"A Dizzying search" Summary
His divorce crushed the dream of a united family, but Daniel did not give up on the dream of love. He looked for the right woman on websites, went on dates, and never stopped searching and hoping. He repeatedly gave love a chance. He was also repeatedly disappointed, picking up the pieces and trying once again, determined to complete the puzzle and nd the missing piece. In his worldwide travels, Daniel met many diverse women. Warm and kind-hearted women, cold and goal-oriented ones, powerful and condent ones, and some who were still confused and looking for their own path.
In straightforward language, full of humor, he describes the inner world of a man forced to roam the jungles of those looking for love, for the rst time, from a little-known angle.
the book also includes original and humorous illustrations, by Daniel himself.
Daniel Stukalin was born in Vilnius in 1963. He immigrated to Israel with his mother when he was 8 years old. He grew up in Arad, graduated from the Sde Boker Environmental Education high school, served as a paratrooper and was injured during the Lebanon War of 1982. He completed his last year of service as a military reporter for ‘Bamachane’ magazine and continued in this position at ‘Ma’ariv’,
‘Globes’ and ‘Galei Tzahal’. He then went back to his technical trainan independent safety consultant for factories, construction sites and challenging start-ups. Daniel is father to Noa and Gilad and grandfather to Adam and Yahli. He draws, writes, swims and rides mountain bikes through the hills around his home in Modi’in. This is his second book.
His last book, “Closure”, was published in 1992 and was recommended by the Ministry of Education.the book is approved by the Israeli Military Censor.
Editor of the book: Hagar Yanai
Editing: Orly Gilat
Prologue
In my quest to find the woman of my life, I had initiated nine hundred and sixty-seven phone calls for a first date. I had met two hundred and sixty-nine women face to face and went out with one hundred and seven of them for varying lengths of time.
Almost every woman I met told me, "You could write a book about everything you’ve gone through." For them, this thought stopped here, but not for me. I joined a dating rehab program and spent my newly freed up time writing.
The breeze from the climate control system cooled the heat waves. An incoming message appeared, accompanied by the caption "My sweet Hagit," obscuring my GPS. In one second, I would hear her caressing voice. In another half hour, I would hug the soft curves of her body. The melody of the old hit "Blue Velvet" was playing, waiting for me to press the button and get the call. I paused. Relishing for a few more moments the tune we both loved, feeling that life was showing me a bright face. I pressed "Accept" and a masculine, slightly belligerent voice suddenly obliterated the high and the romance that had permeated the car. "Charlie here..."
I did not understand at first why this man was using my sweetheart's cell phone. Maybe something had happened to her? A shiver went through me. Then he continued: "Hagit and I have been in love for several years. Forget about your cruise. And in general—get lost." I was shocked. I felt like hell. Suddenly, an elephant was sitting on my chest.
Since 1987, I have not stopped pondering the question of where Veronique Tibo has gone. I came across her freckled face and reddish hair on the London Underground. As soon as she strode onto the platform at the crowded Piccadilly station, she caught my attention. She sat down in front of me and chattered in French with a guy who did not take his eyes off her. I realized I had no chance, especially with my shyness, and immersed myself in reading the brochure that was being handed out in the square about the harmonica player Toots Thielemans.
"Parle Francais?" I heard her ask in her charming and sexy-sounding French. "Monsieur?" I listened closely but still did not realize that these romantic sounds were directed towards me. "Excusez-moi?" This time I raised my head. Her laughing eyes spoke to me and her painted lips continued, this time in English, asking if I liked jazz.
"Beaucoup," I replied, using a word I remembered from my favorite high school teacher. "We love it too, and tonight we're going to the club in that brochure you’re holding.” I sighed. Why were the best-looking women always taken?
I was not equipped to jump into the deep water, I could not swim. I could not judge the currents. I was unaware of the turmoil or the dry statistic that every third couple in the Western world is drowning. I had no idea what was going to happen. But an internal clock ticked, announcing that the time had come. After all, everyone did it!
So it was, when I casually suggested to her, near the Amiad junction on the way to Mount Hermon: "Maybe we should get married?"
That same year, I starred in the written press. I even got a daily spot to produce and host on the Galei Tzahal IDF radio station. And, as if that wasn’t enough, while sitting at the news desk, I got a phone call from a secret source. The voice on the other end of the line sounded familiar. My body tensed. "Have you decided where you will spend your honeymoon?" "We," I replied, emphasizing my partner's future weight, "intend to vacation with horror relatives on the island of Yukada in Turkey."
"And what about a honeymoon in Egypt?"
"Have you decided where to spend your honeymoon?"
