The last time I tried to enter Israel was 1987. I was dragged away by three soldiers, deposited in a Jeep, driven to the Taba border crossing point and dumped outside the Egyptian border gate.
I was refused entry because I had spent four months living in a hut on the coast of the Red Sea, in a village called Dahaab. I used an orange crate as a bookcase, a discarded Bedouin carpet as flooring and an old car seat for a sofa.
Consequently, the Israeli official at the border confronted a bedraggled, moneyless eremite who claimed he needed $ 100 a day to live in Israel. "Why did you live in Egypt for four months?" he asked me Read more...
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