I’m going to move out of my apartment on a short-term rental and live on my own, I told myself as I drove from my apartment complex to the airport.
After a day at the airport, I was greeted by a massive security line.
I got out and tried to ask my questions.
But security personnel were clearly worried and I was told to take a cab.
The same day I started packing up, I had an anxiety attack and couldn’t take the train to Jerusalem.
I was going to go on a four-day journey to Jerusalem, but I didn’t know what was going on with the Israeli government.
After an extended conversation with friends, I decided to leave.
I started calling all the friends who lived there and asked them what I should do.
They all said I should leave, but some said that they didn’t feel like leaving.
So I did, and when I got home, I realized I hadn’t gone far enough.
I had been traveling without much preparation.
I couldn’t even remember how to get there.
I didn, for example, have a GPS, a cellphone, or a car key.
And when I did finally get there, I forgot about my luggage.
The Israelis didn’t have the kind of security that most Americans and European travelers had.
When I finally got home to Los Angeles, I took all my belongings, including my cellphone, and packed them up in the garage.
When I returned to Israel, I made a few changes.
I changed the locks and called the hotel to tell them what had happened.
The hotel called the police and called my father.
They called the Israeli police.
They also called the IDF.
The police, who had been at the hotel and were investigating the matter, called the US Embassy.
They were also at the police station.
And then the police came and interrogated me, asking me why I was there.
At the police stations, they kept asking me about my phone and my bag.
At one point, the police threatened to send me to the International Criminal Court.
The situation was so serious that I decided I wouldn’t even try to leave the country.
I would just move back to the US.
I have a good job, I am an American citizen, I have a house, I’m not going to be subjected to this sort of interrogation again, I thought.
But the experience didn’t end there.
A few weeks later, my husband and I went to Israel on a trip to Jerusalem and I asked the Israelis what we should do when they arrived.
I said, “I’m leaving.”
When they said they didn, I said: “What do you mean?
I’m just going to leave.”
They said: You can’t leave.
So my husband asked me: How can you leave?
I went back to my apartment and told the landlord to evict me.
He didn’t want to do that, so I went back, and I told him I was leaving.
I explained to him that I was moving out and that I couldn, in fact, leave, and that the police had already told me that.
He was angry.
I told my husband: “We have been living together for more than 20 years.
I am not going anywhere.
We will live here.”
He said: What do you want me to do?
I told them: I want to stay.
I did not understand.
They gave me another 20 days to vacate, so we stayed in the apartment.
And I have not left.
I would have left, too, but it was more difficult for me because I was so afraid of what was happening with the Israelis.
It wasn’t a normal experience for me to go to the police. But I didn