Ben Gurion Airport

Slipping through the cracks at Ben Gurion Airport wasn’t exactly on my itinerary. Yet, here I was, a Palestinian-American poet, facing a seven-hour interrogation. Ben Gurion International Airport, Israel’s main international gateway, is named after the country’s first prime minister. It’s a place of intense security, and in 2007, my brother and I experienced it firsthand. Our seemingly innocuous Palestinian tourism pamphlet triggered a cascade of suspicion. We were ushered into detainment rooms, questioned repeatedly about our family history, our travel plans, and even the contacts in our phones. The security officers, convinced we were involved in “terrorist activities,” threatened to report us to the US government. Our planned visits to Haifa, Yaffa, Nazareth, and Bethlehem were twisted into something sinister. The interrogator, Sami, a seasoned military officer, saw our interest in Palestinian narratives as a threat. He grilled us about potential connections with activist groups, scrutinizing every detail. The irony wasn’t lost on us. We were being treated as potential terrorists for simply wanting to visit our ancestral land and learn about its people. Exhaustion mingled with fear as Sami’s interrogation wore on. He meticulously examined our belongings and phones, his suspicion growing with every Arab or Jewish name he encountered. It was a Kafkaesque experience, a surreal blend of paranoia and intimidation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sami declared us non-threats. His demeanor shifted, and he shared stories of his Arab friends and how their actions had saved his life. It was a jarring contrast to the hostility we had faced, a glimpse of humanity within the rigid structure of security. We were allowed to leave, but not without a stern warning to avoid any activities deemed “nonviolent activism.” We had slipped through the cracks, but the experience left a lasting impression. Ben Gurion Airport, a symbol of Israel’s security apparatus, had become a microcosm of the larger conflict, a place where simple curiosity could be mistaken for a threat.