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Orit is a painter and writer living in Tel Aviv. She is currently working on her first book, entitled The Fountain of Esther, a creative comparison of the Book of Esther and The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
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By Orit
October 22, 2004
So my first few weeks in Tel Aviv, where not turning into the "Sex in the City" fantasy I had imagined. I got my second parking ticket; I had to work overtime during the Sukkot holiday; and I still didn't have a decent date. I needed to escape the realities of Tel Aviv. I needed to change the channel. Little did I know that my getaway weekend in Sinai would cast me into what seemed like a different kind of TV show -- a reality TV show: "Sinai Survivor."
The "show" began when my good friend Aaron and I arrived at "Shanty Beach," one of the only beach hostels with rooms, or actually, straw huts, available for $15 a night, the peak-season rate. Despite terrorist warnings, the place was packed. I couldn't wait to plop myself on the multicolored cushions of the restaurant huts, which apropos resembled sukkahs, and munch on pita and tehina while I kicked-back and scanned the scene for attractive company.
Over dinner we quickly befriended Liat at a nearby cushion. Liat had also recently moved from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, and I was excited at the prospect of a new female friend. In "Sex in the City" terms, she would have made a good Charlotte. She had long wavy hair and a seeming look of innocence that said "if only a hairy man would dominate me."
We moved the conversation to a blanket near the shore, and Assaf, a round guy with a chin ring, came over to tell us about a spiritual awakening he had at a Chasidic convention in the Ukraine. His tale was interrupted by a faint boom, and Aaron joked that there was an attack in Saudi Arabia across the sea.
We all laughed, and Assaf continued: "You realize that materialism makes you miserable."
I almost asked him if he would really ever give-up his air conditioner in the humid Tel Aviv summer. But then I realized that I was happy at that moment, subsisting on electric generators and bedrooms made out of bamboo.
Suddenly, a woman whizzed by and slurred that a bomb went off at the Taba Hilton.
The Sinai trance was broken. "Sinai Survivor" took off.
Cell phones appeared out of nowhere. People were frantically trying to call their family and friends to find out what happened, but with little luck. Either there was no reception in Sinai, or the network was clogged.
My first thought when the attack was confirmed was: "Great, there goes my vacation." My second thought was: "Maybe now Paris Hilton will take a greater interest in world affairs." My third thought was: "I should really try to be upset." But I really didn't feel like counting the dead that night. I had come to Sinai to leave the real world at the border.
Then word hit about another attack at the beach village of Ras al-Satan, a few miles south of us. At that point, the majority voted themselves off the peninsula.
As I looked at the frantic faces around me, I didn't understand why so many Israelis, who grew-up in a country where war is practically routine, were overtaken by such an emotional, panic-stricken fear. Then I remembered that most of them had probably not lived in Jerusalem during the intafada.
Living in Jerusalem had toughened my skin to terrorist attacks. There were periods when they occurred almost weekly, some of them in my neighborhood. It was there that I realized that if I were to write an op-ed and mourn unfamiliar faces after every attack, I would never really be able to live my life.
So I was determined to remain in Sinai. Sinai was my escape from Tel Aviv. Would I now go back to Tel Aviv to escape Sinai?
Besides, I didn't think it was safe to depart so soon. It was still very dark, the borders were jammed, and maybe snipers were on the roads. So I fell asleep under the open huts by the shore, the sound of the wind and waves as my lullabye.
In the morning I was stunned to find "Shanty" completely desolate. I didn't even hear footsteps in the night. Assaf was one of the last paying his bills; Liat left without even saying goodbye.
I debated whether or not I too should call it quits. I had come to Sinai in part to socialize, and there was no one left to meet.
Well, almost no one. Arik Ze'evi, the Olympic bronze medalist in Judo, was spending his last day at "Shanty" as planned, and he was much hunkier in person. So I asked if he would teach me some judo -- a girl's got to know how to protect herself -- but he sweetly declined. His girlfriend was peeking over his extremely broad shoulder.
Wondering why all the good ones are taken, I took what I thought would be my final walk across the Sinai coast, until I heard castaways at "Dharma Beach," calling-out: "We are Survivors! Join us!"
Aaron and I immediately moved to Dharma. This time, huts were only $6 a night, and with the beach empty and most living targets back in Israel, I would not have felt any safer at a rowdy beach in Tel Aviv.
Abu Hassan, the dark, lanky, owner of the joint, lounged on the pillows like a Bedouin cat, smoking a commonplace Sinai joint. He assured us that we would be safe with him and that we would receive royal treatment. Slowly, the other Survivors were also drawn to the warmth, tranquility, and charm of Dharma and its owner.
Having found my Sinai niche, I spent much of the day floating on an ocean raft, feeling like I owned the water and the sun. But as night fell, I remembered that I was in an Arab country, and my fears crept-up on me.
"Maybe a terrorist will kidnap us?" I confided to the dozen Survivors over our Shabbat dinner of rice and what seemed to be chicken.
"If they kidnap you, then they kidnap me. I won't let anything happen," said Abu Hassan, puffing away.
Instinctively, I believed him, and I didn't think it was a pick-up line either, since word had it that he was seeking an Israeli bride. He revealed to us that he had served in the IDF when Sinai was in Israel's hands. As the days wore on, we all started to feel like a family, calling Abu Hassan simply "Abba," (father).
As an Egyptian taxi drove us to the border, I felt a sense of triumph. I had won. I had survived Sinai.
Upon my return, people called me foolhardy for remaining, but I think I would have been foolish for leaving. Had I left, I would not have possessed the entire beach; I would not have been spoiled by Abu Hassan; and I would not have made new friendships. By remaining in Sinai, I had defied the terrorists.
And even though there was no "Sex in the Sinai" either, and I didn't leave with a date, I look back at my experience and think that if I had survived the harsh reality of Sinai, then maybe I could survive the realities of Tel Aviv too.
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Purely personal messages to Orit can be sent to orit@israelinsider.com. Please use Talkback for messages of general interest.
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