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; Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.
Part 11: Out of the frying pan…!
So there we were, me and Ofira, in our own place at last as 1993 drew to a close. Things were at last looking like they were moving in the right direction, a direction we both wanted. This time there was no sofa to kip on, no angry father to watch out for, and no interfering mother to stick her oar in. Well, not from close quarters…
And we had fun, for a while. Although we were both working, and often I wouldn’t even see Ofira for a couple of nights as she slept over at her job (she was a counselor at a hostel for abused kids), we would usually be together at weekends and get to enjoy some of Tel Aviv’s delights, especially around the Central Bus Station area (and yes, it was a dive then and it’s got even worse since).
We had some really enjoyable times together, just doing the simple things in life; shopping together on Friday mornings at the local grocery store, cooking up some spicy pasta while grabbing chilled beers from our manky old fridge, and hosting friends who were always popping round to visit and even kip over for the night. It was home, and yes, it was our home sweet home.
But yes, those magical days were actually few and far between. Looking back, it’s easy to see that it seemed like such a blissful period, a moment of isolation, of freedom for both of us. But, truthfully, we were probably both aware that living together at this time in our lives wasn’t going to work.
Deep down I knew things weren’t right. But I hid behind the hazy shade of beer fumes which had started to make their way back into my life on a regular basis, thanks to some old beer-drinking pals who were still around in Tel Aviv. And as Ofira often didn’t make it back home for 2 or 3 nights a week, and even weekends started to disappear into a work-filled black hole, my license to roam and be merry was given plenty of exercise…
So, as spring crept towards summer, our relationship was again on the rocks. Some likened my hankering for summer fun to the Led Zeppelin classic, but it wasn’t something that I was purposefully looking for. Despite loving her like crazy, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy, and I felt that our relationship had headed into a one-way street, in so much that I, rightly or wrongly, was doing all the work, which wasn’t doing it for me.
The complexities of living together had simply worn us down. This time, there was no mother to blame (at least as far as I know), no other guilty party to get angry with. The simple truth was that we had probably grown apart, there was no real connection like there had been in the early Scud-laden days. Just one of those things, I guess.
And so I fell into the arms of Lilach.
Cue: Just when I thought I was out…
Aaah, sweet Lilach.
First of all, I should point out that up until this point I hadn’t cheated on Ofira. My pursuit of “fun” usually meant the ultimate goal of another pint and that’s usually as far as it went. Of course, girls passed through these beery occasions, but there wasn’t anything more than a friendly chat or innocent flirt.
But sometimes, fate throws the dice and there’s absolutely nothing you can do…
I met Lilach while gardening – yes, I was still toiling away most days in the suburbs, earning a crust while perfecting the art of hedge-trimming. I had been working on this big project outside a high school and it had been fun. I’d gotten used to being the novelty act, the English lad, but some of the female students at this high school took it to extremes. I’m no Brad Pitt, but getting called Brandon and getting wolf-whistled was new to me. I totally blame my freshly grown sideburns.
One day, a particularly forward girl came up to me and started chatting in English. Her name was Racheli, her English was crap, but in between the mispronunciations and bad grammar, I understood she had a sister who fancied me.
“My seester very bootiful. She like you much much.” Or something very similar.
And after another couple of mornings of this terrible English and me guessing just what the feck she was trying to say, I finally got to meet her sister, Lilach. And I wasn’t disappointed, Lilach was very cute.
So cute that any lingering feelings I had for Ofira were soon wiped away. Perhaps officially we hadn’t “broken up”, but when your girlfriend doesn’t come home for a week and you haven’t spoken civilly to each other for even longer (and God knows how long it had been since the last real conversation), there’s not really a lot to work with…we both knew it was curtains. Perhaps Lilach’s arrival on the scene was perfect timing on her behalf, perhaps she was the clincher for me to finally confirm in my mind that it was over with Ofira, but whatever the reasons, I was going on a date with Lilach, even if the date was just a meetup at the beach after I’d finished work.
She might have been 18 (and still in high school) to my 25, but Lilach wasn’t shy. She was a great, no-thrills girl; she knew what she wanted and she knew how to get what she wanted. Which meant I turned into something like a rabbit frozen in car headlights…
And you know what’s it like, the beginning of something new…all new, fresh and exciting. Lilach made me come alive again, something I hadn’t felt for a long time (OK, not since the previous summer!), and there was just such a buzz between us I think we both taken aback at the intensity of what was happening.
I even brought her back to the place I still officially shared with Ofira. At this point we were long dead but still sharing the rent. I never knew if Ofira was about, but knew her work schedule so knew I wouldn’t be having an “uncomfortable” moment. The next door neighbor however, wasn’t aware that we weren’t really living together and on her next stopover he let her know all about Lilach. Especially the moment the old buggar had peeked through the window and spotted Lilach in her, er, birthday suit. B’stard.
Anyway, the moment had come, and me and Ofira split up. Ofira was upset that it was over, but in my mind I had moved on weeks ago. In truth, I think she felt the same, but was upset that I was with someone new. We both loved each other, but the love had turned lukewarm. That raging fire that had burned brightly at the start of our relationship was now barely enough to shrivel a marshmallow.
So Lilach and me were together, as the summer crept ever closer. And before long, after meeting some of her family at a big Friday night gathering, I knew our relationship was in for a helluva ride. Sopranos Central you could have called it, with enough small-time crooks to keep the Miami underworld happy. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her Granny pull out a Magnum (and not the chocolate coated kind) if I had said something about the bony chicken and undercooked potatoes…
But to hear more underworld interaction you’ll have to wait for the next episode…oh yes!
Next up: Things come to a head with a real-life crime family!