My story spans a long time, and it has implications for what is happening today in the world. It involves Arabs and Islam.

I was born into a religious family. My father was a Chazan at the synagogue. He was a good man. He was so virtuous that G-d decided that he was too good for this world, and He took him away at an early age - I was only 12 years old.

My mother married again, a man who suited this world - he was the opposite of my father. As a result, I suffered twice: not only did I no longer have a father, but I also had a stepfather.

At the age of fifteen, I fled from home, or more precisely, they threw me out, and I began to roam the streets.

Since I was an independent child, I started travelling across the country with all kinds of whimsical ideas in mind. Once I traveled all the way from Tel Aviv to Nahariya with a backpack, and another time I went to Jerusalem on foot. Each time, I had all kinds of crazy ideas that stemmed from my frustration.

One day, at the age of seventeen, I found myself walking alone in the Negev. I was looking for a spring of water, and I suddenly saw a flock of goats. I searched for the shepherd, without success, until I saw, next to a tree, a half-dead Bedouin child. I took him in my arms, I wet his face, and I then carried him, in search of his encampment. From afar, dozens of Bedouins in tears were waiting for me. They had seen the child in my arms from afar, and they were already convinced of his death. I explained to them that he was not dead yet, but he was likely to die if he was not given proper care.

It goes without saying that the tears and the lamentations turned into shouts of joy, but it seemed like a custom: to lament when someone dies, and to rejoice when he is found to be alive. I mean, I did not see real sadness, nor authentic joy. Everything ended in 15 minutes, and the parents of the child resumed their occupations, as if it was a common occurrence that their child had nearly died.

I ended up staying with the Bedouins, not a day, nor a year, but twelve years, apart from several small trips to civilization - to the center of the country.

***

Because of these twelve years, I think I know more about Arab mentality than any professor.

To explain this complex situation, it would take a whole book - and that is not my intention. I will just state a few rules that will help you somewhat understand.

Indeed, there is no chance for a Westerner to understand Arab mentality. Just as it is impossible to explain to a man who is blind from birth what the color red looks like. Westerners measure everything in black and white, love and hate, good and evil, cruelty and compassion, while amongst Arabs, everything is vague. There is no black and white, but a set of tones that, one may be white, one black, once, light gray, and once, dark gray. Love can turn into hatred, and vice versa. A lie is a kind of truth, expressed in a softer way. Shortcuts and embellishments of reality, and a lot of imagination, are considered an inseparable part of life. The Western world has decided to separate fantasy from reality, while Arabs consider imagination as an inseparable part of reality. It is not certain that they are incorrect.

As for the subject of compassion and cruelty, it is entirely different from the Western mentality. I would say unequivocally that if we think that the Arab is more cruel than the European, it is a mistake. The Shoa proved this more than anything. The difference between Arab and Western cruelty is that Arabs act according to their feelings and Westerners function according to their intellect. As a result, the cruelty of the Arab will be less effective. The Arabs are not able, for example, to behave like the Nazis, who, up until the gas chambers, showed a mocking face to the Jews. The Arab is not capable of such discipline. (During the riots of 1929 in Chevron, we still do not know if the Arabs always wanted to massacre the Jews or if they really were their friends, and that as a result of incitement to hatred, they decided in an instant to massacre them). In my opinion, the second explanation wins...

Many people see the vengeance Arab blood as proof of their terrible cruelty, but in my opinion, this custom causes people to think carefully before killing others. A man in Tel Aviv who thinks of killing someone knows that at most he will be caught in the act and put in jail. On the other hand, a man in Rechet knows that if he kills someone, many people in his family will be murdered for at least a hundred years. He no longer thinks on a small scale, but on a large scale, and, in general, avoids killing others (without this custom of avenging blood, the murders among the Ishmaelites would be widespread, not less than the births ... because they are people who are quick to anger and live by the sword).

I apologize for this long introduction, but it is related to the story that I want to relate.

So, when I was 17, I lived with the Bedouins, and I can say that I connected myself to them and I planned to live with them.

When I turned twenty, I realized that this would not be easy. Although I had been welcomed as one of them, I could not marry a girl from their tribe, because death was preferable to marrying a Jew.

It bothered me a lot because I was very limited. A Jewess would not be very happy to live in a Negev camp, and an Arab would never agree to marry a Jew (because of my many sins, I did not understand that this was a problem for me.) Thus, I lived alone for 28 years. I worked as a guide in the region of Judea and Negev, sometimes as a jeep driver, and at night I returned to the camp.

