Love Story, Israel Style
So I'm living in a one-room apartment, which means that the kitchen and bathroom are literally out of doors, on a rooftop, and I get a summer job as a camp counsellor. A friend, who had helped me paint the place, after I scraped off three years of pigeon doo-wah, was looking for a place for the summer. Now 15 square meters isn't that small for two people, especially if one of them is going to be at camp all summer, so I took him in.He was working at a psychiatric treatment center as a getting-through-the-day counsellor. One day he brough home several other counsellors for lunch and relaxation. That was the only day during the summer that I had a half-day vacation. (Those of you who don't believe that the Master of the Universe arranges the big and little details of the world are cordially invited to write a 12,000 word essay on chance, to be submitted before you log off.) I came home noontime to find my house full of people I didn't know. Not only that, but they were downright rude, treating me as if I was intruding on their happening , which happened to be happening in my living room, or bed room, or study.
Except for one, who came over and talked to me.
As a matter of fact, at one point, this one (it was a she-one) was sitting on the floor next to my bed talking to me. I was laying on the bed, talking to her. All of a sudden, the bookshelves, which I had built myself with my own two hands, out of the boards of the box I had shipped my materiel possessions to Israel in, tipped over of its own accord, and would have come crashing down on me, had I not seen it moving and thrown up a foot and caught it half-way. (Those of you who don't believe that the Master of the Universe has a great sense of humor are cordially invited to write a 12,000 word essay on the use of tools of symbolism, including a man's books, his shipping crate, and furniture crafted by none other than the victim, to be submitted before you log off.)
The story should end right there, but for the slightly thick fellow who didn't notice that he had just met his wife-to-be. As a matter of fact, he so much didn't notice, that when they met on the street several weeks later, he didn't even remember where he had met her or who she was.
Not to fear. Our story continues.
After another chance meeting or two , on bicyclyes on the streets of fair city, Chaia goes NewJerseywards for the first time in several years to visit her parents. While there, a friend tells her that she knows a guy she should meet, who will be coming to Israel in another four months. Chaia returns to Israel and thinks: Four Months? I don't want to wait four months. So she calls up her friend and Ncoom's roommate, and fixes a date for a haircut, which she is in the habit of performing on penurious and otherwise unsuspecting friends. Except this time, she says, lets do it at your place.
Dear reader. End of the story. Chaia comes over, gives good buddy a haircut, gives Ncoom a haricut, and the conversation before the night is over has gone to do you want a big family (yes and yes), and where do you want to live? (In a settlement, he says. Ok, she says)
If you need help preparing for your romantic involvement, or just want to exchange a good word, write me at .
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