My experience with EL AL on Monday was, in a word, awful.
The flight itself was fine. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m sort of a pro when
it comes to long flights. However, I felt far less than welcomed into Israel
and that feeling is lasting much longer than I would like it to. A large part
of that has to do with the entirely unnecessary and redundant security measures
I had to endure because, from what I can infer, I am something of a threat to
Israeli security according to EL AL. (Disclaimer: I really am not a threat to anyone’s security,
honest.)
So I arrived at Terminal 4 of JFK at 3PM, three hours early
for my 6PM flight to Tel Aviv. My mother wanted to make sure I got through
security, as did my dad, so they accompanied me into the building. I walked up
to the EL AL desk, to be met by a relatively stern looking woman standing
behind a music stand. She did not greet me or tell me what to do. I started to
fumble, which was probably my first mistake. It was only after a couple minutes
of my patent awkwardness that she gave me a direction: “I need to see your
passport.”
I showed her my passport, and the questioning began, only to
continue for the next fifteen minutes. “Where are you going in Israel? How long
will you be there for? Do you know anyone in the country?” I told her the
truth: “I am going to visit my boyfriend for a week in a village called Neve
Shalom.” But that response garnered a whole new set of questions including,
“How long have you known your boyfriend? What is his name? What is he doing in
Israel?” Then I mentioned that I would be going to India for the semester after
my week in Israel, which made her ask how I was able to take the time off from
my studies to visit my boyfriend.
She suspiciously eyed my baggage, too. As I've mentioned, I’m going to India for a semester after this week in Israel, and my
program was very strict about the kind of baggage I was supposed to bring. The
directives from SIT were simple: Pack light and pack in a backpack. Then the security
woman then stunned me with her frankness. “We’re very concerned about bombs.
That seems like a light bag for four months travel. Do you have any sharp items
in your bag?” At this point, I was shaking, entirely convinced that I was not
going to be allowed on the flight. I should point out that these fears were
entirely irrational since I am not an international criminal and was not – and
am not – harboring any dangerous substances. (Seriously. Check my pockets.) She
finally was satisfied with my answers and escorted me to the ticketing booth
and handed me a boarding pass. I thought I was free to get on my merry way, but
she then took all of my bags – including my carry-ons – and told me to meet her
at security in an hour.
I don’t know what I would have done if my parents hadn’t been with me. We sat for an hour drinking coffee at the Au Bon Pain downstairs, and we talked about what had just happened. They shook their heads, saying they had never seen such intense questioning and none of us could figure out why I was singled out.
