I know it is not hard news, but it happened to me just yesterday.
I carefully thought out my preparations for the experience I was planning for my tourists on the Temple Mount.
I went to the Mikva (ritual immersion) early that morning, and made sure to wear non-leather shoes as Halacha (Jewish law) instructs.
Then I prepared my back pack and the contents of my pockets making sure there was nothing that could incriminate me at the security check before entering the site. My tzitzit were well tucked into my pants. I wore a hat and hid my kippa in a secret compartment (I can’t disclose where – who knows who might be reading this article?)
As we approached the security check I was confident that I would pass by as easily as if I were like the non-Jewish visitors. I recognized Motti, the Israeli police officer who has won a reputation for his keen sense of smell. He can detect a Jew a mile away.
He looked me over and I thought I passed. But I was discovered. All my fault. I forgot an obvious thing! I totally had forgotten about the small prayer, composed by the late Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu, on behalf of Jonathan Pollard. I was caught red handed! He demanded to know if I knew what this is! I said “yes, a prayer for our brother Jonathan Pollard.” He frowned and declared that it is forbidden material and was being confiscated. I could pick it up later. I was warned not to pray or make any trouble.
I asked myself how these Jews could allow themselves to be used as kapos – in the very heart of what is most holy to our people. How do they sleep at night? What do they tell their families when they come home from another day’s work ?
How shamed and shocked I felt, as the long line of visitors filed by.
I was being questioned and threatened by Motti and was wondering if they realized that I just did not succeed in passing for one of them!
Fifteen minutes later I was allowed to join my rather shaken tourists on the Mount. But the best was yet to come.
As we proceeded, I heard a chanting din coming from another part of the mountain. It sounded much like the chanting of Arab rioters that I have heard so often in the media.
Coming towards me was an elderly bearded man dressed in classic ultra-Orthodox attire. He was accompanied by a few young boys. They were not trying to hide their Jewish appearance, but they had the distinct look of fear in their eyes after running the gauntlet of threats and taunts by an Arab crowd moments before.
I greeted him warmly and he responded as one greeting a stranger on a desert island. He and his little group were shadowed by two policemen making sure my new friends did not move their lips in prayer and thus arouse the sensibilities and ire of the Arabs. (I wondered how the Arab boys playing soccer on the holy site did not upset their sensibilities.) Our meeting was immediately reported by the nervous police escort as the walkie-talkies came alive.
After we parted and proceeded alone, I realized that we were being watched not only by the police, but by a large group of Arab youths who had marked us by our association with the bearded Jew.
It was now our turn. They dogged us with chants of “Allah hu Akbar”! ( God is Great ) The yelling of their God’s name spurred them on to increasing taunts and threats and bumping us.