My cousin in Florida called this afternoon to make sure I'm okay, saying that since I haven't updated the blog in a while nor been phone accesible, he was concerned. Don't mean to worry anyone out in the blogosphere, just dealing with my own private hell.
See this photo, doesn't it get you right in the gut? Maybe bring a tear to your eye? Perhaps a little niggle of guilt for not being on the plane towards Israel to realize your own personal Aliyah? I ripped this photo right off of the Nefesh B'Nefesh website (cmon, go ahead, come after me for copywrite infrigement, I dare you!) because I wanted everyone to see that I will never have that. Ever.
People, I had a plan. I really did. The plan was to come to Israel, get a Masters, and if I loved it here, only THEN make Aliyah. And make Aliyah through the fine folks over at Nefesh B'Nefesh, who managed to create an organization designed to support the new Olim. Well, if ONLY the person at Nefesh B'Nefesh would have told me that I shouldn't get a Teudat Zehut, and if ONLY someone at my program in Bar Ilan would have put all of the important information in place to accommodate a foreign student, if ONLY....then I wouldn't be in this predicament.
But alas, I cannot change the past. I just have to fight like hell to make sure I have a future.
Wednesday's meeting with my Absorption advisor, Lea Dvir, did not start off well. I brought all of the information the woman who called to set up the appointment a day earlier, had instructed me to bring. What she neglected to do was tell me that the bank paper I needed to bring had to have my teudat zehut number on it. Bringing three copies of past bank statements, with only my bank number on it, was not sufficient. Well, I got all angry about this because it was NOT my fault that she gave me the wrong information. Lea was not interested in my anger and so she started yelling right back at me. I fumed. She said the woman who called me was new and didn't know any better. I said that I was the one inconvenienced and would have to come back now and wait for g-d knows how long. Lea said that this was not a good way to start the meeting or our relationship. I shut up and let her continue, the anger just flowing through my body. Then I started shaking. I decided to wait and ask to speak with her advisor as soon as everything was done. I think she finally saw my shaking and tried to soften her position. Either way, we managed to get through the meeting. She gave me the information I required, and told me that they would in fact provide me with the back payments for my Sal Klita (absorption basket) and that the money should show up in my account within the week. She handed me a calendar, and we went through everything I need to do now in order to get everything set up. At this point, I decided not to ask to speak with her supervisor or to complain. It was pointless, it would get me nowhere. I just kept my mouth shut and let her do her job. She made an appointment with me for July, to check in to make sure that everything is going well, and then for August 22nd. That is 3 days after the wedding and also 364 since my official Aliyah date. She needs to physically see me that morning in order to provide me with the final grant payment of around 1500 shekel. So, at 10:00 a.m. three days after the wedding, Buggy and I will have to be in Tel Aviv bright and early for the meeting. I'm not looking forward to it.
So, I left the Ministry of Absorption and walked downstairs to the Ministry of Students to discuss the fact that, as an Olah Chadasha, I am eligible for financial assistance on my Masters because I started the program before I turned 30. After 30, they do not provide any financial assistance. I walked in and had a meeting with Michael, the first available representative. I told him my sob story and he was sympathetic and he understood. He said he would do whatever he could to help me. I was extremely appreciative. And then he told me what needed to be done and what needed to be done within a span of 5 days. Apparently, the budget for this year was closing on May 14th. That meant, I had to get everything in to him by that date, or I will miss the cut off. I needed to get him an official transcript, a signed letter by a lawyer (over at the courthouse mind you) that stated I did not get a second degree at another institution, a copy of my acceptance letter into the program, a copy of my acceptance letter into the Master program, my teudat zehut, my teudat oleh and anything else that would help make my case. Well, I do not have an official copy of my diploma or transcript but Bar Ilan does, so we made some calls and someone in the English department faxed him the information. Then, it was a matter or pulling the rest together. I had to leave it for Sunday, the courthouse, as I had lots more to do.
I ran back to my apartment and found the right piece of paper from the bank, and then went back to the Ministry of Absorption. It was now lunchtime and I was close to tears, because she wouldn't open the doors again for 2 more hours. Fortunately, the security guard thought I was Russian and he took pity on me and called Lea. She let me come up with the paper and now, all I have to do is wait for the money to be deposited into my account.
I quickly hailed a cab and headed over to Bituach Leumi, the National Insurance Agency, and after spending 25 shekel discovered that they were closed.
