually, God noticed him sitting there, appearing to be somewhat unclear about the exact nature of his duties as prophet; perhaps the slow-witted priest assumed that eating the book had been enough, and that no further action need be taken.

“Look,” The Lord suggested, testily, “if you don’t get busy warning the people to reform their wicked ways right away,” (that appears to have been one of the issues covered in the book) “you’re going to be paying for their sins out of your own pocket!”

Unfortunately, this ultimatum simply sent the little man to bed with a sick headache and God was forced to realize that his plan was not going at all well. He cast about for a more creative way to spread his message.

Down through the ages have come the sacred proverbs – many, many proverbs – some pithy and useful, some repetitive and trite. (They are not hard to find, so it’s unnecessary to repeat them here.)

We seem to detect the work of two contributing deities. There is The Lord, who requires nothing beyond obedience to His laws. He is more than happy to manage for His people, no matter how many, and discourages all attempts at understanding.

“Trust Me,” He says. “I’ll take care of you. And you’ll know if you put a foot wrong, because I’ll make you suffer for it.”

His influence can be detected most clearly in the several hundred proverbs which reiterate – in myriad ever so slightly varying word combinations – one central theme: that doing the right thing (don’t fret . . . He’ll let you know what that is) will be well rewarded. Refusing to do so is wicked and will be punished in a variety of both general and very concrete ways.

Fittingly, His sister deity is Wisdom, and her message is quite different. Like The Lord, She has existed from the beginning of time. She was His playmate before ever He was inspired to create heaven and earth, and She was glad to help Him do it, but their collaboration ended there. Blind obedience has no place in Her requirements. Encouraging all to seek knowledge and understanding, She offers long life, honour and the richest of rewards to those who learn to think for themselves.

One can easily see how these two deities, like so many other siblings, might have drifted apart. The Lord, by His own admission, was a jealous god, and He didn’t want to share. It’s not impossible to sort out which of the proverbs were more likely inspired by Wisdom.

It seems almost impertinent to suggest that intermingled with the production of such Titans might be the dribblings of a mere mortal, but to this conclusion we are unavoidably drawn. Someone had to collate and transcribe these divinely inspired hints for self-improvement – the deities couldn’t be expected to do it themselves – and the anonymous individual who took on this responsibility, becoming immersed in the words of advice, allowed himself to slip in a few thoughts of his own.

One can only guess what little family drama was playing itself out in the home of this man, but he appears to be determined to warn his own son of the dangers of consorting with loose women. Spoken words are so fleeting – indeed, the boy barely listened to him at the best of times – and he could imagine no better way to preserve his recommendations than to intersperse them among the sacred proverbs.

Accordingly, he sprinkled in his admonitions, describing in suspiciously intimate detail the flattering words, the beauty, the lips, the very eyelids of the women to be avoided. Such women are predators, he insists, endlessly on the prowl for innocent, upstanding family men to seduce and destroy. Once in the clutches of such a one, a man could never get free of her, and shouldn’t even be expected to try.

As an example, he says . . . purely hypothetically, he says . . . there might be just such a woman living down the street and around that corner (you can see it clearly from the window there), lying in wait. And if a man were to pass her way in the evening or in the dark of night (perhaps both – sometimes in the evening, and sometimes late at night), she might grab him and kiss him and drag him into her house and up to her bed. He would be powerless to resist. He couldn’t be blamed. Who could blame him? Her bed would be hung with tapestries and covered with fine Egyptian linen. It would be perfumed, with myrrh and aloes and cinnamon . . . but I’m just guessing! She would seduce him, quite completely against his will, the hussy. He might stay till morning, because her husband might be away on a long journey and definitely couldn’t get home that night. (Did I mention that this is just hypothetical?) And the next time he happened to inadvertently find himself in her bed, she might pester him for money, the whore . . . there never was such a spendthrift! Money runs through her fingers like water through a sieve . . . .

And let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that her husband did find out. It would cause a terrible scene! He would be in a jealous rage and insist on vengeance, and there would be no buying him off at any price . . . probably. Think of the trouble it would take to hush all that up!

