How to Ruin Series Part 114

"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."

"You have a nice b.u.t.t." Avi's lips twitch in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Okay, tell me how to do it."

"Not if you're going to make fun of me."

I don't want to make a fool out of myself again.

"Come on," he urges me. "I won't make fun of you. I promise."

"Fine," I say.

I take a deep breath and realize I'm about to tell a very masculine boy how to do b.u.t.t exercises. I want to cringe with embarra.s.sment, but he actually looks serious.

I say quickly, "You just tighten your b.u.t.t muscles like this and then release. The longer you hold the tightened part, the harder it gets."

I attempt to demonstrate the action and feel like a complete dork.

But then I look over at him and he's actually trying the exercise. I can tell by the concentrated look on his face.

"Do you ever vary it, tightening one cheek then the other?" he asks.

I try to suppress a giggle, but I can't. In fact, I can't stop laughing as I watch Avi trying to tighten each cheek in rhythm to the music playing on the radio. He's making fun of himself, emphasizing each movement of his b.u.t.t along with the rhythm of the song.

I try it, too, and can't stop tightening to the beat of the music. It's contagious, and I'm having one of the best times of my life.

"I didn't know you could be so funny," I tell him, still trying to keep my giggles to a minimum, but having a hard time of it.

"Yeah, well, you caught me off guard."

"Be off guard more often," I say in a very flirty way and smile at him when he looks over at me.

He shakes his head and sighs in resignation. "You're going to get me in trouble with Ron. I told him I'd take care of you."