Hi friends, for many decades Arabs and Jews have stayed together peacefully, lovingly, as neighbours.
While the politics led mindless killing continues unabated, I'd like to dedicate this story to the beautiful, loving arabs and wonderful, passionate jews.
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My father served as the Director General of Customs at Haifa Port for over twenty years. I grew up in the Carmel area of Haifa, where nearly everyone in our neighbourhood was Arab. But when I was a child, none of that seemed to matter. If I stood out in any way, I don't recall anyone ever making me feel different. The only thing that set me apart, perhaps, was my short, lean frame and blond hair. The fact that I was an Ashkenazi Jew held no significance. I played in the same streets, shared the same games, and spent my days with friends just like everyone else.
It was only in college that the differences started to stand out more sharply, though I tended to overlook them. While Jews and Arabs mostly kept to separate groups, I was an exception. So was Jafit, my best friend. She and I had met in school when her family moved into the house next door. Her father also worked at the port, just like mine.
Jafit and I became inseparable, spending almost every evening together. We did our homework side by side, played around, and shared countless meals--mostly at her house. It wasn't unusual for me to stay over at hers from time to time.
Jafit had a quiet strength; she commanded respect even before she spoke. She was soft-spoken yet steady--the best company I could ask for. In contrast, I was the chatterbox, talking endlessly until she'd signal me to stop. If we were studying together, lying on her bed with books open, I'd inevitably say something random. She'd respond by placing a gentle hand over my mouth, silently urging me to let her focus. I'd hush up, waiting for her hand to lift, and then start up again. If she wanted me quiet a little longer, she'd leave her hand there, a wordless reminder to hold my tongue.
College didn't change much for us. Jafit was accepted into Haifa University right after high school to study psychology. I enrolled there too, despite having no particular interest in psychology myself, just to stay close.
We spent most of our days together--at college, wandering around town, and in the evenings at her home. After classes, it was routine to head straight to her place, have supper, and relax with music or books. Her single bed, which had once felt just right, now seemed to have shrunk. Even though I was only five-foot-three and petite, Jafit's five-foot-seven frame seemed to fill the space entirely.
Jafit would usually sit propped up on her bed, leaning against the wall with a couple of pillows behind her, immersed in whatever book or notes she was studying. I'd start off at the desk, but once I grew tired of sitting upright, I'd join her on the bed. After some shuffling around, I'd find a spot that worked for both of us. Nestling between her legs, I'd lean back, resting my head on her stomach. With my book open in my lap, Jafit would often balance hers on top of my head. Inevitably, I'd start talking, and whenever she wanted some peace, she'd cover my mouth with her hand, leaving it there until she was ready to hear me again or needed to turn her page. This eventually became our favorite way to relax together.
One day, as I was reading something that sparked my curiosity, I turned to Jafit and began, "Jafit, I..." Her hand immediately came up to cover my mouth. I fell silent, her palm gently pressing across my lips, spreading from one cheek to the other.
I waited for her to finish her page, anticipating the moment she'd lift her hand so I could ask my question. But she was taking longer than usual. Impatiently, I opened my lips a little and playfully flicked the tip of my tongue against her palm. She recoiled with a laugh, pulling her hand away and exclaiming, "Talia, what the--!"
Laughing, she brushed her hand off dramatically, as if wiping off droplets of water. "Jafit, I..." I started again, but before I could finish, she smirked and wiped her hand on my shirt. Her palm landed squarely on my chest as she exaggeratedly dried off the spot where my tongue had touched her.
"Talia, you're ridiculous,.....what?" she exclaimed, finally asking what I'd wanted to say.
Her hand stayed on my tit and held it in a grip bundling it with my shirt, until she was satisfied I was not horsing around and my question was indeed genuine.
The act was not sexual but it was a barrier we hadn't broken until then. Sure, we had seen each other naked, changing into, or out of, clothes many times - often entering the same change room at a shop when buying clothes. Touching each other sexually never crossed our minds. So my tit in her hand was innocuous, at best.
After that day, if I ever wanted to say something I'd remove her hand from my mouth and lower it. She'd then park her hand on my tit letting me speak. After I had said whatever I wanted, she would determine whether to remove the hand from my tit and bring it back up on my mouth or let it stay right where it was. Her mood determined the next step, whether she was okay letting me talk intermittently or if she wanted me quiet.
With little to hide or support on my chest, it wasn't uncommon for me to not wear a bra. Often, Jafit would not let her palm sit listlessly on my tit. Sometimes she'd squeeze the tit, possibly in amazement of its tiny size, and at other times she'd cup her palm to hold it in, possibly to appreciate its delicate nature. Either way, I loved it immensely. I liked the feel of her palm around my boob, maybe because it gave me confidence that my smallish tits were worth admiring, even if it was by my friend.
As we settled into this new routine, it still never felt sexual, when one day, months later, Jafit's hand found its way inside my shirt, maybe because it was doing the same thing it had been doing outside my shirt all these days. Her hand held onto my tit and played with it softly as if her squeeze might shatter the delicate construct of my tit.
It suited me just fine, because the longer her hand stayed busy inside my shirt, the longer I was able to chat and talk with her. So a win-win, all around.
During summer break, we often headed to Mount Carmel. Back in school, we'd spend countless days exploring our favourite spots, just like most people we knew, each with their own cherished corners around the mountain. With its sweeping views of the city, the port, and the endless stretch of sea, Mount Carmel was the most beautiful spot in all of Haifa - a place that felt like home. So, even in college, we kept our tradition of spending July through September in its magnificent stepped gardens and on the Baha'i terraces.
The weather was cool around those months, and a gentle breeze would greet us as we arrived. Though our tradition had evolved from running around and playing to bringing a picnic basket and a few books, we still relished those hours spent lounging at our favorite spot, overlooking the city. Our spot wasn't secluded but rather a wide, open space where many families gathered to relax and enjoy the view.
That July, as we lounged on the sheet, stretched out to relax, I got tired and felt sleepy. I leaned back into Jafit's lap and pulled my straw hat on top of my face. I laid to soak in the sun. Jafit let me relax and continued to read. In one hand she held her book and the other reasted on my shoulder. She broke routine, and snaked her hand inside my shirt to cup my boob. Usually she'd put her palm on my mouth to signal to me to keep quiet, and then she'd move her hand into my shirt letting me speak. But on that day, I had indeed been lying quietly, a bit lazy.
It was as if she was trying to get me to talk, she played with my tit rather animatedly. I was aware of the fact that it wasn't really a secluded spot. From the noise around us, besides the birds and the trees, I could definitely sense people but possibly not within earshot.
I tried to ignore as much as I could but it was as if Jafit was doing it on purpose. Her palm kneaded my tit like dough. What was, until that day, a playful, sublime and muted antic, was now a frisky frolic with a sexual innuendo. Her fingers circled around my nipple which by then had become hard. She rolled the rubbery tip in between her fingers and got a reaction from me.
"mmMMMM..." I whimpered. Both of us were unsure if it was a response to ask her to stop.
I didn't pull her hand away. Not someone to give up, Jafit continued even more avidly.
After a few minutes, I moaned in exasperation and tried to turn.
Jafit held my tit and held me down. Neither of us were forcing. I wanted to turn but only half heartedly. Jafit pulled me down but not sufficiently pushing that I couldn't squirm away from her grip.
