From Amman to Netanya

In Amman, my cab driver, Jihad, picked me up at 8am and drove me to the King Hussein/Allenby Bridge border crossing with the State of Israel and the Palestinian Territories. This border crossing is in the center of the country, just north of the Dead Sea, and about 35 minutes from Amman. Jihad was not afraid to tell me, in Arabic, how much of a distaste he had for Israel and the Israelis. To avoid an awkward drive I told him that I was only going to East Jerusalem and not to Israel. This made him feel better about dropping me at the border.

Leaving Jordan, for me, was no problem what-so-ever. There was no security and no questions asked. I entered the border terminal, smiled and spoke in my best tourist English, payed my 5JD exit tax and was handed a Post-it note with my name written on it along with a red Jordanian border-tax stamp. Although the Israeli border is only 2km away, I was not allowed to walk and I was told to wait for the bus. After waiting for the bus to become full (it was filled with people holding black Jordanian passports, and the green Palestinian Authority passports, as well as some Palestinians with American passports, two dutch tourists, and a nice American guy who works in Saudi Arabia) we departed for the Israeli border.

Once crossing over the Allenby Bridge...


...we reached the first Israeli border checkpoint. Here, we got off the bus, handed our passports to a young border guard behind a bunker-like window, and waited in the shade until they had determined that the bus' passengers were fit to move to the actual passport control/customs building. This took 5 minutes maximum. This was also my first opportunity to attempt to speak in Hebrew in a while. I think the young border guards were a little surprised to see me get off the bus and say: "Mahamtzav ach'sheli!?! Kol tov ha yom? Ken? Beseder?" They nodded in bewilderment. I followed up with, "Metzuyan." They responded in English, "You speak Hebrew?". And I responded, "Betach ach'sheli." They said, "Are you Jewish?" I said, "Na'am". (Readers: If you speak enough Arabic and Hebrew to understand that exchange, I hope it gave you giggle. If not, sorry that you had to sit through it. But trust me, its funny.)

Everyone got back on the bus and we drove for 1 minute to the main border terminal. Upon reaching the terminal everyone piled out of the bus, grabbed their bags and headed to drop them off to be x-rayed in the initial area of the building. I must report that this all happened relatively smoothly. The Israeli border employees all spoke Arabic or English with the people trying to cross, and treated the travelers respectfully. Of course, as regional custom dictates, nobody tried to stand in a proper line or wait their turn. There was a lot of pushing and shoving and jockeying for position although it wasn't necessary at all.

I stepped over to a young Ashkenazi border guard and told him, in Hebrew, how happy I was to be crossing the border to visit my friends in Israel. I also asked him if there was a special line for tourists with foreign passports that might expedite my passage through the next security phase of the border crossing. He then asked me, in Hebrew, "Ata Yehudi?" I responded, "Kol ha'chaiim sheli, gever." Then he said, "Hold on, let me check for you," and he inquired via his walkie-talky. He couldn't help me then, but once I waited with everyone (still pushing and shoving for no necessary reason what-so-ever) and made it through the metal detector, I begin my same Hebrew chit-chat with the border guard girl there. She was then the third person to ask me, "Ata Yehudi?". Again, I said, "Betach, kol ha'chaiim sheli, motek." This is where racial profiling worked in my advantage. She pulled me out of the line, which was then destined to walk through the explosives-detection machine, and walked me around everything and put me at the front of the passport control line that is set aside for foreign tourists.

In the passport control area I didn't see any Palestinians get rejected, or be disrespected by the passport agents. The lines seemed to be moving rather quickly. In the end, even though my Yehudi-ness moved me around the security line, I was one of the last ones to get through this area becauase the only two people in front of me in the passport line were a European (maybe Austrian) father/daughter combo who had some type of criminal record that was showing up on their passports records. It took a while for their problem to get resolved but once I made it to the window I was home free.

I jumped in a shared taxi with 11 other passengers (all Palestinian and Israeli Arab) and we headed into the West Bank. After a stop in Ramallah to drop off a passenger, we headed towards Jerusalem. This is where we had to pass one of the infamous West Bank checkpoints that puts you into Israel proper. This took no more than 10 seconds. The shared-cab pulled up to the window, the soldier looked in and we all held up our passports, the soldier got out, and we moved on. I was sitting towards the front of the taxi, so I didn't get a look at everyone's passport, but I think it went so easy for us is because all the Israeli Arabs and Palestinians in the cab had Israel ID cards. I don't know if it would have gone so smoothly if green Palestinian Authority passports were held up.

Once in Jerusalem it was like being back home. We drove past my old university on Mt. Scopus, and down to the Old City where we were all dropped off at the Damascus Gate in East Jerusalem:

I walked through the Arab Quarter (below) where I changed some money and spoke some Arabic with the shop owners there. Everyone wanted to know the story behind the Oud that I was carrying from Amman for my friend in Israel.

Then I headed straight for the Western Wall (HaKotel):


From there I took a cab to Kikar Tzion, and walked up Ben Yahuda St:

I bought an Israel SIM card (I felt cool because I have permanent local phone numbers in 3 countries now), ate at my favorite schwarma stand in the world...

...and walked to Nachlaot for a quick visit with two of my oldest Israeli friends. It was wonderful to see them. Around 7pm I got a ride to Tel Aviv...

...I was dropped off at the train station in Tel Aviv, bought a ticket to Netanya, and wound up in Binyamina because I wasn't paying attention and I got on the wrong train. But no problem! My friend picked me up and brought me to his place in Netanya. Thats where I am now, preparing to go to the beach.