[JDL Web Staff Note: While reading the following story, please keep in mind that membership in the Jewish Defense League is NOT the reason for the extraordinary actions taken by the Israeli government. The problem was that contact was made between the travelers and a prominent member of Kach, an organization that has been outlawed by the Israeli government. JDL members travel frequently between the U.S. and Israel. Even though as Jews we are sympathetic to their cause, JDL has absolutely no connection to Kach in Israel or even in the United States. The U.S. government knows very well that JDL operates aboveboard and is a patriotic and law-abiding organization. Despite the experiences of the two travelers in the story below, JDL continues to encourage its members to not only vacation in Israel but also to make aliyah (relocate) there, keeping with its Zionist ideology.]

Eretz Israel, the Holy Land, the country that since its rebirth/throughout history has guaranteed the unconditional welcome and absolute acceptance of every Jew, has changed its policy. The nation of the Chosen People, our biblical birthright, now accepts only those deemed "chosen" by the government, And what criteria must you satisfy in order to be "chosen" rather than rejected as unworthy of this legacy? The answer is a simple one: "agree with the government and do not dare to rock the boat."

It was the day after Rosh Hashana, September 21, 2001, that my friend, Jon Ayin, and I boarded a Continental Airlines flight bound for Tel Aviv's Ben-Gurion Airport. This was the biggest step of our lives. We were making Aliyah. We were to move to Hebron, the city where Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the forefathers of our religion, are buried, and the land with the oldest property deed in existence. The historic bequest transferred the land forever to Abraham and the Jews, and secured into eternity the right of all Jews to make it their home. Our intentions were honorable and simple; Jon and I ventured to Israel with the objective of volunteering time and effort to aid Jewish "settlers" in their endeavors to reclaim Jewish rights to property and heritage along the West Bank. We had made provisions toward work in community security patrols, groups to accompany children on their trips to school, and programs to ensure safe passage of the residents to synagogue. Jon and I were prepared to further these and any other efforts requested by the brave "settlers" already there.

My name is Ian Rakow. I am a 26-year-old male. I am a Jew. Both of my parents are Jewish. As a matter of fact, I am a Kohan (high-priest); my lineage is traceable all the way back to Aaron. My mother holds dual-citizenship in the US and Israel. I have a large family in Israel. No question about it; I am a Jew. Shouldn't I be allowed into the land of my people? Not only allowed, but welcomed home with open arms?

Everything was going great until our third day in town. At about noon, Jerusalem time, on September 23, 2001, I made a call to directory assistance and asked for the telephone number of Baruch Marzel, whose name I received from a close friend in the United States. I was told that Mr. Marzel was a local leader of the town of Hebron, and though we had never met, he was a man for whom I developed a good deal of respect and admiration. After receiving the number, I gave in to jet lag and took a nap. At 10:00 PM, I woke up hungry, and left my hotel room to hunt for a falafel with Jon. As we exited the hotel, the Arab clerk at the front desk ran out after us and beckoned me back inside, stating that I had a phone call.

"Halo," said the Israeli male voice on the phone. "Hello," I replied. He asked, "Is this Ian?" I responded that it was, and then came the abrupt click and silence of a dead line as the unidentified man hung up on me. I thought for a moment about the bizarre exchange, and then went on about my business to find a falafel. Again, I headed out the front doors of the hotel and, again, I didn't make it very far. This time, Jon and I were stopped by four men waiting there to grab us. The identified themselves as undercover police officers and informed us that we were being taken for "routine questioning."

We were taken to an empty police station somewhere in Jerusalem and "routinely questioned" for 10 solid hours. They interrogated me about the details of my life from the day I was born up to the time they accosted me. After a few hours, they amended their previous labels as officer to that of members of the Shabbach, the internal Israeli secret service. Although 10 hours of rigorous questioning was strenuous and debilitating, in all fairness, I must say that the Shabbach did treat me quite well. They fed me croissants and pastries and, following the extended exploration into my life, Jon and I were escorted to a room in the Sheraton Hotel in Jerusalem. They checked us into an amazing suite, which was significantly nicer than the hotel from which they kidnapped us earlier. We were allowed to rest for a bit, but be assured that two guards took turns watching us while we slept. When we awoke, the niceties continued and we were offered room service. However, all the accommodations came at a hefty price and were diminutive consolation for what was about to happen. While waiting for room service we were given the news that we never imagined we would hear, we were being deported immediately.

Maybe they were so pleasant with us because they felt guilty. After all, it likely weighs heavily on the conscience of any Jew to know that he will have to ask G-d's forgiveness for wiping his feet on ancient law and wrongfully ejecting another Jew from the Promised Land.

It was September 24, 2001 when we arrived safely in Newark, NJ. Everyone on the plane stood up and began scrambling to get their luggage and lining up to exit the plane. Moments later, seven armed police officers boarded the plane and commandeered the microphone. “All passengers, please return to your seats and take out your passports for inspection,” they directed. Once they found Jon and me sitting in the back of the plane, they instructed us to grab our stuff and follow them off the plane. Once through the jet way, we were told to spread our legs and put our hands up on the wall. They patted me down three separate times and then led me into an interrogation room near the customs office. Three officials representing three government factions were present in the room: the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Department of Immigration. They questioned me for only 15 minutes. The FBI patted me on the back and joked, “Welcome back to the land of the free,” then released me.

Why did Israel throw me out? Was it because I marched against the Ku Klux Klan last year when they went to march in the city with the single most Holocaust Survivors, Skokie, Illinois? Was it because I publicly criticized the fact that the Easter edition of the comic strip B.C. for its blatant anti-Semitic theme? Was it because I lead a campaign against Sprint for grievances involving calls placed to Israel being reported on bills as calls to Palestine? It must have been because of the 5 or more trips I had to make to Prescott, Arizona with the AZ JDL to help a school that was attacked four times by White Supremacists and Nazi-sympathizers. Or perhaps it was the video surveillance system we donated and installed at the school that actually prevented further attacks.

Hebron is a “settlement” with 450 Jews, surrounded by more than 100,000 Palestinians. And for everyone’s edification, the Palestinians control the area where the patriarchs of Judaism are buried. They encroach upon a land that was offered to Abraham at no cost, but for which he insisted pay, nonetheless. They trespass on ground that belongs, outright, to the Jewish people. How does it make you feel to know that Yasser Arafat and his fanatic terrorist groups hold dominion over the graves of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?

As a child and throughout my entire life, it has been ingrained in me by family, clergy and culture that there exists a place where all Jews belong. We give thanks for this as part of mealtime prayers. We celebrate this on every Sabbath and holiday. We remember this with every major life event. Reverence of the Holy Land consumes our waking thoughts and last words before sleep with the Shema, and at every gathering, we cheer as a group, "Next year in Israel!"

The great State of Israel. We are all taught that there is a place where Jews can go and be granted sanctuary and instant citizenship, and where we would be embraced into the sodality promised by G-d and our common ancestors. We view Israel as the place where all Jews could go if, G-d forbid, there was another Holocaust; we see it as the nation as where we can be publicly proud of our Judaism, and surrounded by our heritage. I am sorry to report that this land no longer exists, Jews that want to help their people and take a stand against the perversion that spills Jewish blood every day are sent a new message: Stay home. You're not wanted.

Ian Rakow can be reached by e-mail.