Blog #9 – Some Good Signs. Some, Well, Not So ….

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“Leeta”:
September 25, 2011, 12:15 p.m. appointment with Miri at “delpak (counter) #9” – Fourth visit to Misrad HaPnim. I arrived a couple of minutes before my appointment. Since the office had been open for over two hours the “line” out onto the street was short … only about 10 people. Yet for some reason, which was unclear to me, all 10 people were squeezed up against the door shouting at the flustered Ethiopian (Jewish) security guards to let them in. One guard was trying to hold the door shut while the other fended off the verbal assault from those in the line. Afraid I would lose my 12:15 appointment if I didn’t get in, I reached over the cluster of supplicants from behind, held my appointment slip in front of the guard’s face, and explained that I had an appointment in two minutes. He looked at the slip, compared it to a list he had, said nothing to me, and went back to facing off against the desperate little crowd. I waited a minute longer, then repeated that I had an appointment – now – and needed to go in, at which point motioned me in. Apparently when looking at my slip and the appointment list he confirmed that I could go in, but simply had not thought to tell me. Hmmmm. Anyway, at least I was in.

Without a second to spare I ran, sweating, up the stairs and straight to delpak #9. It was exactly 12:15 p.m. Miri was sitting on the other side of the plexiglass, with no one in the seat in front of her. Recalling my previous visit, I knew that supplicants at the Misrad HaPnim are not to sit at the delpak until the staffer directs them to do so. So I stood. And stood. And stood, while Miri busied herself with some documents, and conferred with a colleague. She did not look up. She did not acknowledge my presence. After 5 to 10 minutes Miri said, still not looking up, “don’t stand there.” I understood that this was not an invitation to sit down so I withdrew to the waiting area, knowing that I had, at least, made my timely presence known.

I sat down beside a young European woman in the waiting area, and listened carefully for my name to be called over the public address system, knowing there was probably no margin for error if I missed the call. While I was waiting, a young American guy in a black suit, a well trimmed black beard, and black velvet kipa showed up at delpak #15 directly in front of me. There was already a supplicant seated at the delpak being attended to by a beefy henna-colour-haired woman. The black velvet kipa stood silently behind the supplicant. After several minutes henna-hair said “Ma atta rotseh?” (what do you want). In American English, the black velvet kipa apologized and said he had a 12:15 appointment but was late because he had trouble finding a parking place. Henna-hair replied in English that he should have known that it takes time to find parking and he had now lost his appointment. Henna-hair then returned to dealing with the person seated in front of her. Black velvet kipa stood in silence for a few more minutes, then sat for a few more minutes in the waiting area. He then meekly inched up to Henna-hair again and hesitantly asked if she could still see him. Henna-hair ignored him and Black velvet kipa returned to his seat. At the time my name was called he was still sitting there.

Throughout the time I was seated in the waiting area announcements came over the public address system directing specific people to specific delpakim (counters) – all in rapid-fire Hebrew. Only. Seeing as probably more than half of the people applying for visas were non-Hebrew-speaking foreigners by my estimation, this was not a particularly effective system for communicating. And because the many foreign names were pronounced in heavily accented Hebrew most were completely indiscernible. The European young woman next to me, who had been reading a book, leaned over and asked me in English what they were saying on the loud speaker. I explained. She said her appointment was also at counter #9. I told her that counter #9 in Hebrew was delpak taysha. She said she hoped they hadn’t already called her name. At the time my name was called she was still sitting in the waiting area reading her book.

Before leaving home that morning I went through all my documents to make sure that everything was in order, that I had filled out each of the visa application forms in English and Hebrew, and that I had all the documents demanded by Chani at my previous appointment; among other things, a new crisp and clear letter from our Vancouver Rabbi attesting to our Jewishness and kosher wedding, a crisp and clear scanned copy of our civil wedding certificate (amazingly found by our amazing Vancouver tenants in an unmarked box in our attic), and our original birth certificates.

