raw, bleeding organs of a pig. I was getting desperate. How much longer before we arrive? I asked a flight attendant who was passing along the aisle, but the answer was the same as always, two and a half hours, sir, we recommend you try and sleep, the DVD system in your seat is out of order but you have your headphones and thereâs a varied program of great music to help you relax.
Just before we landed, the rabbi expressed his joy with a little dance that probably endangered the safety of the plane. Then the light of dawn appeared, and the sheen of Tel Aviv, the white Mediterranean city founded by immigrants at the beginning of the past century.
In immigration, I was subjected to more questions. They seemed to be applying, very strictly, an interrogatory method that may perhaps have occasionally given good results, designed as it seemed to be for tired, confused people who have been traveling all night.
Do you know any Arabs?
Do you speak Arabic?
Have you had sexual relations with Arab men or women in the past twelve months?
What kind of novels do you write?
What, in your opinion, is the greatest human tragedy of modern times?
Have you ever tried kibbeh, tabouleh, or hummus?
In what circumstances have you tried kibbeh, tabouleh, or hummus?
Have you had sexual relations with Arab men or women at any time in your life?
Have you ever tried to learn Arab cooking?
What is your opinion of the philosophy of Nietzsche?
How many Steven Spielberg films have you seen?
Do you like the music of Wagner?
If you were given the opportunity to have sexual relations with Arab men or women, would you take it?
Which Steven Spielberg films have you seen and why?
What do names like Adolf or Muhammad evoke for you?
Which countries, in your opinion, make up the Middle East?
What do you think of psychoanalysis?
What do words like âdiaspora,â âghettoâ or âShoahâ evoke for you?
On reaching question number one hundred or perhaps one thousand, I heard the soldier say, why have you come to our country? to which I replied, Iâve been invited to a conference, and I handed him the letter from the ICBM.
Then something unexpected happened: the guardâs stony face underwent a transformation and he said, you should have told me that from the start, my friend, follow me. As we walked, he said, Iâm sure youâll understand that our situation forces us to be cautious, it must be the same in your country, I suppose? I know war is inconvenient, but you have to understand, there are idiots who think theyâre arriving in Zurich or Monte Carlo and get upset by our methods, but you and I know that there are enemies lying in wait everywhere, there could be a terrorist hiding behind every friendly and apparently innocent face, donât you agree? if youâd like to sit down for a moment while we find your case, would you like a drink?
An orderly approached with a tray. There was lemonade with ice and mint leaves, and there was also coffee. Then they brought my baggage and we went out through a side door and walked to a Mercedes Benz with air conditioning and a mini-bar, which within a few seconds was driving through a modern network of avenues and bridges, accelerating until it reached well over a hundred miles an hour. As we left Tel Aviv behind us, reality hit me. The dawn air was filled with ashes and the smell of fuel. A thick, low-lying fog restricted visibility.
On the road to Jerusalem, the limousine seemed completely out of place, because there was nothing else to be seen but military vehicles. Suddenly a loud noise made me jump. Four army jets had just broken the sound barrier above our heads.
Donât worry, said the driver, they just reached Mach Two, theyâre ours.
On a big sign pointing to Jerusalem, somebody had sprayed a strange word,
Alqudsville
, which others had tried desperately to erase. I copied the word into my notebook and sat looking at it for a while. It was a
Just before we landed, the rabbi expressed his joy with a little dance that probably endangered the safety of the plane. Then the light of dawn appeared, and the sheen of Tel Aviv, the white Mediterranean city founded by immigrants at the beginning of the past century.
In immigration, I was subjected to more questions. They seemed to be applying, very strictly, an interrogatory method that may perhaps have occasionally given good results, designed as it seemed to be for tired, confused people who have been traveling all night.
Do you know any Arabs?
Do you speak Arabic?
Have you had sexual relations with Arab men or women in the past twelve months?
What kind of novels do you write?
What, in your opinion, is the greatest human tragedy of modern times?
Have you ever tried kibbeh, tabouleh, or hummus?
In what circumstances have you tried kibbeh, tabouleh, or hummus?
Have you had sexual relations with Arab men or women at any time in your life?
Have you ever tried to learn Arab cooking?
What is your opinion of the philosophy of Nietzsche?
How many Steven Spielberg films have you seen?
Do you like the music of Wagner?
If you were given the opportunity to have sexual relations with Arab men or women, would you take it?
Which Steven Spielberg films have you seen and why?
What do names like Adolf or Muhammad evoke for you?
Which countries, in your opinion, make up the Middle East?
What do you think of psychoanalysis?
What do words like âdiaspora,â âghettoâ or âShoahâ evoke for you?
On reaching question number one hundred or perhaps one thousand, I heard the soldier say, why have you come to our country? to which I replied, Iâve been invited to a conference, and I handed him the letter from the ICBM.
Then something unexpected happened: the guardâs stony face underwent a transformation and he said, you should have told me that from the start, my friend, follow me. As we walked, he said, Iâm sure youâll understand that our situation forces us to be cautious, it must be the same in your country, I suppose? I know war is inconvenient, but you have to understand, there are idiots who think theyâre arriving in Zurich or Monte Carlo and get upset by our methods, but you and I know that there are enemies lying in wait everywhere, there could be a terrorist hiding behind every friendly and apparently innocent face, donât you agree? if youâd like to sit down for a moment while we find your case, would you like a drink?
An orderly approached with a tray. There was lemonade with ice and mint leaves, and there was also coffee. Then they brought my baggage and we went out through a side door and walked to a Mercedes Benz with air conditioning and a mini-bar, which within a few seconds was driving through a modern network of avenues and bridges, accelerating until it reached well over a hundred miles an hour. As we left Tel Aviv behind us, reality hit me. The dawn air was filled with ashes and the smell of fuel. A thick, low-lying fog restricted visibility.
On the road to Jerusalem, the limousine seemed completely out of place, because there was nothing else to be seen but military vehicles. Suddenly a loud noise made me jump. Four army jets had just broken the sound barrier above our heads.
Donât worry, said the driver, they just reached Mach Two, theyâre ours.
On a big sign pointing to Jerusalem, somebody had sprayed a strange word,
Alqudsville
, which others had tried desperately to erase. I copied the word into my notebook and sat looking at it for a while. It was a
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