Golan Heights

2 Tishrei 5757

Your name wanders like a wolf

Through the deserts of my mind

Memories of heat and of spices

Intensify the touch of your lips

Like a flame in a rain storm.

You stand above the esplanade

And when you turn to me

Your eyes are like stars

Which illuminate the depths

Of my heart and my soul.

In the market all was colour

All was noise and smells

Incense and honey and apples

A new year ahead

Waiting to be discovered.

Through arches of stone

Through tunnels of blossoms

Dust clinging to our legs

Cool walls shielding us

Distant wails inspiring faith.

Twilight falls at Jaffa Gate

The Citadel is bathed in gold

And your eyes reflect the sun

Your hands against the wall

You murmur a blessing.

The music of the cicadas

Rises from the bushes

As you turn to take my hand

Faith and love, you and me

The eternal treasure of hope.

Jaffa Gate, Jerusalem

A turning point in my life

I grew up without any kind structured religion. I was interested in all kinds of religious practices and very interested in a sort of New Age spirituality, which is what best describes my mother's inclinations. I went to a church a few times, growing up as I did for the large part in Spain, and in England did my A-Levels at a Quaker school, but nothing really touched my soul as such.
When I left school I moved to Spain permanently. I saw my father, step-mother and brothers in Madrid for the last time in about ten years and the first time in almost as long. I was eighteen and they were living in Madrid at the time. When my paternal grandfather died in 1994 I got an obituary notice from my aunt on which it stated that the Spiero family was living in Tel Aviv. During the years we had no contact I started working for a cosmetics company as their Export Manager and the circumstances came about that I was sent to Israel by the company. I thought it would be interesting, more than anything because my family lived there, but I thought everybody's comments of "going back to my roots" were rather amusing. On the flight over I sat next to an Israeli who really helped to change my life forever. I told him that I was Jewish but that I knew nothing about Judaism. And although I cannot remember a single thing of what he said, I know that our conversation had a very powerful effect on me and by the time we landed at Ben-Gurion airport I was much more interested in visiting my homeland.
And now came the moment I will never forget as long as I live. The plane's doors opened and the caress of the Israeli air touched my face. I descended as if in a daze and the moment my foot stepped on Israeli ground
I started crying and shaking uncontrollably, completely overwhelmed. The people around me didn't act surprised and some came up to me and put their arm around me (including my travelling companion) and told me that they had seen my same reaction many times. I have a clear memory of the particular smell in the air: a warm, Mediterranean caress which cradled my senses. I was totally overwhelmed by emotions as I walked the streets of Jerusalem and the beaches of Tel Aviv and the culmination came when I looked in the phone book, found my father’s number and called him up. I was very happy that he was as excited as I was with my presence in Ha’aretz.

Byblos Castle, Lebanon

A Given Hope

Golden sunshine, falling water;

Nothing can surprise me now.

Nothing short of something:

Keep away those silver threads,

The ones that capture and entwine.

Becasuse ultimately they fade,

Holding in their grip only skin.

The laughing mouth, the smiling eyes,

They are lost on me as treasure is.

It means nothing anymore,

The way clouds race through blue,

The way stones roll silently

Down the path that breathes only mud.

Living only for tomorrow, let it continue;

But wanting today it must die.

Calmer than yesterday the moon sighs,

Its aura shivering with weariness.

The wall leans slightly south-east,

Trying to reach the warmth it yearns.

A pain, a pang of selfish pity, tears.

Laughter hides so much:

Behind a veil of shining eyes,

Lies a deep dullness.

Listening helps not at all;

There's nothing left to hear -

And yet the sunshine remains golden,

The water continues, silently, to fall.

Formentera

Writer's block

For some reason reality has intruded and I have lost the flow of my story. I am hopeful that it is temporary but I am totally uninspired right now! Lauren, the babysitter, was here for three hours and I thought that would give me the chance to get back into but instead I posted photos on Facebook. Shame on me. I am feeling restless and worried and unable to lose myself in fantasy, which is a disaster as far as writing is concerned. It is such a strange and complete change: I feel no connection to my story whereas before it was always in my mind, like a film playing constantly.

I think one of the things interfering with my thought process is the fact that I have lost some work and am worrying about money. That really interferes with the creative process. I have also reached a transitory stage in the story which I am not relishing. I should probably just pick it up somewhere else and worry about filling in the missing pieces later.

