Chapter 12: Yossi from the Negev: The Actor and Twiggy Model

After the turtles and the tormented poets, it was time for a little culture. Theater, gentlemen. Theater. This time Yossi came to mind. An actor (an amateur, but with a soul for the stage), a handsome man, 72 years old, well-preserved. There was just one small, tiny, microscopic problem: he lived somewhere in the Negev, in the desert.

Now, you understand. I started this journey with an ironclad rule of a 3-kilometer radius. In my terms, the Negev is like another solar system. You need a passport, vaccinations, and a full tank of gas. But Yossi? Yossi could talk. We had fascinating phone conversations. He was intelligent, warm, and engaging. He invited me to dinner in the southern desert. And I, who was tired of men from the Sharon who skimp on coffee, decided to be adventurous. I made a face, packed a small bag (for any trouble that might come, or rather, for any pleasure that might come), and informed Dekla that I was heading south.

Act One: Travel Warning (and the Polish Dakla)

I told my friends from my travels in Tinderland that today I was going to the Negev. I told them that he invited me to him and that I decided I was adventurous enough and that I even made a face in his honor 🤪. Dikla, as usual in Kodesh, functioned as the security and morals officer of the event and immediately wrote to me: "Bringing you down to the ground of reality - anything can happen. It's best not to enter a stranger's house and bed... 50% chance that the person you met is someone who will harm you." Boom! She was right, of course. But when you have a perfect face and hope in your heart, who listens to statistics about serial killers?

I went.

Act Two: A Night in the Negev (and Dogs)

I arrived.

He was a gentleman. The restaurant was excellent. And him? He was manly, handsome for his age, and he had a sweet dog that won me over immediately (always the dogs, always). The evening flowed. Fatigue overwhelmed me, and I decided to stay. Dikla warned:

I returned home in the clouds. He continued to court. He came to me in Tel Aviv. We spent another wonderful night together. He complimented, he caressed, he said how good he felt with me. I felt like I had cracked the system. So what if he lives in the Negev? For sex like that, it's worth flying to space.

The third act: Rome is not waiting for Yossi

Then I went to Rome. A birthday trip with Shira. I celebrated life, freedom, and most of all, weight loss.

I didn't really tell you, but last year, after a dizzying weight gain due to stopping nicotine injections into the lungs, there was a turning point. I decided that it was not healthy (and maybe also a little problematic to find love) and I took a new approach. I'm pouncing on it and losing weight, exercising and what not. I felt great. I bought all of Uniqlo, I felt light, beautiful and desirable. I returned to the country full of energy.

Act Four: The Twiggy Model and the Fall

In a phone call with Yossi, I blurted out enthusiastically: "When you come to Tel Aviv, bring your sweet dog!" I was already imagining us strolling down the boulevard, a beautiful, mature couple with a sweet dog. Then came the silence. And then the stuttering.

He doesn't sound like the passionate lover from a week ago. He sounds like an assessor trying to explain why you don't deserve a tax refund.

At that moment, something in me "clicked." But not a click of insult, but a click of amusing disillusionment. I, Yael, a juicy, voluptuous, and smart woman, have to apologize to a pensioner from the Negev that I'm not a size 34?

The inner monologue (and external reality)

We ended the conversation with cool politeness. I wished him luck in his hunt for the southern anorexic. But then, in a conversation with Dikla, the liberating truth came out.

I realized something important: I got what I needed (a reminder that I'm an animal, that I'm a woman). Him? He lost. He lost a strong, opinionated woman who could bring light to his life. Instead, he was left in the desert, with dreams of models who wouldn't look his way, and with the dog. Alone on stage.

Finally: the screen goes down

When he tried to stammer again at the end of the conversation that he would "be happy if we could stay in touch" and that I would come see him in a play at the community center, I laughed heartily. A pen pal from the Negev? No thanks. An audience for your one-man show? Less so.

That's it. I didn't hear from him again.

He stayed in the amateur theater of his life waiting for Godot (or Twiggy). And me? I stayed in Tel Aviv, with Uniqlo from Rome, with the memory of a good night, and with the realization that I am the lead actress in my own movie. And I have no intention of auditioning for a supporting role with anyone.

Next.

Chapter 12: Yossi from the Negev: The Actor and Twiggy Model