Get it straight, Sharon

Sharon Mill is a dark curly haired Jew who works in South Center Mall.

Mushky Notik is a dark curly haired Jew who shops at South Center Mall.

It is in the busied kiosk-laden, people packed center of this mall where they collided.

He saw her from afar and made his ever so smooth approach.

"Yew hov natrally cerlee hair, yes?"

He drew closer with speed, armed with a straightener and trained sales skills.

My sister tried rushing on, not remotely interested. And anyways, her hair was in perfect curls that day - she wasn't about to give that up for his attempt to sell a product she surely wouldn't buy.

I, however, fell victim.

My hair wasn't even curly that day. More wavy. But still, before I know it, Sharon is straightening my hair. I'm talking silky smooth. Like no straightener I have ever experienced (if you can say that about a hair straightener).

He is peppy, friendly, and adorable. There was nothing sleazy, insincere, or scary about him.

After he proves the unequivocal virtues of the product, I try to make conversation. I learn that back in Israel he lives on a Kibbutz, where he has plenty of family. He came to America because, like all the other Israeli kiosk maestros, he has an adventurous spirit and the will to do whatever it takes to make some money. He has no idea how he ended up in Seattle. He just knows he hates New York. And California for that matter. We both share Tzfas as our favorite Israeli city.What was I doing in Tzfat? Learning in a Chabad school.

If he hadn't been warm up until now, he definitely perked up.

"Ahhh, Chabad!"

When I told him that I now live in New York, he said, "Oh, in Queens?" I smiled, and reminded him that, although, yes, the Lubavitcher Rebbe's resting place is in Queens, the Lubavitch community is in Crown Heights.

"Sharon," I say, "you gotta come to my house tomorrow night for Shabbat."

As soon as I mention Shabbos, he rolls his eyes and mumbles, "No, no, I don't..no no." The quick wave of his hand and one eye half closed sends the signal I've received from many Israeli's before: I don't do Shabbos.

I try to respond lightly by saying, "Who cares? Come! We have good food, my parents are so cool, and Friday night at my house is always fun."

'Yea?"

Once Sharon realized that coming for Shabbos came with no strings attached, he seemed genuinely interested. He even mentioned four friends who he would "have to" bring with him. With my sister - who by this time had some strands straightened herself - also encouraging him, he had no choice. After inquiring into what time we eat and where we live, he scrambled for a paper and enthusiastically gave us his e-mail address and number.

I had done the unthinkable.

I swapped numbers with an Israeli.

----------

But Sharon broke my heart.

That night, I sent him an e-mail. I called him. I left a message. I called him again. Before Shabbos, I called him again. And again.
Never a return e-mail. Never a return call, if it was indeed his real number (strange voice mail).

Sharon officially ditched us.

It was hard to accept, you know? I mean, I was so genuine. I was so excited to have him (and his posse) over. I thought he was excited, too.

I just don't understand why he never responded.

By know, who knows? He's probably already left the kiosk-world and added Seattle to his list of cities he hates.

Which never would have happened had he come to my house for Shabbos.

Maybe someday I'll run into him. I'd notice that curly fro from anywhere. But until then, all I have is a number to nowhere, an e-mail address to a full inbox, and a pretty good straightener that - even post discount - I paid way too much for.