December 9-10 （visa expires in 35-36 days）
“Wow. This a big place for one person. Are you sure you live alone?”
“Yeah. Rent went down a lot during the pandemic so I could afford it.”
Daniel sat down on the sofa without being invited. He gave me a serious look.
“You haven’t told me anything about your other family.”
“Nothing to tell. I don’t have one.”
“What does that mean? You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know where you grew up.”
His sincere expression made me relent a little. “I grew up in a religious settlement in Gush Etzion near Jerusalem.”
“So why aren’t you wearing a kippa?”
“I have one. It’s just in my pocket.” I pointed at the bulge in my right pocket.
“What happened? Lost your faith?”
“I left the religious community and I’m not observant anymore, but I still believe in Him,” I pointed upward. “He’s not just in a wall we built two thousand years ago. He’s everywhere and I believe He’s with me in Thailand as well. Actually, I feel His presence more here. Do you believe in Him?”
“I believe in divine things that are beyond description.”
“Like?”
“The sense of awe you get when you see the pyramids in Mexico, or the Himalayas. The sense of serenity you get when you look at animals, waves, a sunrise or the flames of a fire in the dark. And most of all love, which I think is proof that there’s something divine in all of us.”
I looked at him; he wasn’t such a shallow person after all.
“What made you stop being religious?”
I hesitated but then decided that he had a right to hear my story.
“ My family was like every other happy family when I was little. Not big – just me, my father and mother – but I never felt like I was missing a brother or sister. Everything was fine.” I took a breath.
“When I was twelve, everything changed. One night a terrorist managed to get into the settlement, despite the security fence with its cameras and sensors. It wasn’t the first time, and my father had a gun for protection.
But that night he was in the kitchen, without his gun, when the intruder climbed over our gate and jimmied the lock on our door.
Our house just happened to be the closest to the point where he got through the fence.
My father heard him and grabbed a kitchen knife.
He didn’t want to wake my mom and me. Just as the terrorist came at my father, our neighbor burst in and shot him.
The neighbor had been outside, saw a suspicious figure in our yard, and went to get his gun.
The gunshots woke me up, but I didn’t realize what had made the noise.
From my bed I heard something going on in the living room.
Then my mother came in and told me to go back to sleep.
That everything was alright. The next day when I woke up there was no sign of what happened during the night, but there was no escaping the news and the gossip.
I learned everything I’ve told you from other people.
My father never spoke about it with me. And he was never the same after that night. ”
“But he wasn’t hurt, right?”
“Not physically. And he never admitted how traumatized he was, so it took us a long time to realize it. There’s not enough awareness of the effects of trauma, especially if the victims don’t admit it to themselves.
Sometimes a news story will mention people suffering from shock as if it’s lucky no one was really injured.
Nobody sees. Nobody knows. Until it’s too late.
He just… withdrew into himself. It didn’t happen right away, it was imperceptible, but I think he never got over that night.
He had nightmares. He couldn’t allow himself to be happy, move on.
Sometimes he’d just sit and stare into space.
I tried to be the perfect child, perfect behavior, best grades, not to bother him with my little problems.
But it got worse. When I was 16 my dad started drinking heavily and getting into fits of rage.
He’d yell and threaten, sometimes waving his gun around.
My mother and I would hide. Sometimes I’d hear her crying at night, but I never said anything to her.
I never tried to comfort her. I knew she didn’t want me to worry.
I suspect my father was beating her when I wasn’t around. ”
Daniel took my hand.
“You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to. I want you to know.”
“At 17 I decided to come out to my mom. I couldn’t keep it secret anymore.
She was accepting, embraced me, but asked me not to tell my father.
She didn’t think he’d take it well. She was right.
She knew him better than anyone. And eventually, she escaped.
She disappeared. Without me.” This was the most painful part.
“What happened?”
“I don’t really know. I went into the army when I was 18.
One weekend I came home and my father told me she had disappeared.
He asked if I knew where she was, suspecting I was keeping information from him.
But I knew nothing. She didn’t answer the phone.
I didn’t hear a word from her. I think she waited until I was old enough so that she could run. I think she was terrified of him.”
“So why didn’t she tell you where she was?”
“I guess she was afraid my father would drag it out of me and come after her. He might have.”
“Do you have any idea?”
“I assume she is in the U.S. She’s a citizen and she has an aunt there. I never met her myself, but I know they kept in touch.”
“Wait, you have American citizenship? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t usually think about it. It means no more to me than a freckle on your back that you forget is there.”
It was Daniel’s turn to roll his eyes.
“And how did you get to Thailand?”
“Well, they used to send soldiers who were about to finish their service to a sort of conference. Afterwards, I invited a friend to sleep over before we went back to base because he lived far away. When my father saw a guy come out of my room in the morning, he started in with the homophobic jokes and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I was 21, not a 16-year-old boy in a religious community.
I blamed him for my mother leaving us and my anger broke through my fear of coming out.
My army friends all knew, but the poor guy who stayed over had to witness the most awful coming out scene. ”
“Your father took it badly?”
“To put it mildly. But I don’t want to talk about that.
It makes me furious with him and I don’t want to be.
I know he would have been different if he hadn’t been traumatized.
Still, I realized that as much as I loved my parents, I had to take responsibility for my own happiness, because no one else would. ”
Daniel held my hand tighter.
“So as soon as I got out, I used the discharge grant to fly to Thailand with friends. The thing is, when they went home, I didn’t see any reason to. I had nowhere to go home to.”
