poms I’m currently in Israel on my Birthright trip, which, for those who aren’t aware, is basically a 10-day, all-expenses paid trip to “the mothaland” for Jews.

Even though I’m something of a cultural mutt, my Jewish friends had all raved about the program and I knew I had to take advantage of it before the age cutoff at 27.

So, one Thursday evening this past Fall, after a few too many glasses of red wine, I began to fill out the online application. I tried my hardest to conceal my utter lack of knowledge about Judaism, crossed my fingers, and hit submit.

A few weeks later I was confirmed for a January trip.

Woohoo?

Despite having just taken time off of work for the holidays, I ultimately decided to just say “fuck it” and confirmed my travel to Israel for the two-week program.

Pretty much anyone who has done birthright agrees that one of the perks of the program is getting to know the drop dead gorgeous Israeli soldiers in the group.

And meet Israeli soldiers I did.

On the first night that the soldiers met up with us, we were led through a series of introduction exercises. We sat around in groups of eight or so talking about where we were from, our favorite foods, and showing off scars from our childhood.

Towards the end of the get-to-know-you games, one of the program leaders announced that the next topic of discussion was “what’s on your bucket list?”

We all sat back and mulled this over for a bit. After a couple moments of silence, we slowly went around the circle and each of us began to present our personal bucket list items.

The guy to my right said sky diving was something he had always dreamed of doing. When it was my turn, I mentioned that learning to scuba dive was on my to-do list.

Finally, it was the hot Israeli soldier’s turn. He paused for a moment before sharing his response.

Carefully, in his lilting English, he murmured,”threesome”.

What.

All the Americans shot glances at each other to confirm that we had actually heard what we thought we heard — and it wasn’t just the accent confusing us.

“Threesome?” I pressed, eagerly, hoping I’d understood correctly. He nodded – smirking, yet somehow endearing.

“Yep.”

The pimply, awkward guy over to my left let out a nervous giggle and squirmed in his seat, clearly not sure how to react to the information. Pizza face cleared his throat awkwardly: “It’s gotta be two girls though, right man?” he asked the rugged, broad-shouldered soldier.

In his perfectly clipped, accented speech the soldier shrugged and said simply: “Whatever comes, comes.”

Mmmm. Hopefully me first.

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