For years I have succeeded to avoid it, but for some reason, I fell in the trap. I am not sure if my decision to fly out of Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion Airport rather than my usual starting point of Amman’s Queen Alia Airport was to see if things might have changes or some crazy sadistic desire to suffer the harassment of the of the Israeli airport security. I started my trip early enough, leaving my Jerusalem home at 5am and arriving at the first airport checkpoint exactly two hours before flight time. I chose to drive the car rather than my 22 year old son with the hope that my gray hair would somewhat help. Not at all. While cars ahead of us and behind us were wized through, we were asked to pull over to the side. After handing him my US passport and my and my son’s Israeli blue residency ID card, the young Israeli security guards asked me to turn off the car and give him the keys. Not sure where he thought I would have run if he I was to keep the keys. “Open the back trunk and the engine hood,” he demanded. My two suitcases, my lap top and my son’s back pack were unloaded and taken to a location where they went through a machine, opened and checked carefully and then a rod with a white piece of material on the top was rubbed all over the bags and checked in a machine that determines if there was any gun powder residue. Nearly forty five minutes later we were released from this initial checkpoint with stickers in red on all our bags. I went to the British Airways terminal and was taken to yet another security point. After some silly questions, my bags were taken and put through the X-ray machine similar to the one they had gone through minutes before. Afterwards the same type of rod is rubbed around it and checked. Thinking I was done with security I was taken to yet another location where my computer bag went through yet another check and a rod rubbing exercise. Finally I was taken away to a far away location where I went through a full strip search. By now, departure time was coming close. I was escorted by an Israeli security officer to the BA terminal and after a few strokes on her keyboard I was told that I had to pay an extra fee for my second suitcase. The night before I had stuffed  my belongings in one suitcase and took an empty second suitcase. The problem for the BA woman was not weight, but apparently BA had changed its policy for international flight out of Tel Aviv limiting passengers to one suitcase. I leave from Amman all the time on international trips with two suitcases, I protest. My protests and attempts to find a solution receive a stern stare from the Israeli security guard and the clerk. He insisting that I resolve the problem quickly and she demanding that I pay $60 for the second suitcase while saying she hates to request such fees from passenger. Without any apparent option available, I reluctantly take out my credit card and pay  the allotted sum for my empty extra suitcase. Minutes later as I retreat my passport with the exit stamp and walk towards the gate I realize that I should simply have ditched the second empty suitcase which certainly is not worth the sixty bucks. I arrive at the boarding gate, tired from the multiple security checks and angry at BA and at myself for not offering to throw that old suitcase in the garbage bin. At the gate I am told I was the last passenger. As I enter the airplane the anger in my face appears to have caught one steward named Nick who greets me with a sarcastic (or it seemed to me sarcastic) good morning. I reply to him that I am angry at paying $60 for an empty suitcase, he seemed sympathetic but insists that he has nothing to do with ground rules and policies. As I pass through the business class I notice that the last two rows are totally empty. Since I am the last passenger I estimate then there is obviously no one else that will occupy these more comfortable seats. I calmly take one of those seats, stow my computer bag on top, take my shoes off and sit comfortably thinking that this is poetic justice, that makes up for my being forced, because of security delay, to pay for carrying a used suitcase clearly not worth that much money empty. Nick stop by with the Daily Mail. As a pretend holder of a business class ticket I asked if he has the Independent, he doesn’t. I am not sure whether it was the rejection of the right wing British tabloid or earlier information but Nick returns a few minutes later with a computer print out and starts comparing seats, finally coming to me and challenging me with the question: this is not your seat. I admit my impromptu decision explaining that I am angry and tired. My line of argument fails to convince him and I am demanded to take my assigned seat next to the last seat in the packed economy section. So much for poetic justice. I am returning to Tel Aviv in nine days, and already worried about having to go through the unreasonable Israeli security. But one thing is clear, I am not traveling from Tel Aviv again if I can help it.