Special Operations
Wednesday evening, May 14th, 2003
39,000 ft. over the Mediterranean Sea I wonder if my reception in Tel-Aviv will be anything like the routine I experienced just ten hours ago at Toronto's Pearson Airport.
After receiving my boarding pass I was instructed to walk my bags over to 'Special Operations'. A narrow corridor demarked by poorly photocopied signs soon led to a long room populated by a gaggle of industrial music stands and what looked like the world's largest MRI scanner. There I was greeted by a young Israeli woman with a government-issue clipboard and impermeable eyes. "Passport and ticket", she stated. I handed her the documents and she began a series of questions designed to reveal inconsistencies in my answers.
Menah menah menah?
Huh?
Have you been to Israel before?
No.
Do you speak Hebrew?
No.
You are Jewish. Where did you learn?
I didn't.
Do you know any Israeli's?
No.
Where do you live?
Here.
Where exactly?
St. Clair and Christie, downtown.
Where are your friends in Israel?
I don't know anyone there except for the business contacts I am going to meet.
Do you speak any Hebrew?
No but I'd like too....
Are you parents in Israel?
No they are here.
Where do they live?...
I was then handed off to a more senior agent who began the same line of questioning. Interrupting I told him we'd just been through all this and after a lengthy consultation with the first agent, he led me to a well-worn bench where I waited for each and every item of my belongings to be carefully searched.
Eventually I was free to leave for the gate but not until my shoes had been scanned, computer checked (I believe they read some of my email), and a sealed container of greens supplements opened, tested for explosives and re-packed into a cardboard box designated for its own cargo area.
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