Among the members of the tribe, a Bedouin had a wife whom everyone called "the Jewess". It turns out that he had married a Jew who had converted to Islam for him (this was allowed amongst the Bedouins), and despite the twenty years that had passed since then, she was still called "the Jewess "- which indicates that they understood that a Jew can never abandon his Jewish status. But this Bedouin was a bad husband, even according to Arab standards. And when I speak of a tribe in which women do not have any say, and a good husband is one who gives light blows... we can understand what a bad husband means. She suffered a lot, but no one got involved. I was discreetly told that all Jews who convert to Islam receive such treatment. The young Bedouins explained to me that: "they are haughty, and they must be humiliated." When I arrived at the camp, this woman had a six-year-old daughter and a four-year-old boy. During the 12 years of my stay, five other children were born, and I never understood how a Jew born in Cholon could live in a tent with a cruel husband. In fact, the desire to live in a tent, I understood, because I myself had preferred a tent, rather than to live in the shadow of a cruel father, but I, at least, had complete freedom, while she suffered from cruelty as well as from living in a tent...

One fine day, as if to answer my astonishment, she simply disappeared, with her oldest daughter and two of her young children.

It was said that she had been spotted on a truck that had driven down the road and disappeared.

Her husband sent people to get her back - but we had lost all traces of her.

Some high-ranking people from the tribe came to me and asked me to make an effort to find her among the Jews. They told me that they had information that a Jewish organization took care and housed such women. "You are Jewish - you will not have any problems," they told me.

I wanted to ask them why they were interested in helping someone who tortured his wife? But I said nothing, out of respect, but also because I knew the answer alone. I knew that they had reservations about him, but that they were obliged to respect the framework of the tribe, not to give ideas to others, but also to erase any shame; they had only one way to erase all shame.

I went to the centre of the country without enthusiasm, but I planned on bringing them information, out of gratitude for them.

I called several friends from the past who remembered me immediately. I did not tell them where I had gone, and they did not imagine what I had experienced throughout those long years. I asked them to find out about a shelter for women who had left their Arab husbands. They did not think for a moment that I wanted to hurt her, because no one suspects a friend of helping Arabs. After a few days, they had information about a man who had information about it, and they arranged for me to meet him.

They did not reveal to me that this man did not only have information, about it, but that he was a Charedi Jew of Lev LeAchim, who was very knowledgeable about all the facts.

After seeing him, it was too late. I could not suddenly disappear, so I began to talk to him. I made him believe that I knew this woman and that I owed her money, but he had suspicions, and he began to question me. I noticed that the situation was getting confusing, and I said that I was in a hurry, but he started talking to me differently.

He said to me, "You are a Jew, and no Jew is allowed to bring down another Jew. I have the feeling that you have been trapped by the husband'', he told me. ''I want you to cooperate with me, not against your will - but because you are Jewish."

In reality, he acted with intelligence. If he had threatened me, he would have had no chance, but he presented himself as a man full of humanity, and anyway, I did not want to ruin this woman's life, so we found a common language. I told him everything from my escaping home until the present, where I was sitting in front of him...

He began to address my heart, he spoke to me with concern, touching my sensitivities. He asked me if I stood a chance of getting married. This question came at the right time because it worried me. I told him that I had no chance. But, on the other hand, after all these years, I did not find anything in common with a woman who had not grown up in a camp. While I explained this to him, I realized that I was trapped. On the one hand, I could not marry a Bedouin, and, on the other hand, I would not find a Jew who suited me.

He then told me: "I think I have found a solution to your problem - I have a Jewish girl who grew up in a Bedouin camp."

I said: "Of course, and what else do you have?"

He answered "The daughter of the woman who you are seeking is Jewish, and grew up in a Bedouin encampment. What do you think of the idea?"

I hesitated. It was an unusual idea. He told me he had to ask the girl what she thought because her father was not around...

After a day or two, he called me back and told me that she knew me very well and she thought I was a good boy (which was true...). But I still wanted to see who she was (I had never seen this girl).

They arranged a meeting. Although at first, the atmosphere was full of suspicion, because her mother thought that this was a trap set by her husband - and, in truth, her suspicions were well-founded, I was perhaps her husband's messenger…

The one who broke the wall of suspicion was the delegate of Lev LeAchim, who believed in me from the first moment, and I thank him until today for that. In the same way, I got along with the girl from the moment we met, and we had trust in one another.

We got engaged. I contemplated going back to the camp and announcing to the husband that I had not found anything, but, for safety reasons, I decided to cut off all contact and disappear from their lives.

Our relationship with Lev LeAchim deepened. I attended a seminary with my bride, and we moved closer to Judaism.

At my wedding, I had no relatives, except my mother and one of my sisters, and many Chareidi men and women came to rejoice a groom and a bride.

This story happened ten years ago. Today, my life is simple and ordinary, compared to the tumultuous life of my youth. What I gained from this story is a huge knowledge of the Arab mindset, and I try to extract the positive elements that certainly exist.

You will have noticed that I am in two minds regarding the Arabs. I think the way they welcome guests impacted me. It goes without saying that I have no nostalgia for the Bedouin encampment, and certainly not for Islam as a religion (which never attracted me). Perhaps I will write a story about those years, but for now, I live in happiness and contentment with my wife and three children. We live in an apartment (not in a tent) in the centre of the country. I do not mention the name of the city, because I know that the Bedouins have an excellent memory, and even after 40 years, they could come looking for me.