Upon looking at the wedding certificate, Miri eyed me suspiciously, “Ha’eem ze mekoree?” (is it the original?) Of course it wasn’t - at none of my past visits had anyone ever told me that I needed original documents. I immediately recalled my pervious appointment in which Chani had tossed my letter from Rabbi Acoca aside because, she said, the copy was too blurry to read. Clearly it had not been “mekoree.” Yet she did not say that not only was the letter too blurry to read, it was also not original. Miri then looked at Rabbi Acoca’s letter and asked again, “Ha’eem ze mekoree?” I acknowledged that it was not. Even though, as I said, both Rabbi Acoca’s letter and the marriage certificate were crisp and clear copies - one could even say they were hard to distinguish from an original – Miri was not about to make an exception. No originals, no visas. I would be enjoying at least one more visit to the Misrad Ha’Pnim before getting our visas. At the same time I knew that it would not be a problem to get the originals. Only more time, which I do have on my hands. The bakery is content to have me work on a “volunteer” basis, though the Keren Kayemet legal department, which had offered me a job, is not.

Miri then turned to the forms I had completed, as required, in both English and Hebrew. With one exception. I had inadvertently not filled out my father’s place of birth or Aimee’s mother’s place of birth – in Hebrew. Miri first asked where my dad was born. “Ukraine” I replied. “U-chchchchch-ryen-ah?” she asked. “Ken (yes), Uchryen-ah,” I replied. Miri then asked where Aimee’s mom was born. Not knowing the Hebrew word for Lithuania I hoped that the Hebrew word was simply “Lithuania” with a Hebrew accent – as many words in modern Hebrew are. Alas, no such luck, and Miri did not know the English word - Lithuania. This launched us into a 10 minute discussion in Hebrew as to where Aimee’s mother was born. I described the location with considerable precision. Eventually, Miri asked, “Leetah?” I replied that I didn’t know the word in Hebrew, but that it was possible. To which Miri replied, ‘how could you possible come to the Misrad Ha’Pnim without first asking your wife where her mother was born. I replied that I know where she was born, just that I didn’t know how to say Lithuania in Hebrew. ‘How could you have come to the Misrad Ha’Pnim without asking your wife what the Hebrew word was for her mother’s place of birth.’ Miri looked at me with an expression that said ‘you are the most pathetic, stupid, and incompetent person I have ever met.’ I leaned forward and twisted to look at her computer screen and asked if she could do a map search on the internet for Leetah, and I would be able to tell her from the location whether Lithuania was in fact Leetah. Miri reacted, ‘why are you looking at my computer screen? Who told you you could look at my computer screen?’ Of course I apologized, but there was no taking back the great offence I had caused. I pulled out my cell phone and called Aimee, who was working in the glass studio, and asked her to ask the native Hebrew speakers with her how to say Lithuania in Hebrew. While I was doing this – after 10 minutes of back and forth over Leeta and Lithuania – Miri suddenly waved her hand dismissively and said “lo mishaneh” (it doesn’t matter), and never returned to the Lithuania-Leetah issue again, as if it had never arisen.

Throughout all this I had laid out our four birth certificates (all mekoree) which Chani, at my previous visit, had said I must bring – after not having been told at my even earlier visit that birth certificates were required. Miri, however, did not give them a glance. Apparently, birth certificates were not required after all. Who would have guessed?

By this time I was starting to think that Miri was perhaps a bit of a “Farbissenah” (Yiddish for sour puss). But people can surprise. In the middle of my appointment, a friend of Miri’s stopped by to say hello. Miri’s face immediately lit up, an ear-to-ear smile appeared, and Miri became the warmest most welcoming person one could imagine, without a care in the world, and plenty of time on her hands. Until her friend departed. Back again was the Miri from Leetah. No ear-to-ear smile, no warmth, no welcome.

In the end, though, I should be thankful to Miri. Miri did say, in concluding her audience with me, that she would initiate the application based on the copies I had provided, but that I would have to provide the originals at my next appointment. The only issue was whether I was “zakay l’alot” (entitled to immigrate to Israel as a legitimate Jew) and, since the documents I had presented showed that I was, the work visa should be issued. She said the process would take a month so I would not lose any more time in the end. Miri added that Aimee would also have to attend to receive her visa – a requirement that, naturally, no one had previously mentioned. I asked if the boys would need to attend as well. She said no. And with that, I went to the front counter to arrange my next appointment.

