I sat in the shower, rosemary shampoo in my hair, water falling on me, replaying my last exchange with New Guy. Since I started dating at fourteen, I’ve had more breakups than I care to admit. They’ve come with a reason– a clear reason X guy and I aren’t together. There was the possessive guy who couldn’t stand it when I made eye contact with another man, or the guy who left me for the petite girl who looked just like me minus thirty pounds. With New Guy, it felt frustratingly vague. Listening to Rosalia’s Lux album on repeat, hoping my imported Colombian shampoo would absorb into my scalp and fix all my problems, I was overcome by intense sympathy for Bill Clinton.

Okay, hear me out. I know I lost you there, and, really, that’s more about general lack of understanding of the Oslo Accords than my abrupt left turn into geopolitics. I’ll elaborate.

The year is 1993. Israel didn’t officially want to negotiate with the PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization), the effective government of the Palestinian people. The PLO wanted that maybe less. So, the Oslo Accords began in secret, in a secluded manor in the Norwegian countryside, giving both sides a chance to explore the relationship without the immediate pressure of public opinion or political backlash. Which is probably why I never met New Guy’s friends.

In August 1993, after eight months of heavy petting, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat were ready........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)