Traveling Abroad as Israelis

This week’s post comes from Ataturk Airport in Istanbul. If I had managed in my crazy busy schedule last week to write an update, I would have told you that it was our last week writing from Israel, at least for a short while. For the first time since making aliyah, we have left the State of Israel en route to the US of A to visit our families and catch up with our friends (in person as opposed to over the interwebs).  A highlight of leaving Israel is being able to use our new Israeli “passports” (we don’t yet have full passports; we can only get those after a year).  It used to be that we would go through airport security speaking Hebrew and we would get questioned for not having Israeli passports. One time we got held up at the Jordanian border for 45 minutes while they checked our records because they didn’t believe we weren’t Israeli citizens. But now we are, and that was fun for us. 

The cheapest flight we found from Israel to the US had a layover in Istanbul. Since we figure that we’ll have many transatlantic flights in our future, we might as well take advantage of stopping over in interesting places and actually go see these interesting places. So, we extended our layover for three days. After a few days in Istanbul, I have a few thoughts about traveling as Israelis.

The thing that probably comes up most often while traveling is who to tell and who to avoid telling we are Israelis. Sometimes being Israeli comes in handy (more on that later), but much of the time, telling people you’re from Israel leads to unwanted judgment and potential safety concerns. Unlike other Israelis, we have the distinct privilege of also being American, which gives of something to say when people ask where we’re from (although I’m sure being American also warrants a different kind of unwanted judgment in some places). Especially traveling in Turkey, when Israeli-Turkish relations are not so hot, we were a bit weary of bringing up our Israeli status. There were times, however, after walking away from an interesting encounter, we wondered if we should have actually told them where we live.

In the subway one morning on our way back from davening with the Beit Israel Synagogue in Sisli, a neighborhood just north of Taksim square, we met a couple around our age who was asking us for directions. For some reason (still unknown to us), they thought we were locals, maybe it was because we actually had answers to their questions. For example: How many stops away is Taksim? One. Why is everything closed today? It is a holiday, Bayram, marking the end of Ramazan (Ramadan, in Turkish). When will stores open up? Some things will open up after 1 o’clock (that answer was supplied to us by the Turkish guy standing behind us).

Eventually we introduced ourselves (as Americans) and they told us they were from Tehran, Iran.  Since she was wearing a tank-top and mini-skirt and he was rocking some pretty cool hipster glasses, we were fairly certain they weren’t radicals or religious fundamentalists. Before giving us time to respond, however, she launched into a little speech about how, as Americans, we’re probably afraid of them because they’re Iranian and making nuclear weapons, but that we shouldn’t worry because they also hate their government and think that Iran is an oppressive dictatorship. We told them we weren’t bothered that they were Iranian and that since Matt grew up in Los Angeles, he had many Persian friends. To which the guy replied: “Oh yes, TehrAn-geles.” We continued chatting about our travels in Istanbul and we gave them our map of the city to help them get around. She lamented over the fact that she can’t visit the US and we joked that we can’t visit Iran either. To which she quickly replied: “Don’t come to my country! They will arrest you as soon as you land and claim you are a spy!” As we parted, she asked if I had facebook and took my name. Watching them walk away, we wondered if we should have told them we lived in Israel, it would have been an interesting conversation.

Later on, we were perusing a ceramics shop and got to chatting with the salesman. After a few minutes, he told us he was Syrian and had come to Turkey a year before to escape the war. This perked Matt’s interest and they began discussing the situation in Syria and archaeological sites there that Matt can’t visit. The salesman then asked us where we were from and again, we said we were American. Like many other salesmen we met, he immediately tried to make a connection to us: “I have family in Brooklyn.” He explained that his family moved there many years ago and that there are a lot of Syrians in Brooklyn. Matt and I both immediately thought his story sounded a lot like the Syrian Jewish narrative. As if reading our minds, he told us that he has many distant relatives on his mother’s side that are Jewish and he even knows a little Hebrew: “Ma Shlomeikh?” (How are you?) he asked me. “Beseder,” (OK) I replied. At this point we told him we also know a little Hebrew and Matt’s mom is from Brooklyn too. We never got as far as saying outright that we are Jewish and live in Israel, but maybe that was implied.

On the flip side, there were definitely certain times where being Israeli was a big perk, mainly when interacting with the Jewish community. Whenever we had to show an ID to get into a synagogue or the Jewish museum, we pulled out our Israeli ones. We even signed guest books as Israelis just for fun.  For lunch one day we searched out and found a small kosher restaurant, Levi Restaurant, open just for lunch right next to the Spice Bazaar. The Mashgiach (kosher supervisor) enthusiastically welcomed us (we were the only people there) and we figured out that our only shared language was Hebrew (thank you, Ulpan). He ended up joining us at our table (he just sat down with us, we didn’t protest) and we asked him all the questions we had about the Turkish Jewish community.

We knew that because of prior terrorist attacks, all synagogues in Istanbul (there are many) require security checks and passport identification. Synagogues with active Jewish communities also require a fair amount of paperwork, background checks by the local Rabbinate and reservations for visits. Knowing this, we asked our new friend, Shimon, where/how we can daven with a minyan the following morning since we didn’t have time to obtain the proper permission. He wrote down the name and address of his synagogue and told us if we have problems, to drop his name. When we arrived at the synagogue the next morning the security guard met us with a little hesitation. “Jewish?” he asked us. Yes. “Passports?” We handed him our Israeli ones, which seemed to relax him a little and he brought us into the reinforced “interrogation room”. He then left us and disappeared into the synagogue. He came back with a typed note and repeated the message that we need to make a reservation with the Rabbinate. We told him we were invited to come pray and he just repeated “Problem, problem” over and over and led us back outside. Outside, we showed him the note that Shimon wrote us and asked the security guard to please find Shimon. Back in the reinforced room, Shimon came to get us and we joined the minyan for morning prayers (albeit a little late). 

Stef in from of Ashkenazi Synagogue

Matt in front of Beit Israel Synagogue before security guard let us in

The note denying our entrance into the synagogue

Reinforced doors at entrance to Synagogue

Beit Israel Synagogue

The rest of our trip was great. Many parts of Istanbul have a distinct Eurpoean feel (clean, cobblestone boulevards and sidewalk cafes), while other aspects were a little more familiar to our Middle Eastern sensibilities (tea vendors on the street, hookah bars and hijabs).  We are now heading to New York City to start our three week trip in the US and are trying to remember how to be Americans (as Israelis).

Shabbat Shalom and have a great weekend!

Stef and Matt

P.S. For those who know that we always run into people we know when on vacation, this trip was no exception, although it didn't happen until we were back at the airport. Someone I knew from college was just passing through the airport on a layover with her husband on their way from Jerusalem to New York, they were even on our flight. The legacy continues.