Jerusalem Syndrome - Marc Maron [38]
“Megiddo,” Jim said.
Onward then into Megiddo, the valley of Armageddon, where the big bad multiheaded beast of Revelation is to bring in the biblical period of darkness. (I like the Christian landmarks because that’s where things are still going to happen.) I stood and looked over the valley, waiting for something, seeing if my presence there was what was needed to get things rocking.
I was holding the camera in anticipation. I panned across the valley slowly, once, twice, three times. Nothing. I jumped up and down. Nothing. Kim said, “What are you doing?” I told her I was stretching. Then, some Greek tourists asked us to take their picture. “Who sent you here?” I asked suspiciously. They did not understand. I decided they were not a sign. They didn’t seem very menacing and they had the right number of heads between them. I took their picture and we moved on.
Oddly, right outside of the valley of Armageddon there’s a McDonald’s, the Megiddo McDonald’s. Which led me to believe that perhaps the apocalypse already happened. It just wasn’t as big as we thought it was going to be. Maybe it wasn’t billions killed—just eaten.
I generally don’t eat McDonald’s, because I don’t believe in it, but we hadn’t eaten in a while. So we went in. I had a Big Machh and fries and, of course, a Cokechh. Fueled, we went onward into the Golan Heights.
The Golan Heights is the border territory between Israel and Syria that has shifted back and forth over the years and continues to be a hot zone to this day. Many people have died there. There are hundreds of acres of unusable land because of live and unexcavated mines. That is where the reality of Israel started to seep from my camcorder to my head. The military necessities of Zionism have always made me nervous. It’s one of the reasons I had avoided going to Israel. It’s scary.
I understand Zionism, vaguely. My parents were sofa Zionists; the kind that sit on the couch watching the news and say, “Something’s wrong in Israel. Get the checkbook.”
I remember being in third grade in Hebrew school. The teacher came in and announced, “Okay, next week everyone needs to bring in five dollars. We’re sending the money to Israel to plant a tree for your grandparents. Don’t forget to wear your Purim costumes. Shalom, remember that means “hello” and “good-bye.” Shalom, Aaron. Shalom, Joshua. Shalom, Cheryl. Shalom, Joshua Two. Shalom, Marc with a ’c.’ ”
I thought when I got off the plane in Israel, I want to see my grandpa’s tree. But as an adult I realized there was probably no tree. There might be a Grandpa Jack artillery shell or a Grandma Goldy rocket launcher. Or perhaps they put all the money together to build Yahrzeit missiles that have commemorative plaques on the side of them that light up if they’re shot off on the day of that Yahrzeit.
Coming down through the Golan Heights, we came upon a bombed-out mosque. It was an Islamic shrine that had been hit by an artillery shell, probably during the Six-Day War. Half of the mosque was caved in. I got a camera angle on it. I was glib at first: “Muhammad has left the building.”
Then we went under the barbed-wire fence and entered the mosque itself. To see that type of destruction up close is devastating. It’s like the first time you go to an auto junkyard. To think that there might have been people in there when it hit. I stood in this mosque. I turned the camera off. I thought, Am I a part of this? Am I? Is this where my five dollars went?
A fear set in. I was not only looking to the sky for the face of God but for missiles as well.
13
THE next day we went to Masada. Thank God for ancient ruins. They can be a relief. Masada was the refuge for the Jews during the first revolt. Nine hundred plus Jews holed up in King Herod’s summer home and held their own against 15,000 Roman soldiers, and when they were about to be overrun, instead of captivity or death at the hands of the Romans, they chose mass suicide. Today the ruins stand as a monument to Jewish heroism. It’s also a very nice day hike.
We were hiking up the path to the top