Waiting for dawn over Masada

Press, 17 June 1986, Page 23

Waiting for dawn over Masada

By (

GEOFF MEIN

and SUE LANCASTER,

of Christchurch, who are at present working in Israel.

High above the grey emptiness of the Judean Desert, a lone bird checks its flight before coming to rest on the crumbling remains of a rock wall. The distinctive structure, built by King Herod about 30 8.C., surrounds the summit of the legendary rock of Masada. From its vantage point, the bird can look east towards the Dead Sea, north over the ancient hills rising to Jerusalem, south to the Red Sea, or west across the barren expanse of desert. Everything in the stark vista seems as timeless as the sun that beats relentlessly from above. Herod fortified Masada as a Royal citadel. Within the surrounding walls are the restored remains of palaces, storehouses, defence towers and barracks.

The King’s efforts have provided Israel with a notable landmark; but it was the events of one

dramatic evening a century later that elevated Masada into a lasting monument to national fortitude.

After Herod’s death, the rock was garrisoned by soldiers of the Roman force that occupied Palestine in the first century A.D. Roman rule was threatened in 66 A.D. by a Jewish revolt that took four bitter years to subdue.

In the early days of the uprising, a group of Jewish zealots overthrew the Roman garrison on Masada and held the rock throughout the war. It remained the sole outpost of resistance until the fateful night in 73 A.D. Using beaten soil and rocks, the Romans had built a massive ramp against the western face of the 1300 ft (400 m fortress. During the tense siege, the zealots survived on food kept in Herod’s storehouses, and water collected in the King’s

ingenious system of rainfed aqueducts and cisterns.

But the defenders were doomed. When the ramp was completed, the Romans hauled a battering ram to the fortress wall. There was no hope of escape or relief. On the eve of the final Roman breach, the 960 residents of Masada reviewed their predicament In the words of the Jewish-Roman historian, Josephus Flavius, the zealots decided that “a death of glory was preferable to a life ot infamy.” Rather than become slaves to the Romans, they committed suicide. Two women, who had hidden with a handful of children during the mass killing, emerged the following day to relate the final moments to the stunned Romans. The story has since captured the imagination of Jews throughout the world, although it was not until an extensive archaeological examination in the 1960 s that many of Masada’s secrets were revealed. Restoration of the site by Israel’s National Parks

Authority has opened the summit to a steady flow of visitors, ranging from awe-seeking travellers to Jewish sentimentalists. Access, which until recently was via a steep “snake path” on the eastern slope, has been made easier by the introduction of cable cars.

The ramp from which ' the final assault was made stands as an enduring testimony to the solidity of Roman engineering. Another striking reminder of the- zealots’ predicament is the sight — from the summit — of the remains of the Roman siege wall that surrounded the base of Masada to prevent escape.

The zealots had little use for the luxurious palaces of Herod. Most lived in sections of the casement wall surrounding the summit They built no significant buildings, preferring simply to add primitive extensions to existing structures. Nowhere is this more evident than on the floor of one of Herod’s palaces, where a crude mud oven has been fashioned on top of a Royal mosaic. Standing incongruously

near the centre of the summit are the remains of a Byzantine chapel, with distinctive arched window. It was probably built by Christian monks who lived in the Judean wilderness in the fifth and sixth centuries. Archaeologists believe the monks were forced to leave during Persian or Moslem conquests in . the early seventh century, and that Masada has been uninhabited ever since.

Each day, after the last cable car has returned to the restaurant at the base of the rock, young Israelis and overseas travellers armed with sleeping bags climb the snake path to the summit Witnessing sunset and sunrise atop Masada has assumed something of- a cult following.

Visitors are lulled into nostalgia by the eerie silence of Masada, only to be returned sharply to the present by the roar of Israeli war-planes patrolling overhead. It Is obvious that the Jews of the twentieth century will go to great lengths to ensure that Masada does not fall again.