On a happier note I spoke to my brother Jov today and that made me happy. It's his birthday tomorrow and was his son Yotam's fifth birthday yesterday. I haven't seen him since he was three months old, and yet it seems like only yesterday.

Raquel, the baker

Latest news from our home

Father's day is almost over and we have had a nice quiet day. Raquel is so much fun to be around, with all her questions and insight. We had a pancake breakfast and then, because it was raining (surprise, surprise) took her to an indoor playground. She had a lot of fun running around with the other children. I love watching her interact with other children. She is definitely a leader. Last night we had dinner at Terri, Bruce and Jack's house and it never ceases to amaze me how well Raquel and Jack play together. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that Jack is very non-confrontational and easy to get along with, but they also seem to have a special understanding. Raquel played the piano for us, banging away quite gently, wiggling her bum and singing "The Farmer in the Dell".

On another note, I am reading "Little Money Street" by Fernanda Eberstadt, which is about gypsy musicians in Perpignan. Fascinating stuff!

Sevilla

Empty Cafe

Smoke rises in a swirling cloud

The smell of coffee prevails

Outside in the twilight shroud

It is windy at it hails.

I sit wrapped in a grey cloak

And I quietly sip my drink

My eyes sting from the smoke

I'm confused, I can't think.

I can almost touch my pain

A throbbing loneliness inside

The hail turns into rain

And I turn, I want to hide.

So many words say nothing

My body aches from tip to toe

I want some warmth and loving

And I want somewhere to go.

There are moments of light

When I know you're out there

They make everything alright

They show me why and where.

Those messianic moments, then

Make life worth all the gold

Which brightens the way when

All is done and told.

The Western Wall

Jerusalem Will Listen

Warm hills, golden sunlight

Dew distilling on the ground

And my steps wander endlessly

Seeking, searching without cease

The memory of your bright face.

Your features like rain

Pour in my mind

Your laughter like the sun

Shines in my heart

Your body like earth

Weighs heavy on my soul.

Heaven was closer then

The skies were bluer

Your eyes were so like

Two stars near the moon

Your lips were like myrrh

Your breath was like incense.

Hear my words, oh Jerusalem

Draw near the heavens

Paint blue the sky

Bring me the myrrh and the incense

Show me the stars and the moon.

Excerpt from "Torero"

Jaime and Raquel picked me up shortly before noon, which was usually the way in Spain. I did not know of many people who left to go to a meeting before the appointed time. Francisco’s cortijo was just outside of Ronda so we got there at about quarter past twelve. The driveway was long and wound through large fields dotted with the black bodies of toros bravos . The fencing was not pretty but definitely sturdy and very high. Made of wire it was topped by rolls of barbed wire. Fernando was waiting for us in front of the main building. A huge elaborately carved wooden door with heavy black hardware was at his back, the entrance into the courtyard of his house. The house itself was the color of sand, with a roof of red tiles. It was astoundingly beautiful. But I seemed to have forgotten how dazzling Fernando himself was.

He greeted us with a wide grin on his face, his black hair glossy as a bull’s hide, his eyes twin pools of coffee and the skin on his face smooth and tan. His lips brushed my cheeks and he said quietly:

“I’m glad to see you, rubia.”

People had called me rubia, blondie, all my life and yet hearing it from his lips gave me an odd thrill. I was beginning to realize that I might have serious feelings for this man who was practically a stranger to me.

After Fernando had greeted Jaime and Raquel he asked us if we wanted to take a tour of the place before or after drinks.

“What do you prefer?” Jaime asked politely.

“If I may, I would suggest we take the tour first and then sit down to eat and drink to our hearts’ content,” Fernando said with a smile still on his face.

“Is Luis not here today?” asked Jaime, looking around as if he could find him lurking behind a tree.

“No,” answered Fernando. “He had some family business to attend to so we are meeting up in Sevilla.”

The four of us climbed into Fernando’s open top Jeep, Jaime and Raquel in the backseat, I in the passenger seat. Fernando did not believe in hanging about and took off down the track at an impressive clip. We bumped up and down in our seats, laughing out loud. We did not go back down the driveway but instead headed deeper into the ranch’s property, through fields filled with enormous black fighting bulls, the humps of charging muscle on their shoulders shivering to rid themselves of the flies that tried to rest on their hides. Fernando stopped the Jeep at the top of a hill and we got out. From here we could see the whole ranch. The view was stunning and I leant against the Jeep, taking it all in.

