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P-R-O-L-O-G'U-E
in May 14, 1948, the day Israel became a nation, a boy was bom to a Russian-Jewish family named Gad-Erianko in Moscow. His father was Jewish and his mother Gentile. They called him Joshua in honor of the famed leader of Jewish history.
"He is a special boy. He will achieve great things," said his father, Johan Gad-Erianko.
"Hah! Because he is your son? Because you want great things for him?" chided his older brother Abner.
Johan's dark eyes peered into the distance as if searching the horizon. "I know what I know. He is destined for great things. It has nothing to do with me."
"It had better not have anything to do with you!" Abner slapped his shoulder.
"Perhaps despite me, then." Johan forced a smile onto his face. His brother laughed and so did the boy's mother. But Johan knew. Something within his own heart told him. All morning he had known this secret—this terrible secret—of Joshua's greatness. He had tried to explain, but no one had listened, considering it only the babbling of an old man, nearly fifty when his first son was born.