I totally lost it on Friday.
I was sitting under a beach hut with some residents who were lamenting that this was their “last Shabbat” at the Gush. The young, robust man who had snuck me in was gulping whiskey, tears in his eyes, his face red.
I stepped into the ocean with my blue bikini and white belly button ring. The strong waves began to attack me and I fought back. It gave me strength.
Yonder, I saw the hotel that the army had taken over by force about two months ago. There was a long, wide stairway leading to a corridor where soldiers seemed to be in the middle of an exercise, their guns pointed at the sea.
I run into shooting range, fall on my knees on the sand, and put my hands up.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled.
“Don’t shoot me,” I pleaded.
Then I fell down on my back, moaning as I faked death.
They all applauded my Oscar-winning show and invited me up to them. I happily obliged.
Around 10 young, hunky Jewish soldiers surrounded me, tongues hanging out.
“Are you the pullout forces?” I asked playfully in Hebrew, with my American accent.
“What’s it to you?” asked the commander.
“Because I have a fantasy.”
The soldiers’ smiles widened.
“How old are you?” one asked, looking me up and down.
“I’m 17,” I said, then added as an afterthought, “And a virgin”.
All eyes and smiles were on me, except the commanders’, who didn’t know what to make of this new distraction. He called the boys inside, but they didn’t want to go.
“Why? But you’re hot!” I called to the commander, who looked away, perturbed.
He didn’t seem to know how to deal with me.
“You’re all hot!” I said to the soldiers, as they looked on happily. “I came to Israel because of you — my hot Israeli men!”
The commander raised his voice, motioning them to clear out. Only one or two did.
“You are the heroes of Israel!” I saluted them.
The commander grunted, and I commenced my dramatic exit, my body toward the soldiers, blowing kisses as I walked backwards down the stairs, shouting “I love you! Heroes of Israel! I love you!”
A soldier sitting in the corner stone-faced, scolded me: “What are you doing?”
But I just looked back at him coldly and felt the love-or-lust of the others.
This was just the beginning of soldiers refusing orders.
On Saturday night, kids gathered at the town square for a movie appropriate to the occasion, on Tisha B’Av – but most of the sadness was left in the shuls where Lamentations were read.
N.J. Burkett of ABC New York was milling around, and he asked me on camera what I would do when/if soldiers came to pull me out.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I answered.
“How?” he probed further.
“Non-violent demonstration. I’ll do everything: sing, dance, talk to them, yell, kick ’em in certain areas if I have to. But I won’t raise my hand up to them. They’ll have to raise their hand first.”
I forgot to add another technique: parade around in my bikini.
Later, thousands of people gathered outside the main shul for words of strength and a plan of action. Community leaders called upon us to implement non-violent demonstration — to penetrate roadblocks, to block roads, to rally — anything to make it difficult for the army to function.
None of us are going to go like sheep to the shrapnel.
The week is going to be a wild circus — it’ll be mad, it’ll be crazy, it’ll be chaotic — and it’ll be loads of fun.
Heroes of Israel, come and get me. I’m ready to take you on!