Sunday, July 20, 2008

My Story With The UK (Part IV)

Ever one to keep my word (see last line here), I shall now proceed to attempt to recall what happened that 17th of Tammuz last year in the Infamous Ukraine, er UK.

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I sit down in my (self-chosen) place (17A) a bit dazed, honestly. Like huh, I just GOT here from Sweden-why am I going back?? I borrowed a phone to text Rabbi and I think he ended up getting all my four texts or something. hehe. Only slightly embarrassing cuz I had gushed with enthusiasm and consolement (consolation just sounds bad) each time...trying to sound spontaneous but using diff words each time to express my convincing of me as well as them, using the ideas from the rebbe (17 tammuz, tov=17, everything is good and gooder and goodestest) and of course trying to keep it all down to one text to save on money...so ya.. Oy if I had written it (UK story) all down right away (or at least within the 3 months achar kach) I would have a much easier time remembering what happened. And funny little details. Nu nu. So I get back to Shveden (uh huh, they had Jewishized in my absence--mezuzos in ikea, blondes now circumcised and h&m went on sale and took down their offensive sign-to be posted eventually..like when I find it) and Rabbi calls me that Yehuda is gonna pick me up. Malach. Oh btw, I had to have my papers kept with the pilot and was some whole fancy procedure before I was allowed to disembark. Sheesh. Fellow movie stars, I feel for ya! Yehuda looks at me sympathetically and then kindly informs me "You know there's a fast today." Noooo you serious!? Sheesh sheesh. Only starving and confused and tired and antsy and nervous and upset and annoyed and hungry--no kidding there's a fast! K so I go back and truthfully, I'm not THAT angry etc, more like uh what do I do now. And also, was really weird to be back. (Reminded me of when I thought I was leaving Israel a certain Sat night, called the airport to confirm and they told me my ticket was for Monday or something, so I come back the day they told me and found the place deserted. Ye, they weren't flying that day. Apparently the friend who took the message for me over the phone took a phony one. Cmon, that's a good one. So basically I had to return to my dorm and it's a strange thing--rewinding tears and then saving em for the next flight. Heh, I went to the mall cuz I had nothing to do and I figured I'd develop some pictures...when I told them my story--as an explanation for being so spaced out--they thought it hysterical and gave me a discount :)) Bichol mikreh, the kind shluchim (as well as my kind shluchim) did a buncha research and work and decided I would fly to Manchester the next day (diff airport) with a (fake) reservation showing that I was to return after a week or so (vs my ticket for months later which I was supposed to use after touring Europe) as well as a letter from my sister (who lives there) saying she is expecting me etcetera etcetera (it's fun to write it out like that). Knowing that they are likely to search my belongings once more, I personally conducted a search of my papers to see if there was anything incriminating that ought to be discarded. I thought of the letter that I had written to the Rebbe and I think I chose to leave that in Swehdin...while I kept with me all my other papers including my journal which was nearly entirely blank, save for a few short entries and some scraps (no, not you silly) of reminders and to do lists. I glanced through them and unwisely, VERY unwisely, VERY STUPIDLY, decided to keep em with me. Gulp, very hashgochapratisly, I mean. Yeh. Oh also, I spent much of Tuesday ('much' is sucha foreigner word, hehe) all concerned about my fast, or lack thereof. See, when I had called Rabbi in mid of night to ask about fast times and he told me that it had already started, I was pretty sure that I had eaten once the fast started. I wanted to know from a Halachic authority (ma pipe) what the deal was--do I burn or do I burn? chaaaaaaaaaaaas. Seriously though, I was very disturbed and wanted to know if my fast still counted and stuff like that..spent a lot of time on the phone and I learned a valuable thing or two (namely, the value of a good intention). Ok so the next day, Wednesday, officially fast-free, I head back to zeh airport. (fast-free, its a good term. use it.) I'm all 'Thanks for the ride, hope I dont see you again'. I don't remember the flight, I remember I was nervous, and I remember standing on line for Customs. I felt a teeny bit like it was Russia or something. I'm just not good at lying. I know, I know I do it all the time-but not when it counts. Not to save myself from trouble. Not to authority. Arghhhhhhhh. The line creeps ahead and I move ahead till I'm at the creep ahead. hehe. I so incredibly nonchalantly (read: knees shaking, hand trembling, voice quivering) hand over my passport to the witch, i mean to the woman at the counter. For some