Nothing to Hide – Airport Security

The last time I left Israel, guards at Ben Gurion Airport stopped me. Familiar with U.S. airport security, my heart instantly started racing.

I had waited in line to check in for my flight while young women, looking delicate and harmless despite their military uniforms, politely questioned passengers with almost Japanese sweetness. When I had reached the front of the line, I put my suitcase in a large, inelegant machine that looked like it belonged in a 1950s movie. As luggage moved along the short conveyor belt, it was scanned for explosives.

When my suitcase came out of the machine, a security guard claimed it and directed me to follow him to a nearby table. I was very nervous, but another young woman in an IDF uniform quickly put me at ease. She asked me if I spoke English and joked with me when I answered in Hebrew. Then she asked, “Do you have honey in your suitcase?” I did. She watched my face carefully when I told her where I purchased the honey and that I had packed my suitcase myself. Then she simply handed me my suitcase and I walked to the ticket booth to check in for my flight.

It had never happened before, but on this occasion, a woman, not in uniform, stopped me just before I boarded the plane. She was matter-of-fact when she stated that she needed to pat me down. It was quick and inoffensive, unlike the pat downs I've received from Homeland Security officers.

After I arrived in the U.S. and was waiting in the “Holders of U.S. Passports” line, I could see a Homeland Security official opening his booth for the “holders of foreign passports.” A young woman, perhaps of Indian descent, approached the booth. The official was immediately aggressive. He took her passport and she nervously answered the questions he barked.

Hoping not to gain the attention of anyone in Homeland Security, I cautiously looked at another American in line next to me. I caught her eye and then moved my chin slightly to indicate the scene.

“She looks really nervous,” the woman whispered.

“I would be, too,” I murmured, trying not to move my lips.

“Well, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about,” she replied sanctimoniously.

The official continued his interrogation. Then he had the young woman put her eyes up to an impressively modern machine so her irises could be scanned. I could see her legs trembling. The official returned her passport and she walked into the baggage claim area.

After my passport had been stamped, I hurried on, hoping for a chance to speak with the young visitor to my country. She was just picking up her bag. I apologized for what had happened. She was still upset and we spoke for a little while. She was meeting a college friend for dinner in the airport before catching a connecting flight to visit some of her relatives.

I claimed my bag and then waited in another security line. The sanctimonious woman I’d spoken with earlier was ahead of me in the line. When her bags went through the x-ray machine, they attracted the attention of security. She was pulled aside and a guard began unwrapping all the gifts that had been in her suitcase. She was shaking.

Our eyes met and I hoped she could read my mind, “If you’ve got nothing to hide...”

* * *

I was unhappy with U.S. airport security, its tone and its effectiveness.

At Ben Gurion, the young, female guards had obviously been trained in “good manners” and in searching facial expressions for lies. They didn’t resort to intimidation. (Two Europeans who were in line near me at Ben Gurion had acted suspiciously. Red flags were raised even for me, but the IDF girls never raised their voices. Eventually, the two passengers admitted to being a couple and to speaking one of the languages that the guards spoke. I was curious about why they had behaved so strangely, but when Israeli security let them on the plane, I wasn’t worried.) The guards had been polite but persistent.

U.S. Security is harsh and, I worry, less effective. Once years ago, after being pulled aside, searched, frightened, and then released, I realized that that the U.S. security guards had not confiscated my bottle of water. Despite their show of testosterone, they’d let me pick up and openly carry a potentially lethal weapon.

I have less experience with Israeli airport security guards, but they seem more interested in catching terrorists than in bullying innocent travelers.