yesterday, part III:"'i'm not a spy!"

I got to the next to the last station of the terminal, went through the metal detector five times and was still beeping. Same thing happened to an old lady behind me. She didn't know what else to take off, and neither did I. Belt, earrings, shoes...took it all off. Was starting to think it was my underwire bra. I didn't want to take that off. I was annoyed. More so because the old lady was clearly in distress and clearly not very healthy. Whatever she took off next stopped her beeping, but mine didn't. I had my camera out and took a picture of the whole scene, for the blog. As I was trying to figure out what to take off next, the soldier in the booth was locking all the gates and calling for backup. I naively asked if he'd open the door after I stopped beeping, but he said I had to wait for his superiors because I am not supposed to take pictures. I did something stupid at this point, still not realizing that I had committed a crime by photographing the checkpoint. In the past, I had taken video footage of situations and even when soldiers would tell me "no picture", they wouldn't take away the film, but I'd just have to turn the camera off. I thought I was in a similar situation. So, i removed the memory card. In retrospect, this was a pretty stupid thing to do. But at the time, not knowing what they suspected i was doing, I was only thinking that the card had photos of my daughter on it and I instinctively wanted to protect her. Not sure from what at that point. But in general, there's something scary about people with really big guns, who definitely don't like you, to look at and possibly confiscate photos of your child. That's it folks. I thought it was going to be a situation like before, they'd just tell me 'no picture' make me shut things down and send me on my way.

To make a long story short, by the time I started to get a clue and produced the memory card, it was too late. They were already thinking that they had "caught a live one". One of the female soldiers became very belligerent and got pretty nasty and physical with me. She ordered me to shut up. Told me "welcome to America" and proceeded to tell me how clever Israelis were and that I was going to see what they'll do to me now. I was put inside a sound-proof vault, with very thick electric doors, wet floor, walls with scuff marks, hand prints, used latex gloves, and freezing cold. I tried not to think how all of those scuff marks had gotten on the walls or what those gloves had been used for.

There was a glass pane, several layers thick, on one of the vault doors, from which soldiers could look in on me. I could see them only when they turned the light on. They spoke to me through a speaker system in that room, mostly to ask me more questions, call me names and make fun of me for shivering with cold.

Initially, they had forgotten my bag with me and i was grateful to have that time alone to make a couple of calls to let some people know where I was. My friends called the US embassy here, but apparently those in charge at the checkpoint did not have much regard for the Consulate's concerns.

But soon, one of the vault doors began to move on its electric hinge and slowly open. One of the soldiers, who was particularly unpleasant [he sounded Russian], appeared on the other side. He told me I was not allowed to make calls and took all my bags and everything in my pockets. It was a moment of hope because I thought that they had probably received a call on my behalf and that's how they figured out that I had a phone in there.

But as the vault door shut completely, I sank into a crouch under the cold and a liquid of pure fear suffused every cell in my body. I looked at the dirty latex gloves, at the scuff marks and handprints, and started to imagine the worst. I wondered how long they were going to keep in that room. About an hour later, I was made aware of another problem, a big strike against me.

The Russian soldier [i'm making an assumption] along with another appeared in the window to ask me how I liked Lebanon. They were being sarcastic, of course. By the intent of their question, it would have been more accurately worded as the following statement: "aha, we got you now. we KNOW you spent time in Lebanon!"

duh. I told him Lebanon was beautiful and asked him if he had ever been. "No. And i don't want to" he said, turning off the light in their secret room so I could no longer see their faces. I heard his voice then ask if I was cold. "yes," I replied. "Aaaaaawe, ya haram" said the other and they laughed.

About another hour later, I was made aware of strike three against me. But in the meantime, I was trying very very hard not to dwell on my situation in that room. My insides become knotted up in an ineffably painful way when I feel I have no control over my own fate. When my freedom is taken away. When I looked at the vaulted doors and thought about the seclusion and isolation that i was in, or what was being planned for me on the other side of those doors, I felt my throat clog and my heart thrash in my chest like a caged wild beast. So I curled more into my crouch, closed my eyes, and chanted a prayer that my friend Barbara had taught me. She lived in an Ashram in India for over a decade and I've been trying to learn to manifest some of the calmness she exudes.

I missed Natalie with an unfathomable yearning to hug and kiss her. I thought about recent difficulties in my life. I thought about the playgrounds. I replayed the events of the past few hours and how I would have done things differently had I known how seriously they took the taking of photographs. I thought about my dog Gypsy and my cat Onika. I recalled that the memory card had some pictures of her in one of those lazy fat cat poses. I replayed some of Natalie's proud moments playing soccer when she had scored some of her best goals. I wondered again how long I would be there. My toes had gone numb. I stood up to jog in place to get the blood flowing. But that brought my situation to the forefront of my mind, so I crouched again.

The Russian soldier came in with a new soldier, apparently a senior officer, who carried my camera. He turned it to show me a particular picture on the memory card and wanted to know what it was. I looked at it and said "it's a TEMS machine" [transdermal electrical muscle stimulation machine that I had purchased years ago after my knee surgery to help strengthen muscles in my right leg].

"What is this?" he asked and i explained the utility of the device. "It's operated by a 9-volt battery" I told him.

"These are electrodes" he said, pointing to the electrodes.

"That's correct, and that's what you stick to you skin above the muscle you want to strengthen" i answered.

"This looks like a bomb" he said.

My heart fell to the floor, right there on that wet, nasty, latex-glove-bearing floor. "it isn't a bomb," was all I could muster out of my mouth. The gravity of my situation was pressing hard on head. The officer was clearly not convinced.

