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On my second trip to Israel my in-laws treated me like royalty. I was new family member, visiting from a faraway land. My sister-in-law, Nava, took three weeks off work, and she and her 18-year-old daughter, Karni, showed me northern Israel.

Together, we saw Banias, headwaters of Jordan River. We splashed around Kinneret, known to me as Sea of Galilee. Down road at Megiddo, place of Armageddon, I watched with eeriness as Israeli fighter jets maneuvered over valley that is said to fill with blood on Judgment Day. As we traveled, I peered in to faces of people around me, trying to understand why Israelis are so nervous about peace with Arabs.

One day, we stumbled across a less-visited archaeological site in Golan Heights - Gamla, just 11 kilometers from Syrian border. On that hill site, on that hot August day, I began to understand.

I climbed to top of hill and rested. Yes, I thought, this hill does look like back of a dromedary, since "gamla" is Hebrew word for "camel." It was desolate there in 100-degree heat. Locals didn't want to make 15- minute walk from parking lot of Yehudiya Reserve; Nava and Karni waited for me in shade at a covered picnic table recently built by Nature Reserve Authority. They weren't interested in viewing yet another memorial to Jewish grief. As denizens of Jerusalem, they lived with memories of all Jewish losses.

I walked alone around site, but I didn't feel lonely. Pale winds tussled low grass on southern hillside behind me. To west, in distance, Kinneret must of gently lapped at its shore, but I couldn't hear it. In north-side ravine at my feet, only flapping of eagle and vulture wings broke deathly silence. From empty air rose silent cries of 9,000 Jews who lost their lives at Gamla nearly 20 centuries ago. Their living and their dying was a microcosm of Jewish history.

The park brochure said that in 66 A.D., citizens of Gamla struggled against Romans. They found in solidarity with their brothers and sisters who were under attack in Jerusalem. And like Jews farther south, Gamlans eventually could not resist Roman might. In a brutal, one-day slaughter that deluged southern-sloped city with blood, Roman warriors hacked, stabbed, and speared 4,000 Gamlans to death. The other 5,000 fled to camel hump - where I stood and rested - out of range of spears and arrows. However, Romans had them pinned and advanced to apex. In desperation, Gamlan men threw their wives and children and then themselves into ravine below. All 5,000. In one day - on 23rd of Tishri by Jewish calendar - in early autumn, entire city was obliterated, lost to Jews, left to elements.

As I stomped through powdery dirt that blackened my sandaled feet, I felt a growing sense of familiarity, fear, and awe. At western edge, near precipitous drop, I crawled into someone's home. I peeked hopefully for a sign of habitation, knowing that all valuables were taken in 1978 when major excavations were completed. Still, as I sipped from my water bottle in dilapidated house, I imagined a family gathered for "aruchat tzhorohim," - lunch. It was a small celebration filled with giggling children, chatty neighbors, a husband and wife quitting work in midday heat, gathering, sharing, loving, living.

When I could see no more of this vision, I stepped in to sun, feeling steep southern slope slipping away from my feet. Through squinted eyes, I saw a hillside packed with lovely terraced garden homes, each one independent yet connected, each one with a breathtaking view of gorge, Kinneret, and eagles.