reason which I have yet to discover, she looks at my big black 'X' with suspicious eyes. Asks me questions, I'm all chilled (riiiiight), nah I'm fairly confident, that's the truth. Only looking back now (very far back, lemme add) and knowing what was to come, I write kacha. I think. She asks me why I was deported, I say something casual, sounding very flippant, the people made a mistake.... then she wants to know why I'm coming back if they just refused me entry so recently let's see, uh two days ago?? I smile brightly and explain that now I'm going to visit family and anyhow those people in the other airport are liars and wow what a beautiful necklace you have. She thinks I'm mishug. And dangerous too, apparently. But not too dangerous cuz she trusts me enough to sit down on the side to wait while she goes to investigate. (For years, I never knew what that row of chairs was for, and now I'm thinking of getting a monthly pass.) Many a tense moment passes (who the heck came up with such English??). This time I really do feel a bit like a dirty criminal. (any quip about showers, sweat etc will sounds corny. i will refrain from mentioning anything of the sort.) See, people are coming and going, coming and going, coming and going. And staring. It's a hefty little line they're waiting on (oy! the pleasures of writing not for English teachers!) and there aint much to do 'sides for shoutin at your kids and starin at the sabra (it's in the airport guide by now). I tried starin straight back at em but I always felt guilty. Then I kidnapped a kid to make things more confusing (you're all invited to his 6th birthday next month). I was feeling unhappy. I tried doing some simcha peretz geder, so humming a jolly tune I walked right past the officers and onto freedom. Ok I officially should be banned from writing at such hours--when I'm gonna look back n read this, I'm not gonna know what to believe or not! I wait and wait and wait and wait. They send me to a room. (That sounds like "March right up to your room, young lady, and you just wait until your father gets home!" which of course was never said to me...being that we live in a one story house) It was a terrible room: No friendly babysitting gentlemen. No beautifully Jewish people. No phones. And no tradition soups! Yet for all its terriblness, it was to become even terribler (terrible word) later on. I was really bored in there and I was not feeling well, emotionally. They didn't let me use my phone. Investigations, offices, border police, forms, questions, interrogations-the whole thing was just becoming too much. I was entangled in something too big for me and my little life. What had started out as something adventurous and only slightly disruptive had now become something very unpleasant, very uncertain, very upsetting and very not fun. (it works, trust me.) I just wanted it to end. I was drained, phsyically and mentally and emotionally. I wanted so badly to sleep but of course I wouldn't lay down in public (glass windows) especially with people entering and exiting especially when I have to be alert to answer their questions. Waitta sec, alert?? Feh! Let them wait while I rub my eyes and stir my coffee. Yalla I'm off to bed. So I lay across a few chairs and attempt to do the 1/60th thing. Bopped on the head moments later by some dumb officer (note: all border officers are dumb. all and always and everywhere. even read my har hazeisim story for proof. they were the ones who nearly got me ki- very badly harmed. sheesh!), I had to say good-bye to that notion but it still made me feel a bit better. Like enough of me being at a attention for THEM, let them wait for ME. (yea i'll spare u the suspense and let you know now that it didn't last long. smatter of fact, it didn't even happen at all. notice how i got bopped?) After them going through some more stuff, I had to go the bathroom and seeing that the only restroom was outside of this little farshtunke room, I had serious doubts they would let me go. When they did grant permission, I did a whole sarcastic "Are you sure? You're really ok that I'm gonna walk out thirty feet? You won't be able to see me when I'm inside, you know.." I was taking it rather hard that there were video cameras in my waiting/prison room. While in the sheirutim I was too scared to open my mobile but the thought did cross my mind.

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I stop now :)
More later.
Moshiach still has time to come and break this fast for us.

4 comments:

Fajita said...

oh
my
lord
ha
wow


:')

the sabra said...

heehee (rachel & bob i'm gonna think of you every time i say it now)

so fajit i figured you would appreciate it--didn't think anyone but you, scraps and my mum would even read it. lol. o and go read the comments by the other one--how you were TORTURING me with quoting "i need the phone now"--d'you remember? hehehe

Fajita said...

hm?

the sabra said...

I'll that as a 'No I do not and no I did not check it out'.

G'day.