War in Iraq dismantled a wedding guest's plans for Israel
|
||
 All Along Destinations Get in gear Going Strong Outbound Real deals Sensible traveler Taking Off Where they went
|
||
I listened patiently for weeks. I nodded and smiled at all of my acquaintances who took it upon themselves to issue travel advisories and tell me, as if I had never heard it before, that I should not go to Israel for spring break.
Closer friends seemed to understand how important the trip was to me, even if they were convinced that going to Israel any time is a suicide trip, with bombs and perhaps even Scud missiles falling in the streets.
These were my images: my cousin's wedding, planned just in time for my school break, the Mediterranean beach half a block from the house where I was born, my uncle's first child whom I have never seen, and my massive extended family gathered at a Tel Aviv skyscraper to celebrate my parents' silver anniversary.
As the snow in Boston came well into March, I huddled in a bulky parka and fantasized about wearing a spring dress to the wedding, since the weather in Israel is always beautiful.
War, inexorable and inconsiderate of family or travel plans, seemed imminent. My family never doubted that the war with Iraq was going to happen and approached it with a dismal resignation born of long memories of conflict. It was just a question of when.
Diplomacy splintered the Monday before our Saturday flight. The trip was still on but becoming more tentative by the moment. Still, we had never canceled a trip, and my father goes to Israel on business almost monthly. I told myself that nothing could stand in our way and continued to check the news obsessively and call my parents for up-to-the-moment consultation.
That night there was word of a speech and an ultimatum for Saddam Hussein. I called my father even before President Bush's face appeared on the television screen.
"Maybe Saddam will leave Iraq," I said hopefully. Then it would all be over and we could go.
"Maybe pigs will fly," said my father, "and they can give us a ride to Israel."
The trip was off, of course. My father knew I would be the most disappointed, but he couldn't endanger the family at the outbreak of an uncertain war. Nonessential personnel were being evacuated from the US Embassy in Tel Aviv, and Israelis had been instructed to ready their gas masks and prepare a sealed room in their house.
My grandparents expressed relief that we weren't coming: They had been worried about having enough room to sleep four children in their sealed room.
"We'll go in the summer," my mother said on the phone. "We've been through this before," she said soothingly, because I was crying. "Don't worry. Israel will be fine."
My baby cousins in the Galilee went with their mother to line up for gas masks.
Emek, at 4 1/2, hasn't lost his lisp, but he knows what to do. "If they throw missiles at us, we have to open the box right away," he now explains to everybody. Shaqed, 3, just wants to know what's inside the box.
As for myself, I went home to New York for spring break. My father announced that he would be flying to Israel alone for his only niece's wedding. We didn't react much, but later my sister and I discussed our mixed emotions of jealousy and fear.
"You wouldn't believe what's happening here," my father said when he called to say that he had arrived safely. I held my breath. Had the attacks started? "It's a huge storm. Snow in Hebron. You can't stick your head out without getting soaked."
"It's a good thing we didn't go," my mother, who had ached to go, said resolutely. She repeated the sentiment throughout the day to anyone who would listen. "Look at how beautiful the weather is here!" she chirped at dinner, for the third time. "Aren't we glad we're not in Israel, where it's pouring?"
Nobody was convinced.
Identity crisis
Tightened airport security means that flashing government-issued identification has become second nature to travelers everywhere. Boarding a Delta shuttle at New York's LaGuardia Airport recently, I had the unpleasant realization that my driver's license was on my desk at home, while my passport was in Boston. I offered my college ID, my International Student Identity Card, and any number of insurance, frequent flier, and credit cards -- to no avail. Had I been enrolled in a public university, the manager said, my student ID would have been considered government-issued and gotten me on the plane.
At the last minute, a most unlikely solution occurred: My local library card, combined with my photo IDs, was enough to get me on board. Bookworm tendencies come in handy at unexpected times. Individual airline policies may vary.
Irin Carmon, a student at Harvard University, has been an associate editor of "Let's Go." Taking Off, her column on student travel, appears the third Sunday of the month. She can be reached at carmon@fas.harvard.edu.
