​·       I was born a kosher and a graceful Jewish girl in Israel. Still, I was not one of them. I belonged to the other Jews—the secular ones. I had no interest in a religious life and sidestepped the radical Jews—especially those who wrapped themselves with a black capote and put on a Shtreimel, that beaver hat worn by a married Hasidic man.

·       In the culture where I lived, that was enough to make him a keeper. And still, he annoyed me.

·       Our high-speed exchange of personal data seemed suspicious. It made me think that Dr. Sloan was just another womanizer, rambling in town free without a leash. The truth was that he had the looks, the charm and a sense of comfort with himself to be one of those. However, I did not play prohibited games with married men who were desperate for quickies. They weren’t worth the trouble.

·       The OR had its own life as if it was a separate unit from the entire hospital. The intensity of the place made it powerful. The surgical team’s high level of adrenaline let them do and say things that would not be heard or seen outside of those oversized heavy, double doors. Not everybody loved it, but I did. Again and again I was fascinated by the blade, the incision, the blood, the drama, the stress, the unknown, the crisis, the solution, the resolution and the correction—the saving and loss of life—the success and the failure. It was a place like no other. 

·       I realized that I was no longer just involved with a married man. I was completely in love with an unavailable man who had become an integral part of my life. I wanted to disjoin myself from him, but at the same time I wanted more of him. More than what he was willing to give.

·       With time our affair became predictable. I knew when he would call and when we would meet. I quickly adopted the characteristics of a mistress, losing the flavor of a growing relationship—almost as if ours had reached its pinnacle.

·       I looked straight into his eyes, but couldn’t find the right words. I hesitated whether to voice my opinion or ask more questions. I was concerned that I might add salt to his open wounds. Moreover, I didn’t want to take the chance of saying the wrong words that might push him away or delay the day in which we were to start our new life. I kept my lips sealed, waiting for him to volunteer more details.

·       Beyond the nausea, I believed that it was time to glance through my stable of men. Possibly even turn myself into the local meat market. My married lover was shackled in his own home and I was a prisoner in a virtual relationship. I wondered, if I cast my fishing line out farther, would I reel in a bigger fish?

·       Kaminski and the mission he left me to complete were no longer a priority. I put aside the trust he had in me. I would not show up at the next political event and planned on being late to the final one. I was done and ready to move on. I swore to never talk with that dirt bag again.

·       In conversation with Sloan, like in the dance, we were strong-minded about our lives. By mutual agreement we didn’t stage the future and let life navigate us—we let things happen and lived our lives.

·       The voices of silence echoed from each corner. Jews were busy praying to God, asking for his mercy and forgiveness. Many spent the entire day in synagogues, and most of the nation fasted. It was the one day a year when the entire country was dictated by religion. Late that evening, the stillness was interrupted. 

·       I wrote down the directions and got out of bed, rewinding the last hour—clothes, hair and makeup. I looked in the mirror—I was tired and needed sleep—was it the right moment to venture into the nest of my enemy? 

·       Everyone preached to me, fertilizing me with unsolicited advice. I felt as if the entire world danced around me in a loud, intense Indian ceremonial dance. I could hear the never-ending, constricting steps, circling around me. And all they offered was a band-aid—a temporary fix that would not last.  I was weak and failed to break the heavy chains around me—people, occurrences and consequences. It was all spinning at such a fast pace, creating a fear-inspiring noose around my neck.  

·       The memories became tainted and my feelings were mixed. The sweet memories of impossible love were not enough for me to forgive Sloan. I wanted to kill my love for him but, like a greenhorn solider, I couldn’t pull the trigger. 

go back