The trip home, and the difference a kippah makes?

When I flew back from Israel earlier this month my journey was a gauntlet as usual; long layover, long flights, however one part was much easier than normal--the security. Whenever I've explained what the Tel Aviv airport security is like to an Israeli they always respond with looks of disbelief, because they aren't treated the same when they leave. One of my instructors this summer was herself a security worker at the airport during her military service. She said that part of her job was explicitly to profile people by their race and religion, and she disliked her job a great deal for this reason. People that have read my older blogs will recall that I've had some pretty rough encounters at Israel's airport security in the past. So this time I thought I would try an experiment. This time when I left I decided I would do exactly as I had in the past, pack the same way, and answer the questions in the security interview with same candor that in the past resulted in this. This time however, I put on a kippah (yarmulke in America), nothing flashy, just a little doily size piece of cloth. In America it's common for religious Jews not to wear one, but in Israel it serves as a strong indicator of whether or not someone is a religious Jew. There are actually not a few Christian orders that also wear a skullcap, called a pileolus or a zucchetto. I also like to wear strange objects as hats as a matter of habit. At any rate, when I came to the security interview I answered the same questions with complete honesty, regarding why I was in Israel, who I knew, how much Hebrew I knew, etc. and after about sixty seconds I was waved through every line. I didn't so much as have to open a single bag or send my checked bags through the x-ray. Exiting customs was equally fast, and the security officer behind the desk, rather than the usual stern attitude was, frankly, flirtatious. I get searched leaving the Harvard libraries more thoroughly than I experienced this time around at the airport. The airport security which had taken two to three hours in the past, took me all of twenty minutes from the first interview to sitting at my gate. Though I know this is but one experience, and only anecdotal evidence, I can't help but presume that I was treated so differently and presumed to be nonthreatening because I wore a piece of fabric on my head which served as a symbol of Jewishness. I'm not sure which part I find more interesting, that Israel's famously extreme security measures which take advantage of the most advanced technology available can be thwarted by a three inch diameter piece of knitted yarn, or that Justin the religious Jew would, because of that religion, be waved through, while Justin the Christian would be held and searched from top to bottom and interrogated.

Safely Home

I’m 38,000 feet over Missouri as I write this. So far everything on the journey home has gone relatively well. Getting through Israel security on the way out was exactly what I expected; meaning it was everything. Upon entering airport security every person is assigned a number 1-6, 1 being for example the least threatening little old Orthodox Jewish lady who’s never left the country; 6 being someone extremely threatening and potentially dangerous, me for example. I received just about every test they could do that didn’t involve me taking off all my clothes (I was taking to a back room behind a curtain, where I had every inch of me patted down multiple times however). Every book I brought, which was in the neighborhood of 30 was opened and flipped through to see if anything was in between the pages, every item was tested for chemical weapons and explosives, etc. I even got a few interrogations, which I managed to make light hearted since I knew the security officers doing them were likely no older than me. After a couple hours I was through security and, having expected the worst from the security in advance, still made it on my flight with plenty of time. Whether you find it comical or something more, I thought people would be interested to see my bags stamped with 6, 6, 6.

I spent three days on the East Coast during my layover in JFK. My ticket was the same price if I took the next plane to Los Angeles a few hours or a few days later. Having never been to the East Coast, I thought it would be a good idea to stop off and see some sites and visit some of the graduate schools I’m applying to at Harvard and Yale. After purchasing my ticket, and as my arrival in New York City was quickly approaching I began to realize just how big of an operation accomplishing the East Coast adventure would be. Especially considering I was still in a mode of mental recovery I felt in over my head. But would you know it, the entire trip went without a hitch, and much better than I could have expected, thanks mostly to some family friends living in Brooklyn who took great care of me. My visits to Yale and Harvard went very well, I showed up at Harvard Divinity School without any kind of appointment, noticed a student tour passing by shortly after I arrived, and jumped right in. The student leading the tour was in the same program I'm applying to and is from Southern California so asking her questions was very helpful. I got a lot of great info from staff at Yale, and was able to sit down to lunch with some Divinity students; not at all the blue bloods I was worried about. I also had the opportunity to see a lot of sites before leaving NYC, Rockefeller Center, Time Square, Ground Zero, etc.

I'll be home for Christmas

I will be home next week for the Christmas season to visit, and to raise support and awareness. As my departure nears I am fighting a strong sentimental bond I have developed with this place during my short stay here. There is so much I have yet to do, and so much more I wish I could have done, though I suppose these feelings are common. It feels a bit ironic to be living in Bethlehem itself, and leaving it for Christmas; I hope you can appreciate the sacrifice in this.

Please pray for my safety as I travel, and that I will get through security with few hassles. I will be trying to get through security at about 8pm Saturday night (PST), please pray for this time especially. I will be back in LA sometime late Wednesday evening. Because the price of my flight was the same regardless of how long my layover in NYC is, I decided to take a few days, having never been to the East Coast, to visit NYC, Harvard, and Yale where I am applying for Master’s programs in Theology. Please keep this time in your prayers as well, as I attempt to make myself presentable facing 7 hours of jet lag, reverse culture shock, and having never been in the temperatures expected during my stay. I look forward to seeing you all shortly! If you would like to receive information about the work I am doing and/or support me and would like to meet in person just shoot me a message here, on facebook, email, whatever is easiest for you.

