Israeli Boys

I have a weakness for Israeli boys - I suppose most Diaspora girls go through that phase during their lives. Nothing new.

We meet an attractive and fearless boy that has survived a certain hell on earth, and the local pussies fade in comparison. Israel is a kind of hell - it sucks you in, the madness and urgency that boils in that country seeps through every aspect of its culture. I love it. The music, the pursuit of a good time, the community that travelling bands of Israelis form overseas. You can't see it happening with Jewish Australians, somehow. Yes, we're from the same town, perhaps even the same suburb - but that doesn't equate to any closeness or shared understanding. Often it only aggrevates. Perhaps our community is just too small, too insulated, too self-conscious.

Maybe that's why I love Israeli men. They command attention, not respect; they require moderation, not nurturing; they're not the mummies' boys that we seem to find in Melbourne. They grow their hair long, they are loud, they are up for a laugh and a party any time. They fuck - not 'make love'.

And that's what I need right now. As my good friend D____ said, "RJ, you're just living on the wrong continent." D____ is a Russian Israeli who's been living here since being discharged from the army at the end of last year - a blue-eyed blondini who is fervent follower of hiphop and all things black. A little how I used to be when I lived in America.

D___ couldn't understand how I've been single for five months - "You wouldn't go for more than two weeks in Israel," he told me. Which is quite true when considering the number of relationships I had when travelling last year. I suppose I appeal to the Israeli man because
a) I understand and speak Hebrew - not as fluent as I used to, but the awkwardness associated with foreign communication is somewhat distilled.
b) I'm different to Israeli girls in that I have an acute sense of social responsibility; I am softly spoken and come across as a 'nice' girl.
c)I also speak my opinion and try not to take shit - I am nobody's doormat.

Perhaps I'm just me.

Back to Israeli boys. Or men. These are guys who have fought in one of the most dangerous regions in the world, boys who have to grow up and be men much earlier than the common Australian. They are rugged, they are resourceful, they are invincible. They are arrogant. They can be insensitive pricks, self-centred users and suspicious characters.

They are a Diaspora Girl's wet dream - the complete opposite of the boys waiting for them at home.

But we do come from different homes - us Diaspora Girls and our Israeli Boys. We grew up in very different situations, families, expectations. Yes, we're both Jewish - but how far does that connection stretch? In some of my relationships, the sheer culture clash creates the wedge in the relationship; distance also plays a significant part. Are you Ashkenazi? Sephardi? How does that make us so different? We all know what Shabbat is. We know a little bit about the Tanach. We know where the Chabad centres in developing countries are to get a good free meal. Is that all?

Perhaps this is just a passing phase - and I, like so many other Diaspora Girls will slowly get over it. That is certainly possible. But since there are no prospects here in Australia, my mind wanders to the what ifs. Then again, I'm no fortune teller.

Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy the attraction.

Background

During a conversation with Z****, while under the influence, I relayed to her my desire, when I'm an established author, to one day write a book called 'The Lovers of My Life'. The novel would be a reflection on what I've learnt from all my relationships over the years - casual, serious, flirtations, frustrations - you get it. I know that it's been done many times over, but I've experienced a series of strange and amusing situations that could appeal to those women out there who feel like a good hunk of chicklit.

I suppose this is what this blog is designed to communicate: my reflections on growing up and living in the Australian Jewish community - the pain, the satisfaction, the frustration, the glorious, the belonging and the alienation that encircles us all.

So, a little bit of background:

I am a reluctant JAP - a Jewish Australian Princess hesitant to accept the 'privileged' label attached to my background and upbringing.

My best friend is Z****, a woman of valour in all seriousness, a self-assured and inspiring individual who never ceases to amaze and amuse me.

My younger sister is A****, a shy and awkward girl finding her place in the world.

My longest term boyfriend is 2. He, I assume, will pop into posts as exes have a habit of doing. Without permission.

All women in this blog will be referred to by their initials followed by ****. All men are the initials followed by ____.

Enjoy.

The Man of Many Firsts...

There's always that one guy that you encounter many 'firsts' with:
first kiss
first fondle
first fuck
first fuck that didn't mean anything
first fuck that made you feel alive
that first time you wanted to rip the clothes right off his body
that first time time disappeared and you stayed in bed all day with not a care in the world
that first time you realised that you are sexy just the way you are

Well, I encountered many firsts while travelling the globe, however many of my firsts were with an Israeli man I dated right here in Melbourne.
He was the first guy who made me feel like sex on legs - in MELBOURNE. Now, I'm a firm believer that home has an enormous impact on the way we feel and interact with eachother - and with this man I felt so completely comfortable with who I was and what I was doing.
He was the first guy that cooked me lunch with no expectations of anything to follow.
He was the first guy to convince me that I was able to get away with car sex.
I did.
He was the first guy to really take a fantasy to the point of no return - nothing was too difficult for him.

But my voracious apetite for different flavours got the better of both of us - he moved interstate and I moved on. Besides, I knew I was his rebound girl. He was still in love with his Israeli sweetheart who drove him crazy.

"We can be friends for a long time," he said to me. I hoped that his words would ring true, and I tried so hard to believe him. I nodded and thought about how alike we were - there is still nbody (except for my best friend) who gets me like he did. But he wasn't for me - nor I for him. He was too cocky, a self-assurance that convered a deep void of self-esteem. And I wasn't in the mood for that. Besides, I knew his girlfriend would disapprove of our friendship/relationship once she came back into the scene.

So I dropped him and got on with my life. If it was his diary, he would probably say that I go through men like Kleenex. That's how I wanted him to feel: I didn't need him, and I was a strong independent woman. Missed phonecalls lapsed into months of non-communication.

Then I get one last missed call on my phone during work. And a voicemail message -
"Hi, this is M_____, the Israeli from a month ago... I've been in Melbourne for a week and today is my last day. We said we'd stay in contact, so here's my email address. I wish you the best in everything."

What a surprise! I was just thinking of him - how I missed his hand caressing my neck as we walked along the beach promenade, how he tried to kiss me in the cinema on our first date, how his fingers tapped my thigh to the music as I drove long drives during that summer.

I called him back. He was so odd on the phone - so wooden and restrained. I figured the girlfriend came back to rescue her fallen prince - it turned out I was right.

But, nevertheless, he will always remain my Man of Many Firsts...