So here we go again. I’m so stressed. The extensive security check at the Israeli Consulate. This time in Munich. We must explain who we are, how we’re connected, and why we came. No! We didn’t come with anybody, and no, we didn’t accept anything from anyone to bring.

Our appearance is also cross-checked against today’s appointment book. I imagine that at the same time our faces are being run through some Shin Bet (Israeli internal security service) facial-recognition software. Yet this is just at the entrance off the street, before we even pass any of the bollards placed there to prevent vehicle rammings.

We’re allowed to proceed to the next gate, closer to the building. Through the doorbell-camera interface, we are told to wait for a colleague to come out. There is a sign here that confirms face-recognition technology is indeed being used. No surprise there. Posting the sign to alert us was probably required by German law (Datenschutz). Ever since the Stasi days, Germans have had a deep mistrust of the collection and recording of personal data.

The guard opens the gate. He looks at our passports and again it’s the same list of questions. How are you related? We’re married.

He seems pleasantly surprised. “Mazel Tov” is practically on the tip of his tongue. He only asks because we don’t share the same last name. Did I miss a step somewhere here in the gay marriage rule book? When we married, were we supposed to take each other’s names and hyphenate them?

We’re allowed to enter the security office foyer. I notice a lovely mezuzah on the outside of the door. Only one of us can go into the screening room at a time. So, I bite the bullet. I want to be first, just to get the ordeal over with. I explain that I have a metal hip replacement. And no, Canadian doctors do not give you a letter for travel and security screening. He seems surprised.

I consider saying what would be the point? Such a letter could easily be forged. Is he going to know who Dr. A. from North York General is? How exactly would he verify the authenticity of the document? At least here, this time, I don’t have to open my shorts and delicately reveal my scar without exposing too much of my pubic area, as I had to do at the Embassy in Mexico City.

Of course the buzzer goes off as I walk through the metal detector. He reaches for the security wand. I know the drill. Legs apart. Arms outstretched at three and nine o’clock. The wand moves very closely and occasionally touches my body. At the same time, he pats me down. He feels my waist and asks whether I have something there. I say no. It’s just fat. I’m no longer ashamed of my growing bicycle tire.

I’m told to wait outside the door leading to the interior of the consulate while Simon is processed. Then we proceed up two flights of stairs past oversized murals of Israel. Sweet memories from our first trip in 2022 as tourists.  We didn’t get to see much in 2025 as there were so many rocket and........

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