Radar: Clueless in Gaza - how two checkpoint Charlies came unstuck

Despite sitting for hours at what is ostensibly the Gaza Strip's foyer, the Erez Checkpoint, it seemed that I was not going to be allowed inside the 45km by 4km sliver of prime Mediterranean seaside.

For some reason, the Israeli soldiers seemed reluctant to let me and my chum Aaron in. I suspect they were embarrassed that the 1.2 million souls confined there tended to complain to foreigners.

The two of us were unregistered journalists masquerading as tourists to film my documentary Christmas in Bethlehem: a naivety story, and it may not have helped that we lacked the necessary paperwork stating we had permission to enter.

Aaron, however, had conceived a cunning ruse. He had explained to the soldiers that we were Episcopalians, desperate to see the beautiful churches of Gaza.

Unfortunately, we subsequently realised, we had no idea what Episcopalianism entailed. Fortunately, neither did the soldiers.

After half an hour of Aaron wheedling, pleading and flirting, they summoned their superior, the swarthy Captain Tahl.

For an hour Aaron negotiated with him.

Captain Tahl was sorry, but he could not allow us in.

It was then that I flourished our final ace, one of several phone numbers that a woman had given me, next to which I had scrawled, "Erez person: emergencies only."

As Aaron strolled outside to place the call, he waved to Captain Tahl and declared, "I'll be back."

Aaron dialled. The phone rang twice. A man answered.

"Hi," said Aaron, "Apparently you can help us. We're New Zealand film-makers trying to cross the Erez Checkpoint. We told the soldiers we are Episcopalians, but they're being total morons and won't let us through."

The man on the phone said, "You are New Zealand film-makers?"

"Yes," Aaron confirmed.

"Not Episcopalians?"

"We don't even know what an Episcopalian is," Aaron confessed.

The man on the phone began to laugh. He laughed until he hyperventilated. And then he laughed some more.

"What's so funny?" asked Aaron.

"No" spluttered the man, "It is me, it is Captain Tahl."

And there he was, through the window, clasping his phone and convulsing.

Aaron returned inside.

"Ah, you are back," said the captain, spasming with laughter as he explained to his underlings what had just occurred.

They laughed so heartily that officers of increasingly higher rank began peering from their offices.

When they heard what had happened they too laughed.

Even the Palestinians, who had been waiting for several hours to be refused the privilege of entering Gaza, were laughing.

We all laughed so hard that we cried.

Then Captain Tahl suggested we leave.

Two weeks later, at the same checkpoint, a 32-year-old mother of two blew up four people, including herself.