A few nights ago I took a cab from Rothchild Boulevard in downtown Tel Aviv back to my apartment in Jaffa. It was 1 a.m. – early by Tel Aviv standards – and I was coming from my favorite little gay bar. My friend found a cab back to his place, and I found a cab to head back to my place on my own. The cab driver was quite friendly, as Israeli cab drivers often are, but I’d say even more so than average. He was listening to a new Portuguese pop song (which apparently has become a global hit), and asked if I minded if the music that the music was so loud. I didn’t. (I happen to have a thing for cheesy international pop.) He even missed a turn and offered to compensate a few shequels but I didn’t mind; we had both gotten a little distracted. We of course talked about this and that as one is wont to do in an Israeli cab.
At one point in the ride we passed a rather flamboyantly and nicely dressed guy trying to catch a cab. “Did you see his boots?” my cab driver asked, “They were pretty cool.” I hadn’t noticed the boots, but I had noticed the rest of him. (I mean, how could I not?)
“It’s really amazing, there are so many of them around now. I don’t know if it’s me, or maybe I’m just a little old fashioned, but I just don’t remember ever seeing so many of them before. Sometimes it seems like almost everyone is that way.”
“Well, it is Tel Aviv. It’s not the same way everywhere.”
“True, but it’s not just in Tel Aviv. Do you think this is something new, that something in our world is making more people that way, or it’s always been that way, but it’s just been hidden? I mean don’t get me wrong, or take it the wrong way, I just wonder about it sometimes…”
Needless to say, at around 1 a.m. along Salame road we get into a rather fascinating conversation about the nature and history of sexuality in our society.
“I think it’s always been that way. It’s just been hidden.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
This has already become one of the most frank and sincere conversations I have ever had about homosexuality with a person of a different generation, and I’ve known him for all of about five minutes.
“But I feel it’s changed so much so quickly. A few years ago it wasn’t even like this.”
“True. Even I’ve noticed the change, and I’m not that old. I remember when I was in high school, people like that were teased and bullied all the time. But now it’s not such a big deal.”
“Hm.”
“I believe that people are born that way. It’s not something that people choose.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. I believe we all are born the way we are. And that’s the way God created us.”
“Hmm…”
The conversation is so simple, yet at the same time so deep and complex.
We continue talking and he tells me of a girl he once drove. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. And as it turns out she had a girlfriend. And she was in a constant fight with her father, because he wanted her to marry a man, but she loved this other girl. It all seems so crazy…
“Well, as long as she’s happy,” I say.
“Hmm. But it seems so sad…”
A part of me is a little happy and a part of me is a little sad when our ride comes to a close. We wish each other good night, all the best, take care.
I stand for a moment on the staircase on my way up, take a deep breath, and smile.
A part of me regrets a little bit that I didn’t come out to this man. Still another part of me is glad I didn’t. Perhaps I could have broken some stereotypes, made an even stronger personal impact. But maybe my assumed heterosexuality provided a little more credibility, a cushion of comfort. Did I make the right choice? I wonder for a moment. The entire ride, anyway, had been about 8 minutes.
What is my new friend thinking about as he drives off? Who will his next fare be? What might I say or do the next time the topic comes up? I guess I’ll have to wait and see.
Elliot Glassenberg is currently participating in BINA Tikkun Olam inTel Aviv-Jaffa, one of Masa Israel’s 200 programs.