"We," I replied, emphasizing the weight of my future partner, "intend to vacation with her mother’s relatives on the island of Buyukada, in Turkey."
"And what do you think about a honeymoon in Egypt?"
I thought he was joking, but his countenance remained serious. Before my eyes, I saw the menacing metal teeth of the Russian giant in the movie "The Spy Who Loved Me," chasing through the antiquities of Luxor after Bond. James Bond.
I interrupted the film I was imagining, when Yoel explained: "We want you to contact some colleagues from the Soviet press. And," he considered his words for a moment, and continued, "your biological father lives in Lithuania, if I am not mistaken." He watched me as if expecting me to confirm his words. But the truth was that I did not know, I had no contact with him since I was born.
"You sound like an old soul. Maybe we should meet?" She asked suddenly.
"Where?"
"Some place in the middle. Let's see, Givatayim?"
"Did you forget? I'm stuck in boiling Arizona."
"Man! What, are you going to be there forever?"
"No, but it will take me another two months to get back to Israel."
"Oof. Why is everything always so complicated."
"Every problem has a solution," I reassured her authoritatively. "I can arrange another middle, somewhere halfway, if you’re interested." I felt the spirit of life creep into my voice.
"Well, let's hear what the man of half has to offer, and I hope it’s half full."
I paused for a second and announced, "New York! It’s halfway, in the middle, and a great place for a cool blind date like in ‘When Harry Met Sally.'"
"You're crazy! I have a fear of heights, so I don’t fly."
"Every problem has a solution. I said that already, didn’t I? OK, if you want me to come on Christmas Eve, I can stay for about ten days."
"Of intoxication," she teased, laughing.
"We've already passed the phone test; what could be so bad?"
"And if we don’t like each other?"
"So we'll go to the zoo, I'm crazy about elephants."
"And if I fall in love with you?"
"The bed will be waiting for us within cigarette range."
"Oof! You're driving me crazy. I want to know everything about you! But everything!"
"I wish I knew myself," I replied to her in all seriousness.
I watched her bite into the yellow slice and could not guess her age: twenty, thirty, maybe even forty--anything seemed possible. When the DJ played the hit Going Back to Callie, she jumped up, grabbed my hand and shouted, "Let's Dance!" Hesitantly, I let myself be dragged to the crowded plaza. The rapper gave the beat and I started moving in the local rap style. Thanks to Callie’s twerking, I mixed in easily. An hour after midnight, when the club closed by law, and everyone began to disperse, I found that my vehicle was gone. I was scared. What am I doing now in this crime neighborhood at one o'clock in the morning? I was not afraid but still, I was an Israeli Jew in a foreign country before the use of a cell phone became part of the body and there was no car traffic in the neighborhood at all. I felt helpless but the head, as always in emergencies, continued to function. "Oh, I'm so sorry. But don 't worry, we'll help you," she walked over to the driver who looked like a gang leader. A minute later accompanied by a gorilla opaque eyes.
Soft snowflakes covered the city with a white rug. The romance intensified and so did the cold, which directed me to invite her to warm up in my hotel room. The magical sequel naturally put us to bed. Excited, we enjoyed discovering each other until I noticed my hands were covered in blood. I recoiled from her in panic. "Just not that!" I shouted in my heart, "It's happening to me again!".
About three months after the first date, when my heart was good about me and I was as satisfied as I had ever been, we drove to the arid south, to an event of her extensive family in the Blades. I longed for her again. I stopped myself from stopping at the side of the road to realize with her a desert fantasy that would inspire joy in my sad memories of this depressing area. Then, not far from the trough junction the bomb was dropped: "My soul, so good to us together. You know, could be even better. In the spring I want you to get me pregnant."
I nodded in agreement, making myself concentrated and preoccupied with bypassing a Bedouin pickup truck that zigzagged, until abruptly descending dangerously to a sidewalk, leaving behind a trail of dust. What will? How do you postpone the end?
"I am Moroccan," she noted proudly. "What does this mean?" I asked, remembering quite a few incidents where I felt contempt for her community and arrogance towards me. "We are a combination of warmth, giving and intense passions." "Ahhh ..." I growled, "It sounds good," I remarked, feeling the waking libido and remembering the instructions I received from the Moroccan guys I knew in the paratroopers, the college and the construction company I worked for today: "If you give them true love from the heart, they will open your soul. And not just her. " I smiled awkwardly and noted that she actually looked very calm. "Wait for my Moroccan vein to swell, then you will understand," she said and did not understand if she was joking or real. The explosion took place in Sinai. In a chilling flashback, the feeling of anxiety I experienced near Tzur in Lebanon passed through me again, when my life was saved for the first time from a trip that caught fire. But that was not the fate of Rotem Moriah and Assaf Greenwald, whose picture appeared next to him in a black frame in a newspaper the day after they played guitar together. A huge pain flooded me and I could not stop the tears. The devil who descended between Taba and Ras a-Satan succeeded in his despicable way of killing life, and with them the buds of love.