“How many head of cattle do you have?” Jaime asked.

“About sixty, including erales (two year olds) and utreros (three year olds),” Fernando answered. “I have two fine seed bulls and 24 breeding cows.”

“Do the seed bulls live with the cows?” I asked.

“Most of the time,” Fernando answered. He put an arm casually around my shoulder and pointed into the distance. “That pasture is where the seed bulls and cows live.”

I followed his finger and peered at some black specks on the horizon.

“Come, let’s go and see them,” Fernando said, hopping back in the Jeep.

We followed suit and bounced back down the track for a good fifteen minutes until we reached the field that we had seen from afar. The seed bulls, being older than the novillos I has seen in Cortes de la Frontera, seemed impossibly huge to me. I must have turned a tad pale at the sight of them because Fernando put his arm around me again. This time I leant into him just the tiniest bit. I didn’t think he would notice but his hand slid from my shoulder to my arm and he pulled me against his side. It felt like my legs might give out and I closed my eyes for a second to ward off the sensation of lightheadedness.

La Real Maestranza de Sevilla - plaza de toros

Excerpt from "Torero"

“There you are!” she said. Fernando turned and smiled at me, and I noticed immediately that the smile seemed strained and did not reach his eyes.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening,” I answered. Then I turned to Jaime and said, because I had not had a chance to do so before:

“I really enjoyed watching you this afternoon. You must be exhausted.”

“Too keyed up to feel tired,” he answered with a grin. “I drew good bulls and feel very fortunate today.”

Fernando shook his head and said: “I’m sorry I missed it.”

He didn’t explain, however, why he had. He asked me what I would like to drink and within seconds, it seemed, I had a vodka lemon in my hand. I took a long draught thankfully.

“So tell me what you thought of your first corrida,” Fernando said, his full attention on my face.

“Well, I have to be honest and say that I was prepared to hate it, but actually, I thought it was rather beautiful.” I answered, trying not to be disconcerted by his proximity and by his dark, dark eyes.

“What in particular did you find beautiful?” he asked.

“The bulls are breath-taking,” I said. “And the color of the sand, and the movements of the torero, his traje de luces – I was very moved by the corrida as a whole. I really had no idea how many rituals it involved…”

Fernando smiled at me, and this time it reached his eyes and they crinkled enchantingly.

“I’m not really finding the right words,” I smiled too.

“You will find more words as you become more familiar with the spectacle,” Francisco said. “You were lucky to see such a good corrida. If you had seen a bad one you would have almost certainly had a different opinion of our fiesta nacional.”

“What would a bad corrida look like?” I asked, curious.

“Bulls that don’t charge; bulls that charge with their horns so low they stick them in the sand and do somersaults. And toreros who don’t know what to do with them. It can be an unpleasant sight, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Jaime tells me you just lost your grandmother. I am very sorry. You must feel her loss deeply.”

“Thank you, I do.” I said, feeling my eyes well up at his sympathetic tone.

“And you also just got your degree?” he went on, obviously wishing to change the subject for my sake.

“Yes, I got my degree in journalism.” I was absurdly pleased that they had been talking about me.

“Well, just promise me you won’t work for the prensa rosa,” Fernando said a little bitterly. The so-called “pink press” were the gossip magazines of Spain.

I regarded him sympathetically.

“It must be hard, not being able to draw breathe without all those cameras on you all the time.”

“It can get to be claustrophobic and inhibiting, yes,” he agreed.

Fernando studied my face for a moment. I thought he was going to say something else but in the end he made no comment. Instead he signaled to the barman for two more drinks. Although the bar was packed and Raquel and Jaime were sitting a few feet from us, it seemed like we were alone, cocooned as we were in our conversation.

“I am participating in a bullfight at the Real Maestranza in Sevilla next weekend,” Fernando said, handing me my drink. “Do you think you would like to come? As my guest?”

I almost choked on the sip of vodka lemon I was just taking, so I took a moment to answer.

“I would really enjoy that,” I finally managed, my smile a little wider than I would have liked.

“Great. That’s settled, then. I will give Jaime tickets for the three of you.”

At this moment the dark, long-haired banderillero named Luis, whom I had seen whispering in Francisco’s ear the other night, joined us.

