For some of you this will be the only chapter you will read, the second part is, because of the subject it deals with, or rather how it deals with this subject, some people because of their anti-Semitism will not continue reading.

At the end of the seventies I traveled to Israel as a volunteer to Kibbutz Nir Oz, I was young and had already traveled half the world, not to say more than half. I discovered the near perfection of a small town, 400 inhabitants, a small factory, large fields of crops reclaimed from the desert, just a few meters from Gaza its population and its beaches where I went to bathe some days, the only contact with this population was with the Arabs who came to the Kibbutz to work in its paint and plastic glove factory and in the fields, with a relationship of employer and worker, salaries and hours similar to those that the Israelis received. My life there was that of a typical volunteer in a Kibbutz, that is, I worked in the factory, I had a small room in a house with a garden, I ate in the dining room, in short, a more than pleasant life, without a television but with a radio and a lot of friends with whom I met every night to listen to music, dance and try to flirt, especially with the volunteers who came from the Nordic countries.

One day a coworker from the factory, a member of the Kibbutz, invited me to have coffee at his house so I could meet his sister-in-law who spoke Spanish, was single, pretty and young. As is known, Jews have the “obligation” to find a girlfriend/partner for one of their single relatives. No, it doesn’t only happen in movies, it’s real life. So that afternoon I went to his house to have coffee and when I went in I saw the ambush he had prepared, in the living room there was his sister-in-law, his mother and his father, I mean the parents of his sister-in-law, his famous sister-in-law who paid little to no attention to me, in fact I invited her to have a beer in the pub of the Kibbutz and I was there waiting for her for at least an hour and she didn’t show up, she stood me up, “Enrique stood you up”. A couple of weeks later on the notice board in the cafeteria there was a small notice that said Enrique calls Lili, phone… signed Larry my work colleague, when I returned to the factory I asked him who Lili was and he reminded me that it was his sister-in-law who stood me up, so I called her, she told me what seemed to me the typical little lie that day, the one about a headache that prevented her from coming to the appointment, something that turned out to be true several years later, to make a long story short we got married soon after and the truth is her migraines were terrible. We had two children and we named the boy Nir in memory of the place where we met. My experiences in the Kibbutz are difficult to explain because it is not just a way of living, of seeing life and above all of meeting people who at that time seemed unique to me. I will publish the second part of this chapter in the next few days. There are no photos that hurt the sensitivity of the person, the facts that I narrate do.