If you're scared to come alone, I'm the woman waiting for you at the gate
I got to the last one because someone else bought my ticket. This time I signed myself up, for two. Before that evening I had three good reasons not to go: I don't know a single person there, I'm not really a party person, and I don't want to end up feeling uncomfortable. Here is what I know about all three now, and what I wish another woman had told me first.
A note from the host: Romi was at our last party, signed up for the Aug 20 one, and then sat down and wrote this for the women who are still deciding. I'm publishing it because I have no way of saying it better than she does. From here it's her. (Shay)
I know the loop well. The same friends, the same bars, the same conversation about who did what over the weekend. It's comfortable, it's safe, and it's why I hadn't met anyone new in a long time. At some point a circle of friends stops being a circle and starts being a room with the door shut.
And if you moved to this country in the last few years, you know a harder version of it. Your circle isn't closed, it's still under construction, and most of it lives in a group chat in another time zone. Here, meeting people is the whole project.
I got to the last party because someone else bought my ticket, and I'm not sure I would have gone otherwise. But before that evening I went looking for a reason not to go, and I found three. All of them sounded excellent at the time.
The three reasons I gave myself
"I don't know anyone there"
That's the whole reason to go. If everyone arrived with their own crowd, there would be nothing to come for. Most of the people who bought a ticket to the first edition didn't know anyone either, and the evening is built that way deliberately.
"I'm not a party person"
Neither am I, if a party means a club with music too loud to talk over. This is a house with a garden. There's a floor for whoever wants to move, and a quiet corner where you can actually finish a sentence.
"I'm scared it'll feel wrong"
The first two were mostly excuses. This one is a real question, so it got most of my time and most of this column.
The real fear isn't the party
When a woman says "I don't feel comfortable coming alone", she usually means two completely different things. They are worth separating, because each one has a different answer.
The first is social: that I'll stand in a corner holding my phone, that nobody will talk to me, that I'll leave after twenty minutes and text a friend that it was awful. Format answers that one. At a party with games and an opening circle you are not the one who has to walk up and start a conversation. The game does it for you.
The second is about safety: someone's house, an address that only arrives after you register, free alcohol, and men I have never met. No format answers that one. People do, and a reassuring line on a website is worth nothing. So I didn't try to reassure myself. I checked.
What I checked before I left my number
The word "safe" on the page of the person selling the ticket was not enough for me. So I ran a list instead. Some of it I checked before I went the first time, and some of it only after I'd been there and knew what was worth asking. It took me about fifteen minutes on my phone, and you're welcome to run it on any event, not just this one.
My check, step by step
- Who is hosting, and can I find them? Shay, full name, face, an open Instagram you can scroll. I looked him up before I left my number. A host you cannot find is reason enough on its own.
- How do you pay? Through Morning, the standard Israeli invoicing system, with a receipt in my name. Not a Bit transfer to a private number I don't know. It sounds technical, and it's one of the best signals that there's a real business behind this and not an anonymous someone.
- Who gets in? A closed list. No walk-ins off the street, and nobody brings a last-minute friend that nobody knows anything about.
- Are the house rules written down? They are, published in advance, with zero tolerance for harassment. Someone who bothers to write that down in advance has already decided what their evening looks like.
- Is somebody sober? One host doesn't drink all night, and their job is to notice who is standing alone, and to be the person you go to if something feels off.
- Why does the address only come after you register? This bothered me most, and the explanation held up: it's somebody's private home. I don't want the address of the house I'm standing in at night floating around online.
- What if I want to leave? You leave. And if you weren't glad you came by the end of the night, you say so and you get your money back. I didn't need it, but it's good to know it's there.
Woman to woman. In the end that's what gets one of us to an evening she almost gave up on.
And if you still don't want to walk in alone
This is where I come in. Women tend to go everywhere together, which makes complete sense, but "I have nobody to go with" is a terrible reason to give up an evening you actually want.
So here's how you do it: message the hosts on WhatsApp beforehand and ask to talk to a woman who's going. They'll connect you. You can arrange to meet at the gate and walk in together, or just ask her the things you don't feel like asking the person selling you the ticket. I'm coming with one other person, and if you'd like us to wait for you at the gate, tell them and I'll be there. I remember what it's like to walk up to that gate for the first time.
And next time it's you, the one someone else messages beforehand.
What's actually there
What calmed me down most that first evening: there's no one spot you're supposed to be in. There are a few corners, and you choose where you are and when you move.
Four corners, and you pick
- The quiet corner. Sit, talk, eat something. It's the one place in the evening where you can finish a whole sentence, and they put it next to the pizza on purpose, so nobody has to choose between eating and talking.
- The floor. Nineties music all night with a DJ. If all you want is to move and not talk to anyone, that's also a successful evening.
- The games. Beer pong, flip cup, kings cup. A game hands you a team and a role, so you have a reason to talk to someone without inventing an opener. If you don't drink, you play exactly the same games on soft drinks.
- Outside. A garden, air, and a few people who stepped out to breathe. Most of the conversations that carry on after the evening start out there.
About the bar: it's included in the ticket and drinks are free all night, and this is the place to say that the choice is yours. Some people drink, some don't touch it, and there are alcohol-free options all evening. If you take one thing from this column, take this: do what you feel like doing, not what you think the room expects of you. An evening you have to drink at to fit in is a bad evening, and that's true everywhere, not only here.
One more thing if English is your first language: plenty of olim come to these. A game can start in Hebrew and carry on in English without anyone making it a thing.
Why this one, and why now
The first edition of this evening sold 104 tickets and about 80 people showed up. 12 of them bought more than one ticket in the same purchase, so they dragged someone along. Those aren't huge numbers, and standing there, that was the part I liked. It's a garden, not a stadium.
The next one is Thursday Aug 20, there are 120 spots, and the price goes up on Aug 7. I don't like manufactured urgency, so there's no clock counting down on the screen. There's a date after which it costs more, and one evening a month. If you've read this far, you already know what you feel like doing.
Disco 95 · Thursday Aug 20
Hod HaSharon · doors 20:00 · ₪100 from Aug 16, going up ₪10 every day until the party · 120 spots · bar, costume rack and pizza included · address sent after you register · 18+.
I'm in for Aug 20 →
