Ten days of traveling around Israel had left me feeling like all is calm over here. Security is still much tighter than anything you’ll see in the US or Europe - I got questioned by security staff at every airport check-in, they wanted to know why I was visiting the country, who I was staying with, where was I going, etc. Later on, driving through the West Bank, I could see the watchtowers and huge concrete walls… But most of the checkpoints weren’t active, and all the security people on duty looked pretty relaxed. Until last night.
We were coming back to Eilat from a day-trip into Jordan to see Petra, one of the “new seven wonders” (and well worth the trip). We got through the Jordanian passport control, walked the 200-yard barbed-wire enclosed no-mans land, and lined up inside the Israeli border station for the passport check and security screening.
The set-up was starting to feel familiar - the front line staff who actually talk to you are all pretty young, mostly women, and pretty mellow. There’s usually one or two older guys who get called in whenever the young ones encounter something unusual (which usually included me). Then there’s always one or two Intense Guys walking around the perimeter, sometimes with guns but often without, just watching.
So far, nothing unusual… then all of a sudden, all the walkie-talkies squawk something urgent-sounding but unintelligible and our local Intense Guy goes sprinting down the hall. The young ‘uns immediately herd us out of the building into the parking lot, and a minute later Intense Guy reappears holding a sniper rifle.
A few minutes later, Intense Guy #2 shows up, also with a sniper rifle. For the next 30 minutes they take turns patrolling, constantly glancing towards the border fence and talking to their jacket lapels. One of my fellow travelers tries to get some info out of one of the young ‘uns:
“What’s going on?”
“There was a security event and we needed to evacuate everyone from the building.”
“Thanks, I already knew that much. How long will we be out here?”
“It might take a while.”
“Shouldn’t you let people know what’s going on? Make some kind of announcement so they know what to expect?”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t you go back to your group?”
Not chosen for their people skills, these security types. They eventually herded us off to a warehouse when they noticed everyone was shivering violently - it was only slightly less cold inside, but being out of the wind was nice. I wondered if this is what it feels like to be a refugee, being led from one holding area to another without any idea when it’ll end.
But our particular ordeal only lasted another hour. The Intense Guys wandered off and put their guns away, the young ‘uns led us back into the building, and we went through immigration like nothing had happened.
Later we heard on the radio that there had been a suspicious vehicle in the road, they’d brought in the bomb-robot to blow it up and they had a couple of suspects in custody. We never found out if the car actually had a bomb in it, or if the suspects were actual terrorists, but they sure seemed to take everything pretty seriously.
Between that and the way that all the staff looked like they knew what they were doing, I got the distinct impression that this sort of thing isn’t exactly rare. Funny how having real terrorists living next door makes people less freaked out about threats, I guess you get desensitized after a while.
