Involuntarily in prison. A night in an Israeli detention center.

24-hour lighting, a dirty blanket, food on the floor, and denial of contact with the Czech embassy. What awaits you if an immigration officer discovers Arabic stamps in your passport?

After a week in Bahrain, a month in Kuwait, and three weeks in the United Arab Emirates, I decided to visit the cradle of three world religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam - Jerusalem.

During my previous visit to Israel three years ago, I somewhat neglected this city, so I decided to make up for it this time.

PLAN

The plan was to spend two days in Jerusalem and then take a bus down to Egypt, to the sunny Sinai. The beach bungalows there are renowned not only among Israelis but also among tourists who enjoy beautiful sunsets at a reasonable price in this area. In short, it's a bargain, including food.

ARRIVAL

After several hours of flying, we landed at Ben Gurion Airport, not far from Tel Aviv. Everything went smoothly.

At the end of a long corridor, I approached a machine where one has to scan their passport. In return, the machine dispensed a blue slip with a photo and information stating that I was allowed to stay in the state of Israel for three months.

I took the slip, put my passport back in my backpack, and proceeded downstairs towards immigration control.

And as soon as I reached the counter and the lady opened my passport, a problem arose. Her face turned cold, and she asked, "Why did you visit Kuwait?" And why three times? Coming forward with an open heart, with nothing to hide, I replied. I like Kuwait because it's full of interesting people whom I had the fortune to meet, and it's a relatively exotic country that one doesn't typically travel to. Perhaps because there's nothing much to see or do there, and you can explore the whole country in two days, sometimes even one.

KUWAIT 

It is a country with the strongest currency in the world, but prices are incredibly low. You can get fantastic Indian food at a local street restaurant for 100 CZK (4€/4,50$), sometimes even a bit cheaper. Awesome! Especially the taste of the herbs, I love that. But let's get back to the airport.

The lady officer eagerly flips through my passport and asks me additional questions: How long do I plan to stay in Sinai and why Sinai specifically? Then she starts entering my answers into the computer. Once you hear the sound of typing, you can anticipate that it's a prelude to a problem.

She takes my passport and urges me to follow her. She leads me to a waiting room filled with various people. Russian seems to dominate the conversations, but there are also Spanish speakers present. I sit on a plastic chair, where I spend the next two hours.

People keep streaming in, and gradually, everyone is called into the office for a "chat."

And there he sits. The champion of my traveler's heart:

He asks me the same questions, and I respond. It's evident that he is contemplating, and after ten minutes, he sends me back to the plastic chair. I spend another 40 minutes on it before he invites me back into the office, where he informs me that he is denying my entry into Israel.

I ask him why. He replies that he thinks I might work in the country. I look at him and say, "Is it because I have stamps from Arab countries in my passport?" He looks at me, smiles, and replies in English, "You are clever." At that moment, everything becomes clear to me. I know I cannot reverse his decision, and I ask him straightforwardly if he is a racist. He looks into my eyes and answers, "Yes, I am a racist."

I tell him, "So you surely wouldn't mind saying that to the whole world on video?" He responds that he has no problem with that. Without hesitation, I take out my phone and ask him to repeat it on camera since he has no fear.

The movement of his finger indicates that he doesn't appreciate what I'm doing. A racist caught in the act. He admitted it himself.

He prints out some document, and the next day I have a chance to take a look at it.

Are you serious? The Czech SOCIALIST Republic? In the year 2023?

It is evident that this official lacks knowledge of history. Let's take a brief look at it. The "best" is yet to come.

A small glimpse of what we have done for them in the past:

Czechoslovakia played a significant role in assisting Israel after its declaration of independence in 1948.

Arms supply: Czechoslovakia provided military support to Israel in the form of weapons, ammunition, and military equipment. This was particularly crucial for Israel in its fight for independence and defense against the invasion of neighboring Arab countries.

Military training: Czechoslovakia provided military advisors and instructors to the Israeli Defense Committee, assisting in the training of the Israeli armed forces.

Diplomatic support: Czechoslovakia was one of the first countries to recognize Israel as a sovereign state. It was also actively involved in efforts to secure international recognition for Israel.

Humanitarian assistance: Czechoslovakia provided humanitarian aid to Israeli refugees and contributed to the country's reconstruction efforts after the war.

Educational cooperation: Czechoslovak universities and higher education institutions offered scholarships to Israeli students and provided them with education in various fields.

I am changing the waiting room. My passport was taken away, and I am being taken among the "undesirables," those who are forced to leave Israel involuntarily. Sitting with me are two men, one woman, and a family with three children.

Everyone is unwanted, including myself.

