Jewish Geography (I can’t believe there is a Wikipedia for this), the past time of Yids abroad and at home.

Unless you’re from NYC or LA, it’s hard to be Jewish and not know somebody who knows somebody when asked,  “Hey do you know <fill in blank> s/he davens /goes to shul/went to/works for . I’ve played in Seattle when talking to my mom’s friends that have family/children in Israel. Believe me, you always know somebody.

Apply Jewish Geography to the pool of single/divorced men in Israel over the age of 35, yikes! Apply my rule of never dating anybody my friends have dated (it’s like sharing underwear), double yikes. Add the fact that women always talk about their worst dates, and it equals Anna, Her Friend and the Fireman.

Almost all of my good friends are divorced or single, and as it happens, we share notes. About two years ago SA and I met for lunch. She told me about her weekend in Eilat. Eilat can only be defined as the Las Vegas of Israel, without the casinos (we have a coral reef and the Red Sea,  so who needs Black Jack). Lots of hotels, lots of tourists, lots of booze, and way too many stories.  L-rd knows my 21st birthday was a “what happens in Eilat, stays in Eilat” kind of story.

Now SA is very conservative (well at face value) and it doesn’t take a lot to shock her, but as she started to talk I became shocked.  The short version, she meets a great guy (Fireman from Ashdod), they go for a drink, take a walk on the beach, are sitting having  a glass of wine on the sand. BOOM! She turns her head and he’s naked rolling in the sand (see jaw drop).  She made like Anna after dating the Talker, choked on her wine  and was gone at light speed.

Jump ahead two years. Around April of this year, somebody started to chat me up on FB. Very handsome, just like I like then, tall, dark, and bad-ass (is that hyphenated?).  You know the shuck and jive:

Me:  “So what do you do?”.

FM: “I’m a firefighter” .

Me:  “Ah really, where do you live”.

FM: “Ashdod”.

See Anna whirl-a-desking her mind for a piece of information that sounds familiar.

Me:  “So what do you do in your free time”.

FM:  “I like to surf,  swim, dive, and hang out on the beach”.

See the light bulb go on while recalling girl talk.

Me: “Oh you know what, I think we have a mutual friend. You know SA, I think you guys met in Eilat”.

Suddenly there was silence, which more often than not,  speaks louder than word.

FM:  “You know I have to go, I have…um….laundry in the machine”.

Me:  “I bet you do”.

Needless to say, I never heard from the Fireman again.

Moral of the story, dudes keep your pants on, literally.  Because it’s not enough that women are genetically inclined to collogue, but when you’re playing Jewish Geography in a population pool of maybe 10,000 somebody is always alway always going to know somebody.

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