all attacks were all over the news and all that everyone was talking about. Most bus drivers drove with their radios on. You could stop and ask a taxi driver, pedestrians, shop keeper, or just about anyone what was going on and it seemed like no one did not know. The country seemed transfixed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
T wo weeks had gone by and the kidnapped boys were still missing. I heard that there was going to be a rally in Rabin Square which I wanted to attend. At first I was fearful, as I knew that Rabin Square was where the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin had taken place. My fear was not as strong as my desire to be in solidarity with my people, so I walked there from my flat, which was not far from Rabin Square and I got there quite early.
I was near the stage, able to stand right behind the fence that was set up to separate the crowd from the chairs for the families of the boys and dignitaries that would attend. Within a short time, the Square filled up with thousands of people. I was boxed in but I didn’t care. I felt no claustrophobia or anxiety, just unity.
The music began with the IDF chorus singing Ha’Tikvah, the national anthem of Israel . I was taking pictures and looking around. The rally was called ‘Bring Back Our Boys.’ I was wearing my yellow, rubber bracelet with those words, given to me by some kids, the night before, near Gordon beach where Israeli dancing took place.
Giant TV screens flashed slide shows with the kidnapped boys and their favorite music. The boys’ lives, their families, and their friends were so real; we all had hope that they were still alive. One by one the kidnapped boys’ mothers got up and spoke about their children and begged for all children to be left out of the conflict.
There were many important people there and the tens of thousands of supporters with Israeli flags united in supporting the three families. A lot of speakers participated and I recognized the American Ambassador to Israel sitting not far from me.
After it was over, I realized that I was hungry and thirsty. I stopped into a bar on Ben Gurion Boulevard and ordered a hamburger and a beer. The bartender offered me a free shot of Arak.
I said, “Only if you join me.”
He seemed pleased and we toasted to the safe return of the kidnapped boys. The Arak, an anise-flavored liquor, was a traditional alcoholic drink in the Middle East. I drank it down in one gulp and it burned my throat and made my eyes water. The bartender, of course, was gorgeous and we got into a conversation about the kidnapping. I didn’t stay long after finishing my meal, as I had plans the next morning to return to Masada.
Originally, the plan was to meet Arthur and Dalia Goldin at the Dead Sea National Park for a picnic. I called them and told them that I needed to go to Masada first and would call them from there. This time I wouldn’t take a tour bus. I’d planned to get a #5 bus from Tel Aviv’s Alozorov Station to Jerusalem Central Bus Station via one of many choices of buses, and from there get the #444 directly to Masada.
It would be a long trip but I figured that I’d be welcome to spend the night with the Goldins in Jerusalem. I didn’t have a specific plan, but strongly felt the need to see Masada one more time to look at the five locations and see if I felt like I missed anything.
Now that I knew that Saul was Hershel the Kapo’s son and that the conspiracy was real, I could possibly see something that I missed. Arthur had told me to be careful of being followed. And Dalia was especially concerned. They decided to pick me up at Masada instead of meeting me at the Dead Sea and would arrive at 1:00 PM. We agreed to stay in touch by phone or text before that.
Looking around for someone that might be following me made me very nervous. My timing had been pretty good in getting to Arlozorov Station, but it was crowded. As I waited for another bus to Jerusalem I saw
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
T wo weeks had gone by and the kidnapped boys were still missing. I heard that there was going to be a rally in Rabin Square which I wanted to attend. At first I was fearful, as I knew that Rabin Square was where the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin had taken place. My fear was not as strong as my desire to be in solidarity with my people, so I walked there from my flat, which was not far from Rabin Square and I got there quite early.
I was near the stage, able to stand right behind the fence that was set up to separate the crowd from the chairs for the families of the boys and dignitaries that would attend. Within a short time, the Square filled up with thousands of people. I was boxed in but I didn’t care. I felt no claustrophobia or anxiety, just unity.
The music began with the IDF chorus singing Ha’Tikvah, the national anthem of Israel . I was taking pictures and looking around. The rally was called ‘Bring Back Our Boys.’ I was wearing my yellow, rubber bracelet with those words, given to me by some kids, the night before, near Gordon beach where Israeli dancing took place.
Giant TV screens flashed slide shows with the kidnapped boys and their favorite music. The boys’ lives, their families, and their friends were so real; we all had hope that they were still alive. One by one the kidnapped boys’ mothers got up and spoke about their children and begged for all children to be left out of the conflict.
There were many important people there and the tens of thousands of supporters with Israeli flags united in supporting the three families. A lot of speakers participated and I recognized the American Ambassador to Israel sitting not far from me.
After it was over, I realized that I was hungry and thirsty. I stopped into a bar on Ben Gurion Boulevard and ordered a hamburger and a beer. The bartender offered me a free shot of Arak.
I said, “Only if you join me.”
He seemed pleased and we toasted to the safe return of the kidnapped boys. The Arak, an anise-flavored liquor, was a traditional alcoholic drink in the Middle East. I drank it down in one gulp and it burned my throat and made my eyes water. The bartender, of course, was gorgeous and we got into a conversation about the kidnapping. I didn’t stay long after finishing my meal, as I had plans the next morning to return to Masada.
Originally, the plan was to meet Arthur and Dalia Goldin at the Dead Sea National Park for a picnic. I called them and told them that I needed to go to Masada first and would call them from there. This time I wouldn’t take a tour bus. I’d planned to get a #5 bus from Tel Aviv’s Alozorov Station to Jerusalem Central Bus Station via one of many choices of buses, and from there get the #444 directly to Masada.
It would be a long trip but I figured that I’d be welcome to spend the night with the Goldins in Jerusalem. I didn’t have a specific plan, but strongly felt the need to see Masada one more time to look at the five locations and see if I felt like I missed anything.
Now that I knew that Saul was Hershel the Kapo’s son and that the conspiracy was real, I could possibly see something that I missed. Arthur had told me to be careful of being followed. And Dalia was especially concerned. They decided to pick me up at Masada instead of meeting me at the Dead Sea and would arrive at 1:00 PM. We agreed to stay in touch by phone or text before that.
Looking around for someone that might be following me made me very nervous. My timing had been pretty good in getting to Arlozorov Station, but it was crowded. As I waited for another bus to Jerusalem I saw
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