Page 12 of Status Undefined
“No, no. And I didn’t take advantage of her. I told her that wasn’t my thing, but she still seemed interested. She interviewed me on a beach with no shirt on and posted it on Instagram. A lot of people saw it and I got a lot of followers in a short time. She’s the one who gave me the idea of making money from it. I’ve beenposting photos and videos from all over the world since then and getting more and more followers.”
“Keren, you are not getting your phone out!”
Keren was clearly dying to find the shirtless interview, but telephones were banned at mealtimes.
Daniel looked at me. “Do you want to see the clip?”
“See you without your shirt on? I think I’ll leave that to your shallow followers,” I lied. I so badly wanted to see him shirtless. Who was I kidding? I wanted to see all of him.
“Did you just call me shallow?” Keren interjected.
“Well, why is it that you follow him?”
“You’re such a prejudiced dork! He posts the best pictures I’ve ever seen from places you would kill to go.”
“It’s not prejudice. It’s a legitimate opinion of all the YouTubers, influencers and the trash generation. Everything is shallow, superficial, focused on escaping depth because that requires effort and attention.”
“Kids, don’t argue in front of our guest,” Naama winked at Daniel and passed him the meatballs.
Eli steered the conversation back on track. “And this Instagram pays you per follower?”
“Most of my income comes from sponsors. Lately I’ve been posting weekly sponsored stories about travel gear. That’s how I afford to travel. I get offers all the time, but I don’t really want to do any more paid posts at the moment. I try to cover my expenses with minimal promotion of a brand that I support.”
Keren made a gesture towards me that announced clearly: you are so dumb. I hoped Daniel wasn’t offended by my views. If he was, he didn’t let on.
Daniel made it through the interrogation like a boss and Keren managed not to faint. I thought it was a pretty successful Shabbat meal. Afterwards, I walked Daniel out and he asked if he could see my apartment.
“It’s a mess. Maybe another time.”
“I don’t care. I just want to see it.”
I tried to think of other excuses, but I’d eaten so much I was a little slow. So I opened the door.
December 9-10
(visa expires in 35-36 days)
“Wow. This a big place for one person. Are you sure you live alone?”
“Yeah. Rent went down a lot during the pandemic so I could afford it.”
Daniel sat down on the sofa without being invited. He gave me a serious look.
“You haven’t told me anything about your other family.”
“Nothing to tell. I don’t have one.”
“What does that mean? You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know where you grew up.”
His sincere expression made me relent a little. “I grew up in a religious settlement in Gush Etzion near Jerusalem.”
“So why aren’t you wearing a kippa?”
“I have one. It’s just in my pocket.” I pointed at the bulge in my right pocket.
“What happened? Lost your faith?”
“I left the religious community and I’m not observant anymore, but I still believe in Him,” I pointed upward. “He’s not just in a wall we built two thousand years ago. He’s everywhere and I believe He’s with me in Thailand as well. Actually, I feel His presence more here. Do you believe in Him?”
