Opening scene from "Bring Me Comfort"

“I don’t want a marriage, I want a divorce,” Yuval said emphatically.

He paused, then went on:

“We need to come up with an arrangement that will work for both sides so that we can go on to live our lives. Separately.”

Yuval Sela was my brother Eitan’s best friend and he was talking about the division of Israeli and a Palestinian states. He, Eitan and another of his friends, Itay Dahan and I were sitting in the Nana bar in the Neve Tsedek district of Tel Aviv. It was Thursday; a popular night for going out as the weekend in Israel consisted of Friday and Saturday, and the bar was beginning to fill up. Because Eitan and I were very close, I often found myself the only girl in a group of men. I was so used to it that I never gave it any thought until somebody who didn’t know us started trying to guess whose girlfriend I was, only to find out I wasn’t with any of them in that way. People rarely mistook me for Eitan’s girlfriend as we looked very much alike, both of us blond with our father’s blue eyes.

“We need to separate completely. That’s the key,” Yuval went on. We all nodded in agreement. “Then, once we have created our two states, any Israeli Arab that wants to remain in Israel should be allowed to serve in the army.”

Yuval was about 5’9, had straight dark hair and a pleasant, attractive face. He and Eitan had served their three and a half years of compulsory draft together and they had been very close ever since.

“I think it would be a good idea, too, if they had to say a pledge of allegiance, like they do in the States,” Itay said. He was the tallest of the three men, about 5’11 with short dark hair and angular features. He and Eitan had worked together several years ago, and although they had both gone on to different jobs since then, their friendship had prevailed.

“I wish we could just get on with it already. It would be nice to be able to relax a little,” Eitan sighed. We all knew just what he meant. The constant tension of the situation between the Palestinians and the Israelis was definitely wearing. Amongst Israelis what was going on in the country was literally called ‘the situation”: HaMatzav.

“And I don’t know that we can deal with our very serious social issues until we solve the problem with the Palestinians,” I said.

“That’s just an excuse, Aviva. We could be dealing with them right now. The government just chooses not to,” Eitan said to me.

“For a start, it’s the Ultra-Orthodox Jews’ prerogative to be pacifists, but they could do social services instead, to give something to the State. Hell, they could even get paid for it,” Yuval snorted.

“Without a doubt we have social problems,” Eitan said. “But then so does every country in the world. We’re no different in that respect.”

The bar was dimly lit and its exposed brick and hardwood fixtures gave it an informal, relaxed atmosphere that made it a much frequented place with people looking to hang out and make conversation. Neve Tzedek had been the first neighbourhood of what was now Tel Aviv to be built by Jews eager to get out of Jaffa, in those days populated mostly by Arabs. Dating from the 1880s, it was situated in the southern part of the city, between the Florentin district and the sea, just north of Jaffa. It had in recent times become very popular with the bohemian yuppie set and was now full of art galleries and small cafes.

It had been a year and a half since the beginning of the second Intifada, Or “Al-Aqsa Intifada” as it was known in the press, and today there had been another suicide bombing, this time on King George Street in downtown Jerusalem, killing three and wounding 86. Israelis were tired and fed up. The economy was suffering badly, tourism was at an all time low and the majority of Israel’s Jewish citizens felt that something, anything, had to be done to change the current circumstances.

It was close to eleven and the Nana bar was now well and truly packed. My best friend Nurit Ben Zur and her boyfriend Yonatan Magen joined us, after elbowing their way through the crowded bar. Nurit gave me a kiss on the cheek and lit up a cigarette.

“I’m famished. Can I get something to eat in this place?” She said. Nurit and I had been friends since before I moved to Israel. I had met her while I was visiting my brother and we had grown extremely close over the years. She was of medium height with black hair that reached just below her shoulders and clear olive skin that radiated good health. She was a very warm person, laughed often and was always ready with a sympathetic ear when I needed her. I always marveled at her seemingly limitless ability to remain completely calm in any situation.

She had only been seeing Yonatan for a few months and so far I really liked him. He was almost the exact opposite of her ex-boyfriend, Amir Ezra, who she had dated for about five years. They had lived together for the last four, and he had been a prize jerk; endlessly cheating on her and failing to show up for appointments that they made. He was the driver for the Minister of Defense and this only seemed to add to his feeling of self-importance. Yonatan, on the other hand, worked in the high tech industry, as did my brother Eitan and his friends Yuval and Itay. Eitan and Yonatan were both international sales representatives; Yuval a project manager and Itay a software programmer. Yonatan was tall with short dark blonde hair and distinct features; his mouth was often curved up in a little half smile, as if he felt that life treated him well. It was a huge change from Amir, with his sulky, dark good looks and eyes that were as blue as the Mediterranean that washed the shores of Tel Aviv and which got him whatever he wanted. I put an arm around my friend as she ordered a hamburger from a passing waitress. Yonatan ordered one too and they were served with surprising speed, considering the amount of people in the place. As they ate our conversation continued.

“Are the hamburgers any good?” Eitan asked.

“They are actually,” Nurit answered with her mouth full. “Nothing like McDonald’s.”

“Honestly,” Eitan said, shaking his head. “I don’t understand how that place can be so popular in the States.”

“Yeah, but even so someone sued them for making them fat,” Yuval said.

“I hope they were laughed out of court,” I said, laughing myself.

“The mixture of stress and a bad diet is doing nothing for Americans’ health,” Eitan went on.

“Hey, I’m stressed, what with this Intifada and the constant terror attacks,” I said.

“Are you, though?” Yuval asked. “Are the attacks stressing you out?”

I thought for a moment.

“You know, they are, but come to think of it the Americans are way more stressed than I am.”

We all laughed.

“It’s kind of amazing to think that people there can worry more about money than we worry here about losing our lives,” Nurit mused.