This was not my day.
In fact, they are only open 3 days a week and I had to come back on Thursday! Lord have mercy on me.
I woke up bright and early on Thursday morning and headed back to Bituach Leumi. It was steamy and humid and I was exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, but I made it and joined the long lines of people waiting to get in. I was given a number and told to wait downstairs with tons of people. An hour and a half later, I fought my way to the front when my number was up. I didn't get this, people don't adhere to the numbers! I was vigilant, and yelled when a man who came 10 numbers behind me cut the line. He didn't show his number, he just went about his business. He got pissy when another woman demanded that he cut the line and threw his pen down on the table. I was happy he was having a fit, he deserved it. Who did he think he was? Anyway, I elbowed my way past him and handed my number and form to the woman behind the desk.
Who informed me that I was waiting on the wrong line.
The breath left my body quickly, like someone punched me in the stomach. Was she for real? Apparently, I was supposed to be upstairs. So was the German guy, who spoke no English, standing next to me. She wrote us notes and then escorted us upstairs, where another large line waited for us. This time, I cut the entire line. I waved my note in front of annoyed and frustrated faces like it was the Golden Ticket and I sat in front of the woman who explained to me the entire aspect of Health Insurance.
And how I owed the Israeli government almost 1,000 shekel in back pay.
Huh?
I didn't understand, I've been paying Maccabi 450 shekel a month as an outsider and here she's telling me I owe THEM money? How could that be?
She said it was Chaval (unfortunate) that I was being screwed by Maccabi, but I owed the government money because they were covering me since my Aliyah date. They asked me to give them a credit card right then and there, and then handed me 5 pages of Hebrew forms to fill out.
I started crying, I couldn't believe I had to part with more money! I said to the man that I didn't even know that he was covering me! He said to me, well, do I pay car insurance only after my car is stolen.
What a jerk.
I called Buggy out of class and told him he needed to help me. I put him on the phone with all the people behind the big desks who hadn't a clue. And he spoke to them and then told me what I needed to do. So, together, we filled out the forms. I sat on the floor and read the forms in my broken Hebrew, people looking at me as I stumbled over vowels and letters and pronunciations. Finally, we managed to get through them all, and I was called back into the office. She promised me that, in one weeks time, I would get the form that I would then bring to Maccabi and stop paying them the money. Whether or not I will get the money back from Maccabi though she didn't think would happen. She told me to find myself a good lawyer.
Oh, I have every intention of getting a lawyer if Maccabi won't reimburse me on the money they've been stealing from me!
I ran back to my apartment miserable with the whole experience and then waited for the 61 bus to take me to the bus to Jerusalem. I was going to Jerusalem for the night because Buggy and I needed to take care of benchers for the wedding. We were going to go to Miller's in Meah Shearim, and I was insistent that it happen since we've been trying to order the benchers for MONTHS!
Buggy picked me up at the bus station and I was tired, wet, cold and miserable. He was hungry and we both had to take out money, so I put my knapsac on my back and we walked from the parking lot down the steps to the Bank HaPoalim on King George Street. The one underneath Lev Yerushalayim.
Well, I still don't know how this happened, but one minute I was following Buggy across the slick stones and the next minute, I was down on the ground. My New Balance sneakers don't get good traction on Jerusalem stone and my feet just buckled. I went down hard on my right knee and almost tore a hole in my khaki pants. I remember Buggy's feet as he raced back to help me up. And then I just cried. And cried. And cried. And told Buggy I wanted to go home - to America - and that I wanted my Mommy.
What a pathetic sight. A grown, 30 year old woman crying in the arms of her fiance for her Mother. I limped towards the ATM and tried to stop the tears, people were staring at me. My pants were full of dirt and mud and I had no idea what condition my knee was in.
We hobbled towards the restaurant and took a table. I pulled up my pants and saw the damage and tried to look at the bright side. Nothing was broken.
But, there was no way we were going to Meah Shearim that afternoon. We ran a few smaller errands that night, picking up a birthday present for Buggy's older brother at the mall and going out for dinner at Pizza Hut. I needed the pizza people, I needed the comfort food to help get me through the day.
