The Columnist Manifesto

My trip to Israel really began at the airport check-in area. The check-in line winds up, not at the ticket counter, but at an open area with three music stands, with suited El Al employees standing behind each one. No, they were not there to serenade us, but to question us -- the music stands serving as makeshift desks.

If we were to read the transcript, we'd probably conclude that this was the most personally intrusive questioning I've ever experienced from an official, and certainly the most in a travel context.

Starting unexceptionally with the standard "passport control" type questions -- why are you travelling to Israel? Is this your first trip to Israel? -- it was the third question that took the interesting turn.

What made you decide to go to Israel now, after all these years?

I wasn't sure how to answer this question. Did they want the truth, the whole truth? "Well, you see, my parents were really not very culturally attuned Jews. They made me go to temple and all, but..."

What I said got a smile: "I've been waiting to go my whole life. It's about time."

The questioning continued in a polite, but no-nonsense rapid fire: Did you learn any Hebrew for this trip? Why? Had you studied Hebrew before? In what school?

The answer to this question was, I studied a little bit in for my bar mitzvah, at my Temple.

What is the name of your Temple? Where is it? Do you still go to temple? Why not? Did you receive a Hebrew name when you were bar mitzvah'd?

At the answer to that, "no," I got a raised eyebrow.

"It was a reformed temple," I replied, thinking of that old Woody Allen joke. ("My rabbi was reformed. Very reformed. A Nazi.")

This got me my second smile of the interview.

I have to say, the security interview bothered me not one bit. If this contributes to El Al's excellent security record, well, who am I to complain. And coming from this scrupulously polite Israeli woman who looked like she could have been my cousin, the personal questioning became almost an intimate conversation. I liked answering the questions. I'd have been happy to go on for a while longer.

I was curious, of course, what she talked about during two breaks in my interview when she talked in hushed tones off to the side with her colleague, gesturing toward my passport. Did I fit some sort of profile? I was dying to know, but of course she was totally poker-faced and non-committal in response to my question at the end, "was this a typical interview?"

(An Israeli acquaintance speculated today that the profile I may have fit was that of "nettlesome peace activist" rather than "terrorist.")

You just can't second guess the Israelis' concerns for security. Sitting in busy cafes in Tel Aviv, I detect no vibe of anxiety. The only thing you notice is the but omnipresent security guards -- in restaurants, shops, public parks. They keep, not a high profile or a low profile, but a medium profile. You know they're there -- which I guess is part of the point -- and in two days so far I've had my camera case scrutinized with a sideways glance and my backpack inspected.


Security guard, Rothschild Ave., Tel Aviv.

I guess you could say the security guards are like the less ostentatious bouncers at U.S. nightclubs. Oh, yeah, and the one at the hotel actually ask you for your room number, and then your name, before letting you in. But I'm on the guest list.

* * *

Okay, true story. At the very moment I finished writing the words "no vibe of anxiety," these two police cars pulled up in front of the cafe and issued a statement over their loudspeakers. Slowly, but not hesitantly, all the patrons on the front patio got up and came inside, and a few indoor patrons moved away from the window.



I asked a nearby patron what the police were saying.

"Oh," she replied, "it's just that they've found a suspicious bag outside and they're going to blow it up."

Routine.

# posted by Oscar Madison @ 2:22 AM