Just as his new television series "B'zehut B'duyah" ("under a false identity") was wrapping up, reality became stranger than any fiction Zvi Yehezkeli, a veteran Arab affairs correspondent, could ever have imagined when he and his crew were arrested in Turkey.
"When we were shooting the show, I changed clothes in the car and passersby reported seeing someone go into a vehicle wearing one thing and come out wearing something different," he recalls. "Turns out that we were covertly put under surveillance since then, culminating in our arrest on our last day in Istanbul. We were arrested by the local counterterrorism unit."
Q: Were you scared?
"My friend, it wasn't easy. I also had a fake Syrian passport, which I had used to enter Germany while impersonating a refugee for the show. Our vehicle was full of disguises, and they came looking for terrorists. I was scared they would confiscate all the footage we had shot.
Q: Forget about the footage. What about prison?
"There were thoughts about what a bummer it would be to end up in a Turkish prison. One of my crew members said to me, 'That's it. We're done. We're going to rot in jail and no one is going to get us out of here.'"
"For two hours we sat on the floor, and from time to time they asked us questions with the help of a translator. The translator said to us, 'Sit here, don't move, and pray that your driver's papers are in order. Because if not, you're in trouble.' So between questions, I recited Psalms."
Q: What was your line of defense when you were interrogated?
"I showed them my Israeli passport and my press card and all the permits we got, but my biggest fear was that they would discover my fake Syrian passport and our filming equipment. I decided ahead of time that if I ended up in a situation like this I would say that we had come to cover how powerful and great [Turkish President Recep Tayyip] Erdogan is. But ultimately we were released with a warning that we would be watched. If they had discovered our footage and our gear, the story would never have worked."
In the early 2000s, it looked as though Yehezkeli had found the exact sweet spot for success. He could be seen reporting on the Arab and Muslim world every night on Channel 10's evening news, enjoying immeasurable popularity among his viewers and gaining the respect of his colleagues. On weekends, he was seen at all the right hot spots, providing a lot of photo ops for the paparazzi.
"Back then, I was living a very extreme life, without any boundaries or values," he says openly. "When people asked me where I draw the line, I would always say that I hadn't gotten there yet."
But then, he discovered God.
"In the past, I lived a bachelor's life at high speed," he explains. "But there was a huge void inside me that was not being filled. When I was 36 and going to sleep alone, I would ask myself whether that was a man's purpose, to be alone all the time, going from one party to another and one fling to another. And then what? Where was this story going? Outwardly, I would insist that I didn't want to get married, but I desperately longed for love. I just blocked myself from opening my heart."
Q: I was personally asked for your phone number by quite a few women.
"But even then – every woman will tell you I was a perfect gentleman. Every time, I thought it was going to be a great success; that I was done with the one-night-stand thing. It may sound like I'm cheating, but with each one, there was a moment when I felt wow, and then, no. There is a lot of talk about sexual harassment lately, and I never forced myself on anyone. I was never pushy. I never flirted or hit on anyone."
Q: Do you get hit on by women today?
"No such thing. Everyone knows I'm married and religious. Dude, I'm 47 years old. The biggest compliment I get these days is 'I know him from the Shabbat newsletter' where I write Torah sermons at the synagogue."
Q: You used to be the media darling.
"A guy working on the Arab desk who looks okay and has curls – the media likes it. But I felt like a stranger in the media. There are people in the media who, if you take away their television show, they could end up like Dudu Topaz [a former television star who committed suicide while in police custody]. I didn't want to go anywhere near that place, this insane narcissism."
Q: How so?
"There were drugs and parties and raves, but drugs are like stolen light. They let you feel sanctity, but it is not clean and not right. When I became religious, I finally understood that it [drugs] runs contrary to sanctity and I cut it out. It is thanks to all the bad things I did in the past that today I can be good."
Q: Don't you ever miss those days?
"No. I switched lives. If there's anything I miss, it is the little things, like the spontaneity of jumping into a car and going wherever you feel like. I miss not caring about time. When you worship God, there is always something to do. A good deed. Give more maybe."
The turning point in Yehezkeli's life came after the 2006 Second Lebanon War. That is when he decided to stop everything and travel to India for a five-week vacation. On the way, he stopped in Uman, Ukraine, to visit the gravesite of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, an 18th-century luminary.
