I suppose we might have met when we both lived in Toronto, that Canadian megalopolis that I picture now as a huge, deep bowl filled with immigrants from every corner of the globe. A place where people from warring nations live side-by-side and discover that they share a common horror of the cold and a common longing to "go home." And a common, albeit unspoken and sometimes begrudging ("it's boring here"), gratitude to the country that offered them a peaceful place to rest.

But we didn't meet in Toronto. We met in Tel Aviv. And it felt sort of clandestine, not because of who he is and who I am, but because of what he is and what I am, and where we live. Which, when you think about it, is absurd.

We sat at a restaurant on the beach and talked about life and the Middle East, and life in the Middle East, and we solved all its problems in three hours, over a good bottle of wine. The fact that he is incredibly smart and cool helped a lot.

If only everyone would listen to us, the Middle East would be such a great place. :P