Working the past six-and-a-half years as a staff writer at the Jewish Journal, coupled with my pro-Israel father’s influence, has resulted in me becoming more supportive of Israel, the only democracy in the most dysfunctional part of the world and the only place where gay people can live free, open lives.
Last July, I traveled to Israel with a group of Jewish media professionals, including reporters, bloggers and communications people, to Israel. There were about 10 of us in the group and, on the dollar of the Israeli ministry of tourism, we spent several days in Jerusalem, went to the Negev Desert for one day and one night and finished up the short visit in Tel Aviv.
In Tel Aviv, we stayed at a hotel across the street from the beach. One afternoon, I put on my swim trunks and sandals, slung a backpack filled with a book, a bottle of water and sunblock over my shoulder and walked across the busy boulevard separating the strip of hotels from the Mediterranean Sea.
On the beach, I lay my towel on the sand, kicked off my shoes, stripped off my T-shirt and lied down on my stomach. The sun beat against my back. Before long, I began to sweat so, I stood up and walked to the sea, leaving my belongings, including a wallet and cell phone that sat in a zippered compartment in my backpack, behind, unattended. I wasn’t too worried. I was in a country of Jews and Jews don’t steal from other Jews.
I waded in the warm, salty sea water. Next to me, two attractive teenaged girls were holding each other, kissing. What would happen if that happened in a neighboring country, like Iran, Syria, Lebanon or Saudi Arabia? Angry repressed men and women covered head to toe in burkas would bury the two young women up to their head before throwing rocks at them, that’s what.
On the beach, however, nobody noticed the two lovers except for a 29-year-old from Los Angeles.
Soon I grew tired of the water and walked back toward the sand and to where I’d been sun tanning.
My stuff was still there, untouched.
