Witnessing a violent gang rape many years ago was one of the key moments in my life.

It has deeply influenced how I relate to women and to sex—it has shaped my life

But first let me tell you about an experience I had when I was about six.

My family had just moved to a newly built house in a developing suburb south of Tel-Aviv.

Picture me: a copper-haired, freckled young boy, inquisitive and playful.

I made friends with my neighbor from the floor below. She was five years old, shy-looking, but cute girl named “Lee”.

I don’t remember exactly how it began. We started playing doctor and patient. Lee and I took turns in examining each others’ bodies.

Did you ever play doctor and patient?

Can you remember the experience? The innocence of it, the excitement, the joy of exploration and discovery, the sensations, the feeling that you are doing something special, maybe not entirely “permitted”, and the secrecy around it.

I remember “inspecting” her genitals and discovering what I thought was where she pees from. I felt like a young scientist. There was a sense of pride and joy of the discovery.

That probably went on for a few weeks. Until one day. I only dimly recall, either her parents or mine, walked into the room and turned on the lights as we were playing. Later, when I asked her to play again, she said in a somewhat distant voice, “Mommy doesn’t allow me to play with you anymore.” I remember the confusion, the disappointment, the frustration, as I thought to myself, “Why? What did I do wrong?”

In the following years I was in love and infatuated with girls my age and older. I was playing with girls, helping them do their hair, joining secret groups with them. At school I was one of the nerds, although not unpopular.

Puberty arrived with its wonderful mixture of excitement and terror. I learned about sex, discovered another kind of interest in girls, and explored my body. I came across romantic novels with beautiful and vivid descriptions of sex. I remember standing in the adult section of the public library, leafing through books, looking for those exciting passages, as my erection was throbbing and my heart was pounding in my chest.

There was very little porn available then to kids my age. I guess my friends were watching their parents’ video cassette porn collection when they were not at home.

I never did—my only exposure to sexuality was through those novels.

Then came that fateful evening when my life changed.

It was early 1989, during a characteristically mild winter in Israel. On weekends, my friends and I would either go out or attend birthday parties.

That evening I went out with a group of my classmates. All of a sudden found myself watching a woman being violently raped by a group of men.

She was a young gorgeous woman, in her early to mid 20s, petite and sexy, with beautiful blue eyes and dyed blond hair.

As she stepped into that pub, and grabbed a drink, she started dancing sensually and flirting with the guys. I remember being infatuated by watching her dance, and envious of those strong guys she was flirting with. I wanted to be one of them. I was looking intently to see what they did or said, so I could do it as well. I yearned to have what they had.

She started dancing with one guy in particular; rubbing up against him.

I was mesmerized.

But suddenly, things took a different turn.

In that side room of the pub, the guy she was dancing with started undressing her. When she tried to resist, his friends joined in, taking her clothes off and holding her down as he started raping her. She was shouting and fighting but they were obviously stronger than her.

Things happened so fast I could hardly follow what was going on. The other guys were clapping and cheering from the side. When he was done, another guy took over and penetrated her. And then another.

I felt panic and anxiety. I was disgusted and nauseated. I was afraid I would puke or pass out. I couldn’t watch that anymore—I had to leave.

But how could I? My friends were there all around me. What would they think of me if I left?

Ask yourself, what would you have done?

One of my male friends, a short and stout soccer player, turned to me excited and said “Wow, he’s really giving it to her!”

He’s really giving it to her…

I felt astonished and disgusted by his remark.

As the minutes went by, I became disconnected, watching the scene from far away, as if through a tunnel.

I felt as if it was me who was being raped.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to end. I wanted to do something. I wanted to help her.

But there was nothing I could do.

You see, I wasn’t in the room with that woman and those horrible men.

My friends and I were watching a film at the local cinema.

But this film felt more real to me than any film I’d ever seen.

This experience has influenced my whole life. It has shaped how I see myself as a man, how I see and interact with women, and how my sex life has unfolded.

I vowed never to treat women like that. For the rest of my adolescence I never tried to convince any of my (few) partners to have sex. Instead, I engaged in hours of kissing, touching, exploring, and foreplay that didn’t lead to sex. I learned to enjoy every moment, every place in her body, without needing to achieve a goal.

When I became sexually active, I celebrated and cherished every sexual encounter, and every aspect of it. The focus was not just to pleasure my partner, but also to bring healing.

In the first years of my sexual explorations, I was making love softly, because I associated being rough with the rape I saw on the screen that evening. As the years passed, I have learned to embrace the whole range of the sexual expression, from soft and angelic to intense, raw, ravishing sex. Rough sex, if done with love and awareness, can be amazingly tender.

In 2005, when I discovered Tantra, I received both the framework and the techniques that led me to become a sexual healer. Later on, I began to hold sexuality and relationship workshops around the world.

I have since worked with, coached and taught thousands of people, and my current mission is to reach over a million people by 2019.

That film was called “The Accused.”

Thank you Jodie Foster—you changed my life.

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Assistant Editor: Rheba Estante/Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: elephant archive