“So you just stayed?”
“Yeah. I rented this apartment and I’ve been here ever since. During the pandemic, Naama and Eli noticed there was an Israeli guy living across the hall and invited me over to weather the lockdown. I met Keren and Liam and adopted them all – made them my family.”
“Do they know? Your story?”
“Naama and Eli do. I told them. I think they must have told Keren and Liam some things, the important parts, but we’ve never talked about it. I genuinely feel part of this family. I love them like family.”
“And your father?”
“I wrote to him and told him that I was staying in Thailand and didn’t want anything to do with him.”
“How did he react?”
“I have no idea. I switched to a Thai phone number.”
“But your mother only has your old…”
“That was the hardest part – knowing that even if she wanted to reach out to me, she wouldn’t be able to find me. But I had to do it. She’d had plenty of time to try and contact me.”
“After everything you’ve been though, how the hell do you manage to listen to others talk about their problems?”
“It’s because of what I’ve been through. I know exactly what they need.”
“What is that?”
“To be seen.”
“Seen?”
“Yes. Think about how many people you know without really knowing them – what moves them and what baggage they’re carrying. Some people feel like they’ve never been truly seen, that nobody knows their real story.”
Daniel pondered for a while and then agreed, “You’re right.”
“So what’s your story?”
“Compared to yours, it’s barely a story. I have family and friends in New York who love me.”
“But that’s the root of your story – they’re in New York and you’re here. You had a choice, and it was a lot harder than mine.”
“I don’t think it’s really a choice when you’re a nomad at heart.”
“You mean you were born this way?” Yes. Sometimes I can do American fluff too.
“Not necessarily. I guess the environment played a role too. But the community that I wanted to get away from was the same community that made it possible for me to travel the world. My heart led me to live this nomadic life, and it’s made me happy for the past two years.”
“It’s something I’ve noticed with my clients.
People hate feeling stuck in one situation when they’ve changed.
Their external and internal realities aren’t in sync.
But go explain to everyone that you aren’t the person they thought you were.
That you want to speak, not stay silent, dance and play rather than sit on the sidelines.
That you deserve to receive and not just give. ”
“Exactly. And, at some point, you get sick of hearing how disappointed they are in you for changing. So yes, I don’t see my traveling as brave. It’s actually what’s easiest for me. I can be who I want to be among people who don’t know me and don’t have any expectations.”
I felt there was something he wasn’t telling me, but I didn’t push him. I knew from my work that I had to give him time to believe that I wouldn’t judge him and run away.
“What?” Daniel was aware I was holding back more questions.
“Just wondering if you’ve dated before.” I wanted to ask about his coming out, but this was easier.
“Ah. There were two – girls. When I lived in New York. But it wasn’t serious. I didn’t make much of an effort, and they were looking for husbands.”
“Hang on, you’re bi?”
“I prefer to avoid labeling myself. I feel better with you than I have with anyone, but I don’t want that to be what defines my identity. I’m just attracted to people who make me feel good. I don’t care what’s between their legs.”
What he’d said about me made me feel warm inside, but I had to address the second part as well.
“You’re trying to live a life free of definitions. Everything about you is undefined. Even what we have is undefined.”
“Do you want us to define what we have?”
“Don’t change the…”
Before I had finished my sentence I was silenced by his lips. I don’t know whether he was trying to stop me laying into him or just wanted to kiss me. Whatever, it worked.
He pulled back a little, letting me breathe.
“Amit, Will you be my boyfriend?”
“We’ve only known each other for a week!”
“We haven’t got time to waste playing games, babe.”
“Babe? I don’t really know you. Maybe you’re just playing with me.”
“Maybe, but aren’t I worth the risk?”
Daniel winked and tried to look seductive.
“That’s not helping,” I laughed.
“Maybe this will.” He kissed me again. I didn’t resist and I didn’t want to.
“What do you say now, babe?”
“Ok, ok.” I surrendered.
Daniel sprang to his feet.
“So I can sleep over?”
“On the sofa!”
He did a victory lap around the room.
I woke up from my dream with a start, probably thanks to Daniel’s snoring.
I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t.
A sunbeam peeped through the curtain. It was morning already.
I don’t look at my phone when I wake up in the morning.
I need a coffee before I can face the world – or, in this case, Daniel.
I snuck a look at the sofa as I went to the kitchen.
Daniel was sleeping like a baby, hugging a pillow and breathing deeply.
It was a nice picture. He was shirtless and his muscular chest and arms weren’t covered by the blanket.
A noise from outside broke the spell and I headed for the kitchen. I’d been staring at him for too long.
My apartment was small, and the sound of the electric kettle would probably wake Daniel.
I switched it on anyway. When I came out of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, Daniel was sitting on the sofa with the blanket over his legs.
I hadn’t had my coffee yet and my eyes had a mind of their own. He noticed and laughed.
“Can’t keep your eyes off me can you, babe?”
“Idiot. You’ve got more brawn than brains.”
“So why are you staring?”
“I was sure you’d have a tattoo. I was trying to find it.”
“Stereotyping me again?”
“You don’t?”
“I do actually. In a place you haven’t been lucky enough to see yet. I can show you if you’d like.”
“No!” I said, a bit too forcefully. Blame the lack of caffeine.
“Fine. If you’re not into your own boyfriend…” he looked offended.
“It’s not that. It’s just…”
“I’m kidding babe. I get it.”
His smile turned me into molten lava. I moved closer and kissed his morning-breath mouth. I even forgot to ask about his tattoo.