My Masada Moment

At three in the morning, I finally arrived at the front entrance of the David Citadel Hotel in Jerusalem. Hauling a backpack full of bottled water, I had spent nearly an hour walking from my more modest accommodations in every direction other than the one I was supposed to be going in while finding increasingly creative ways to verbally abuse my cellphone every time it told me to turn right and then promptly lost the signal.

The sensible hiking clothes I wore obviously came with the words “incompetent tourist” emblazoned across the back so inviting various taxicabs to pull up beside me, the drivers of each shouting emphatic declarations of help.

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