I was brought up in Golders Green. The Jewish community is fine. But like any minority community it has a tendency to define itself by what it is not instead of what it is. I started thinking about this when I started secondary school and had decided that I am opposed to it when I left. By 18 I was convinced that multiculturalism is what society needs.
I'm not some bleeding heart liberal, though. I don't think it's good because it's nice and we all should celebrate both Diwali and Hanukkah as festivals of lights. No. The external world changes, so societies must adapt. Societies built around a dialectic are more adaptable and so more likely to survive.
So, when I was 18 I left school and looked for work. I found it at a small inter-faith charity that connected London's different religious groups. I was useful because I knew the Jewish community but could also see it from outside. And that's where I met Dan. He was a Muslim lad from Tower Hamlets who had similar ideas.
We had managed an event together at a university on a rainy autumn day. We were packing up when he changed tone.
"Err, Naomi, when we've packed this all up, maybe we could go for a drink? I saw a nice place not too far from here."
"What kind of drink?"
"Well I suppose they have all the normal things, beer, wine, spirits and mixers." I could hear that my question had started to deflate him.
"That's not what I mean, Dan. Do you just want to wind down or was it a more personal invitation?"
"Oh, of course. Err, well, you see."
"I think that's your way of saying it was more to spend time with me and less to wind down after a hard day."
"Well you're so pretty, Naomi. And we're both single. I think. Have I got that wrong too?"
"You haven't got anything wrong, Dan. I'd love to sit down with a glass of wine and get to know you. You're right, I'm single. And thanks!"
"Thanks?"
"Thanks for the invitation and for saying that I'm pretty."
Dan clearly didn't know what to say. He offered a smile before reaching down for one of the boxes we'd filled with leftover materials from the event.
"I think this one and yours are the last two. We can start moving everything onto the trolley so we can fill Bob's van."
"Yes," I said. "Let's get this moving!"
* * *
We were in the wine bar Dan had suggested. He'd picked well because it wasn't full of students and it was quiet, so we could talk."
"I didn't know there were any Jewish people with red hair," was his opener.
"You know that both King David and Essau are supposed to have had red hair? Though I don't envy them living in the Middle East before sunscreen was invented. But yes, some of us. On the whole, Jewish people look like people where they live. Nordic Jews tend to be blond and Moroccan Jews tend to look the same as other Moroccans."
"You're right. I suppose people adapt to their environment."
"You are very polite Dan."
"Polite?"
"Evolution doesn't happen quite that fast, does it?" If you take a woman from the Middle East and want her grandchildren to have blond hair, they'll need blond fathers. People look local because they have at least one local parent."
"That makes sense. So, I suppose that's what happened to all those Jewish communities that look like the other people in their country."
"Exactly. Now tell me more about why you think I'm pretty."
"Well you just are!" Which was a heartwarming assertion but not what I wanted.
"Consider me as a whole made from parts. Tell me about the parts."
"That's a good way, yes. Well, you have lovely green eyes. I like looking into them. And you're very slim but you have that," and his hands waved in the shape of a Coca-Cola bottle, "and your..." and he stopped. "I'm sorry, I can't say it."
"Just look there then."
His gaze fell from my green eyes to by chest.
"Tell me about my breasts then."
"Well I can't," he said. "I know they are there but I can't say more than I like them."
"How about you ask me questions? I promise not to bite. After all, I'm asking for it."
"Well, I sort of wonder about the shape. Because they're like little cones and I wonder about the nipples and..." he shut up again.
"I think you want to know how puffy my nipples are, right?"
He nodded.
"We've both almost finished our wine. I think we should see if we can pick up something to eat. Your place is nearer than mine."
He looked a combination of surprised, excited, and scared.
"You want to come over to my place? Really?"
"How else am I going to answer your question? I'm not going to strip down in this wine bar."
"Nando's?" He asked.
"Perfect. Lemon and herb, for me. I don't want my mouth distracted by the spice on the chicken."
* * *
Dan's flat was every bit as grubby as you'd expect a single 19 year old's to be. We ate our chicken and chips quickly.
"Now, I suppose I have to answer your question, Dan. It's only fair after all."
He looked confused.
"You want to see my titties. And I bet you have another question, too. Don't you."
He was too scared to respond.
"Dan, I'm going to take off my dress to answer your question. When I do, you'll see my bra and knickers. They aren't exciting as underwear goes. A long time ago I decided that if a man wants to see you in your bra and knickers then what he really wants is to be removing them. That's more exciting than a bit of lace, I hope."
"What colour are your pubes!" He almost shouted.
"You can see that my eyebrows and eyelashes and even the little downy hairs on my arms are all ginger. I think you can guess."
I slowly unbuttoned my dress, revealing a white cotton bra and knickers set.
"Can you help me off with my dress, please. And do you have a hanger for it?"