Iceland, Israel and four Dorits

This will be an unusual one.

I don’t intend to convey a message or reveal a truth, merely to explain where and why I am. And yes, four Dorits.

It began during Covid. Maybe 2020.

I had an inkling to visit my brother who lives in Israel.

At the time, Israel was far ahead of the UK in its Covid programme (which country wasn’t?), and I thought I could use my citizenship to gain entry. Not for any reasons beyond seeing my family.

Given regulations at the time, I knew I wouldn’t gain entry with my UK passport, and so, I applied to the Israeli Embassy to renew my Israeli one; last used in 90’s.

The reply came that as so much time had passed since my last visit, I would need to attend the Embassy in London with a valid plane ticket.

The logistical complexity (book and take annual leave, purchase ticket, and arrange trip to London) proved too much, and I called-off the trip.

Fast-forward to this February and I again had itchy feet for the Holy Land; I have only seen my brother for one day in the past five years.

I learned that I no longer required a plane ticket, just to present myself at the embassy.

I booked a slot, and the visit was arranged.

Why the hassle of getting an Israeli passport when I could fly using my British one? Well, Israel has a law that if you have an Israeli passport, you need to use it to enter and exit the country.

There must be a reason for this, perhaps related to security or demographics, I don’t know. Anyway, previously when I had visited, I was in and out with my UK passport. I knew I was bending the rules, yet I managed to outmanoeuvre security and get in and out without too much delay.

As I had flagged myself to the embassy only a few months before, I was wary of this strategy and thought I should do it properly.

And so, my visit was planned. A trip to London pending.

I called the embassy to check logistics.

‘How long will I be in the embassy?’ (Wanting to fit-in a trip to Foyles).

‘That is difficult to say.’

‘Will I get my passport at the time?’

‘It can take up to five days.’

‘No quicker?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Matters beyond my control.’

‘Is there anything I can do to speed the process?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

… You can guess what came next.

My appointment was only two days before my flight (I, king of the last minutes saw a risk that I might not have a passport and might not be able to travel.)

‘Sorry, I don’t think I will make it,’ I told my brother.

And so, I cast my net (I still had 5 days leave ahead)

And yes, Iceland.

Here I am.

Reykjavik hotel. Scheduled for a snorkelling session in a few hours. (Yes, snorkel, I’ll report the story if I survive).

And the Dorits?

Well.

In my life I have encountered four Dorits.

There is Dickens’ Little Dorit. I haven’t read the book and couldn’t manage the dramatization.

Then there is Dorit Rabinyan, the Israeli Novelist. I have mentioned her before. She set one of her books in Magdiel, a small village outside Hod Hasharon and, the location of my middle school, Tali.

The third Dorit was a girl in my class at school.

I can’t remember her surname.

She was one of those girls, I remember, tall for her age. Thick glasses, unwashed hair and acne.

I recall her distress at not scoring 100% in Maths.

She tolerated me.

The final Dorit was reached via an investigation of Iceland.

Dorit Moussaieff is married to Iceland’s former President, Ragnar Grimsson.

Born in Jerusalem of Bukharin descent she moved to London as a girl and joined in her family’s jewellery design business before relocating North.

Dorit’s entry in Wikipedia mentioned her 2006 encounter with Israeli border police.

At the time, she was leaving Israel using her British passport and was stopped at the border.

An international incident followed.

And that could have been me.

Perhaps they tightened the regulations. (Possible).

Perhaps she was talking loudly in Hebrew. (Probable).

Who knows.

Four Dorits across England, Israel, and Iceland.

Last night, I dreamed of a trip to Herzliya beach, down from Sidni Ali, with my childhood friend Addy; now Elor. We discussed Bukhara.

He introduced me to Bukharans and their famous lisp.

As a child he was privy to all sorts of arcana.

xxx

I survived the swim.