Bush left. Can the Jew Stay?

As part of research for his upcoming play, JTNY's artistic director and playwright, Tuvia Tenenbom, goes to Saudi Arabia to learn first hand what 'Wahhabism' is all about. This article, taken from a longer journal, was written for the JTNY's website. A longer version of this article, written for the venerated German weekly Die Zeit, also include the Egyptian portion of Tuvia's trip. A shorter version of this article was published on the front page of Corriere della Sera, Italy's most prestigious daily. (To view the German article please click HERE. For the Italian version, please click HERE. To listen to an interview with Tuvia on WABC Radio in New York, click HERE.)

by Tuvia Tenenbom

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

The sign says, Welcome to the Kingdom. And I'm enthralled: I finally I made it!

I know that on my own, I could never make it. This country would simply not let me in. No Jews, especially those born in Israel, are welcomed here.

How do I know?

The other day I tried to get a visa to Saudi Arabia, or Saudia the way they call it in the Mideast--a land that had long bewitched my imagination. I went to the Saudi government's website, starting the process of visa application. Interesting site, no doubt. They want to know, for example, "What is your religion?" I'm not a religious person, but I was raised as an ultra-Orthodox Jew, so I thought it proper to choose Judaism. But, hold on, there's a problem here: Judaism is not an option. I left "religion" blank and moved on to the next question, "Your country of birth." Well, I was born in Israel. But Israel, don't you know, doesn't exist in the Saudi mind.
Before long, I gave up on my Saudi dream.

Until the White House called, inviting me to join President Bush during his stay in the Mideast. And since I'm a journalist in my spare time, they also offered to arrange my visas. I immediately accepted and in less than one week, bingo, I got my visa to Saudia. "Accompanying the American President," the Saudis stamped on my passport. Does it mean that I have to leave with Bush? I don't know and I don't care, I simply take a plane and fly to Saudia.

I, a man whose main job title is, Artistic Director of The Jewish Theater of New York, am in Saudia. Any other day the Saudis would rather suffer a stroke than seeing me in their country, but today they have to make an exception and I feel fantastic: A man born in a country that doesn't exist, raised in a religion that doesn't exist, walks the streets of Saudia and nobody stops this UFO. Great!

Then Bush left, and the Jew is by himself at the Holiday Inn, Riyadh. But not for long. At almost the exact time that Air Force One touched ground in the USA, I'm called to meet an "important person who wishes to talk with you." I'm taken through a hidden door to a floor below--a place rather dark and dirty. The sign on the door says, "Human Resources Manager, Mohammad Al-Mallah." What's going here? Am I supposed to be applying for a job today? Human Resources??! "Sit down," says the man. "Journalists," he muses, "ask questions but don't know where to find answers." All answers are "in this book," he asserts as he points to a green leather-bound Quran on his desk; "American 'Nine the Eleven' in this book!" This sounds intriguing to me, 9/11 being predicted over a 1,000 years ago, and I ask him, in Arabic: "What Sura (chapter) is it in?" I try to open the book, but Mr. Manager is not amused: "You no Muslim, your hand no clean, you touch no holy book!" Wait a sec: Does he know that I'm Jewish?
But before I can figure out the answer to this question, the Human Resources Manager quickly lays down the rules for me: "No carrying camera, no interview people, no talking politics. Have questions?" Stupidly enough, I say: "Yes, I have a question: Do you think there will be peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians?" "Yes," says the Human Resourcer. "As it say in this Holy Book, all Jews die and there be peace between all."

I walk to my hotel room and write an email to the Saudi Embassy in D.C., asking if this Al-Mallah speaks in their government's name. Saudi officials have an exquisite sense of humor, especially when responding to unwanted questions, and this I'll find out only the next day: About half the sites I visit on the web today will be blocked by the Censor the day of morrow.

I press "Send" and I wonder: How much do they know about me?

I'm the only Jew in Saudia. Strange. Even Nazi Germany had more Jews--
My head's exploding with thoughts: What's the exact dividing line between the Saudis and me? Why do they consider me an enemy? I head out and go for a walk. Let me try to figure out where a Jew ends and a Saudi starts, I say to myself.