"In Uman, I happened to be invited for Shabbat at a Jew's house, and suddenly, religious life looked so appealing to me. So full of light. I told myself that this was the life I envisioned for myself. I was the first time I felt I had found the right boundaries for the home I wanted for myself and my future children. I didn't want my children to grow up into a television reality, without any values. I very much loved living the life I lived, but it's not what I wanted for my kids."
Almost immediately after returning to Israel, he told the network that he would no longer be working on Shabbat. Shortly after that, he began observing "negiah" (a Jewish restriction on affectionately touching members of the opposite sex aside from one's spouse and close relatives). He was automatically added to the list of eligible religious bachelors for matchmaking purposes.
After a number of failed starts, he met Meital, now 39, also a secular Jew who became religious in adulthood. Within less than six months of meeting, the two married, and today they live in Gush Etzion with their five children.
"Meital was about to marry someone else, and she canceled it because she wanted to deepen her faith. When her mother saw me on television, she said to her, 'This will be your husband.' She found me through a mutual friend and I said I would see her only if she was serious about her religion. Then we met at one of the Torah classes and we started talking, and things developed from there."
But like many secular Jews who found faith, Yehezkeli hates being labeled. "If you try to find telltale signs in the way I dress, you won't find any," he says. "I don't look like a typical national religious [man], but I live in a national-religious area and I love the community. I can look more spiritual, I can look like a Shas man, but the hair doesn't match. I wear a black kippah but it is crocheted. I don't have an identity, I am a sort of refugee."
Q: But you do visit Uman, which is associated with the Breslov Jews.
"I'm not a Breslov Hassid. I follow the advice of Rabbi Nachman – to keep to myself, not to eat in the shade, to bathe in the mikveh [ritual bath], to live joyously, to know that everything is for the best. He was a righteous man who gave me wonderful advice for life."
Q: What do you mean?
"At no point in my life did I see myself as a father of five religious children, in a home that sets boundaries, answering to a higher power. I would stop at traffic lights on my motorcycle and see a religious family with five or six kids and say to myself, 'I will never have that.' No question. And today, I have children who hit each other and wipe snot on chairs. I'm right there. I didn't believe it could happen. It is true that I willed it, but Rabbi Nachman opened the gate to this path for me."
Q: And your devout children know what their father does for a living?
"When the weekly Torah portion was about the spies – Shelach – someone told my son that his father is a spy," he laughs. "The kids sometimes come to the studio with me, they know I work in this contraption that is sometimes on at Grandma's and Grandpa's house. They get a little confused sometimes because it is a unique combination. But in any case, it's not something that makes them unhappy."
Q: How do you make peace with this combination?
"There is also something very clean about the media. I am not an entertainer. I am against most of the content on television, and I don't consume any of it. But I also feel a sense of duty – I shine my special light within all this darkness. I bring my own perspective to the viewers to help them understand the reality they live in. That's what keeps me there."
Q: How much does your religious faith affect your coverage of the Arab world?
"You can be religious and not necessarily bring the idea of Esau hates Jacob into it. I make a clear distinction – it wouldn't be right otherwise. I am not a commentator on Torah affairs. The fact that I wear a kippah in the studio is only because a religious man has to wear a kippah. That's where it ends."
Q: How do you respond when a woman offers her hand?
"I decline and apologize. There's no choice. Anyone who books a lecture with me is told in advance that I don't shake hands with women. I tell them, 'I'm so sorry, but I made a promise on the day I married my wife that I would not touch women anymore.' And you know what they say to me? I wish my husband would make such a promise."
Yehezkeli was born and raised in Jerusalem, in a thoroughly secular environment. He has two younger sisters. When he joined the military he was selected to serve in an elite unit. Upon his discharge from the IDF, he was recruited to the Shin Bet security agency, where he worked for seven years.
He has three academic degrees, two in Middle Eastern studies and one in communications, all from Hebrew University.
He became interested in Islam almost by accident. In the early 1990s, he was traveling in Europe for work, and he saw that famous handshake between then-Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat. He decided then and there that when he returned to Israel he would try to understand the "story of the Arab world."
In 1997, toward the completion of his bachelor's degree, he moved to Hebron for six months, and from there he moved to Jenin, to get a better grasp on the Arabic language and culture.
He began his career in the media also in 1997 as a correspondent for Arab affairs on Army Radio. "I had a lecturer who referred me to the radio station, and they were just looking for a field reporter. I was 27 years old, working with all the 'kids' [the station is mainly manned by conscripted soldiers aged between 18 and 21]. I started running around with a microphone, and I did it for four years until Channel 10 was launched."