Anyway, he says, believe me, you don’t want to have to go through all that. Find yourself a good, decent, hard-working wife, and try to be satisfied with her. Stay away from loose women. And especially avoid that house around the corner.

At the last minute, perhaps thinking to render his particular agenda just a touch less obvious, our scrivener dashed off a few introductory lines warning his beloved son against the insidious lure of cut-throats and bandits – those who lurk in the dark, waiting to rob and murder innocent passers-by indiscriminately in various bloody ways. They’ll try to entice you to join them, he promises. It may sound like a whole lot of fun, but don’t you do it!

Having inserted this bright red herring, he appears to have been satisfied that he’s covered his tracks and duly consigns his work to the ages.

Even after the prophet Jeremiah was turned loose by the Babylonians, he stubbornly chose to remain in Jerusalem where he spent his time haranguing the few remaining inhabitants against fleeing into Egypt. This time he had God’s unreserved approval.

The Lord was already worried about the number of Jewish ex-patriots in Egypt who had converted with considerable enthusiasm to the worship of the Goddess of Heaven. They had formed a community avid in its search for Wisdom, and God was not at all eager for that recalcitrant tendency to spread any further. As usual, Jeremiah’s efforts had limited success, for many of the people in Judah and Jerusalem had continued to cherish a soft spot in their hearts for the Queen of Heaven, remembering the happiness and comfort they had enjoyed while they followed a path of self-fulfillment under her nurturing eye. It was hard to ignore the impression that their quality of life began sliding rapidly downhill when they were forced to stop honouring her. The women, particularly, had felt delegated to the sidelines, and they pined for the old days when they had been encouraged to have a thought. There was little left to bind them here, and they embraced the opportunity to emigrate to Egypt where they might be free to worship as they chose. The men, for their part, saw an immediate advantage in saving their asses from the wrath of their Babylonian conquerors and complacently agreed to tag along.

God, of course, vowed he’d kill them all – every last one of them – but by that time Jeremiah was the only one listening.

And he listened with a most sympathetic ear. The Lord raged at the betrayal, ranting that Jerusalem had become an aging harlot, lusting after every passing god. He seemed to forget once again that the Jews had always been fickle. Even when they were wandering in the wilderness, all those years ago, they had exhibited an unmistakably roving eye. But perhaps the defection appeared less forgivable in a woman or a city of a ‘certain age’ – after a god had settled into an easy complacency, and come to take their devotion for granted.

In his eagerness to be supportive, Jeremiah conjured up the most lurid mental images. “I see the whore Jerusalem starving . . . withering . . . bleeding . . . dying. She is in rags, and her bones poke through her naked flesh. In her agony, she is reduced to devouring her own children. Her gaunt jaws open . . . .”

When he lingered with such obvious relish over this notion, God began to suspect that he was enjoying himself entirely too much, and in a rather unwholesome fashion.

“That’s enough!” ordered the Lord. He rather regretted introducing the subject at all. “In the future,” he suggested curtly, “perhaps we should limit ourselves to discussing less stimulating topics.”

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It would be natural to suppose that the prophet Isaiah’s desire for women had been quite destroyed by his distaste for all things feminine. Not so! In fact he dreamt of a world where each man was pursued by a barrage of females, offering their bodies and their worldly goods if only they could be married – having been convinced that this and this alone would cleanse them of their sins. He had this dream a lot. The women in his nocturnal fantasies had, no doubt, abandoned their flashy clothes and their frivolous jewellery. In fact, they were probably quite naked.

As he roamed the land, conscientiously searching out vain women in order to report their sartorial transgressions to the Lord, Isaiah’s eye eventually fell on a prophetess who was much more to his taste. (We can only assume that she draped herself in unadorned sackcloth and neglected her hair altogether.) An unaccustomed and very physical passion rose up in him, and before it could be quelled by any stray whiff of perfume or strand of natural curl, he trailed her to her lodgings and beat upon the door, proposing in the most perfunctory terms to honour her with his holy seed. Because her thoughts flowed in a more heavenly direction – and because she found him unattractive in so very many ways – the woman respectfully declined his generous offer, insisting that he leave the premises immediately and take his precious seed with him.

Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to bring along two of his most devoted followers to record the glorious occasion for posterity. When their powers of persuasion seemed unlikely to sway her, their four strong arms were usefully employed restraining the screaming, thrashing maiden as the irritated prophet hurried to impregnate her before the mood was completely spoiled.

Isaiah was leaving – in fact, he was half way down the block – when he remembered that he and he alone had the power to cleanse this woman of the terrible sin of fornication. Feeling ever so righteous, he reluctantly returned to offer her the precious boon of marriage.

“Are you decent, yet?” he ventured, peering around the door jamb. “I find that I cannot leave without putting this right.” A damp linen rag narrowly missed his right ear. Despite her distraught condition, the dishevelled victim appeared to have excellent coordination

“You don’t understand,” he explained rather testily, keeping well to the left of the doorway and out of missile range. “I feel it is my sacred duty, at whatever cost to my own delicate sensitivities, to wipe away your sin and make a decent woman of you. Of course, it will be most inconvenient – I have several other pressing commitments – but I am prepared to marry you immediately…allowing you, of course a decent period for prayer and repentance.”

Sadly, the prophetess’ views on the value and sanctity of his suggestion varied dramatically from his own. The differences were quite irreconcilable. She turned him down indignantly and definitely and in the very most colourful language and Isaiah was forced to beat a hasty and most ignominious retreat, dodging the barrage of domestic utensils which she fired after him by way of emphasis.

God sent the prophet Isaiah to King Hezekiah with a warning.

“Don’t get too complacent, because God intends that the people of Judah be carried into captivity in Babylon like the Israelites were,” he announced, “. . . just not right now.” He must have felt that the king was not sufficiently upset about this, because he added, “. . . and another bit of bad news . . . brace yourself . . . I hear that all the prettiest of the royal princes will be neatly altered to serve the Assyrian monarchy as eunuchs!”

This historically significant prophesy gained Isaiah a modest level of fame among the upper classes and, hoping to build on this,  he came eagerly running some time later when King Hezekiah became seriously ill.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you,” he beamed, “You need to start thinking about gathering your family together and getting your affairs in order…any special funeral arrangements, that sort of thing.”

“You don’t mean . . . .” gasped the king.

“Oh, yes! You’re definitely going to die…and soon.”

A more worldly prophet would have realized that this was bound to be received as very bad news indeed.

“No fair!” Hezekiah wailed, directing his comments in the general direction of heaven. “What’s the point being a faithful and righteous servant of The Lord, if I’m only to have my life cut unseasonably short as if I’d been any common sinner?”

In fact, Hezekiah sent up such a whimper over it that God finally decided heaven would be more comfortable without him for a while, and promised to extend his life by another fifteen years, give or take a few days. (Things of this sort are rarely very exact)

Isaiah was given the honour of conveying this decision reversal to the king. Naturally, he felt that this would compromise his reputation for accurate prophesy a bit – people just didn’t understand that God had a habit of changing his mind from time to time – but with as good grace as possible, he told Hezekiah the good news.

“It turns out you’re not going to die after all, so you can get out of bed any time now. God has decided you can have another fifteen years or so.”

The king was understandably shaken by his close call. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! What do you want? A guarantee?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, a sign would be nice . . . something to show that he’ll keep his promise.”

Isaiah was pleased at this opportunity to reinforce his position as Prophet to the Monarchy. “Okay,” he agreed, “but just this once. Watch closely!”

With God’s help, of course, and an appropriately impressive flourish, he turned back time – a full ten degrees on the sun dial. This was undeniably a handy trick and helped to put the king’s mind at ease, but one would think that Isaiah’s influence with The Lord could have been put to better use.

In fact, the giddy Hezekiah used the bonus minutes to brag about his wealth to a group of Babylonian envoys that were in town at the time on some sort of official business and looking for an entertaining way to spend their free time. He ushered them through the palace, flaunting his treasures before their somewhat jaded eyes, and was naively flattered when he noticed that they were taking meticulous notes. When Jerusalem finally fell to the Babylonians, these hastily jotted crib notes would enable the conquerors to carry away every last treasure to Babylon. They didn’t miss a thing. But Hezekiah was dead by then, and past regretting the price of his vanity.