“Ah, Luis,” Fernando said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Miri. Miri, this is Javier Cruz, my banderillero de confianza, my right hand man. What’s with the grave expression, hombre?”

Javier shrugged.

“A word, maestro?” he said.

To my satisfaction Fernando looked a little irritated.

“Can’t it wait?” he said.

“Not really, maestro,” Javier answered.

Fernando sighed a little and turned to me.

“Excuse me one moment, please.”

Bullfighting poster - Malaga

Jerusalem

Jerusalem - a poem

Stones the colour of amber

Steps and walls and trees

Narrow, secretive streets

That climb and twist

Descend and return.

Getting lost in the market

Amidst bright fruit stalls

And little shops with spices

Wood and metal and silk

Silence and sudden voices.

David's Tower and Jaffa Gate

Sunlight and shadow

Cafés and bottles of water

The heat and the smells

A thousand rays of light.

It's all a part of you

You are no stranger here

From the Sinai to Jerusalem

You travelled forty years

And now you will remain.

Illetas Beach, Formentera

Formentera - a poem

And now I leave you here

Golden island, magic island

Your beaches are like jewels

In the Mediterranean crown

Your towers stand guard

Your dusty tracks trace dreams

And your warm breezes

Caress like silk and oil.

I'll never forget you, sweet one,

Home of homes, little paradise

Broken souls mend in your arms

Sea shells guard your secrets

Precious thoughts bury in your sand

Your moonlight is like velvet

Your nights, keepers of promises

Cicadas and hoopoes and silence.

Stay for me always

Don't ever change

Keep your arms open

Illuminate this jewel, sun

Sea, roll your waves to its shore

Guard the magic well, moon

Wind, bring secrets from Africa

Formentera, keep your soul.

La Goyesca de Ronda

I Want You

I want to set fire to the night;

I want to set the stars aflame;

I want to tense my bow,

Shoot my burning arrow.

And I want to stop this pain.

I want to shout out from a mountain;

I want to sing a valley;

I want to touch the sky,

Turn the clouds into poems.

And I want to stop this pain.

I want to weep molten lava;

I want to walk forever;

I want the rain to flood the sea,

The deserts to turn to gold

And I want to stop this pain.

Lebanon

Lebanon - a poem

You told me of your travels

How you had felt there, alone

The nights were dark and hot

Full of stars and melting candles

Wine and figs and conversation

Endless thoughts mingled with smoke

And your hands could not be still

You wanted to touch those minds

You told me of your travels

The sea cooled your unrest

Soothed the passion in your body

You saw colours you'd never seen

Eyes you never imagined existed

Hope, despair, and a will to continue

Underneath the wandering sun

You told me of your travels

Long days in the desert sand

Nights drowned by moonlight

Listening to those harsh voices

Sharing their endless pain

Becoming part of their conflict

Willing the wine to bring slumber

Your told me of your travels

You wanted to share your growth

And you wouldn't let me sleep

Pacing the room all night long

Throwing up your hands in wonder

Your hard legs striding, striding

Your black hair bright with perspiration.

Old Ibiza town

Tu y Yo by Chiquetete (with apologies to those who don't speak Spanish)

Tu eres para mi

Calida brisa al atardecer

Yo soy para ti

Rayo de luna sobre tu piel

Tu eres para mi

Brote de almendro al florecer

Yo soy para ti

Agua de lluvia al amanecer

Tu y yo, tu y yo

Volando en una nube

con la imaginacion

Tu y yo, tu y yo

Amando cada noche

hasta que nace el sol

Tu eres para mi

Ola marina en alta mar

Yo soy para ti

Roca en la playa donde tu iras

Tu eres para mi

Tierra en el valle para labrar

Yo soy para ti

Grano de trigo para sembrar

Granada

Musings

Music is my biggest muse, my biggest inspiration. "Bring Me Comfort" could not have been written without Ethnix, an Israeli pop band. For "Torero" my soundtrack has mostly been provided by Chiquetete, although I musn't forget to mention El Ultimo de La Fila and Manolo Garcia whose songs are pure poetry. I also have to choose the books I read while I am writing with care, otherwise I am in danger of breaking my creative flow. I find that books that talk about Spain, or bullfighting or both are good, as are some chick lit books (just finished Madeleine Wickham's The Gatecrasher).

