By Matthew Rubenstein, NFTY in Israel Participant, Bus 3
We woke up at 4:00 AM, mumbling and groaning in the middle of the desert, under a tent of goat hair, and began to get ready to hit the road. We dressed, rolled up our sleeping bags, brushed our teeth, ate graham crackers, and drank tea, rushing to be on our buses by 4:30. We didn’t make it on time, of course, but we still made good enough time to get to the bottom of Mount Masada by 5:04, 4 minutes after the parking lot opened. My bus, Bus #3, ended up being the third bus in the parking lot, which was apparently pretty good. As we got off the bus and started climbing the Roman Ramp, we could see the horizon across the Dead sea turning pink. Walking quickly so as not to end up missing the sunrise, we made the 15 minute climb in 12 minutes, emerging into the ruins of King Herod’s palace as the sky continued to lighten. Following Bus #4, we walked to one of the highest parts of the mountain, the roof of an ancient bathhouse. Seating myself on the partly rounded roof, I took a sip of water, and then took off the sweatshirt that I had stupidly tried to wear up the mountain in the 78° heat. Together, the 80 or so of us from Buses #3 and #4 sang songs about the sun, including “Here Comes the Sun” (twice). We were up there for 20 minutes or so until the magical moment began to occur. Looking across the Dead Sea, in the valley between two mountains, a small sliver of neon orange had appeared. We watched in awe as the sun began to rise, seemingly out of the mountain, a perfect circle of reddish-orange fire. Within a minute, the sun had completely cleared the mountain completely and it hung there in the sky. Soon the sky brightened, and the sun reverted to its normal look (as in impossible to look at), but it’s image, it’s memory, remained with us, seared and perfect in our minds.
