It took no effort to float, even sit up or reach for a can of sugarless Tab without it spilling, if you were drifting along in the Dead Sea. In 1967, days after the Yom Kippur Six Day War, that was me in Israel, where history was unfolding.
Although I was a freshman at SUNY New Paltz, accepted in spite of my poor grades, merely on the recommendation of the man who interviewed me, I was lazy. I could have been a straight “A” student if there was a grade given for the complete inability to make efforts.
I enrolled in a SUNY three-credit course offering a trip to Israel, along with a dozen other students. The Dead Sea was the first stop on a day you could fry falafel on the rocks strewn throughout the Negev Desert.
The next mid-day stop was a climb up Mt. Masada. On top of the mountain is a 2000-year-old fortress. Still intact, an awe-inspiring miraculous sight, where the Jews held out against all odds the invading Roman army. The siege ended in their mass suicide rather than lose their freedom at the hands of the Romans.
The steep Masada Snake Path, always attempted in extreme heat, takes an hour and a half to climb. The other students scrambled to get off the bus desiring the experience of a lifetime — to see with their own eyes a place where a miracle occurred.
I stayed on the bus chain smoking Virginia Slims cigarettes, bored, out of shape, ignorant and disinterested in an iconic part of Jewish history. What I didn’t know then but I do know now, is that I missed an opportunity never to come again.
Many years later, after copious life’s struggles taught me to learn to exert energy and pay attention, I wound up in classrooms throughout the Hudson Valley byways teaching attention and life skills to school children. Using the concepts, a dance performance was created in merely six days. I told the students about my experience missing the chance to climb Mt. Masada. It was a personal story, a risk, but aside from one boy who put his head on his desk, visibly sad, it went fine. I asked them what opportunities they might have missed through inattention. I assigned homework.
“Today, pay attention to what moments in space, time and events, where you — even you in the eighth grade — can see a miracle, or provide one for someone else,” I said.
Sounds esoteric, but they got it. The homework was ongoing while I was an artist-in-residence at their school. Before each class the students would recite missed moments. To my amazement, they thought the homework was “cool.” Some responses were serious, eliciting tears, others funny. Each day the list lengthened, deepened and changed. On the day before the culminating performance, the assignment given was for each child to interview an adult using the Masada story to frame their question. All were able to collect stories of regret, missed moments never lived, lost in time forever.
The performance was triumphant. As usual, I received “Thank you’s” and flowers. One parent approached me and asked if I would talk to her son privately. Her son, the sad boy, she said, had something to tell me. Schools are often hot-beds of criticism so I was afraid I had done something wrong.
He came to me backstage. The stage lights were replaced with the peculiar “working lights,” which cast a surreal glow. In his arms was a picture album. He started to cry, reached out and handed me the photographs. He told me, “These are the pictures of my family’s trip to Mt. Masada. I want you to have them. I am so sorry Miss Susan you did not get to go. Are you sure you will not have another chance?”
“Yes! I will. I am having it right now. This is my chance.”
I took the pictures. I looked at each, pretended I was there. Another miracle.
The world is sad
Many people are suffering now from “weltschmerz,” a German word without a similar word in English. It describes an illness. Literally translated as “world-sad.” What can we do, I do, or you do to combat this sickness?
To the community of New Paltz, which has provided me with so much opportunity, I give this homework. Let’s not miss our Mt. Masada due to all the distractions — too much self-concern, laziness, despair, our phones, also our opinions. There is always a mountain to climb, inward adversities to overcome. In the end, the story turned out to be about love, simply expressed in the offering of family pictures.
Join the family! 