The waiting room is separated from the rest of the space by a tape, and a man in a dark blue jacket guards the entrance. No one is allowed to leave the place without permission.

The isolated woman stands up and tries to communicate with the staff in Russian. A certain immigration officer comes over, and they talk for a while. Then the officer extends her hand and makes a gesture as if she wants to hit the poor woman. It is purely a gesture, but the meaning is clear. The woman moves away from the entrance tape, sits on a hard plastic chair, and bursts into tears.

At that moment, I can't take it anymore, and I stand up. I shout in English to the entire hall, "Your grandparents and grandmothers died in concentration camps, and now you treat people like this? Shame on you!"

Within a few minutes, six officials in dark blue sweaters gather around the entrance tape. One of them shouts something at me, but I understand that if I want to succeed, I have to ignore it and be really loud. I continue with my loud speech, which can be heard all the way to the immigration counters. Then an aggressive plainclothes police officer approaches and forcefully lifts me from the chair. "YOU, come with me!" he says and leads me somewhere to the back. I tell him, "Just go ahead, go ahead." Anticipating physical resistance.

The police officer is big and trembling, but he doesn't seem to want to physically punish me. I am seated in an office with an attractive blonde woman who speaks fluent Russian. She seems to take it personally. For over a minute, we engage in a staring contest. She stares into my eyes, and I stare into hers. After a full minute, she gives up. She shakes her head, ends our eye battle, and gazes at the keyboard in front of her. Here is the young lady: 

I sit there for another half an hour, separated from everyone else who seems more broken, let alone daring any modest protest that would crown their helplessness.

Then, two men come and escort me to a waiting van. Without handcuffs, but I'm warned that I have to leave my mobile phone in my backpack. Just before that, I quickly take a photo of the van's trunk, and an immigration escort approaches, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. We are squeezed into the vehicle, and unlike the others, my phone is visibly placed on the dashboard. The van starts moving, and we have no idea where we are heading.

After ten minutes of driving, we arrive at a single-story building surrounded by a fence. The Star of David flag is waving at the gate. We are here. We are home. At least for the next few hours. I made an effort to find this building on the map, but its location seems to be secret.

The security escort accompanying us opens the doors twice in a row - once using a code (which I remember), and the second time using a chip. We are informed that we are not allowed to have mobile phones with us and must leave them in our backpacks. (It later occurred to me why, given the tragic conditions in this detention center.)

The boy who is with me asks in Russian if he can keep his perfume in his backpack. And that aggressive policeman I mentioned earlier replies to him that they will take his perfume to the flea market on Sunday and sell it. The boy laughs, and I laugh with him. I appreciate sarcasm, and I don't take things personally. The policeman looks suspicious and based on his expression, I can tell he's asking himself where this blond guy from the Czech Socialist Republic learned to understand their language.

We are given a smelly blanket. I don't know how many people slept under it, but judging by the smell, I don't attempt to count them.

No towel or anything like that. Then they lead us to a cell with 12 people, mostly from Georgia, Ukraine, and Russia. As an EU citizen, my fellow inmates look at me as a rarity. There are two toilets available.

I tell myself it's a bad dream that will soon end, but it doesn't end.

Sometime in the afternoon, they bring dinner. They place a black plastic bag on the floor in the middle of the room. Inside, there are neatly wrapped baguettes in plastic. Everyone can take as much as they want. Water is located next to the bag in orange containers, and you have to ask for it. When they give it to you, they also add some ice to it, maybe to make it fresher.

A walk in the fresh air is not possible. You are confined 24 hours in one room with other people.

I continue to insist on being allowed contact with the embassy. The response I always receive is evasion. Now is not the time, it will be possible soon. They say.

The next day at nine in the morning, a police officer comes. A night without a shower, I feel dirty and helpless. "MIROSLAV!" he calls.

I think it's time for retaliation and a small payback for ignoring my embassy contact, so I remain silent. The officer calls out and tries to find me among the 12 people. He looks at me and asks, "Miroslav?" and I reply, "No, I'm Jaroslav."

He leaves.

Three minutes later, he returns with two of his colleagues. One of them knocks my cap to the ground, then they grab my hands, twist them behind my back, and lead me away from the cell.

One of them, wearing camouflage and children's sunglasses that he considers incredibly cool but looks like a complete idiot who hasn't been informed about fashion trends, kicks me in the calves twice and says, "You will obey my commands!"

At the airport, they push me onto the plane and send me back to Abu Dhabi.

And yet, these are the kind uncles we politically support.

Link to the article in the Czech (not Czechosocialist) language: https://semecky.blog.idnes.cz/blog.aspx?c=801792