How to Ruin Series Part 23

History is something that should be remembered but never repeated.

Our next stop (after Avi washed his hair in the sink back at the alpaca farm) is a place called Mount Masada. I've never heard of it and I wonder why a "mount" could be a place people would want to go.

But as we drive (And I realize the vast majority of Israel is a barren desert. I truly wonder why it is so sought after.) and we come up to Mount Masada, I ask Avi, "Why are we going to this place?"

"To show you a piece of the history of your people. I think you'll like it."

My people? Who exactly are my people? I'm not sure myself, even though the rest of the gang thinks I'm Jewish. The fact is I've been brought up as nothing.

Mom doesn't believe in religion, just like she doesn't believe in low-carb diets.

We used to light a Christmas tree for the holidays until I realized at the age of seven Santa wasn't a real guy. They should honestly tell the older kids on the school bus not to tell the first graders the truth about the tooth fairy or Santa. You'd be surprised what kids learn on that yellow bus.

Well, after I found out Santa wasn't real, I told Mom I didn't need a tree anymore.

The tree didn't symbolize Christianity or anything. It symbolized Santa. Since the reality of Santa was gone there was no reason for a tree anymore. That was the extent of my religious experience, which wasn't really religious in the first place.

I gaze at the reddish-colored ma.s.sive thing called Mount Masada as I get out of the car. Everybody is taking their water bottles out of the car and I wonder why they aren't staring at the mountain.

"How old is it?" I ask no one in particular.

Moron, with his ever-present gun strapped to his shoulder, says, "The war here was in seventy-three."

I turn to him. "Nineteen seventy-three?"

I guess.

"No. Earlier."

"Fourteen seventy-three?"

"No," Doo-Doo says. "Just plain seventy-three."

Just plain seventy-three? "You mean, like, almost two thousand years ago?"

"Yep."

I gaze again, this time more carefully, at this important mountain in the middle of the Israeli desert. I try to imagine a war here two thousand years ago between the Jews and their enemies.

"I wonder what it's like up there," I say.

"Well, you're about to find out," Avi says as he hands me a water bottle.

"You'll need to drink regularly or you'll get dehydrated during the climb."

"You think I can climb this thing?" I ask.

"I know you can, Amy. Like your ancestors before you. See that winding snake path?"

"Do they call it a snake path because it's infested with snakes?" 'Cause I'm tough, but I've had all the snake experiences for one trip, thank you very much.

"It's called that because of its shape,"

he says, only temporarily rea.s.suring me.

We walk closer to the bottom of the 'mount' and I can make out the narrow, winding path leading to the top. I watch as Doo-Doo, Snotty, Ofra, O'dead, and Moron start their ascent up the mountain.

Off to my left I see a big cable coming from the top. I follow where it leads and the end is a cable car situated at the foot of the mountain.

"Why don't we take the cable car?"

Avi starts toward the supposedly non- infested 'snake' path. "Because then you'll miss the great sense of accomplishment of actually reaching the top on your own. I've done it many times and it's like nothing else."

I follow Avi to the start of the snake path. At first it's easy . . . if I just put one foot in front of the other I'll be at the top in no time at all.

But twenty minutes later, I'm panting and my thigh muscles are starting to quiver.

I mean, Illinois doesn't have mountains, let alone hills, and I'm not used to it. I slow down, and Avi stays right with me. I know he could go way faster up the mountain.

"Go ahead," I say as we reach about midpoint of the thing. "If I don't die of heat exhaustion, I'm going to die of drowning in my own sweat."

He shakes his head.

"I mean it."

"I'm sure you do. Now get those feet moving so we can reach the top before sundown."

I do it, only because he grabs my hand and guides my limp body.

"Who were the Jews fighting here?" I ask. "The Palestinians?"

"No. The Romans."

Why would the Romans want to come here?

"Then why do the Jews hate all Palestinians?"

He stops and turns to me. "We do not hate all Palestinians."

I snort in disbelief. "I'll believe that when I see it on CNN," I tell him.

Finally, the top of Mount Masada is in sight and it's only taken me an hour to walk up the thing. I can't believe I've actually climbed it.

When I reach the top, the ancient ruins amaze me.

"So, the Jews won the battle with the Romans here?" I ask.

O'dead says, "Not really.

Jews committed suicide here."

