The Masada Faktor Read Online Free

walls. The kitchen was cute, with all red cabinets. There was no refrigerator or stove.
     
    I noticed that Masada Street was at the top of the hill and not far from this unit. I took that as a positive symbol and rented the place. Masada Street had shops and Arab and Jewish cafes, even a laundromat.
     
    I hurried back to the temporary apartment to pack. I was going with the flow, and trusted that everything would work out for the best. The stone cottage was unfurnished but I didn’t care. I moved my belongings within a few days by taxi and began scouring the flea markets for odds and ends. I was able to borrow an air mattress to sleep on and began to settle in.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I signed up for Ulpan and was attending five days per week but wasn’t exactly happy with their mode of teaching Hebrew. All of my classmates were Russian except for one American non-Jewish woman who was engaged to an Israeli.
     
    Monique and I became friends and study partners. She was a statuesque and stunning African American who had been a top model in prior years. We started going to the beautiful, awesome Hof HaCarmel, after class to study our lessons. Monique was a very sexy and mesmerizing lady that drew attention wherever we went.
     
    One day, as we sat in her two low beach chairs that she always kept in her car, we were approached by a friendly group of Arab ladies who said they were from Hebron and had come on a tour bus.
     
    The women had English skills and at first there were about four of them smiling and talking to us. Two were in jeans and t-shirts, the other two were in long skirts. They all wore colorful hijabs.
     
    It seemed that they were practicing their English with us. It was fine, we were enjoying the conversation. They told us that they had between five and eight children each.
     
    They were intrigued with Monique as she looked so different from them in her neon pink bikini and hair in soft, shoulder length dreadlocks. They asked if they could touch her hair.
     
    I was wearing Mother’s gold Jewish star necklace and then I saw them staring at me. All of a sudden their focus seemed to shift from Monique to me.
     
    Another four women, all in black with hijabs to match, from head to toe, joined their group and surrounded us. Since we were seated and they were standing, it began to feel uncomfortable.
     
    One of the ladies that had started the conversation pointed to a woman in black and said to me, “A Yehudi killed her husband!” She formed her hand into a gun and her smile turned maniacal.
     
    “Her husband is dead,” a woman to her left said directly to me.
     
    “I am sorry she is a widow,” is what came out of me as I was packing up my Hebrew books and then she repeated it again three times.
     
    I whispered to Monique, “A Yehudi is a Jew.” The Arab woman was still making the hand gesture of a gun.
     
    Their body language became more aggressive and frightening. I looked at my friend and could see that she was getting upset. I motioned my head toward the parking lot and signaled her with my eyes.
     
    Quietly, Monique said, “Let’s go.” We gathered the chairs and said goodbye to the ladies.
     
    We got to Monique’s car and didn’t look back. At that point we were both shaky as we drove away. Monique was still in her bikini and was driving fast. We went North on Highway 2. We decided to call it a day.

     
    We got to my place on Gid’on Street and I invited Monique in for a cold drink. When we entered my cottage I immediately noticed that my laptop was on the floor. Someone had definitely been inside my place. Looking back, I realized that this was the first sign that I was being followed in Israel.
     
    Monique phoned her fiancé who didn’t seem particularly impressed by our experience. He must be used to this, I thought, being a native Israeli.
     
    I offered Monique a shot of tequila to go with the ice water that I was making and she agreed. We licked the back of our hands and sprinkled