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Welcome Home!
by Judy Lash Balint
"Judy, Where's your head?" asked the plain clothes bomb squad
officer who I barely stopped from blowing up my car on an alley
just off Emek Refaim [in Jerusalem] the other night.
It was just two hours since I'd stepped off a plane at Ben
Gurion airport after 19 hours of flying and airport-sitting on
my way back from the west coast. After dumping my bags at home,
I met my son for dinner so we could catch up on the past few
weeks.
I parked the car and we wandered off for some nice kosher French
food that you just don't get in Seattle. Turning the corner as
we walked back to the car, I saw the strange sight of my white
sedan sitting in the middle of the street surrounded by some
serious looking bomb squad guys all holding weird black
equipment.
The head honcho, a tall, hefty type was about to punch a hole in
the car roof with some kind of special hammer. The whole thing
played in slow motion as I ran down the street shouting: "Stop,
stop, it's mine."
Bomb squad guy had obviously checked out the license plate and
addressed me by name, questioning my sanity.
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Fake Israeli Bomb Squad Insignia |
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It's a manual car and I'd forgotten to pull the hand brake when
I parked. The car had slid slowly out into the street and the
neighbors came out to take a look. From the driver's seat they
saw a dangling wire--the earphone had slipped out as I slid out
of the car. That clinched it--they called the cops and now my
car was about to be bashed in to make sure it wasn't packed with
explosives.
Bomb squad guy was actually very understanding after I stuttered
that I was totally jet lagged and had been driving an automatic
car for the past couple of weeks. He called off his helpers,
told me to get some sleep and be sure to move the rocks they'd
placed in front of the wheels to stop it sliding any more.
Oh, and then he wished me Shana Tova. (Happy New Year)
Reprinted with permission from
Jerusalem
Diaries.
October 1, 2005 |
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