Unfortuantely I haven't done much writing these last three days. Friday I was exhausted and got home late; yesterday Oscar, Raquel and I went to the Children's Museum in Dover and today to Planet Playground in Exeter. It can be difficult some times, and frustrating, but I am not complaining! It was a delight to meet our neighbour's little baby Sara today. I had forgotten how tiny newborns are. Tomorrow Kochavim preschool is having a Father's Day celebration, "Doughnuts with Dads" so Oscar is taking Raquel to school. She has to bring her tricycle because someone from the police department is coming to talk to them about transportation safety. Next week school will be out for the summer...

Some words about my writing

When I started writing "Torero" I didn't like either of the lead characters at all. They were one-dimensional, unattractive and whiny. So I did two detailed character sketches, which I hadn't done for "Bring Me Comfort", and two strong, likable characters emerged. Now that I am totally immersed in my second attempt at "Torero", it is funny to see how far away from their character profiles both characters have come. Sometimes they do and say things that I had not planned and they take the story in a whole new direction. Also, new characters appear out of the blue, meaning I will have to go back to earlier on in the story to introduce them at the proper time.

When I started writing "Bring Me Comfort" I was already totally "in love" with Ze'ev because he had lived in my mind for such a long time. With Francisco it took me longer because he was newer in my imagination. But now I am just as crazy about him as I was (am) about Ze'ev!

Ibiza town

Excerpt from "Ibiza Nights"

They were going to miss their flight.

“All passengers for flight IB 64 destination Barcelona please proceed to gate B16.” The monotonous, artificial sounding voice spoke of the airport loudspeakers in sharp contrast to Aviva’s frantic sprint to the Iberia counter. Ze’ev followed at a much more leisurely pace, several feet behind her. An amused smile played on his lips as he watched his wife tapping her foot with in impatience as she waited for the flight attendant to give her their boarding passes.

“I can’t believe this. I told you we should have left earlier. We still have the security check to go through,” Aviva said when she saw Ze’ev beside her.

“Don’t worry, they’ll hold the plane if they have to,” Ze’ev answered.

Aviva didn’t look convinced but refrained from making any further comment. She always liked to get to the airport early and their current predicament did nothing to steady her nerves.

“Did you pack your own bags?” the young girl at the security checkpoint asked in a bored tone.

“Yes, yes,” Aviva answered, taking a deep breath to pull herself together as she watched the suitcases disappear into the X-ray machine.

“Did anyone give you anything to take with you?’

“No.”

The questions continued and Ze’ev put an arm around her shoulders, leading her past the young woman when she had finished. They waited for the stickers to be put on their suitcases and then picked up their hand luggage and started at a fast clip towards the boarding gate.

It was the middle of June and Ze’ev and Aviva had been married for nine months. They were on their way to Ibiza, one of the southern most Balearic Islands. Aviva had landed a job there doing some translation work for the Ministry of Tourism and Ze’ev was happy to accompany her. He and his band Enfasis had just recorded their second CD and he felt he could use a break before the touring and promoting started in earnest. Moreover, they were going to stay with friends of his whom he hadn’t seen since they moved to Ibiza three years previously.

When they reached gate B16 Aviva was relieved to see that people were still boarding; they had not had to make the whole plane wait for them. She smiled a little apologetically at Ze’ev, who laughed and kissed her on the mouth before letting her hand in their boarding passes.

Aviva wanted to sit by the window so Ze’ev took the middle seat, leaving the aisle seat open. Luckily the plane was not full and nobody occupied it.

After take off the flight attendants came around offering drinks, and Aviva was just sipping her orange juice when she heard a small screech from the aisle and looked up to see a teenage girl gawping at Ze’ev with her hand over her mouth. Ze’ev smiled at her.

“Are you Ze’ev Azran?” she asked finally.

Ze’ev nodded.

The girl looked dumb-struck and then hurried away without another word. She was back almost immediately with pen and paper.

“Could I have your autograph?” she asked, shoving the paper in Ze’ev’s outstretched hand.

“Who should I make to?” he asked.

“Tal, please,” the girl answered, blushing.

When she had gone Aviva smiled and said:

“You’re always so nice to those girls.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ze’ev answered. “They buy our CDs.”

Aviva continued to smile as she regarded her husband with love written all over her face. Ze’ev returned her smile and kissed her once more.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing Tamir again,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll love him. And he’ll love you.”

