At five o’clock in the morning arose crabby, sleep-deprived teenagers. Hair dream-tousled and expressions vacant, the group made its way to the table with instant coffee and little slices of cake. Dressed to hike, but clearly not ready to, they slumped in the plastic chairs at the pre-hike rendezvous point, grasping at last moments of allowable laziness. In a few minutes, they would depart and walk to the base of the mighty mountain Masada.
Thus began the morning of my Shorashim group’s ascent of Masada. Savoring out last minutes of flat terrain, all 47 of us trudged through the darkness to the base of Masada. The goal was to reach Masada’s peak as a group, before sunrise. Before we began, our group leader Lior led our cheer, which, unfortunately, included jumping in a circle — something most of us were not coordinated enough to do at that early hour. Amazingly, we all finished the cheer unscathed and Lior bestowed upon us these inspirational words, “Shorashim! By the time we get up this mountain, it won’t have any ass left to kick!” Then, the climb began.
The first hundred feet weren’t so bad; it was just difficult to navigate the rocky terrain in the dark. But as it got lighter, so did my head. For about an hour, we trudged up this massive mountain, racing the sun. Slowly, the base appeared smaller and the Dead Sea glistened and the nausea that was dancing around my belly became remarkably easier to ignore. The rocks shifted underfoot and there were occasional moans of exhaustion from my peers, but I was enthralled, loving every light-headed minute of the climb. When I finally reached the top, I felt so accomplished. I looked down and saw the Negev unfold before me.
My friends made their way up and we met with sticky, sweaty hugs of accomplishment. We probably took scores of pictures in the first twenty minutes alone. And, although the sun was hidden by the clouds, we shouted our victory for all of Israel to hear. We can say that something good happened in Jewish history at the summit of Masada.