"I took pictures of it because I was trying to sell it on ebay," I added. Actually, I was selling it on Craig's list, but I figured he'd recognize eBay. Luckily, I had pictures of a few other benign items as well for the same purpose. Still, I don't think it helped my case much. I could see in their eyes that they still thought they had caught someone important.

They left, the eerie sound of the electric door closing then sealing shut followed and I spent the next few hours shooing away awful thoughts, trying to clear the knot in my throat and in my stomach, chanting quietly that prayer, missing Natalie, shivering and wanting to be home.

The door opened again and i was summoned to leave. I almost didn't care where they took me, I was so glad to leave the vault. Good bye latex glove, i hope i never see you again. Two soldiers led me through a maze of corridors and finally into an office, where I met Captain Yuri. He was very friendly, ordered some tea for me, asked how I liked my stay with them thus far, told me with a lovely smile that we had all week to chat. "All week?"; "yes, why? you don't like it here?"; "no"; "I'm kidding. But only a little."

Heart fell again. But at least i wasn't in the vault.

Yuri wanted to know my life story. Didn't understand why I didn't live with my mother or father growing up. I told him I didn't either. He wanted to know where i went in Bethlehem and asked if I was Christian after I told him that i had gone to Dar Annadwa to build a playground. "No" I answered. "Muslim, then," he concluded. "No," I corrected. "Then what?" Nothing really. "What were you born?" "A clean slate" I said. [by the way, most of our conversation was in Arabic]. But he was an amiable guy and didn't take offense, nor was I trying to offend, really. Just trying to answer honestly. "Why don't you believe?" he asked, "What happened in your life that made you lose hope," he continued with that assumption.

"nothing happened and I haven't lost hope. I'm still hopeful, for example, that you'll figure out what a mistake you've made holding me like this."

He smiled and repeated his question.

"well, i'll answer ta ht if you tell me why it is that you do believe."

"that's a good question," he said and he moved on to another topic of questioning.

He asked lots more and wanted to know the names of everyone i've ever lived with, loved, or associated with. He had no interest, however, in Gypsy or Onika.

He had been writing with a green pen and asked me deep into the interrogation if I knew why he used that color. I looked at him and he repeated his request that I ask him. So I did.

"because I am with Hamas and Hizbollah," he said.

Yeah right. and he read the 'yeah right' look on my face. I asked him to cut to the chase. What was he suggesting.

Mind you, I'm pretty freaking slow on the uptake. Sometimes I amaze myself how slow I am. It's more that I'm just naive. I still thought I was being held for taking pictures and that was apparently a crime here. I also knew that they were more suspicious of me because of the TEMS machine and because i had been to Lebanon. But Yuri was about to explain how precarious my situation was.

"You are spying for Hamas or Hizbollah and this is very serious trouble."

Heart dropped below the floor. The sky dropped on my head. The moon, too, dropped on my head. I think the ceiling also. lots of stuff fell on my head. Eyes went blurry. But i know i didn't flinch. I could feel how tight my neck muscles were and thought how sore they were going to be when this was all over.

"You're wrong," is what i said. I wasn't about to start swearing that i was innocent of the charges. I knew that was pointless. I started to feel resigned to my fate. I thought the F-bomb in my head. This was not a situation to say it out loud. I just decided that Yuri was good at what he does and he'd figure out that I was telling the truth eventually. But I thought I'd have to spend some more time in the vault.

Yuri suggested that I go and visit a young Israeli boy by the name of Osher Twito whose leg was severed from a Kassam rocket from Gaza and write a report about him. He asked if I thought it was right that such should be the fate of an 8 year old boy. Of course I said no, and reminded him that such should not be the fate of any child. He then wanted to tell me the difference between hurting a Palestinian child versus an Israeli child, but I didn't listen. i tuned him out. It was the whole moral distinction argument. But in my mind, there is no difference. I explained that I was a mother and would wish no such thing on a child or mother regardless of their faith, politics, or whatever.

Yuri and I are quite far apart in our beliefs, our politics, our understanding of history, justice and international law [we touched briefly on all these things], but for whatever it's worth, I liked Yuri despite myself. He's originally from Yemen. For a while he didn't believe me and insisted that I needed to give him a truthful answer about why i was taking pictures. All I could do was tell him the truth. And that's what i did. I started to imagine what they were going to do to me in order to get a more convincing answer, and what would finally make them believe me because i didn't think i could really make up a convincing answer if i tried!

After another eternity [possibly an hour] Yuri seemed satisfied that I had told him the truth. That I had gone to Lebanon for my sister's wedding [he needed names on that end too] and that the TEMS machine was in fact what i said it was and the ad was there on Craig's list for anyone to see on the internet. But he said that he was going home and someone after him would decide my fate. There were three possibilities: 1. imprisonment over night followed by deportation. 2. immediate deportation without the possibility of returning; or 3. simple release. He asked if I needed anything before he left. I asked to use the ladies room. I was afraid of what was to come and wanted to be sure that I wouldn't have to worry about bodily functions for a while.

In about another hour, as I sat amidst soldiers on their food break [the mean Russian soldier had softened and asked me if I wanted some water. Then another asked if I wanted to eat.]

Finally, the same female soldier called my name, handed me my things, explained that they were keeping my memory card and they led me outside. I've never been so happy to see sky before and never felt the taste of my own freedom as i did at that moment. I know this all sounds dramatic, and it's truly an iota of what many Palestinians experience here, but this was my experience and this is how I felt.

I walked out thanking every angel and every God i could think of. I called friends back to let them know I was released, called Natalie.

I have to buy a new memory card today and take pictures of the Bethlehem playground site again.