Shenite Metzada Lo Tipol

The day on Masada is more or less a blur. As I must confess, with the late night in the hostile, the three am wakeup call, and the all but vertical hike, by midday I was too spent to stay conscious. I would wander along in the midst of the group whenever we moved, try my absolute hardest to concentrate on Akiva as he detailed the siege of Masada and their way of life, then, inevitably, I would feel the wave of sleep wash over my brain and I would not be able to stay awake long.

Masada, as we were taught, was a Roman fortress taken by Jews in the second revolution and renovated by king Herod, the last Jewish king. For years the Jews lived in their mountain palace in a perpetual state of rebellion against the, for the most part, absent Romans. However, by the end of its time, Masada had attracted the Roman eye a bit more than it would have liked and the Roman battalions surrounded the city and began their siege. The walls of the keep were made to be layered in times of danger. At their strongest they were made sixteen feet thick, virtually impenetrable. Yet, the Romans are a fierce enemy. The constructed a ramp up the weaker side of the mountain, aiming for a small area where the wall did not stand. On the night that the ramp was completed, the Romans withdrew to rally their forces and prepare their siege tower that would bring them the last 40 feet to the summit. The Jews despaired. In one last display of rebellion, they gathered at the center of town and made their decision. Suicide. That night, each man would comfort his family, lay them on the floor of his home, and kill them. He would then make his way with the other men to the center of town, and there they would select ten men to kill the rest. Those ten would then write their names on shards of pottery and draw straws to kill the other nine. The last man would kill himself. The shards were found in the excavation of Masada. When the Romans breached the wall, they found no one. Not a soul. They cautiously explored the city, eventually finding the rows and rows of bodies. They were in awe.

The story echoed in my head like a scream of despair. It struck me profoundly and made my stomach weak. I wanted to leave, but I sat, half in dream, and listened to every slow, painful word. The class got up and began to walk. Their were the usual grumbles of complaint, we were near the end of our stay and itching to begin our descent. I put the story out of my mind.

We walked to a part of the mountain we had not yet seen, an outcropping beyond any of the ancient construction of the city. There was a platform stuck into the face of the mountain, oddly modern beside its neighbors, that hung off into a valley. I have used the word valley before. Ignore that. This was a chasm. Hundreds of feet to the ground below, we were surrounded by mountains as tall as Masada or higher. I picked up a small stone and threw it as hard as I could into the gaping maw of the desert. I watched it sail upwards in a graceful arc, form a perfect parabola in the sky and fall, fall, fall until it dwindled in size to a grain of rice and was finally lost from view before even touching the ground. Any mark it made there was equally indistinguishable.

Akiva gathered us once again. We did as he said and copied his words, shenite metzada lo tipol. Masada will not fall again.

"SHENITE" He proclaimed
"SHENITE" We replied
"SHENITE" Came the echo from the mountains, startling us into eager chatter

"METZADA"
"METZADA"
"METZADA"

"LO"
"LO"
"LO"

"TIPOL"
"TIPOL"
"TIPOL"

The mountains chanted in reply to our exuberant declaration. Alone, we could not muster the volume to merit a reply. Together, even the desert gave us its blessing.

"AM"
"AM"
"AM"

"ISRAEL"
"ISRAEL"
"ISRAEL"

"CHAI"
"CHAI"
"CHAI"

The nation of Israel is alive!
Masada will not fall again!