Yehezkeli joined the Channel 10 team from the very beginning, as the head of the Arab affairs desk. He quickly became one of the prominent personalities at the network. In December 2012 he filmed "Allah Islam" – his documentary series about the growing influence of ISIS in Europe.
"I started to get bored," he explains how he became a documentarist. "The usual trajectory for reporters is to become a commentator – that's the peak achievement. So you ask yourself, what more can you do at this stage in your career."
Q: Did you ever consider having your own show?
"I never hosted a show, not even a news flash or a special report. I am in the media for one reason only, and that is to tell the story of the Arab world. For all the rest there are others who can do it better than I can."
Q: There was talk of you becoming an anchor and presenting with Yonit Levy on Channel 2.
"True. And there were other offers along the way. But the answer is no because there is no added value for me to read from a teleprompter. I was offered it a lot, and I always said no."
"Allah Islam," Yehezkeli's documentary, drew a lot of attention and very good ratings, but there were those who accused him of being a doomsday prophet – presenting a purposefully radicalized version of the reality that doesn't accurately represent the Arab world.
"I was attacked," he says. "They wrote in all kinds of places that I am the enemy. It was terrifying and shocking at first because as far as I was concerned, all I had done was to make a documentary. I interviewed people and provided proven documentation. So I kept my restraint and kept my faith that it would be okay in the end."
Q: Do you think it was easier to criticize you because you're religious?
"When you're religious, it is easier to paint you as intimidating. I believe that if I weren't religious they would have been more forgiving. But the bottom line is that the truth is stronger than anything else. I said that Europe was going to ignite, and even before the series ended, the terrorist attacks began on the continent. I realized that I had identified a core of terrorism a moment before it made itself public. That was an intelligence accomplishment. Everything I said would happen, happened."
Every evening, after the broadcast, Yehezkeli wipes off the makeup, leaves the studios alone and goes to be with God in the woods. The only things he brings are "a coffee making kit, phone on airplane mode, I redirect my calls, and for one hour I talk to God. I tell him about my day and it rejuvenates me. I don't know if I could be a religious person without talking to God every day."
Q: What do you say to him?
"It can start with a thank you, anger, a question, a thought, talking about the situation, singing a song, jumping, screaming, throwing rocks or dancing, whatever."
Q: What did you talk about last night?
"I talked mostly about the new show that's about to air. I am starting to get stressed out about it."
Q: About how well it will do?
"About my ego, and the compliments I'll get. I need to remind myself that it's not me. I'm just a messenger, even if I get the applause at the end. I can't believe that lie, that I had done something extraordinary."
Q: But you created the show, what's wrong with enjoying the applause?
"True. But He could have decided that I was to be exposed in the first mosque I entered, and then we wouldn't be sitting here talking. When people applaud, it's great, but don't believe that you're a star. You are the same Zvi who comes home, changes a diaper, worships God, who married his wife and listens to his wife and treats her like a princess."
As mentioned, Yehezkeli has been working on his undercover show over the last year. The show was filmed in several Arab countries and in Europe, and it follows the Muslim Brotherhood, which Yehezkeli calls "radical Islam's largest ever infrastructure."
One of the running themes of the show is a secret report, obtained by Yehezkeli, detailing the Muslim Brotherhood's growing influence in France. "The bottom line is that this report is telling the French, 'Guys, you have a time bomb on your hands.'
"Everyone tells me the bomb is ISIS, because what could possibly be more dangerous than those lunatics? But I try to explain that there is a new kind of bomb – a quiet bomb. I realized that there is a big thing that the world doesn't yet understand. Even a google search of the term Muslim Brotherhood doesn't turn up very much about them. Thankfully, the heads of the network and the news department were with me."
Q: When do you think this thing will erupt?
"A senior defense official told me recently that ISIS is a pimple and the real cancer is the Muslim Brotherhood. But in their case, it won't erupt like ISIS. It will be quiet. They will slowly take the keys from the important people. If it's not done peacefully, they will do it by force. But in the meantime, everything is under the surface. They have a clear strategy, and the endgame is conquest. I'm not saying they will take over the U.S., but there will be countries like Denmark, Belgium and France – they will control them."
Q: What's your worst-case scenario forecast?
