Everything was fine until the meal arrived and the rabbi saw normal, that is, non-kosher, food on my plate. Excuse me, he said, aren’t you Jewish? I did not know if I had to answer that, but I did anyway, as there were still three hours of the flight left. No, I said. I’m not.
The rabbi insisted: are you Christian, Muslim, Methodist…? I’m an agnostic, I said, but the rabbi ignored my words. You shouldn’t eat that, he said, come, I’ll give you my tray, leave that garbage alone. He pushed his plate toward my fold-down table, but I stopped him. You’re very kind, but I can’t accept, I’m an agnostic, this food is fine for me. The man looked at me through his side locks and said, it’s been proved that food like that is garbage, take my word, you should think about it.
His attitude was starting to get on my nerves. I’ve been eating it since I was a child, I said, and here I am, alive and kicking, or don’t you think I’m alive? The rabbi turned and looked me in the eyes. Now that you mention it, you are a little pale, have you looked in a mirror lately? it’s obvious you’ve lost weight, you have bags under your eyes and chin, and your clothes are too big on you. It’s also obvious that you’ve been sleeping badly, and that’s definitely down to food, believe me, so please accept mine.
I refused again. The rabbi gave a groan and said: if you reject our customs, why are you coming to our country? I was about to ask you the same thing, I said, why do you travel to other countries if you don’t accept their customs? There are Jews all over the world, he said. Good for you, I said, and good for me too, there are non-Jewish people in Israel. Don’t remind me. . he said.
If I had had bubonic plague or Ebola, the rabbi would have felt more comfortable beside me. He expressed his displeasure by turning in his seat, which given his size was quite a feat, and every now and again casting withering glances at my plate, as if instead of meat and vegetables it contained the 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 there’s 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 “diaspora,” “ghetto” or “Shoah” 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, I’ve been invited to a conference, and I handed him the letter from the ICBM.
Then something unexpected happened: the guard’s 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, I’m sure you’ll 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 they’re 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, don’t you agree? if you’d 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.
Don’t worry, said the driver, they just reached Mach Two, they’re 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 powerful, highly suggestive word. As we climbed, we passed military convoys, and I said to myself, this is much more serious than I thought. The years of illness had removed me from the world and its problems, that much was starting to be very clear.
We continued our ascent.
A sign indicated the famous Trappist monastery of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows at Latrun, but as I searched for it in the hills I saw another military convoy coming in the opposite direction. Dozens of young men with bandages and desperate expressions on their faces peered through the windows. Perhaps they had witnessed atrocities or perhaps they had committed atrocities themselves. I closed my eyes, dazzled by the bright light filtering through the mist and smoke, and fell asleep.
Soon afterwards, the limousine braked suddenly and woke me. I opened my eyes, and froze.
There in front of me was the city.
Dozens of columns of smoke, as black as funnels, rose toward the sky in the eastern area. They were fires. In the distance, sirens could be heard, and a great deal of activity was clearly going on in defense of the city. There were trenches and checkpoints on all sides, armed men, machine gun nests, barbed wire, sandbags on the balconies, walls with holes in them, structures of scorched steel, concrete blackened by the explosions.
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.
I remembered that prayer from the Psalms as I looked at the thin towers crowned with crescent moons, the gray buildings, the domes, the old walls. I saw the name of the street: Jaffa Road. The storekeepers had lowered their metal shutters and there was not a soul on the sidewalks. The fear was palpable, but that somehow made the sense of life seem even stronger.