“What about Ilana?” Aviva asked, referring to Tamir’s girlfriend.

“I don’t know her that well. Tamir and she started dating just before he moved to Ibiza.”

The flight was a little over four hours and Tal had obviously mentioned Ze’ev’s presence on the plane to her friends, as several more people came to gape at Ze’ev and ask for his autograph. It was amazing how popular he and his band had become in Israel in the last year. The fact that Ze’ev had been missing and believed dead for a month after they had released their first CD had not harmed their publicity any, and the band was now so successful that Ze’ev had been able to give up his job as waiter in the bar where he had worked for several years. Aviva could have given up her job, too, if she had wanted to, but she enjoyed her work and saw no need to quit.

They landed in Barcelona at 1.30pm and had to wait an hour for their connecting flight to Ibiza. That flight was only 50 minutes and Aviva felt the excitement course through her veins as they approached the island. The plane turned back on itself and approached the runway from the sea, passing over the Salinas, salt lakes, to land between the soft, feminine looking hills that covered a large part of the island. Aviva had spent part of her childhood on the neighboring island, Formentera, but she had not been back since and as the plane hit the runway she was overcome by memories.

Tamir and Ilana were waiting for Ze’ev and Aviva when they appeared in the arrivals lounge. Tamir and Ze’ev embraced and then took care of the introductions. Aviva saw a dark-haired couple, similair in height; both with friendly faces she felt would immediately become familiar to her. Tamir saw his friend Ze’ev, dark of hair and complexion, radiating happiness and good health, and his wife, a striking contrast with pale skin and blonde hair, a good five inches shorter than he. She too, looked very content.

“It looks like married life is agreeing with the both of you,” Tamir said with a broad smile. “And I hear that you are becoming quite famous in ha’aretz, Ze’ev. Mazel tov.”

Ze’ev shrugged modestly and picked up Aviva’s suitcase. Tamir took Ze’ev’s and they headed outside into the bright sunshine.

“Like I told you on the phone,” Tamir said when they were ensconced the back seat of his convertible. “We don’t live in Ibiza city, although we both work there. We live in a village called Cala d’Hort, about twenty-five minutes from here and about twenty minutes from the city. It’s beautiful.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Ze’ev said.

“Our view is out of this world,” Ilana added. “We look right onto Es Vedra, a rocky island nearly 400m tall, super rich in metals and minerals and believed therefore to be one of the most magnetic spots on earth.”

“Wow,” Ze’ev sounded impressed. “Do you know of this rock, Aviva?”

Aviva nodded. She was a little overcome by the emotion of being back in her childhood haunting grounds.

“We had a beautiful view of it on Formentera, too,” she said.

“You know Formentera?” Ilana said, sounding surprised.

“I used to live there when I was a child,” Aviva explained.

“You’re kidding!” Ilana couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“She’s not,” Ze’ev laughed. “That’s where she originally learnt Spanish.”

Aviva gazed out of the window, taking in the rolling hills and arid fields full of goats, sheep, vines and olive trees. So much of the landscape reminded her of Israel, and but Ibiza seemed somehow softer, friendlier, and yet with a certain untamed feeling about it. The Carthaginians, the first people to inhabit the island, had done so in 654 B.C.E. and had called Ibiza and Formentera the Pituisas, “the pine-covered ones”. It was a name still in use with the locals, and still pertinent to the enormous amount of pines and sabinas that grew on the islands.

After following a long, meandering unpaved driveway, Tamir pulled up outside a truly gorgeous villa. As they climbed out of the car Ze’ev and Aviva took in the white plaster farmhouse with the large porch covered in red geraniums, and the spectacular view. The rock that Ilana had mentioned, Es Vedra, had an undoubtedly magical quality to it and for a moment nobody spoke.

“If you like we could go for a swim. The beach is not far,” Tamir suggested. “Unless you’re tired and would like to rest.”

Aviva and Ze’ev looked at each other, and then Ze’ev said:

“We would love to swim.”

After they had deposited their suitcases and bags in what was to be their room for the next few months, a cool, sparsely furnished one, Ze’ev and Aviva unpacked their swimming gear. They changed and went out to meet their friends on the shaded terrace.

The four of they clambered back in the car and Tamir drove them over dusty roads to the beach at Cala d’Hort.

“There is a way to get there by foot,” Tamir explained. “But I thought it was a little hot for that."