I go to a shopping mall, Saudia has many of them and they are the most luxurious you will find on our planet. I look around and I see a lingerie store is in front of me. I 'grab' unto it. This lingerie collection, done to the perfection of Arabic imagination, will shame any Victoria Secret in New York hands down. I stand transfixed to the images my eyes capture: Women covered all in black except for their eyes and fingers, examine see-through, wild sexually suggestive, multicolored lingerie. I try to compare the images, these women and this merchandise. It's absurd, yet it's totally captivating at the same time. I imagine these women at the moment they arrive home and change clothes. I find myself standing there dreamily, enjoying the imageries that rush into my brain, but this moment of absolute pleasure doesn't last long: "The mall is now closed for Prayer," announce the loudspeakers. Lights go off, doors get shut, and everyone rushes to the mosque.

Well, I'm not Muslim, prayer time is not my time, so I just leave the mall and go out looking for a restaurant. But, stupid me, the restaurant is also closed. The cooks and the waiters (male only, btw) are Praying. Having nothing better to do in this huge land, I go for a walk.

I'm on King Abdulaziz Street now. Flying low above me is a squadron of four military planes. They do such magnificent maneuvers above my head that the reaction I feel coming off my guts is admiration: Isn't this just gorgeous!
I haven't seen military planes that close since my childhood days in Israel, during the Six Day War. In some fantastic, unexplained magical spirit I feel myself transported back into my childhood. These planes just tear me out of King Abdulaziz Street in Saudia and mystically plant me 40 years earlier in Prophet Jonah Street in Tel Aviv. I suddenly have a strong craving for ice cream and am totally possessed by a strange urge to play Lego. Then, a bizarre image flies into my brain unannounced: Ultra-Orthodox women in Jerusalem putting on Saudi lingerie. I love it! I walk slowly now, totally hypnotized when another squadron soon flies above my head. I'm elated! I start counting: 4 and 4 and 4 and 4...and when I reach 50, I simply stop the count. In the days ahead I'll learn that this flight of fancy is a daily routine in Riyadh. Why such display of power above a densely populated area in a country blessed with enormous desert airspace, is anybody's guess.

I hail a cab and head back to the hotel. I watch Al-Jazeera, where the Jews are referred to as Mass Murderers. Are they talking about me?? I go out to the lobby, sit down, light up a cigarette and read an Arabic paper. Dated this very day, the paper claims that "the Jews" bombed the Twin Towers, never the Arabs. "We couldn't do it," it says, "even if we wanted. Everybody knows that." Strange, I didn't. Before long, I start getting fed up with this Jew-obsession of the Saudis, and wonder to myself what does the American president think of it. Does Mr. Bush know what I know? If he does, why is he selling billions of dollars-worth of weaponry to the Saudis? And if he doesn't, who's in charge of not telling him? Perhaps it's all about oil. But if we're willing to sell our principles in exchange for a couple of barrels, what business do we have preaching to any country on earth, not to say invading any of them? Maybe I'm just a naive man who needs to learn more about the bees, the birds, and the barrels. Well then, let me read another paper; there's another one on my left. This one says that the Jews, "the Jews" again, are inhuman creatures. I need some fresh air. Too stuffy here. I go out and I hail a cab once more. Lucky me, it's the same driver who brought me here. Funny enough, my luck won't stop here. Soon I'm to discover that nine out of ten times when I hail cab in this 5-million-people city, magically enough it's going to be the very same driver. "Where you going, sir?" "Take me to a nightclub." No; not in my wildest dreams. In this land, where women cannot reveal more than a pair of eyes, ten fingers, and one huge black sack, not even your 'personal' cabbie could find you a nightclub.

Time to go to sleep; I'll certainly have more fun in my dreams.

Adios, my friends, from Saudia. One Jew, one cabbie, no women. But, oh boy, have I got planes for you!

A common sight/page when surfing the web in Saudi Arabia: The Censor.

 

Tuvia (m.) at the Memorial for the Unknown Soldier in Cairo, Egypt (for details read the German DIE ZEIT, hyperlinked above)

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Background: Copy of visa. "Accompanying the American President. Religion: Not Muslim."

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