Scene: Netanyahu’s Confession – The Moshiach Debate
Setting: A closed-door think tank summit in Jerusalem, the room thick with incense, cigars, and prophecy. Cameras are off, but whispers are sacred.
Benjamin Netanyahu sits at the head of a long cedarwood table, fingers steepled, brows furrowed in Talmudic meditation.
Bibi Netanyahu:
“I’ve sat with mystics in Tzfat, generals in Tel Aviv, and billionaires in New York. I’ve read the Zohar backwards and the headlines forwards. And still, I hesitate. Is Donald Trump the Moshiach? No. I do not believe he is the Chosen One. He is a Cyrus, yes — useful, unpredictable, even divinely nudged. But not the anointed.”
He pauses, sips from a crystal goblet filled with pomegranate wine, then continues.
Bibi:
“And Abdullah Hashem Aba Al-Sadiq… this Mahdi claimant from the deserts of Arabia. A powerful voice, yes, but I do not believe he is the Qa’im. No green banner will bring global peace alone.”
The room shifts uncomfortably. A few scholars look up from their scrolls.
Bibi (leans in):
“I believe in Yehuda Berg’s theory. The Moshiach and the Mahdi… are one. The same soul. A unifier. A son of David and Ishmael. That is the only path to peace — not through bombs or sanctions, but through a synthesis. A human bridge.”
At this, a red-faced Donald Trump, seated nearby with a Diet Coke in hand, nearly spits it out.
Trump (slamming table):
“Wait a second, Bibi. You told me in 2019 — right before the Abraham Accords — that I was destined to build the Third Temple! You winked when I said I’d make it a resort-slash-casino with kosher blackjack. You said, ‘Donald, you’re the only one who can do it.’ And now you say I’m not the Moshiach?! I moved the embassy to Jerusalem! What more do you want?!”
Bibi (calmly):
“You were used, Donald. By Heaven. But the stone the builders rejected has not yet been crowned. Look to the Psalms of David… ‘The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.’ The rejected one — JCJ, the one who spoke peace in 2002 but was mocked by kings and ignored by prophets.”
Trump (growling):
“JCJ? That weird Canadian hacker priest? The guy who quoted Revelation in that Vancouver alley? You’re telling me he’s the one?”
Bibi (closing his eyes):
“Perhaps. If he is the synthesis — rejected yet risen — he may be both Mahdi and Moshiach. That is what Yehuda hinted at. It is not about lineage… it is about completion.”
Trump glares, wounded.
Trump:
“So I’m not the guy?”
Bibi (rising, solemn):
“You were… a forerunner. The red horse. But the white horse comes after. And he rides not for ratings, but for redemption.”
Outside, a strange wind passes through the olive trees. Somewhere in East Vancouver, JCJ feels a deep chill and looks up at the night sky, whispering to himself:
“The rejected stone… finally being set.”
Scene: Queen Amidala’s Revelation – The Heart of the Prophecy
Setting: A secret council chamber deep beneath the old city of Jerusalem — carved in stone and echoing with ancient resonance. Seated before Queen Amidala are Benjamin Netanyahu and Donald Trump, visibly unsettled. An ethereal blue light pulses softly from the walls, as if the Force itself is listening.
Queen Amidala, radiant yet sorrowed, stands cloaked in Naboo white, her voice regal but full of pain and memory.
Queen Amidala (softly, but with certainty):
“You speak of messiahs and Mahdis, of thrones and temples. But neither of you understands why he came. JCJ didn’t arrive in 2002 for politics, power, or prophecy.”
She turns to Bibi, eyes piercing.
Amidala:
“He came because he heard me. I prayed, Bibi. Not to armies. Not to stars. But to the One who answers prayers. The same One King David praised.”
She steps closer, reciting from memory:
Amidala:
‘To You who hears prayer, to You all flesh shall come.’ — Psalm 65.
A pause. Her words hang in the sacred air.
Amidala (to Trump):
“JCJ did not come for power. He came because love called him. A whisper across galaxies. A cry from Naboo, from Gaza, from the shattered hearts of those who still believe peace is possible.”
Trump scoffs, arms folded.
Trump:
“Love doesn’t build temples. Deals do.”
Amidala (gently, but firm):
“Then you’ve built nothing but dust, Donald. The true temple is made of hearts that forgive. He came not to take thrones, but to heal nations.”
Bibi lowers his head, murmuring:
Bibi:
“I remember… the boy in white… speaking peace at the Wailing Wall. He said, ‘I forgive you all.’ I thought he was mad.”
Amidala:
“He was mad — with compassion. The rejected stone. Just as David wrote. Just as I prayed.”
A soft light fills the room. Outside, bells ring on Mount Zion. Somewhere in East Vancouver, JCJ opens a small, worn prayer book. A single tear falls on Psalm 65.
To You who hears prayer, to You all flesh shall come…