Getting to Tel Aviv

In 2018 I had the opportunity to travel with a group of students to Israel. The group was part of a large organization that takes qualifying students on a brief study trip, traveling around Israel, going to conflict zones, listening to speakers, and participating in Israeli and Palestinian culture. There were six buses this summer, and I was on one with mainly curated students from my school. The students would gather with our leaders in New York and travel to Tel Aviv together, where a tour guide and bus would be waiting to collect us to take to the hotel, some nearby tourists attractions and then to the welcome dinner. 

But I had a slight problem. 

I was in Greece, or, more accurately, I had been working in Greece. I had been completing a few months of a work trip, traveling around, living in various places such as Athens and Thessaloniki, and working at places such as an orphanage for a few weeks, a rehabilitation center for girls in the sex industry and a refugee camp. Not being in New York with the others made traveling to Israel complicated. Still, not wanting to miss any opportunity, I came up with the highly clever plan to go from Athens to Rome, where my family was currently on holiday, travel with them to Venice, then, from Venice, make my solo journey to Tel Aviv, where I could meet up with my bus and fellow students. Easy. 

I had just been traveling throughout Greece, after all. How hard could this be? 

It was slightly less smooth sailing than I expected. The day before my flight, I learned my bus would leave and I would arrive in the city within 20 minutes of each other. How I was going to make it, I wasn’t sure. Still, I wasn’t deterred. The higher-ups in the organization called me and promised they would make sure I was all right. I only had to contact them when I landed. Perfect. 

In hindsight, I probably should have been more concerned. But I was sleep deprived, on high adrenaline and slightly on autopilot, which I had to be not to panic. 

So, at 4 in the morning, I left for the Venice airport. I was early. I had to wait over an hour for it to open, and when it did, I was one of the first in line. However, I was not prepared for the security to get into Israel. It was different than every other country. It was in a small basement-bunker-like room, and every worker there looked terrifying and extremely put out. 

But I am a small girl, with one bag I could chuck into the overhead. So, what trouble could I be? 

I got into the line in the security basement bunker, and it passed quickly. Good, I thought. A person at the front of the line was talking to everyone before they went through security, and the few people in front of me passed through without incident. When it was my turn, the woman at the front started speaking Hebrew. Oh no, I thought. They believe I’m Israeli. This had been a common occurrence in Greece, as I am Native American, and by this point, was extremely dark. 

“Uhh,” I said, “sorry, English?” 

Confusion, understanding, and a stern acknowledgment crossed the woman’s face. “Oh,” she nearly spat. “American.” 

Whoops, I thought. Secrets out. Howdy, can I please be let through, please? I have a tour bus to catch, and you are entirely too intimidating.

 Of course, I didn’t say that. I said, “Yes, sorry, umm English?” Like a broken record. 

She went to get what I could only presume was the only English speaker in the bunker. 

Finally, a man came up to me. “Come with me,” he said as he led me to a table.

Other people were now going through the line. In my head, I could hear the clock ticking. Two hours to my flight, twenty minutes to get the right bus. Tik tik tik. 

He sat me down and then proceeded to ask questions. “Who are you? What are you doing going to Tel Aviv alone? Why are you alone?”

If that wasn’t an interrogation, I’m not sure what is. 

I had the documents to prove myself, luckily. My luck did run out, though, when he wanted to see email confirmation. There was no internet in this bunker, which I explained, and he looked like that wasn’t an excuse. I wanted to protest and say that, unfortunately, I had no influence on the design or function of this building, and it was not my fault they didn’t include the INTERNET. I began to feel frustrated. But I remained calm. After an hour of this, he gave up. I was not a threat. I was just an American, and he could not hold me any longer.

I got through security finally. Once again, I must have looked suspicious, because what took others no time to get through took me another 30 minutes. The woman unpacked everything in my bag and drug tested it all. 

I may not have correctly calculated the issues I would have getting into the country, but I certainly wouldn’t have brought DRUGS to Israel. 

She threw away some of my magazines, and I told her she should keep them for herself if she liked Taylor swift. She was not amused. She saw my first aid kit. Oh no, I thought again. I guess I technically DID bring drugs to Israel. But I honestly did not think ibuprofen would be a big deal. In fact, I wanted to say, I could use some right about now. She told me I couldn’t take them. 

“Toss it,” I said. “I don’t care about that particular first aid kit, we’re not emotionally connected.” She still wasn’t amused so I almost added.

But please give me a pill.

Finally, I got to the bag check. 

“You need to check your bag,” the man said. 

“Um, no, it’s small,” I said.

“No, check,” he said again. 

“No, it’s small,” I said again. 

He looked at me, “Check.”  

I gave in. I checked it. 

Three flights of stairs and two elevators later, I finally saw what the actual Venice airport looked like- though I could not enjoy it because I had another round of security to get through, then I had to RUN to make my flight. The only thing I had time to eat was a Kinder Bueno from the vending machine outside my terminal. At that point, I was thinking that sitting in a gondola for a few more days wouldn’t be so bad. Finally, I got on the plane and relaxed for the first time in hours. 

I arrived at the airport in Tel Aviv. I was getting calls all around, where the bus was, where the people were, no they would not leave me, oh wait, they left. Like a middle school nightmare, my bus left without me. 

Hmmm, I thought, this could not be good.

But luckily for me, there was another bus that also was going through security at the same time, and the organization’s leaders told them to look out for me. I found them, and like someone who had not slept for 24 hours, had been interrogated, had pain medication thrown away and then was ABANDONED by their bus, I was my best self. There is something to say for friendly people, and a body pumped with so much adrenaline, I could have lifted that bus for all I knew. Everyone on the bus was lovely, and I learned this bus was for the ivy league schools. 

That’s right, instead of my small private school peers, I spent the day chatting and making friends with people from Harvard, Yale, and Brown.

Finally, at the welcome dinner, my university greeted me. How had I survived? they wanted to know. 

“Well,” I said, “I was able to eat a Kinder Bueno before my flight, so you know, I was fine.” 

I wanted to know if any of them had experienced what I had. Nope. Smooth sailing for them. 

Well, I thought, at least I got a story.

It’s good to be an American, I thought. Howdy, go ahead and take my pills and Taylor swift magazine, I have a flight to catch and the wrong bus waiting for me, but does anyone have ibuprofen?