At the front the receptionist asked why I looked so depressed. I replied that I was not depressed. I was just frustrated that I had now come four times and would have to come a fifth time, and that each time I was told to bring something more. She replied that I had no reason to be frustrated - this was all normal and just part of the process. On the one hand she was entirely accurate with respect to the second part of her observation. The assumption that this was all normal, however, was not so self-evident. I walked home, mentally exhausted from this 30 minute Hebrew exchange with Miri and the Misrad Ha’Pnim. Through my fatigue, however, I could still appreciate that – “lamrot ha’kole” (despite everything) - there was indeed some humour to it all.

Signs that Adin’s on Track:

Adin, is not a morning person. One could even say he is a “yanshuf layla” (a night owl). Which means that Adin is not a happy camper in the mornings. Even in Vancouver it is often a struggle for Aimee (primarily) to get him out of bed, out the door, and into his classroom. For much of the first month of school in Israel, “morning” for Adin has carried on through much of the day. Meaning Adin was unhappy about school, unhappy about violin lessons, unhappy about roller hockey which has turned out to be much more challenging than he expected as a veteran ice-hockey player. The only things Adin seemed enthusiastic about were his basketball and soccer chugim (extra-curricular activities). So it has been gratifying to see a few indications of change for the better over the last week or so.

Though always reluctant to go to school in the mornings, Adin regularly stays after school on days that he doesn’t have chugim to play pick-up soccer with his classmates. One day last week he rushed into the apartment about a half hour after school had gotten out. “My friends are having pizza and I need money for pizza too.” We happily gave Adin 10 shekels for pizza and “barad” (slurpy/slushy) and he flew out the door to join his friends. Another afternoon I went to the school to meet up with Adin and walk him home. After sitting by the school gate (which is around the corner of the school building from the soccer/basketball court) for 10 minutes I walked in to track down Adin. As I rounded the school building I saw Adin playing soccer with his class-mates. I stood at a distance and watched. At one point the ball rolled off the court and one of the boys on the opposing team picked up the ball and prepared to throw it back in. Adin stood in front of him to block him from throwing the ball. The boy gave Adin a two-handed push on the chest. Adin took a couple of steps back … then stepped forward and gave the other boy an equally vigorous two-handed push on his chest. Adin’s friend/buddy Daniel then separated them and the game carried on. … Now that’s my boy! In this country if you don’t stand your ground – even in kita beth (second grade) – you will get pushed around. … Last week Adin also went to roller hockey without much complaint, scored a goal and almost scored a few more. Adin also went to violin for the first time without complaint. And had his most successful lesson to date. Adin and Michael (his violin teacher) seem to be developing a happy rapport, and Michael made the wise choice to do the lesson in a smaller room behind a closed door rather than in the living room to reduce distractions. At points I couldn’t tell who was playing. Granted I don’t have the best ear, but even for me I could easily tell the difference in the past between Adin’s playing and that of Michael. One last Adin anecdote; his Hebrew tutor said she was “blown away” that Adin was able to translate an entire children’s story from Hebrew into English last week.

Ezra Keeps His Head Up:

Ezra, unlike Adin, is not one to push back (unless it’s Adin who’s pushing him). First, the positive. Ezra’s an outstanding roller-hockey player. For the first time in his hockey career he’s the dominant player, and improves every time he laces on his skates. Having a great coach here helps a lot. There’s no doubt that being a roller hockey star does much for Ezra’s self-esteem. As does the fact that he’s doing way better at school than another new boy from North America in his class.

Nevertheless, school continues to be a challenge for Ezra - from a social standpoint as much as an academic one. When Ezra returned home from school this past Sunday he said he, “had a really bad day.” Though reluctant to elaborate at first, Ezra told us that three boys in his class had bullied him outside the classroom at the end of recess – pushing, kicking, pulling his ears, and calling him the usual names (tembel, metumtum and chamor - idiot, stupid and donkey) - and then continued to bully him in the classroom until the teacher arrived. When Ezra told his teacher Chana of the attack, she said Ezra should forgive the boys since it was “Tsom G’dalya” (the Fast of G’dalya commemorating the assassination of the last Jewish Governor of Israel under Babylonian rule in 581 B.C.E.). Not being the forgiving types, we immediately wrote a letter to Ezra’s teacher, cc’g the school office and Mark Goldfarb who is the American-born family-school liaison person, asking for action to prevent any further attacks. Mark responded straight away with an email saying he would take immediate steps including sending a letter to the principal. Shortly after that Ezra’s teacher called and – no longer of such a forgiving mind - told us that the school had suspended the boys for one day and would impose longer suspensions if the attacks continued, all the way up to full expulsions. According to Chana, Ezra had not relayed the severity of what had happened, and the boys had claimed that Ezra had hit them as well. But once she read our email, she realized that Ezra had not told her the entire story (and having the email cc'd to the principal helped). Yesterday Ezra reported no attacks and he even helped Roe-ie, one of his attackers with his English homework. Today Ezra took some Shabbat cereal (super sweet) to hand out to his attackers as a peace offering. One of the boys isn't back 2 days later, but Ezra seems to be feeling much more positive about his social life at school.

