The Meaning of Life and Other Vegetables

Zohar called on the weekend. I was surprised – we haven’t talked in a while.

“Would you like to go see Evita the week after next?”

“What?… You know I can’t afford that show.”

“Of course… me neither. But listen. I have a friend here in Jerusalem, her name is Michal. She’s our age. Her dad is a lawyer, and he has clients in show business. Long story short, he got 10 tickets for free, from one of his clients. Michal’s parents are going, and she’s going too. She asked me to go with her. ‘Bring someone nice too’, she said… so I thought maybe you’d be interested…? They just don’t know what to do with all those tickets…”

Wow.

I didn’t expect anything like that. Zohar is a great friend, and I always had feelings for her, but I never thought she’d make a move. That she’d ever think of me as anything but a friend. Besides, ever since I joined the navy, I hardly got to speak with her.

“Sure, but where is it?”

“Um, Jerusalem…”

“Mid-week? You know I’m based at the port, and it’s at least two and a half hours by bus. If they even let me go out that night.”

“I know. I thought we could all stay at Michal’s after the show, then you could take the first bus back in the morning… They have a huge house, her dad makes lots of money. See what you can do…? It would be great to see you again.”

Can’t say no to that, can I?…

“All right, Give me the date and if we’re not out in sea that night I’ll put in a request for a night off.”


Lucky enough, it works out fine.


On the day, I manage to leave a little earlier than normal, hop on the bus and make it to the venue just in time to meet everyone in the foyer, a little while before the show starts. Zohar is charming as usual – black short hair, shiny dark eyes, shy smile, slim figure. Michal is a little mysterious. Taller, fuller, long straight brown hair, brown eyes, speaks in a low voice. She is friendly, yet a little distant. Her parents say hi, give us the tickets, and mingle away. Mutual inter-generational disinterest…

The show is top notch, as expected. In other circumstances, plenty of excitement for a sailor in the city, off for one night mid-week. But this night is just beginning, as it turns out.

We meet back in the foyer and go from there to the parents’ car. A Mercedes of course. The parents are at the front, and us three are tucked at the back. Zohar is in the middle seat.

Then we arrive at the house, and indeed it’s huge and shiny. Not the kind of people I’m used to being around. The parents disappear somewhere, and Michal is showing us our rooms.

Then Zohar says, very casually, “Actually my friend is going to swing by and we’re going to go eat something. Do you feel like coming?”

It’s already almost midnight, and tomorrow I need to take the 5am bus back to my base.

Michal says “I’m going to bed. I’m really tired and I have an early start tomorrow.”

Zohar looks straight at me and I can’t tell if she’s neutral or really wants me to join. Welcome to life on the spectrum (years before anyone even started using that term).

“Yeah, sure, why not. But hey, Jerusalem is a bit chilly for me, and I only have this dress shirt.”

Michal, who seemed to not listen at all, replies “Hang on, I’ll get you something.” Then she disappears, and comes back after a minute with a purple sweater. “There”, she hands it to me, “I have dozens.”

I take it and have a look – apparently it’s unisex. Not expensive, but it’s a good quality, thick wool sweater. Did rich-girl just casually gift it to me? Either way, Zohar is already turning to go because someone just knocked on the door. I thank Michal, quickly put the sweater on – it’s perfect – and hurry after her.

Outside the front door stands a guy. Rather tall and rather slim. Shabby. Dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin. About 30 years old, I guess. I’m being introduced, but after all those years I can’t remember his name now. I only remember it didn’t disclose his heritage. His Hebrew is native, but a slight accent tells me that he’s Palestinian. Apparently, he is Zohar’s friend, and she is happy to see him. I guess we are considered friends now, too…? Fine with me.

He has an old, beaten car. We go inside. Zohar is sitting next to him and I’m at the back. We drive through parts of Jerusalem that I know – it’s very nice at night. Then we go through parts I don’t know. Then we arrive somewhere. A few words from Zohar inform me that we are in East Jerusalem. It’s already past midnight. Not exactly the right time and place for two young Jewish Israelis, I think.

But Zohar and our friend behave as if this is absolutely normal, and as safe as a walk in the park in the middle of the day. Apparently we arrived at an eating place. There are numerous people around, all the lights are on, music is playing… Just an ordinary summer night, in one of the most troubled cities in the world.

We sit down and eat. The food is amazing and the atmosphere is friendly. No one around seems to care about us, though they sure can tell Zohar and I are outsiders.

Then we drive to another place and have Arab sweets and coffee. Same atmosphere. What a treat. I bounce between “Silly me, why was I worried?…” and “Our names could be in the news tomorrow – two soldiers on vacation lynched by a mob in East Jerusalem”… This is crazy. I don’t want to live like that. Why can’t it just be “three friends having fun late on a summer night in Jerusalem”?

Around 3am we return to Michal’s house. I am exhausted. What a night… I take my clothes off and shove them all into my backpack, including the purple sweater. I am too tired to notice. Tomorrow morning (which is in about one hour for me) I will put on my navy uniform and take the bus back to the port base. I barely have any time left to sleep. My head hits the pillow, and after what feels like a minute the alarm clock goes off.


Weeks pass. It’s now a Friday night and I’m on vacation, back home. My friends and I are about to go out to dance and have some drinks. Suddenly, a group of old friends from high school show up. Among them is Inbal, whom I had a terrible crush on throughout high school. She is still stunning beautiful, and just as casual as she always was. “Hey, what’s up? How’s life in the navy?…”

A little more chitchat, and we’re all about to go out. Then Inbal says “It’s a bit cold and I didn’t put much on – can I borrow something of yours?”

The purple sweater!

To me it looked unisex, but anyway, I got it from a girl… Michal and Inbal are about the same size. I haven’t put that sweater on since that night in East Jerusalem. I’m sure it’s somewhere around here. Yes! I found it.

“There you go.”

“Interesting… where did you get that sweater from? It’s not what I’d expect to find in your closet – ?”

“Long story, not that interesting”, I deflect. “Hey, you can keep it if you like it.”

What won’t a guy do for his high school crush?… Anything for another smile from her.

She puts the sweater on. It looks beautiful on her. How can it not? Those nice curves… and the purple is a perfect match with her dark brown hair and brown eyes. Time to go dancing.


More weeks go by. One weekend the phone rings and Zohar is on the line.

“Hey Zohar, what’s up? Tickets for another show?…”

“All good. Actually, it’s kind of related. Michal is asking if she could have the purple sweater back.”

“- – -“