The beach was a fairly small one, and being the end of the afternoon, was not too crowded.

Ze’ev was the first one in the water, leaving Aviva to spread their towels and take off the shorts and t-shirt which she had put on over her bikini. Then she ran into the water and joined Ze’ev, who embraced her under the water as soon as she was close to him.

“This is wonderful,” he said in her ear.

She murmured her agreement, not knowing then that their idyll was going to be shattered very soon.

Aviva clung to Ze’ev’s wet shoulders and let him whirl her around in the warm sea, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sensation of being in a place she loved with the man she adored.

Tamir and Ilana kept their distance and let Ze’ev and Aviva enjoy their moment in private. When they all left the water together they flopped down on their towels and sighed with contentment.

“Ilana and I have to work tonight,” Tamir said when he had caught his breath. “It’s up to you whether you want to join us or whether you’d rather stay home.”

Tamir and Ilana both worked in a well-known night club in Ibiza city, Pacha. Ilana was a waitress, Tamir the manager.

“What would you like to do, Aviva?” Ze’ev asked.

“I think it would be fun to go," Aviva answered. "We’ll have to rent a car, though, so we’re not reliant on Tamir and Ilana for a ride.”

“Good idea. We’ll need a car anyway.”

They lay for a while soaking up the sun and then Aviva and Ze’ev entered the soft rolling waves of the Mediterranean again. The water was like a warm embrace and once again they spent most of their time with their arms around each other. Being in such a beautiful place made them both feel like they were on their honeymoon. In a way they were, as they had never had a real one, only a few days in the Sinai after they had tied the knot.

When they got back to the house Tamir and Ilana announced that with Ze’ev and Aviva’s permission, they were going to take their customary afternoon nap so they would be fresh for the night ahead. Aviva and Ze’ev themselves were happy to take the opportunity to take a nap themselves. The flight and the swim had made them feel pretty sleepy. When they got to their room they undressed and slipped between the sheets, the salt on their bodies gritty against their skin but not unpleasant. In true honeymoon style they made quiet love in the fading afternoon, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

They were woken up an hour later by a soft knock on the door. Ilana poked her head in the room and asked if they were awake. Ze’ev murmured a sleepy reply.

“It’s time to get up. We’ll eat something and then go to get your rental car.”

Ze’ev sat up and stretched, then leaned over to kiss Aviva.

“Come on, my sweet. Enough sleep,” he said.

Aviva sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“It’s almost seven-thirty.”

Tamir and Ilana were out on the terrace again, this time with a table spread with food: sandia, watermelon; goat’s cheese, olives, figs and coca, a local type of pizza-like bread.

They ate and drank a local, very fruity wine and then drove to Ibiza, accompanied by a sunset on the horizon which cast pink and red shadows on the treetops. Tamir and Ilana dropped Ze’ev and Aviva off at a rent-a car place near the port and gave Aviva, who was still familiar with the lay of the land, directions to Pacha.

Aviva had had the presence of mind to obtain an international driver’s license, so she was the one to rent the car, a sporty, aptly named Seat Ibiza.

She drove through the narrow streets to the outskirts of the city and parked in front of the discotheque half an hour after Tamir had dropped them off. Inside their eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness but soon they could see the almost empty room, punctuated by spotlights of various colors. They made their way over to the bar and were greeted by Ilana, who was emptying a crate full of clean glasses onto a shelf behind the bar. As they took their seats on the barstools a voice said:

“Ze’ev? Ze’ev Azran?”

Ze’ev turned to see a person with a familiar face standing behind him.

“Yanai?” he said, sounding very surprised. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Ze’ev got up and they embraced briefly.

“I could say the same to you!” Yanai said.

“This is Aviva, my wife,” Ze’ev said, gesturing towards Aviva.

Yanai’s expression of surprise did not change.

“You got married?” he shook Aviva’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aviva answered.

“Don’t sound so shocked, Yanai,” Ze’ev said, laughing.

Yanai laughed too and took a seat beside Ze’ev.

“I’m sorry. I guess it’s been a while. I have been living here for almost a year with my Spanish girlfriend, Pilar.”

“Wonderful. Is she here?” Ze’ev asked.

“No, she has to work tonight.”

Yanai ordered a drink and Ze’ev and he continued to catch up on each other’s news. Aviva surveyed the club, which was still fairly empty although people were starting to trickle in.