Through all this, Ezra is showing incredible equanimity. He’s happy to go to school. He’s generally in good spirits when he returns. He’s learning tons of Hebrew, and having lots of fun. Most of the time. When Aimee and I have expressed concerns to others here about what we have chosen to put our kids through, many reply with assurances about how resilient kids are and how quickly they adapt. Ezra, with his spirit, energy, perpetual (almost) smile, is a living, laughing, testament to that.

Rosh HaShana:

The Jewish New Year started early for me. With Rosh HaShana on Wednesday evening, Thursday and Friday, leading directly into Shabbat, all challot for the Yom Tov (holiday) and Shabbat had to be prepared before Rosh HaShana. Which meant Tuesday night. Tuesday evening, after supper at Big Apple Pizza, celebrating the surprise visit of our Alaskan Israeli friend, Asaf, we walked home by way of Rechov Magid (Magid Street) which is the laneway where my bakery is located. Strangely, the bakery, which is normally closed evenings, was fully lit up. We all walked in; the place was hopping with more workers, all Arab, than I had ever seen. The night manager, spotting me at a distance from the back of the bakery, rushed out, frantically, and said they needed me to start working right away. Not overly excited about working a 12 hour shift on no sleep, and still needing to help get the boys to bed, I promised to return at 10:00 p.m., which I did.

Though I didn’t ask, my guess is we tripled our usual output, producing around 3000 round challot. Thankfully, most were not braided, so we were able to shape the challot much faster than on a usual – braid ‘em all – Shabbat. I headed home then next morning at 8:40 a.m., after a 10 1/2 hour shift. And I felt it. But I do love that light-headed, slightly wobbly, feel I always get walking home from work. And the looks I get from people seeing me in my flour covered clothes. Not a common sight in our upscale ‘hood. In between my arrival at 10:00 p.m. and my morning walk home, we worked non-stop. Even the owner Moshe joined us at 1:30 a.m. and got up to his elbows in dough. Which gave me an opportunity to ask him a bit about the history of the bakery. Contrary to what I had read on-line, Magdanyat Pe’er is not in fact the oldest bakery in Jerusalem. That record belongs to Ne’eman Bakery, which is a huge enterprise now with an industrial plant and branches all over. But Pe’er, which is number 2, first opened in 1948, remains in the original location, and has maintained its original family-owned and run quality. The huge cake mixer in which we prepare the challah dough dates back to the bakery’s opening. And from the look of it, still has many years of dough-making-life left in it. Moshe bought the bakery from the original owner in 1972, and kept the first owner on as an employee for a number of years to train him in the operation of the bakery. The building which houses the bakery is much older than the bakery itself and, with its arched and vaulted ceilings, looks to date back to Ottoman Turkish days (i.e. pre-1917)

As always, I was in that adrenalin fueled zone, except more-so, and could keep going as long as I didn’t sit down or stop. Still, on more than one occasion I did fall asleep on my feet and, when I realized I was asleep, shook my head back into consciousness. I’ve read that people can actually perform simple repetitive actions while asleep. Now I know that to be true. By 6:00 a.m. the store in the front of the bakery was already buzzing with customers loading up on 4 days worth of challot. With hungry guests for Rosh Hashana, I grabbed 6 challot on the way home. Later in the day Aimee returned for two more, just to be sure.

