The Masada Faktor by Naomi Litvin Read Free Book Online

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    The old guilt of not pleasing Mother, not being able to make her happy was eating away at me in that moment. Did I believe her or didn’t I believe her? Did it matter? The important thing was always granting her wishes, making them come true.
     
    So if this was her last wish, didn’t I owe it to her, and to myself, to continue to explore her story? I wondered if I would be free after this. I did so want to be free.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    I felt comfortable here in Israel. I am Jewish and I was home. Israel is an enigma in that this Promised Land is our reward for centuries of hatred, vandalism, murder, and mayhem against us. It is a gift but it is also a responsibility. This is not the Israel that I imagined all of the years of my life. It is better, it is brilliant. I was thanking God for my existence on this day in Israel.
     
    Between Jerusalem Beach and the Dolphinarium was the rocky Chinki Beach, and I walked a little further to put my towel down to lay in the sun on the smoother Banana Beach. I was in amazing Tel Aviv on the Mediterranean Sea, lying on the beach listening to the crashing waves and the pop pop pop of the guys and girls playing matkot , Israeli beach paddleball. I was thoroughly enjoying the eye candy.
     
    I looked back over to The Dolphinarium, an unusual, huge concrete structure, abandoned and ruined, and covered in fantastically artistic graffiti. No one had been able to do anything with it since June of 2001 when it was a nightclub and a suicide bomber blew himself up inside. He killed one IDF soldier and twenty civilians, mostly teenagers that had emigrated from Russia.
     
    The bomber had dressed as an orthodox Jew but he was actually a Palestinian with Hamas. Everywhere within the beauty of Israel are reminders of these bombings and why the wall had to be built to separate us from the West Bank.
     
    At that moment the glass collector wended his way along the beach among the sunbathers until he’d spot someone close to the end of their beer or soda. “Drink up,” he urgently told them in Hebrew and they obeyed, handing over their empty bottles to him. Even the glass collector is a respected contributor to this intriguing society. After all, his function is important as he keeps the beach clean and performs the important job of recycling.
     
    I loved that everyone’s hair was a mess and that it didn’t matter. I felt feral and free as I moved down to the edge of the beach, feet in the surf. I had almost forgotten about the Arab man at the Melkite Cemetery. I was to be waiting for a sign of the mysterious person that was to contact me. I wondered what that was all about.
     
    The waves were crashing with a lot of white foam. A slight cool breeze was wafting about. An attractive waitress sporting a cocktail tray of ripe juicy watermelon slices with chunks of white cheeses whizzed by me. I was not far from the surf.
     
    I was eating my dessert of dates and pistachios when a creeper wave came dangerously close to my towel. Along with the other sunbathers, I grabbed my stuff and scrambled for higher ground.
     
    In the confusion someone bumped into me and put a note into my hand. Whoever it was, was gone in an instant. I didn’t see if it was a man or woman. The note, in English, told me to wait ten minutes and then get up and walk to the end of the walkway adjacent to the marina at the end of Gordon Beach.
     
    It went on to explain that my contact would meet me where the green and white striped lighthouse stood. I tried to calm myself with deep breathing and then I went to my destination with fear but also excitement. Finally, something was happening.
     
    From the walkway to the lighthouse you could see all the way south to Jaffa. I was looking around to see if I was being followed. There were some people fishing and a few couples kissing on the rocks. But as I looked ahead to the lighthouse, I didn’t see anyone down there except a young boy running away.
     
    At the back of