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So my bank troubles continue. There are plenty of Euros / Shekelim / USD in there, on the other side of the Atlantic, and my card does not work over here, they have to call my bank in Boston, which of course does not work over there [being Sunday].

Enter Ellen, who listened to all this and actually gave me back my room key deposit, a princely ten USD / 33 shekelim, on the promise that I would not take off with her key. She's the host grrl in the Christian Guest House I move into.

It was a good decision not to carry a lot of money around with me even though atm nobody likes my plastic. Because I would not have had my little IDF adventure on the way to find a bank.

Following the street, I come up in front of something called Jerusalem District Court. It is surrounded by big thick walls and barbed wire and gates and cameras. Not the place to be wearing a backpack and trying to read street signs. (There I actually *do* have a chance because each one is trilingual and one of the languages is English, imagine.)

Suddenly this car pulls off the road and jams to a halt in front of me. It looks like he's trying to go through the Court Fortress gate, which takes its time about opening. Two Defenders Of The Israeli Nation run up. They have pistols. They are not looking at the car. They are looking at my backpack. They are not looking like your Welcome To Israel Tourist Guides, either.

If I scoot into the road I think they will make me into Swiss cheese. Big holes. Those are big freaking pistols. In big gnarly Rambo hands. Not everybody in the IDF is 18 and bored. Some are older and very pissed if they think you are messing with their Court.

Besides, the road is full of traffic that zooms up to squish me, the way everybody drives around here.

So I stand there a minute and then go around the trunk of the car.

It backs into me except for the last couple of centimeters.

If I only knew how to pray in Hebrew?

I say, well, life on the edge, I wanted this instead of Tel-Aviv, and I got it.....

Of course I also realize that Ki chose me, and I her, and it's a very comforting thought, especially if it's gonna be my last one.

So I do NOT look back and slowly but surely put all the distance I can between the Rambos and myself. Of course I am on foot so I go slow.

Later on Ellen saved me and I found out that the bank I was trying to reach was closed today anyway and its ATM did not work.

Blessings come in many forms?


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 24th, 2008 02:31 pm (UTC)
Yikes, that must have been a little frightening. I certainly could understand their concern, though. It's very interesting how you are looking at this as a positive experience; it doesn't sound like a good experience to me at all.
Aug. 24th, 2008 03:43 pm (UTC)
Unsettling. Glad you saw their perspective and kept your head :-)
Aug. 24th, 2008 09:24 pm (UTC)
OMG, that is SO scary!!!!!! Glad you were alright!!!!!
Aug. 25th, 2008 02:37 pm (UTC)
Yeah, me too.

I know exactly whom the IDF is profiling and targeting, this morning outside Damascus Gate it was a small boy carrying some kind of beautiful city landscape poster in a small bag -- full of Arabic writing they didn't like, apparently.

This little guy barely came up to wher their rifle muzzles were dangling. But they arrested? detained? him and called for backup. There were five of them eventually. They marched him away to somewhere.

I sat right there next to all of this and watched.

I left my backpack at home and my camera fully hidden in its small case.

I'll say this: efficiency plus. Radio / intercom / ammo / bayonets / record books to write down ID card numbers, the whole nine yards! GAAAAAAH.

Osama himself could have walked by and they would not have noticed because they were so focused on the tyke.

He looked very scared.
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )


kiota too late for the stars
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