Continuing on with my tale of woe and joy of how I ended up in Israel…tales of a non-Jewish potential Kibbutz volunteer who falls in love with Tel Aviv, dodges Scud missiles, lives and works illegally for years on end, gets besotted by one Israeli girl despite the best attempts of a legendary Jewish mother, but ends up marrying and divorcing another… and then marrying yet another to join suburbia and the hi-tech revolution, while becoming the seemingly respectable owner of an English school.
In case you missed them; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.
Part 7: An unexpected return home!
So, there we were, huddled together on the sofa, with Azit the dog wedged between us, presumably taking up the mantle of family chaperon while Ofira’s parents were out. On the TV in front of us, Blake Carrington and Alexis were throttling each other in another rip-roaring episode of Dynasty. Oh yes, me and Ofira knew how to live.
Suddenly the phone rang. Ofira answered and, to my surprise, started speaking in her heavily-accented, but very cute, English. I soon understood the call was for me and hesitantly took the phone when she passed it over to me. It was my sister. Amidst jokes about my now accented English, she told me about our Mum, who had been diagnosed with cancer. Clearing the lump from my throat, I told her that I’d be over as soon as I could possibly get a ticket.
That phone call really came as a timely wake-up call. I’d been coasting in Israel, enjoying myself and forgetting about anything and everything. Perhaps it was time to shake things up a bit with a visit back home. My parents had been running their own business for a number of years and working their socks off and now with my Mum sidelined and my Dad doing his best to look after her and keep the business alive, it was time for me to come back and do my bit. But they really should have warned me about those 5am starts…
The very next morning I went and purchased the first ticket I could for a flight back to Blighty. Ofira and I were a little upset as we’d been seriously falling for each other, but she was right behind me. Despite the uncertainty about how long I’d be over in England (I bought a one-way ticket), I knew I’d be back and we’d be together again.
Getting a ticket wasn’t a problem, and I had a flight booked for the next day. But there was another problem looming, a problem I’d been secretly fearing – my outdated tourist visa. The original 3 month visa had long expired, by some 6-7 months. I’d had a couple of friends from the hostel days who’d been deported because of their outdated visa (and illegal moonlighting) and word had gotten back to the hard-core group left in Tel Aviv, so it was a bit of a worry, especially when you’re in love and really, really want to make it back…
I didn’t think it would be such a problem; Ofira came to the airport with me and accompanied me through the check-in and we were honest and co-operative, if a little tense. Well, what’s that saying about never showing your fear to a dog? The security guys at Israeli airports aren’t just the equivalent of German Shepherds, they are, of course, likely Mossad assassins of the future, so what little tension they could sense was seized upon – they gave me and Ofira one hell of a grilling!
We were split up, I was taken to one side and interrogated, Ofira questioned by someone else, and then this procedure was repeated again by another pair of security personnel. My expired visa seemed to be a major talking point: as a couple of security big-wigs looked on and gave us that cold, security person glare from afar. I had the willies at this point – my major worry was that they’d “blackball” me and I’d be denied re-entry to Israel. But after what seemed hours, and even providing proof of our relationship with pictures and letters to each other that I’d handily brought with me, I was free to board the plane.
After a hug and a tearful Ofira squeezing me so hard I though my eyes were going to pop out of my head, we parted. I told her I’d be back soon, and I meant it. I headed up the stairs to the departure lounge and we waved that last heart-breaking goodbye. I handed in my gas-mask to Immigration and then just about made it onto the plane.
A few hours later I was back in England.
Ah yes, sunny England! Believe it or not, the sun was actually shining when I landed and it felt somewhat reassuring to see all that greenery when coming in to land. But it was my first time back home in over a year, and I wasn’t feeling any real pangs for the place. I knew I was going to be heading back to Israel as soon as I could.
My brother was there to pick me up, and he was quick to point out that I was swearing like a motherfucker trooper. It was great chatting with him and catching up on all that had been happening, but all the time on that journey home, there was this feeling that life seemed so different for me now. The people around me hadn’t changed, I had…
Seeing my parents again was great, of course. My Mum had undergone surgery a couple of days before and was recuperating at home. But she seemed in great spirits and looked as healthy as I ever remembered her, so I was mightily relieved. And as I stepped back into my old bedroom, there was something warm and fuzzy about this blast back into my past. Seeing old posters on the wall, a map of Europe peeling away from the wall at one corner…and then I put my Etnix cassette into my stereo and listened to Keturney Masala (see the clip below) and a load of good and recent memories of my times in the Holy Land came flooding back to shout out any sentiments I might have had for England…
So, for the next few weeks I helped out in the business, opening up early, closing late, going to wholesalers and so on. I missed Ofira and Israel a lot, and it didn’t help when she would cry during our frequent phone calls or send letters (not emails!) with too many kisses to count. Guys, beware of Israeli girls, this is a trick they like to pull…they reel you in and then, KAPOWWW!
There’s not a lot to tell about my time in England. In the end I stayed around two months but didn’t really enjoy it too much. One thing I do remember enjoying is wearing my Purple House t-shirts on trips into my local town. I felt like i was showing off; Hey look, I’ve been living in the Middle East the last few months, I’ve even survived Scuds raining down all around me…look at my t-shirt, yes, it proves I was there! No question, I felt almost invincible, but in a place i didn’t really want to be. I wanted to be back in Israel.
In the end my Mum recovered well, and I was free to fly back. I packed up my things, while making sure to stock up on lots of English chocolate (Israeli chocolate just wasn’t working for me!) and off I was again, heading back to the Holy Land. It had been great seeing my family again, of course, but there was a greater force pulling me across the Mediterranean, a deadly combination of the Holy Land and Ofira…