Friday was a nice day and it led into an even nicer weekend. Buggy and I just relaxed in Tel Aviv. I cooked all afternoon, making honey sesame salmon, fiber 1 chicken thighs (I do not recommend these, but it was a new recipe and I figured why not), grilled chicken breast, steamed string beans with hot lemon vinegrette, a fruit salad and two other fresh salads. We had a wonderful Shabbat together, it was as if nothing else in life existed. We both read, took a long walk on the boardwalk and through the Namal, and then on Saturday night we went to see a lousy movie (Sunshine) before Gaby left and I passed out.
And then Sunday came, and I had to resume dealing with the government. Only this time, Buggy was coming with me to act as interpreter. We left for the courthouse at 1 Weizman fairly early and made our way through security. I didn't know what to expect but we headed over to the information booth and explained what we needed. For 41 shekel, the lawyer on duty was going to fill out the form that confirmed I never did a second degree in the States. We got the form and went to fill it out and wait on line when we were intercepted by a man claiming to be a lawyer. He took us to a bar in the back of the lobby and said he would fill out the form for the fee. I was skeptical and asked to see his ID. Once Buggy confirmed he was legit, I told him what needed to be written and he filled it out. He fished a stamp out of his pants pocket, took my money, and was on his way.
Shady but legit. Buggy said that it was because there is a glut of lawyers in this country with no jobs and this was his way of making quick cash. Whatever, I didn't care, as long as it was done.
Then we got back to the apartment, I packed up food for Buggy for the week, and we went back to Jerusalem to try our luck with the benchers again. On our way, we had some drama with the apartment we'll be living in P"G after the wedding, and that waylaid us from our schedule. With that fire smoldering, we managed to make our way back to Meah Shearim. We missed the turn and decided to park all the way up the heel from Kikar Shabbat. No big deal going there because it was down hill, but it would be a pain to climb that hill on the way back to the car. Plus, we were racing against the clock. I felt like Jack Bauer on a mission, I was racing the clock for the Ministry of Students and now, Buggy needed to get me out of Jerusalem before the big Beitar match started. Long story, but basically, the big soccer game of the season and the really rich Russian man rented out Gan Saccer and was holding a free viewing and carnival for Jerusalem Beitar fans. They were expecting thousands and the streets would be jammed. Buggy needed to get me to the Bus Station before they closed the streets, and time was running out.
We finally found Millers and spoke to Mrs. Miller about the order. We picked the same bencher as Buggy's sister's and went through mincha/maarvi's as well.
And then she told us the price and we were both shocked! It was well over $1,000! Not thinking that either of our parents would want to spend that kind of money on benchers, Buggy and I packed it in and made our way back up the hill. I managed to get to the bus station in time before they closed the streets and got back to Tel Aviv right after sunset.
Today was another exhausting day. I went back to the Ministry of Students with all the information he asked for, and he started my file and wrote the letterI need to take to the University to be refunded my money. I will be entiteld to 13,000 shekel a YEAR and that's not chump change folks. But, before I could get the paper, his boss needed to sign off on it officially. However, she was called "upstairs" and he didn't know when she would be back. I had to wait.
2 hours later, she finally returned, looking nonplussed and refreshed. I thought I was going to be on my way, and then Michael told me that we had a problem. I have to provide her with additional information in order to get the official sign off from them. And, it's not going to be easy to get, as I have to work with the people at Bar Ilan and they have NOT been at all helpful. This will be another nightmare, but for 26,000 shekel, I am not willing to let it go. I will have to deal with it all tomorrow.
If you've managed to read this whole blog posting, I say congratulations to you! Thanks for sticking with me these days. I've been through the ringer and it's much appreciated.
For my non-Israeli readers, PLEASE learn from my mistakes. MAKE ALIYAH WITH NEFESH B'NEFESH. OR, if you have an Israeli parent, DO NOT GET A TEUDAT ZEHUT unless you know for a fact you want to make Aliyah. Otherwise, you're life will start to resemble mine and that ain't pretty!
As far as the people over at Nefesh B'nefesh are concerned, I'm not that impressed anymore. As soon as Erica in the Israel office heard that I had a Teudat Zehut, my phone calls for help were never returned. I guess since I won't be counting in their PR campaign, as another body for their big photo op when the planes arrive chock full of people, they don't care about being helpful. And as a veteran publicist, I know just how important that photo op is.
Oh, and before I sign off, I want to recommend the book The Kite Runner. I know I'm at least 5 years too late, but I picked this book up on Buggy's mother's bookshelf and it was a terrific read. Helps put my entire experience in perspective.
As my Mom said to me the other day: At least I have my health and my man.
Amen.
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