Last night, when I got home, a motorcade was frozen, blocking the narrow street where I live. An armored procession caught in a space never meant for it. Black sedans sat bumper to bumper, their engines humming impatiently, exhaust curling up the stonewalls on either side. The lead car’s lights were still flashing, blue and white reflections ricocheting off shuttered shop fronts and balconies hung with laundry. My neighbors peered out from doorways and upper floors, curiosity mixing with annoyance. A Wolt delivery scooter was trapped behind the last car, its rider motionless, helmet tilted in disbelief.

Somewhere in the middle of the convoy, behind tinted glass, a secret agent with a suit, dark glasses, and an earpiece approached me, getting out of one of the vehicles. I thought he had the wrong person, but his voice was so low and intense that I understood his Hebrew as well as my native Portuguese.

“David Rosh Pina? National Security. Get in.”

“Me? I can’t. I have to cook tonight. It’s taco Tuesday, and my wife gets upset when I don’t do the marinara for the fajitas.”

“Get in! Yala.”

“What about the scooter?”

A second agent picked up my scooter from under my feet as if it was lite as a feather and threw it in the trunk of one of the vehicles. The first agent opened the back door, and I got in; no more questions asked.

The motorcade sped away along the highway. I wondered if wearing a patterned scarf on the bus two years ago or posting a peace dove emoji to my mother on WhatsApp could be enough to get arrested.

“You smoke cigars?” asked the agent with his broken English.

“I used to smoke cigars, but I stopped during Covid. It’s bad for my asthma.”

“Shin Bet said to us you smoke cigars.”

“Shit,” I thought. “Now they’re arresting cigar smokers.”

The motorcade glided up the tree-lined street and slowed........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)