Travel Log #36

May 15, 2010

One thing I think I have mentioned briefly is my newly-found flood of male attention. It started, I think, around December or January.

Sexual harassment laws here do exist, but not like in the United States. According to a friend of mine, there was opposition to the nth degree by many conservative men in the Knesset whose argument against outlawing it was "But we're men. This law will prevent us from being how G-d created us". To this paraphrase, his wife rolled her eyes and said "See? This is the chauvinist state we live in". Yet both of them chose Israel over America and choose to remain.

To get back to my original point about my experiences here with it, I could have had at least twelve men locked away for a significant amount of time in the States, or at least black-listed them as sex offenders. Here, it's a different story. Some things, you just have to let slide. I let slide all of them because they don't involve contact. But they still go on the record as awkward moments. For example:

In January, I was in Jerusalem and went to meet my friend Chana--typical girl's-night-out, dinner/dessert and a movie. When it was over, I caught a cab back to where I was staying because buses only run every 45 minute at that time of night, if they run at all. I get in the cab.

The cabbie looks at me and casually asks me "Do you like spontaneous sex?" Hmm...how do I respond to this? Especially to a creepy, 50+ Jerusalem cab driver? Holy City...right. "No, thanks." "Oh, come on. Why not?" he pleads with me, half in Hebrew. "You are beautiful. It is good for you." "I have a boyfriend." "What will he know? Trust me. It is good for you. I am good. Trust me. Just half an hour. I kiss you from here to here" --he motions from foot to head-- "I take you to my home. Not far from here. Or I park up the street. Just half hour. Trust me. Please. You are beautiful. It is good."

Really? Do I seem that easy? Seriously, if he wants to seduce me, he's going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that. Or at least offer a back massage.

"No. Let me out here, please. Thanks." He actually does. He waits until I'm inside the building. He waits another five minutes, probably to make sure I don't change my mind. Then, finally, he drives away.

Meanwhile, some random person, who I can only speak with in Hebrew, keeps calling me at 3:00am and other inopportune times, telling me he likes/loves me and wants to see me--from a "Private Number". I have no idea who he is, how he knows my number or my name. Sorry.

I walk everywhere in Tel Aviv. The שוק (shuk--open market) is about five blocks from my apartment on the corner of הירקון (HaYarkon) and אלנבי (Allenby). Within five blocks I get hit on at least four times, each time I go to the שוק, two to three times a week.

Or it's like this: to get to Assaf's house (at night) I take the bus. The 16 to the תחנה מרכזית (Central Station) is a half block from the apartment. About ten feet from the bus stop is a restaurant/cafe. Old 60+ man is sitting there. I have Therem with me, always doubles my attractiveness apparently. He asks me to play for him and to come over to his house. I decline. He says he'll pay me. Gives me some sob story about being a widower as if that'll win me over. I get flashes of being dumped in a gutter somewhere in Yaffo.

I tell him I have a boyfriend. (Different from last time--better, real, an actual relationship.) The guy complains: "What kind of boyfriend? He can't even pick you up?" "He doesn't have a car." "Then he's good for nothing! I'll show you what I have. Cars, buildings, lots of money. Want to work in real-estate? I'll hire you." Now that's tempting...a well-paying job (if I can actually sell anything), but not if I have to sleep with Mr. Creep-Bomb to get it--and keep it.

"Sorry. Not interested. I love my boyfriend." The Beatles start playing in my head.

I walk to the bus stop which is about ten feet from him.

About fifteen seconds later, he gets up and gets into his car, a blue BMW convertible. He turns it on and starts driving, or so I think. Really, he drives it ten feet up the curb to right in front of me, stops, looks at me and smiles, gestures at the vehicle around him, makes sure I acknowledge it, then puts the car in reverse. He parks, gets out of the car, sits back down at his seat and winks at me.

"You, I'll drive you," he says.

Thankfully, the bus shows up. 5.80 is more than worth the price of getting quickly away.

Once, on the way back from Assaf's, I was walking to the bus stop and got stopped by a guy who asked me to a concert and begged me to give him my number. It's ridiculous, really, but I do have to admit rather flattering, considering my previous record. I just keep wondering when I actually got attractive.