Unbroken Glass

I love Israelis, don’t get me wrong, I’m an Israeli myself. It’s just that I cant cope properly with how they feel they have to share everything that comes to their minds.
A bit of tact would do.

Whenever I go out with a non-Israeli guy, I feel how I miss the Israeli warmth, their sharpness and honesty, the combination of being very macho on the outside and very sensitive on the inside, and generally the whole fought-in-Lebanon-my-friend-died-I-cried-for-days-hey-you-look-gorgeous-tonight sort of vibe.
The problem with Israelis is that they can’t really define the difference between men and women, we are all the same, a girl is basically one of the guys, when I was secular my male friends (Male! Friends!) use to see me and slap me on the back so hard I nearly fell on the floor every time.
In other words, most of the Israeli BT’s that I’ve met, were either being extremely into Shmiros Einayim, or they were completely and incredibly un-tznius.

So, I meet this guy few days ago.
Looks very Israeli, I mean tall, tanned, dark eyes and vicious smile. I like that.
We sat down and started talking. I wasn’t feeling great (I have the flu) so I just let him do most of the talking.
So he tells me his little life story, the things he feels are crucial for me to know about him, intimate experiences with girls in South America, intimate experiences with girls in Australia, and a minor experience with a man, I’m not sure about the geographical place.
I refused sharing with him any of my private intimate experiences, I’m sorry, but half an hour acquaintance isn’t enough for me. I really should open up more, I know.

I asked him what is he looking for in a wife.
I’m looking for a super-model with Yiras Shomayim, he said. Ohh, don’t you just love the Israeli honesty? Finally a guy who says what’s really on his mind, that he’s looking for a porn star and Sarah Imeinu all in the same package.
Then I asked him what is he doing with himself besides of going to yeshiva.
He’s a musician, he writes songs, he writes about the things that trouble him, about all those deep emotions, about the difficulties he finds in his life, about life without women, about life without physical pleasure, about life where he has nothing he can do about it either.
I wanted to say something here but he just continued
Do you know how frustrating it is when you’re not allowd to do anything about it? Do you realize how hard it is when you cant spill your seed?
Er,…no. I dont actually.
Why do you think I should be listening to all this? I asked him quietly. My head was beginning to ache.
Then he gave me this whole vort about how when you spill your seed, you spill drops of Kedusha, and how once it’s out its taking a part of your soul with it and if he only could, he would lock his Yetzer in the closet. Too bad you locked your brain there instead, I thought. He continued by saying that going to the Mikve helps. Why, I asked, Do you feel the Tahara? I was actually being cynical, but he just said
No, you see, it’s cold. Freezing cold water. Just like taking a cold shower.

Oh dear…and me with this horrible flu…I just sat there with my hands leaning on my knees and covering my face. Trying to get some sleep, devoting myself to the high fever and hallucinating about finding me a normal guy with a healthy need and yet, a bit of tact, sanity and tznius.
I woke up just to hear him say something that sounded like
I think you should know I get attached very easily.
That remark came an hour into the date. I felt like it deserved a response. And you’re telling me this, why?
Well, you have Yiras Shomaim, you have a brain, and the looks of a model (I really don’t, b.t.w, it only goes to show he hasn’t seen what real models look like in too long) so I think I don’t have to think anymore.

That was the key for me to leave.
I told him I’m so sorry but feeling incredibly ill and I truly need to be in bed now.
He said it’s quite alright, especially because he now feels (after our very deep and thought-provoking conversation), that he knows enough there is to know about me already.

The wonderful thing about losing all hope of me ever finding my zivug, is that I just don’t care anymore, so dates are either pure entertainment or just another brick in the wall of my insane-men theory.

When we were already outside, he took off his glasses, turned to me and asked whether he looks sexier without them.
I said Goodnight.
I put on my headphones, turned the volume to the loudest, started walking in the cold Jerusalem air, and pretended as if this has never happened.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 10th, 2002 at 4:23 pm and is filed under She. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.