As soon as I returned to search - I was flooded with a wave of inquiries from the field. One of them caught my eye: "Call if you're still interested."
I got excited when I picked up on her origins. I reached her with a busy back. I barely got my body out of the rented mini car. Without success I tried to lace up my shoes, until she bent down in my place gracefully, allowing me to be impressed by her perfect breasts.
"Cute, so what's your story?" She asked me with the cool H. of her congregation.
Ch10. The Cuckoo's Nest
I lay like a zombie for two weeks in bed, depressed, tired of cracking women's complicated operating systems. I was already lacking in energy in planning the fall of the walls and the barricades they knew how to build around them to protect themselves from unwanted intrusions. Then Monica called. The sound of a rattle reminiscent of a saw cut in a carpentry shop immediately revealed its origin. "Argentina?"
"C Snrrrrrr". The extroverted joy of life, reserved for South Americans, caught up with me and made me smile and tell about myself naturally.
"What are you saying?" She interrupted me with joy: "Amigo!
Spouse! Bingo! I was so happy. It's everyone's dream. We've already arranged to meet the next day. Good luck. "
"We are like in the Casablanca movie," she said out of the sadness of the coming and coming parting. "I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship," I quoted the immortal sentence. Yana kissed my teary eyes and said a sentence that accompanied me for many years and always gave me strength: If you don`t get what you want then it is because you are supposed to get something better
If you don`t get what you want then it is because you are supposed to get something better.
"Let me feel like I'm a queen and then you'll be the king. I promise!" This was her motto in man-woman relations. Come on, I decided. Last attempt made. I will not knock an account. I'll give her everything and we'll feel what it's like to be king. I streamed. I booked plane tickets to the Black Forest. "Perikolna" - cool! She hugged me happily. "You are the man of my dreams," she laughed and a good atmosphere of anticipation finally prevailed between us. We plowed Bukinig dot com. We compared prices. We booked rooms. I rented a comfortable car and planned routes. Forty-eight hours before takeoff I called to demand her safety. We arranged for me to get there with my belongings and from there we would drive together to the airport. We talked about Da and Ha, we made sure we packed everything and then, by the way, I asked what she brings to the flight. "What do you mean?" Asked as if not understanding. "I bring myself."
"Obviously," I replied, "but maybe you could make us sandwiches?"
"Why don't you make it? I told you - I bring myself. I'm the most important candy!" The call is over. I tried to ignore the bitter truth. I still refused to admit that it was a sick relationship. It was already late in the evening and a bad feeling began to gnaw at my heart. At midnight the cell phone rang. "I decided not to go!"
"Marina, what happened?" I tried to relax and understand. But she just repeated the same words over and over and finally slammed the phone down ...
Ch13. An almost fateful courtship
The Israeli flag wrapped around the blonde who was standing in a blood square in the center of Amsterdam. The tall Dutchwoman argued with a number of women in black, next to a stand that sided with the Israeli side, in front of the fake photos that hung on the counter of terror fans. Gradually, more and more oriental-looking passers-by gathered in front of her. They surrounded her with hostility and also began to harass her handful of members of the "Christians for Israel" movement. "You know, I's short-sighted and did not even notice when you joined the demonstration in the square. Only at the end, when you went to return the flag, I felt the click, remember?" I did not know what she was talking about, but who cared? The main thing that the ego blossomed. She was beautiful, Zionist and brave. "You are as tall as the Dutch. But I am attracted to brave men, especially if they are Israelis," she flattered at the end of another conversation that lasted more than an hour, promising a surprise. When I opened the addictive correspondence app the next day, I was surprised to discover an up-to-date photo, almost completely naked, in a button-down nightgown and a generous neckline. "Love?" I answered in the affirmative and she, in a happy voice, promised to delight me with an even bolder surprise.
Ch14. Not the Hero of My Novel
Dry statistics have clearly shown that in ninety-nine percent of cases, I will actually meet the one who is not suitable, instead of the one I am trying to locate. I clung to the dream and refused to give up. That's why I agreed to meet someone who already in the first phone call sounded in love with herself. Her appearance was according to the fashion order, in a tailored gown style, straight from the luxury shops of State Square.
