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Orit is a painter and writer living in Tel Aviv.
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By Orit
March 3, 2006
I'm sitting in my apartment alone on Thursday night.
Thursday night. The night that everyone parties in Tel Aviv. And I have no one to call and nowhere to go.
I've already informally broke off ties with someone who used to be a very good friend. We had so much in common except for one little thing: he wants the settlers expelled. He wants to get out of the "occupied territories at all costs."
I told him that we should sit over a beer one day and talk about this -- I said I know we have differences, but we never really discussed them at length. I thought that maybe I could convince him to see otherwise, or to at least soften his view. He dodged the offer, but assured me that he sympathized with my feelings, even though for whatever reason he admires Olmert and plans to vote for Kadima.
Then a few days later he asked me if I could be a guarantor for an information security contract he had to sign for a company hiring him. Basically, I had to cover his ass to the tune of several thousand shekels in case he snitched company secrets. It was just a formality -- a psychological method to assure employee loyalty -- he explained. It would show the company that he could be trusted and that people trust him. He's probably right. But I couldn't bring myself to sign it, and I told him why, for better or worse.
As an enthusiastic supporter of Olmert, a man who ordered people that I know and love to be physically wounded in Amona, he was stabbing me in the back. If I associated myself with those women on the rooftops of Amona, how could I trust him with my life, let alone my money? I again offered to discuss it at length over a beer, but he "wasn't in the mood." We haven't spoken since.
Then I started thinking about all my other "friends" who call me an extreme right-winger to my face, and I just don't care to be in their company anymore. They talk about boys and work, and all I talk about is Jewish kids getting beaten-up by brutal, cruel police. All I talk about is the fate of a wimpy nation that likes to tune out to the slaughter of its own citizens.
There's no use in my making new friends in Tel Aviv anymore. We live in the same city, but in different worlds.
Nor can I sit in cafes and bars with ease, either. They seem so shallow and empty to me. I used to get excited when I saw a new bar or cafe go up in the city -- I loved to see Israel develop ? but now I feel like shouting to the owners: "You're wasting your time! We're going to have a war on our hands soon and this café or bar is gonna go down with this country!" And I feel like shouting to the bar-goers, "Your time may be up soon, buddy -- is this how you want to be remembered?"
I don't understand how people can go on as usual anymore. These are not usual times, but they love to pretend that everything's normal.
Obviously I can't really talk to my Tel Aviv "friends" about the changes I'm undergoing. They wouldn't understand. They would call me brainwashed or crazy.
Yeah, maybe I'm a little crazy. I admit that. But I've accepted this new Orit that is emerging.
So I'm still sitting alone in Tel Aviv with no one to call and nothing really to do. But that's what I get for stripping myself of the nothingness. Here's hoping something, or someplace, or someone better will fill the void, the void that I'm finally proud to feel.
Views expressed by the author do not
necessarily reflect those of israelinsider.
 
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