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, 10, 11, 12 and 13.
Part 14: Who to choose?
I still clearly remember that evening sat with Peter, supping on a beer as the sun set between the buildings in Florentin. We were sat out on the street, one of the two tables parked outside the pub/launderette that had almost become my local. It was late September. Late summer in Israel, and getting very late in my tourist career. Definitely time for change.
And after spilling my guts, what was Peter’s response? Well, it had also crossed my mind a number of times in the recent past, so his suggestion that I find somebody to marry wasn’t exactly a shock. But I guess it snapped me to my senses, as I knew I couldn’t keep working the 5-10 shekel an hour jobs no more. No sirree…
But thinking about getting married to a local girl wasn’t enough. I had to do something, take action. So there we were, mulling over all the local girls I knew, and especially those who were almost-legit-wife material.
Obviously, I’d have preferred to get hitched to someone I actually loved and had feelings for, but summing up my options, Peter was quick to point out that the chances of that were slim…
Basically it came down to one of three choices:
- Lilach, a girl I was still very fond of, but just couldn’t see as someone who I’d want to do “business” with. The old romantic in me was convinced that with Lilach it would end up in a happily ever after moment somewhere down the road…but for now I really didn’t want to use her in this evil, cunning plan. I kind of felt that marriage was just a step too far for us at this precise moment, even though she would have done it for me, despite the mafioso poppa. Bless ‘er little cotton socks.
- Orly, one of the girls I had befriended a couple of summers back when running the hostel bar in perhaps the best summer of my life. A friend of Peter’s, we’d flirted and chatted and shared a beer since, but that was as far as I wanted to take things. She actually wanted more, but I didn’t, and it’s quite possible I even described her as one of the nastiest pieces of work I’ve ever met, forcing Pete to almost choke on his beer. So obviously, she was a good candidate…
- Ofira. Oh yes, the old favorite, the girl who would have married me at the drop of a hat. Yeh, riiiigghhhtt. If I could have chosen, despite all the ups and downs over the last couple of years, I would have been more than happy to live in wedded bliss (for how long though, that’s another question) with Ofira. I was, of course, in touch with her once again and had suggested it to her, but her love for me seemed to be maxed out thanks to the Old Jewish Question, and why I hadn’t yet converted to Judaism for her. I even remember begging her to help me out, but deep down I knew she would never agree. And as things panned out later, it probably worked out for the best. Though at the time it still stank…
So, faced with the three golden ladies, Peter and me worked out the pros and cons of each. It was clear Lilach was the easiest and the most obvious choice, but I just couldn’t…and with Ofira locking down the hatches it was pretty crystal that I was left with…Orly.
But how the heck do you get married to someone you don’t like? Someone that you really really really don’t envisage growing old and grey with (and helping her count her heart pills into little cups each morning…).
Me and Pete sat there as the darkness came down on Tel Aviv, supped on yet another beer or 3, and decided that I’d have to play interested and get Orly on my side if this plan was ever going to go down. I didn’t think it would be too hard to play keen, and if ever I was going to manipulate and use someone, then this girl would be the people’s choice. Hands down.
So after having another couple of beers, I was pretty settled on my future mission. I knew I had to do something to sort my sorry ass tourist status out, and although many would probably disagree with the idea, I knew I had to go the extra mile. I’m still not sure why, but at that time I really wanted to stay in Israel…the Holy Land was my home and I wanted to make it that bit more legit.
The next morning I woke up with a hefty hangover, as those beers had led to more beers, and a couple of chasers to wash away the cobwebs. My head was pounding, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I knew I had to do or because of the alcohol…
I was at a crossroads, but oh boy did I know the direction.
Next up: How to marry a witch
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Well, if you enjoyed the story so far, you’ll be pleased to know it’s now available on Amazon (for less than a beer!). Expect more twists and turns, blood and guts, and lots of gratuitous violence. Or maybe just some of those. Just click on the image below (or here) to buy the book.
