She drove him wild. Her breasts filled the tight blouse to bursting; her legs seemed very long beneath the mini-skirt; and the heels announced that she was ready—ready to play the role of his sex doll.
He’d been with women before—quite a few. There was that Yemenite girl who wanted him when he was still young; the soldier from his base, so romantic she thought it would end in marriage; and a few students who might have been nice—but certainly weren’t thinking about marriage, at least not with him. Even at the “spiritual” festival—where, between yoga hums and cheerful guitar choruses, people were mostly looking for human warmth—he “got with” a few girls; he didn’t even remember how many.
But they were always Shira, Tamar, and Einav—maybe Noga, Mika, and Rachel. There might even have been a Shoham or a Shirel. But Ingrid—definitely not.
She had seduced him—of that he was sure. She wanted to prove she could “get” him, and used every trick to make sure he wouldn’t slip away: the looks at the travelers’ hotel, the shameless flirting, the little touches as if by accident. She wasn’t a professional at seduction—but she knew how to seize at least his attention. The hair twirls, the deep neckline, the minimal outfit left little room for other thoughts. She wanted him—and she would have him.
He wanted her too—but wasn’t sure what, exactly. To drown in that chest? To lift the short skirt and see what she wore beneath? To take her to a room—and not let her leave until he’d exhausted every position in his head? Or maybe, on the private list every man keeps, there should also be a non-Jewish woman?
That word lodged in his head and refused to leave. It ricocheted back and forth—goyah, goyah, goyah—what was that strange sound? So what if she’s a non-Jewish woman—isn’t she a human being? What does it matter if she doesn’t know what Yom Kippur or the Seder night are? What does that have to do with a man and a woman who, of their own free will, undress and have sex? And why does that rabbi suddenly pop into his head, wagging a finger: “Do not sleep with a shikse”? Millions of Jews have slept with non-Jewish women throughout history—did that make them worse? Defective?
He was angry with himself. The sex doll stood before him—and he was running images of rabbis and the Holocaust through his mind. His subconscious kept spitting out pictures: a Jewish woman, naked, humiliated by the Nazis; a young, poor Jewish man in early-twentieth-century Brooklyn dreaming only of marrying the beautiful Jewish girl from the block; and pioneers arriving, building the land—and celebrating with the kibbutz girls, the Jewish ones.
The images flooded him. He couldn’t disconnect. He felt his penis was the emissary of the nation—and that if it breached her walls, it would be swallowed inside and never come out.
He knew he would regret it all his life—but he turned, walked out the door, and left the non-Jewish woman behind. He couldn’t touch her—and he wouldn’t let her touch him. The subconscious won; the narrative embedded in him overpowered the animal urge. And they said: Amen.