For Rosh HaShana we hosted – and fed, and fed, and fed – nephew Raphy and four of his friends who are spending the year in Israel on the Habonim Workshop program for kids who have just graduated from high school. Ezra and Adin loved hanging out with Raphy and the “teen-agers” and Raphy and the teen-agers were great sports hanging out with Ezra and Adin. The six of them spent many hours over the course of three days playing Hearts, Sorry, Rat-a-tat-tat, and outside, catch (baseball) and Jackpot (with a football). Raphy and his “Habo” friends seemed to have unlimited patience and time for the boys. The teen-agers – between eating, sleeping and hanging out with each other, and with Ezra and Adin – explored the city. Or at least those parts of the city that were open on Rosh HaShana and Shabbat. The teenagers youthful idealism took Aimee and I straight back to our “movement” days. It’s remarkable how little some things change. In the case of Habonim this includes the focus on collectivist “kupa” thinking and ideology. It’s heartwarming to see that there are still pockets of idealism in our cynical world. And happily, that idealism included helping with food-prep, clean-up, and leaving their room in an orderly state when they departed. Ezra and Adin could do well to emulate much of how Raphy and his “chevra” (group of friends) conducted themselves during their stay.

We did manage to drag Ezra and Adin away from Raphy and friends for trips to shul (synagogue) on both mornings of Rosh HaShana, as well as on Shabbat – both Friday evening and Saturday morning. Except for the Friday evening Kabbalat Shabbat service, we went to the Yedidya Congregation every time. For Kabbalat Shabbat we attended the nearby shul in the ground floor of the boys’ school. We seem to have gravitated to Yedidya as our shul of choice, and intend to go there again for Yom Kippur. Yedidya has a nice combination of native Israelis and Anglos, and is the congregation most like a North American style synagogue which serves as both a place for prayer and as a centre of community. The traditional Israeli synagogue is primarily only a place to pray. Yedidya also works well for the boys since they have friends there from school, roller hockey and the local pool. Plus there’s a children’s program, a playground outside, and plenty of sugar treats. For Aimee and I, we like the friendliness of the place, the mix of Hebrew and English, and the modern Orthodox orientation which pushes the envelope of modern Orthodoxy without any apparent sense of narcissistic self-importance. We get no sense of an “aren’t we special” attitude that sometimes can accompany such an orientation.
And we love the full, enthusiastic, and melodic participation of the entire congregation in the prayers. Though the prayer leaders do an excellent job, sometimes they seem almost redundant since the congregation itself carries the prayers themselves without the need for anyone to lead them.

News Flash: I just received my end of term exam results from my Ulpan by text - “es-em-es” (whatever the hell that stands for). To my great shock (really) I was kicked up to level “vav.” Which is the highest ulpan level. I think the “hay” (second highest level) instructor couldn’t bare the thought of another term with me and somehow found a loophole to push me up. Either that or a computer glitch in the office. Whatever the reason (and it couldn’t be that I belong in “vav” since I sure don’t feel that I know enough), I’m quite pleased - I always aspired to be a “vavnick” and here I am. The new term will start at the beginning of November so I’ll have to work hard on my Hebrew in the interim so I don’t embarrass myself.

Aimee lights up Givat Ze’ev: Aimee keeps working at the torch in Givat Ze’ev and is starting to produce some impressive glass-work. Good enough to sell in my opinion. Ten more months on the torch for Aimee and I should be able to retire. Go girl go!!!!!

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Photos

Arbutus trees are actually native to Israel - really!
Fred and I try and go on at least one "date" each week while the boys are at school. We drove to the Israel Museum this day to learn that it is closed Tuesdays. The Botanical Garden was our default location - very peaceful and it even has Arbutus trees.

"HaMamlechet HaHalva" - Oldest, and best, Halva store in Jersualem
This weeks date spot - Mahane Yehuda, the outdoor market, followed by a 90 minute yoga class.

Comments

[Hodie]

I can smell the challot from Magdanit Pe\'er from here! You blog has stimuated the \"memory\" cue of my olfactory senses and I am there, walking down the alley and down the stairs to the close little bakery, thoughtfully choosing my whole wheat challot--and the rest of my goodies for Shabbat. As to the boys. Sounds like they\'re right on track. Study hard in \"vav,\" they\'ll be leapfrogging over you by Channukah! Tzom kal. G\'mar chatimah tova!