There was a slight smile of condescension on her sharp face. I recognized her easily. Branded bags she had just purchased prevented me from shaking her delicate hand. Compared to the low average of Israeli women, it was high. Her touch was like a fluttering feather. When we got into bed, she would purposefully ask, "Do I do something or do I go to bed?"
A month later, during which the amazing massage stories that heal the patients starred in her every conversation, I suggested that she finally demonstrate one to me. My bedroom seemed to be a perfect place. We can quickly skip from the pleasure to the next pleasure. But this time too Sarit elegantly dodged, claiming she needed a high professional treatment bed to perform a perfect professional massage.
"You see, realized? I need a contra to press hard in the problematic places, so you better get to me."
"Happily," I said and immediately looked at the diary on my cell phone and suggested I arrive on Thursday evening. But again it did not suit her because she had already prescribed another treatment. At the sight of my frustrated face she comforted me sweetly: "Exercise, do not worry ... of course I will do for you, like a king you will lie with me in the clinic and get a massage you will never forget, you will float, but it also hurts! Are you willing to suffer too?" I nodded in the positive and meanwhile she asked me for a massage,
On the appointed day, when I was excited and alert, I left the house. As usual, I picked up the mail that had finally arrived, and sat down in the car. I glanced at the clock. Another hour to land. In twenty minutes I will be in the parking lot of Terminal Three and as I agreed, I will wait for it on the ground floor at the passenger exit. I flicked through the envelopes as my eyes stopped at the Population and Immigration Authority logo. I pulled out the letter and my eyes widened. "I would like to inform you ...." he began, and at the end of the long text it was stated that: "In light of the above, it is not possible to approve the guest's entry into Israel at this stage ..."
I took a deep breath. Do not let it get to your heart, I memorized to myself. I did not believe it was happening. what am I doing now? I decided to fly to her.
As she promised, she was waiting for me. Her shapely female body immediately stood out as I left the passenger hall in Vilnius. She approached me in agitation gear and kissed me gently.
"Well, shall we go get some rest before we go out?"
I agreed without much hesitation, already imagining the appropriate position for the expected rest. Like Charlie in the Chocolate Kingdom I was spun from every other sex cube she released. I was happy. Except for three missing words, everything looks perfect. In the morning, when I was emptied of any other act of love, the charge exploded.
Natalia called with a tempting offer: "Let's meet in a neutral country." I thought about it and said to myself: Why not? It's time to take advantage of the partially opened skies, for a limited number of green countries, after the tourist airport was grounded for half a year. Another wave of illness was approaching on the horizon. I felt I had to freshen up and for that - this time I would gamble. For five days I bit my nails in the hope that she would not disappear from the radar. I passed a corona test, I breathed a sigh of relief and finally the road to the last plane was paved, before Ben Gurion Airport closed again. On the day we found a destination and date, the first goat landed on me.
Ch18. Dizziness
At first I was hi! No need to stress, I was excited about the huge supply, I will soon start celebrating and compensating myself for the pain. how fun! It seems so simple. I'll probably be kidnapped right away, I just have to make the right choice. time's up. I groped in an attempt to deduce the truth from the lies. I checked If the object is a lover or an enemy. Gradually I became sober from the grip of the eyes. I kept jumping from site to site, I discovered that everything was the same and I was dizzy ...
The chapter consists of 12 short stories. Click on the drawing And you will discover more!
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Ch19. Epilogue
Those so-called infatuations were nothing but exciting adventures, not deep and steady love. I felt like I was on an insane and endless rollercoaster; sometimes up, other times down, recovering and getting ready for the next one.
I grew tired over the years. I felt like I’d had a tooth pulled with no anesthetic after each passing affair.
I felt like an attractive and sought-after man (though not who I hoped to be…). I raised my head and discovered that when I once needed people to listen to me, it was now the other way around. Writing a book created a new reality for me, in which most people enjoyed listening to me. I became a source myself.
We will each find ourselves searching for a partner in our lifetime. Whether in youth, adulthood, or old age, following a divorce or widowhood, after a breakup; and this will not skip many of us who are currently in a steady, loving relationship. The harsh truth is that it will eventually end, and it will hurt. It is not good for Man to be alone. Loneliness makes the joy of life disappear, and shortens our time in this world. Those who will not give up and continue their journey at least have hope on their side.
Do not despair. Even bad things are temporary, and everything blows over eventually. There is true love. You only need some luck to find it.
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For any media inquiries, please contact agent Daniel Stukalin:
Tel: 972-55-6600129
Emek haela 3
Modiin, Israel 7174783
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