Finally at the terminal, the "place of birth" on my American passport, and the seemingly innocent question of "How's your Hebrew", were enough to identify us and lead us into the infamous "Arab Room", now reduced to a small corner of the airport. Despite our being married for 4 years, and despite all that she learned about Palestine, and the conflict during that time, my wife simply could not believe the way they treated us at Tel Aviv airport. At first she thought they were taking their time checking our passports. Quickly though, she couldn't help notice how empty the airport was, and how many of the border girls working there were hanging around chatting and doing nothing, while we were told to wait. After a tiring 20-hour trip, we were made to wait 3.5 hours, with no access to food, before finally being escorted out of the airport, and into an Israeli taxicab that was instructed not to let us get off anywhere except inside the West Bank. He dropped us off at a remote checkpoint close to the airport, but one hour away from Ramallah, in the dark of night, and we immediately had the sinking feeling of stepping into a prison.