DATING DISASTER
It was an inauspicious beginning to my Israeli dating career. After weeks of trans-continental e-mailing, my meeting with H came to a premature end in a cafe just yards from where Yitzchak Rabin was assassinated.

I shouldn't have been surprised, then, when the other target for my trip proved to be both unattainable and undesirable.

Hint one came just as I was leaving my brother's Stepford-esque town. I called M to tell her I was on my way. She said she was bringing a friend along, and not in a "let's have a threesome" kind of way.

We met at a cafe in a town just outside Tel Aviv. I had a milkshake and hot chocolate; she and her friend nibbled on a salad while downing capuccinos.

Hint two was anectodes about a boyfriend in South America; another guy she'd stood up the previous night; and a third one who's exact place in the pantheon of M's love-life I'd forgotten almost as soon as I'd been told.

Her friend was somewhat more perceptive. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned her fellow diners like The Terminator. "What on earth is she wearing...Who does he think he is...Hmmm. Nice."

Likewise, I only had to look at her for her to know what I was thinking about M, and for me to know that she knew what I knew and M didn't have a clue. Third time's the charm?