[img]96|left|Shachar||no_popup[/img] Dateline Jerusalem — It's been over two years, and I thought I had adjusted to the famous Israeli bureaucracy.
I was wrong.
When I first arrived in Israel, I was advised that I was too old for an immigrant absorption center where I would have lived in a dormitory-like setting with other families so that I could become immersed in the Hebrew language and Israeli lifestyle.
Thank G-d, my ex-husband's cousins adore me. They invited me to stay with them until I could find an apartment of my own.
What would I have done if I had known no one here? However, without the absorption setting, my Hebrew is almost non-existent.
When I moved to my town, I had to change my address at the local Ministry of the Interior.
At the time I had to argue with them because they claimed they could not process me because I was living at the absorption center in Ranaana, a city I have never been to even for a visit, and therefore outside their local jurisdiction.
Briefly, It Became Easier
Finally, after showing my apartment lease, which my ex's cousins had to guarantee before I could rent, and several utility bills in my name, they reluctantly changed my address. Since then, I assumed everything was okay because my identity card shows my current address.
I had no problem obtaining a travel document and passport from my local office.
Today I went to the local national insurance office, equivalent to a Social Security office in the states. I was there to inform them that I no longer had a job and to ask questions about my pension plan. The girl at the front desk spoke English, handed me a form in Hebrew, and gave me a time-stamped numbered ticket with directions to a room where volunteers help illiterates like me.
The volunteer was busy. So I was first in line in front of the door.
The next thing I knew I was being pushed (more like elbowed) out of the way by an older woman who indicated to me she was next. I had already been waiting about 5 minutes.
I showed her my numbered ticket. She went into her handbag and pulled out a lower-numbered ticket.
However, I observed several tickets in her handbag!
She just chose one with a lower number than mine.
Everybody Wants to be First
When I called it to her attention in English, she began to argue with me in Russian!
Besides having several tickets that she did not seem embarrassed to possess, it was very strange because her ticket was a lower number but time-stamped almost 5 minutes after my ticket!
What a balagan (mess), but not unexpected in a bureaucracy. At that point I figured I would let this desperate older woman go before me. I did not want to be further assaulted by her.
Having been both a cop and an attorney, I wanted to neutralize the situation before it escalated and got out of control. It was a good thing I had nothing better to do with my time.
After the volunteer filled out my form, he personally took me to another clerk to process me.
Computers? Why They Never Fib
While discussing the situation and presenting letters and other required documents to the English-speaking clerk at the counter, two other people crowded around me and tried to get the clerk to handle their cases.
She told them she was dealing with me, and they both began to argue with her!
In Israel, it pays for a person to be aggressive, like pushing and elbowing people to get in line or on the bus or train, or yelling louder than the other person and creating a scene.
When the clerk finally got back to me, after first assisting these two rude people, she checked the computer and informed me that at this time she could not process me because I live in Ranaana! It seems that the Israeli computer system still has me living for over two years in the new immigrant absorption center where I never lived.
She told me that I must be living there. The computer says so!
Just as I was once told on a job interview that I must be mistaken about the salary deposited directly into my bank account.
I might be an illiterate in Hebrew, but I do understand English.
I am not so senile that I do not know where I live or how much money I earn.
Luckily my next stop was to pay my city property tax (tenants pay, not the landlords) at the post office so I was able to show the bill to the clerk. That coupled with my identification card convinced her that she could assist me.
Yesterday's bureaucratic romp ended with me being listed as someone with only a high school education because my undergraduate degree from UCLA and juris doctor law degree had not yet been authenticated here.
It seems that several immigrants from Russia not only had falsified papers indicating they were Jewish in order to enter Israel under the Law of Return. But they also falsified academic degrees, some claiming to be physicians while never even finishing high school in Russia. As a result, now all foreign degrees must be verified and approved.
I figure that by the time it takes for my degrees to be authenticated, I will be ready to retire.
L'hitraot. Shachar.
Shachar is the Hebrew name of a California-based attorney and former Los Angeles County deputy sheriff who moved to Israel two years ago.