Getting through Security

I just spent an hour in a check point coming out of the West Bank. Typically we leave from Jerusalem to circumvent the West Bank entirely on the road to Gaza, but because of the weather (raining) and the difficulty Erica has getting from Bethlehem to Jerusalem (through a checkpoint) early enough, we decided to try a different route. I've had somewhat invasive checks before, on par with airport security, and those are easy enough to laugh off. Usually the most embarrassing thing that happens is that I have to remove my belt going through the metal detector, and have to hold up my pants for 5 minutes while they send it through the X-Ray (yes the belt, no I don’t know why); but this one was bad, downright offensive. Generally anyone with an American I'd gets waved right through checkpoints, not many Californians bent on terrorist acts against the state of Israel I guess (the issue of legislated racial/gender/geographical profiling is for a different blog). As I handed the guard Erica’s ID (Jerusalem residing Palestinian) after mine, the guard’s expression changed, and he squawked something over his walkey talkey and directed us to turn around and get in line for inspection.

We sat in our van for about 15 minutes in a line with 10-20 other vehicles waiting for inspection; taxis, agricultural trucks, empty freight trucks, and a few other unlucky regular motorists, the others had clearly been there quite a bit longer. When a guard instructed the front vehicles to go we sped into a barricaded lot in a stampede of vehicles. We all parked, opened all our doors, trunk, hood, grabbed our bags and headed some 100 feet or so to go through security, while our vehicles were searched, checked for bombs with mirrors, dogs, etc… While I was waiting in line to go through the metal detector and have my backpack and our bag of medical supplies X-rayed, another guard called out for me after looking at our van. I walked up to him and he said in broken English to take the child and infant seats out of the van to be X-rayed as well. That was a new one, kind of frustrating but I complied. I had to take a couple trips because the seats in addition to bags were too cumbersome. When I got to the line they opened my backpack, flipped through the pages of my Bible and rummaged through the rest. Everything was then put on the X-ray. The inspector was very interested in our medical supplies, tubes, feeding syringes, and what not. I explained that we were a medical charity. My laptop had to be sent through alone, opened, and inspected as well. I cringed as my open laptop went back and forth naked under the rubber drapes, no scratches thankfully.

After going through security everyone was then corralled through a one way door into an outdoor pen to wait, about 20 Palestinian young men, myself, and Erica. The guards had apparently collected everyone’s cell phones to prevent anyone from making calls, they never asked me though. I was then called back to the van again. A guard had noticed there was a small blue container, mostly empty, in the back of our van, she asked me to take that to be X-rayed. After I was about half way to the security building she called me back again. I went back, and now she wanted to know what I had assumed they would ask about first, the 3 foot tall highly explosive tank of oxygen we keep stowed in our van. She said “what is this?” I replied, “oxygen.” She called over another guard that apparently spoke better English, he asked what it was, and I told him “oxygen” at which point he translated to the other guard “oxygeen.” To the X-Ray of course. I knew it didn’t really matter what I said was in it, I could have said it was full of Israeli flags and ‘free Gilad Shalit’ bumper stickers and they would still have X-rayed it. I loaded up the little blue container, and then the big tank of oxygen onto the X-ray machine. As it went through I explained to a teenage female guard doing her very best to sound intimidating what the canister contained and why we had it. Typically the best strategy for getting through checkpoints without being hassled and interrogated is to give the facts but acting like a dumb American that doesn’t speak a word of Hebrew; throwing in a California accent or a “Yee-haw!” for good measure always helps. I was then sent back out to the pen, leaving the oxygen tan inside, no doubt to have some superior officer decide what to do with the thing.

It began pouring rain while we were in the pen, again everyone’s doors were wide open, and everyone began shouting at the guards to let us out to close our vehicles up. After maybe 30 seconds of downpour we were allowed to go close our doors and come back. We spent another half an hour waiting, most of the men spent it smoking, drinking coffee, often both. It reminded me of the kids that got detention in high school, keeping mostly quiet, but telling jokes and goofing off as much as they could get away with. There was quite a lot of tension, not so much out of fear of the border guards but because of the guards’ perceived incompetence for taking so long. While I don’t doubt the quality of the training the IDF inductees undergo, the closest thing that it reminds me of back home is high school PE class. Israel’s military service is compulsory for every citizen, male or female, for two years typically ages 18-19, unless you are an Orthodox Jew studying Torah, or volunteer for humanitarian service. Because of this, there are soldiers everywhere, and their attitude toward their military service seems to be mixed in the same stereotypes found in high school gym class. You have the girls that dress out, but prefer to talk and don’t participate, the overweight ones with skin tight uniforms, you have some guys that are a little too gung ho and take their position very seriously, and almost across the board they act like normal teenagers when they aren’t tending to some immediate work. I pass them every day waiting at the bus stops to go home, and it’s all so reminiscent of high school. The primary difference is that many of these young adults are armed with m4 assault rifles, complete with extended ammo clips and scopes, even strapped over the shoulder they practically drag on the ground with some of the 5’ tall 100lb girls.

Anyway, we were given back our oxygen tank, and after a few minutes more a guard began a roll call of IDs and passports, the lone blue US passport sitting at the top. A guard called out “Justin,” to which all the Palestinians repeated loudly so everyone could hear. It was like being called to get up from time out. Once called to get the passport you were free to go, and one by one everyone darted off to their vehicle and pulled out. I took much longer, having to reassemble everything, and load everything back up in the van, through the rain mind you.

I left feeling a little disgruntled and violated, and soggy socks didn’t help anything. All this took place while the Gaza patients were waiting for us at the border with the freezing wind and pouring rain, luckily a couple border taxis allowed our patients to sit in their cars while they waited for us.

What is necessary, what is justifiable, what is off limits, what is private, what is excessive? These questions require a great deal of input by analysts, lawyers, government representatives, in meetings, committees, and courtrooms, but there is a lot of necessary perspective which can only be gained once you have yourself been the object if interest, anything less is a fundamental handicap in discerning these questions.