When I was 18 I fell in love with an Israeli. Mistake number one, ok I’m kidding.  But yeah, it was his lips. He had beautiful lips, you know the kind you just can’t keep yours off of, that’s the spokesman’s lips.  You can’t believe the lies those beautiful lips muttered. Only minus (well that I knew about) was how short he was. OK I’m tall but not that tall. He walked on the sidewalk, I walked on the street. We were the same height. And you know what they say about short men, they’ve got something to prove.

So yeah, he had something to prove. He proved it with his zipper in the down position, all the time.  So what is this blog about, it’s about the worst break up ever, ever!

So the spokesman and I had been together for 6 months (in an 18 year old’s world that’s forever). I had come from the kibbutz (before the kibbutznik) for his cousin’s Bar Mitzvah. The day before Saddam invaded Iraq, and the spokesman pulls me aside and says, “You know, I think you should go home it’s too dangerous and I worry about you”.

Now the spokesman was in the Siy’aret. He didn’t worry about anybody. But being young and stupid I assumed he was telling the truth. Then he lays this one on me, “but you know I love you and want to come and be with you in the USA, but right now I need to keep my view “clear””.  OK I smelled a rat, but gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Skip ahead 24 hours, everybody is ready to go to the Bar Mitzvah. The spokesman’s mother says, “ride with us, don’t wait for him”. I said “it’s fine I’ll wait”.  So they left.

Then the doorbell range, and I answered it. This beautiful woman is standing there, and says, “Is the spokesman here”.

“Um, he’s upstairs getting dressed, who are you?” I asked.

“I’m his girlfriend” she said. OK my Hebrew was crap, but I knew what “havera” meant.

Let’s just say I remember hitting the floor, literally. I had my legs kicked out from under me. I think the second I hit the floor is the second I lost the belief that anybody would ever truly love me.

Anyway, let’s just say, I picked myself up off the floor and went to that “blanking”  Bar Mitzvah. I got really drunk (my first time, and  in Israel you can drink at 18) got some old man named Shalom Ezra to ask me to marry him (I still get crap about that, apparently he was a millionaire. ****sigh****.) and wound up making out with some bloke named Shimon. Needless to say it was all a result of the “havera”.

To this day the spokesman’s family is my family. I love them. His older sister will always be a good friend. I’ve been to almost every wedding or Bar Mitzvah in that family. And yet something  still happens to my body when I see him. I shut down. 20 years later I still shut down.  At his brother’s wedding a few years ago, Eitan was on my lap. As the spokesman approached, my body must have gotten tense, cause Eitan looked him square in the eyes, and said, “this is my mommy, you’re not allowed to talk to her”. Now he was three, he didn’t have any idea who he was or his name or that I knew him, funny thing body language.

I kind of miss that, taking people at their word. I no longer do that, my feet have been way to long over the coals. I just wish people would be honest, that they could get honest about themselves and about what they want.

And the saddest thing is, that way too often I find myself thinking, dude don’t waste my time, I ain’t 18 anymore. Sometimes I wish I was.

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