"Huh?" I say, shocked and a little creeped out.

Ofra steps in front of him. "Our ancestors climbed Masada and lived up here during the war. The Romans were at a loss, they couldn't safely climb the mountain without being attacked from the top of Masada."

Avi leads me to one of the ruins. "It is said nine hundred and sixty Jews lived here. They fought as long as they could, but knew it wouldn't be long before the Romans' weapons would be able to reach the top of it. If they were captured by the Romans, they would be killed or sold into slavery."

I look over at Moron, who's gazing down onto a colorful tile mosaic inside one of the homes built inside the mountain.

It's absolutely beautiful and it touches my heart people lived on this mountain to save themselves and their families.

"So they committed suicide?" I ask.

Avi continues, "They agreed as Jews they should be servants to G.o.d and G.o.d alone. To be sold into slavery wasn't an option. They would rather die bravely as free people than become slaves at the hands of the Romans."

"They destroyed all of their possessions except their food supply so the Romans would know it was not starvation that led to their demise, but to show they preferred death over slavery."

My knees go weak from the story and I get chills all over my body. I can't believe how strong-willed the Jews were . . . and still are. I aimlessly walk on the flat- topped mountain and take in all of the half- walls made of stone my ancestors built.

Touching a brick with my fingers, I imagine the women and men two thousand years ago knowing their chances of survival were slim, but having enough courage to build beautiful homes for themselves that would last thousands of years.

As I scan the top of the mountain, I see a group of soldiers reach the top of Masada and congregate together. I notice little pockets on the sides of their army boots.

"What are those little pockets in their boots?" I ask Moron.

"Americans call the identification tags around a soldier's neck 'dog tags'?"

"Yes."

"Well, Israeli combat soldiers wear tags around their necks and one in each shoe. In case their body parts are separated during combat, they can be identified. It is Jewish custom that every person be buried with all body parts, so every effort is taken to make sure that happens for our soldiers."

Wow. What a somber thing to think about.

"What are they doing?" I ask him as I watch the soldiers gather together and recite some Hebrew words.

"They're taking an oath here 'Masada shall not fall again'," Moron explains.

"This is a very spiritual place for all Jewish people."

As if the rock I was touching is hot, I pull my hand back. "OhmyG.o.d," I say, and stumble backward.

"What?" Avi says, concerned.

"Nothing." I don't want to admit Masada is a spiritual place for me, too. And for the first time since coming to Israel I know why I'm here and it scares me.

I remember what Safta said. Being Jewish is more in your heart than in your mind. Religion is very personal. It will always be there for you if you want or need it. You can choose to embrace it . . .

My past might be shady and blurry, but my future is clearer thanks to this horrible, wonderful, shocking trip to a land so different, but so much a part of me nonetheless.

Looking down the mountain and trying to understand how the Jews . . . my ancestors . . . felt with the strong Roman warriors at the bottom, I realize this country has been a war zone since the beginning of time.

Why should the twenty-first century be different than the first?

27.

Sometimes our enemies are our closest friends.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask Avi.

As the others were eating breakfast our last morning in the south of Israel, he borrowed a car from the rental agency in the hotel and is taking me for a drive. He won't tell me where we're going, though, so I'm nervous.

"To meet a friend."

As we drive over the barren, dirt road, he looks at me with those dark, mysterious eyes.

"You scared?"

"Should I be?" I ask.

"No. You should never be scared with me."

Gee, most of the time I am scared to be with him. But mostly it's because I'm afraid of my own feelings, which are out of control when I'm with him.

I put my hands in my lap and stare out at the beautiful scenery. Who knew rocks and the desert landscape could be so beautiful and so different from the gra.s.sy mountains of the moshav.

We're listening to Israeli music on the radio, but I need to get rid of my nervous energy. I start my b.u.t.t exercises. Tighten.

Release. Tighten. Release.

"What are you doing?" Avi asks.

I look over at him and say casually, "b.u.t.t exercises."

He stares at me for a second, then bursts out laughing.

"It's not funny," I counter. "If you sit for a long time, your b.u.t.t'll look like one great big blob of jelly."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" he says.

I shake my finger at him. "Go ahead and make fun of me. You'll be sorry when you have the biggest b.u.t.t on the moshav." I lean back in the car seat. "Before you make fun of me you should try it out first."