I’m sitting in an outside bar, having a drink and a smoke. It’s a beautiful evening, around 6-ish, and life is happening in a very Tel Aviv way. I’m reading a bit, thinking a bit, planning the next step – going to Palestine. Blimey, that’s exciting! – when…. My front tooth falls out. It’s a crown, I’ve had it since I was young – my teeth, don’t even ask – and I can feel it in my mouth, just not in the bit of my mouth it should be in.
Something like that happens, you think ”Bloody hell, this is the last thing I need” but then “I’m in Tel Aviv. This is the most civilised, advanced place in the world. If this had happened tomorrow when I was in Palestine…” I don’t know. Maybe they’ve got great dentists in Palestine – odds on, they’ve got better teeth – but still, I’m happy I’m in Tel Aviv.
About 30 minutes later, I’m with Avi, the 24-hour dentist, a lovely 59-year-old bloke who looks more like a proper Jew. So then we have the ritual that goes on at dentists everywhere. You lie there, on the dentist’s chair, mouth stuffed full of cotton wool and things and:
“So how long are you in Tel Aviv?”
“…………”
“You like it here?”
“………..”
It’s fine. Then, still as he’s drilling and prodding and dentisting, he says
“You said before you were going to Ramallah tomorrow. You might think about taking that out” and he touches my earring.
My earring. Hadn’t thought about that. Actually, haven’t thought about it either. In England I can often feel people looking at it. Sometimes people – Jews, usually – ask if I’m Jewish. Here, no one asks.
When Avi’s finished I ask him if he was serious about the earring.
“Sure” he says with a Jew shrug. “It’s not the same as here”.
The next day I’m in a cab in Jerusalem and talking to Adam, the cab driver. Adam’s from Syria, well his father is. Adam’s from Jerusalem.
I’ve thinking about what Avi said about my earring, and so ask Adam. He looked at me, half-smile, half-like he was talking to a child.
“In Israel it’s very nice” he said. “Here, maybe not so nice”.