I was on the phone with my brother in Israel when Shalzed rang the doorbell. I told Yoni that I had to run as I buzzed Shalzed up. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find another way to get Benny home,” I told Yoni, checking one more travel website on my computer as Shalzed came in.
“What’s the matter?” Shalzed asked when I hung up.
“My brother’s son Benny is backpacking through Vietnam. His ticket home stops in Malaysia, and he just realized that Malaysia doesn’t let Israeli citizens enter the country, even to change planes.”
Shalzed frowned. “How can that be? Why would one country not allow citizens of another country to enter?” The floor seemed to shift slightly.
I shrugged. “It’s because they refuse to recognize Israel. Benny is also a U.S. citizen, but even if you don’t use your Israeli passport, if they find out you have one they can deport you right away.”
“Isn’t that discrimination?” Shalzed asked. “How can Malaysia restrict entry to all Israeli citizens?”
The walls started to move farther apart, then snapped back together. I had the by now familiar nauseous feeling as I entered the black tunnel. Then I was standing in the sun in front of a palace like building with a large, green dome. I looked around. Behind me was an enormous square, and across the square was what seemed to be a mosque, this time with a pink dome. People were all around, some going quickly about their business, but many seemed like tourists as well. Shalzed was rushing forward towards a group of men that were exiting the palace. I hurried to keep up.
“Prime Minister Ibrahim,” Shalzed called. A man wearing a plain white shirt and no tie turned, along with a few other men who seemed like guards. “Can you explain why you won’t allow Israeli citizens to enter Malaysia?”
To my surprise, Ibrahim gave Shalzed a warm smile, although his smile faded a bit as he noticed Shalzed’s unusual appearance. Maybe in Malaysia politicians were more open to being interrupted. “It is very simple,” he said. “We do not accept the existence of Israel, so we do not recognize passports from Israel for entry.”
“But how can you punish people who happen to have been born in Israel just because you disagree with their government?” Shalzed asked.
A woman carrying a clay bowl filled with grapes and berries stepped past us and approached the Prime Minister. She bowed her head and extended the bowl to him. He smiled and took a few grapes, saying something in a language I couldn’t identify, let alone understand. The guards looked at the woman warily, but did not interfere.
“It’s called antisemitism if you don’t let Jews into your country,” I added as the woman stepped away.
Ibrahim looked aghast. “Jews are most welcome,” he said. “We deny entry only to Israelis. No Israeli has a right to vacation in Malaysia. The United States does the same thing regarding many African countries too.”
Shalzed frowned, like that confused him or maybe he wasn’t sure whether or not it was true. I didn’t agree with Trump’s rules about immigration, but they were still nothing like this. “And people criticize the U.S. for it,” I said. “But at least it’s supposedly because Trump thinks they will overstay their visas and problems with security screenings, not because of their government.”
“So let me get this straight,” Shalzed interjected. “You are protesting Israel’s collective punishment of Palestinians by collective punishment against Israelis?”
One of Ibrahim’s guards stepped closer. “The Prime minister has an appointment. . .” he began.
“You can hardly compare denying entrance to a country with checkpoints, home demolitions, and confiscation of land,” Ibrahim said as the guard nudged him along.
“I have a question,” I said. Ibrahim paused and turned towards me. “What if an Arab citizen of Israel wanted to come to Malaysia, what would you say then?” Ibrahim wrinkled his forehead. “What if it was to visit an ailing relative? Would you still deny them entry then?”
“There could maybe be a humanitarian exception,” Ibrahim mumbled as his guards led him away. The ground seemed to tilt.
“Would there be humanitarian exceptions for Jewish Israelis too?” Shalzed called after the Prime Minister, who ignored Shalzed’s question and kept going on his way. The green dome seemed to get closer, then farther, and then everything was black. A moment later I was back in my apartment. I reached out and grabbed the back of a kitchen chair because it felt like everything was still swaying.
Shalzed was next to me. The transition didn’t seem to phase him, and he was watching me, looking impatient for me to get my bearings. “I didn’t realize your Earth countries prevented humans from other countries from entering at all,” he said as I got steady.
“They do it for lots of reasons,” I said.
“But should sending political messages be one?”
For background on Malaysia’s policy, see the Algemeiner here.