"In 10 or 20 years, some of the European countries will be home to an Islamic movement that will 'only' serve as kingmaker in local elections. But it will be so influential in the general population that it will dictate the tone in everything it wishes. Right now, all this movement wants are simple things, like budgets, education and prosperity. The French are telling them, 'keep it going and we won't say a word.' But no one is checking the curricula in the Muslim schools. No one is checking to see if they are teaching tolerant Islam or the kind of Islam that takes over and controls others. They are not asking what kind of Islam they are building, and that is certainly something that should be asked."
Q: You focus mainly on the French. Is it because you feel that they are particularly complacent?
"They are naive and innocent. If they come to terms with what is happening there, it will force them to take combative action, but they prefer to live in an atmosphere of peace. A gradual process is more dangerous than a surprise attack. The world is afraid of wars. Give the French their croissant and they will sit quietly.
"But let me take you to the suburbs, just a half hour from Paris. I was there for two weeks and I didn't speak a word of French the entire time, only Arabic. No one asks you questions. You don't feel like a foreigner. In the cafes, women and men are segregated. It feels exactly like being in a real Muslim country."
Q: What is the real problem with the Muslim Brotherhood?
"The fact that they are intolerant of anyone else. They don't accept the notion that there is any other just path. They view everyone as infidels and disregard all else. And most importantly, they believe that every Muslim is a messenger whose job is to spread the caliphate. If it failed in Iraq and in Syria, it will happen in France. It's like a slow collision, and when the time comes to stop them, it may be too late."
Q: Are there any positive aspects?
"They are open to science and academic studies and they integrate into society."
Q: Should we be afraid of them in Israel, too?
"Generally I would advise against being afraid. Be it of ISIS or Iran, though they are a bit more frightening. We have Hamas next door and the Islamic Movement among us, which is taking control over Al-Aqsa. To me, these two movements are the real threat to Israel. The Palestinians are still finding it difficult to combat Hamas, and we are having trouble combating the Islamic Movement, which is supported by Turkey."
Q: How do Israeli Arabs respond to you?
"They know that I'm telling the truth, and I think most of them appreciate that."
While filming, Yehezkeli had to shave off his famous curls, bid his wife and children goodbye and assume a variety of identities, in an effort to demonstrate Muslim life in Europe from different perspectives.
One morning, he woke up as Khaled Abu Salam, a Jordanian businessman. On another morning, he was Abu Hamza, also Jordanian. On other days he was the Syrian Ibrahim al-Atrash or Razal Ibrahim, a Palestinian journalist.
"Last time [when I filmed "Allah Islam"], I told my wife, 'We're just hopping over to Europe and coming right back.' But then she saw the show and got spooked," he says. "This time, I told her, 'Here's a rule of thumb: Everything looks scarier on screen.' It's scary in reality too, but I don't tempt fate and I know my own limitations, even at the cost of passing up a journalistic payday. In my last show, we interviewed ISIS members on a roof so that if we were attacked we could just throw them off. This time it was less violent. Everyone is cool, wearing ties."
Q: So what's next?
"That's the real question. I can't go undercover anymore. I received a warning from the intelligence agencies not to do this sort of thing anymore because I am recognizable. I already miss doing stuff like this, though."
Q: What did you think about the incident involving teenage Palestinian girl Ahed Tamimi who slapped IDF soldiers?
"That girl slapped a soldier because she knew he wouldn't do anything. She could have been put in her place. But we allowed it, because today, the soldiers' instincts tell them not to fight, but rather to contain. Today, because everything is filmed, lines get blurred and there is a sense of post-modernism. If the soldier had felt secure and at peace with what he was doing, he would have handcuffed her in a second and arrested her."
Q: Even with all the cameras and what could happen as a result?
"If I run a red light right now, and a police officer pulls me over and I slap him, what do you think he'll do to me? He'll arrest me and take me to the station. So why not in the territories? We are cutting corners and cutting them a lot of slack just because of how it will look. We are creating an atmosphere that is apologetic and defensive, and I find that very difficult to accept. Because ultimately, as a Jew who understands that he has been planted here for 4,000 years, I don't need to be ashamed of who I am. This kind of thing would not have happened anywhere else in the world. Slap a cop in New York and see what happens."
Q: Are you thinking about a career in politics?
"Not at the moment, no. I am not considering it and it is not in my plans for the future."
Q: So what will you do if you get bored again?
"I'll ask myself what does it for me, and I'll examine myself. I like the action of the news, but I have five children so I get plenty of action at home, too."
