The Ministry of the Interior: A Great Miracle Happened Here

It's not Chanuka yet but I noticed last week that the stores are beginning to sell dreidels. In other words, it is almost one of those times in the Jewish calendar when miracles are in the air. Most of you already know the miracle on which the dreidel is based. Quick update for those who don't: After a war with Antiochus and the Greeks (160 BCE), the leaders of the Jewish rebel army, the Hasmoneans, only found enough pure oil to keep the menorah in the Temple burning for one day but there was a miracle and the oil lasted for eight days until more could be made. In a country with a history chock full of miracles, this was impressive.

In case anyone thinks that the era of miracles in Israel is long since over (excluding the big whopper in 1948), last week I experienced a modern day Israeli miracle.

For the past two weeks I have gone to the Misrad HaPnim (The Ministry of the Interior) an embarrassing number of times in an effort to renew my daughter's expiring Israeli passport .

• Visit number one: I arrived at a time that, according to their website, the office would be open, but it was not.

• Visit number two: Later the same day when the guard who told me that they were opening later said the office would be open. However, upon arrival I noticed a hand written sign that had not been posted there earlier in the day, that stated that they would in fact, not be opening that afternoon. When I asked the guard why, he told me in Hebrew: "there was a change." A change of what? I still don't know.

• Visit number three: I arrived to find about 50 other frustrated people who had been trying to get in to the office for the past few days, all rushing the door when it opened. Although the scrum at the entrance looked daunting, I managed to manoeuvre through the crowd and get to the information desk. The woman there told me that if I had all the paper work and the necessary photos I could just take them to the Passport window. WRONG. I made my way to the special Passport window only to find out that it was all a waste of time if my daughter wasn't there with me. "Why do you need my daughter?" I asked. "She's in school and I have all the signed forms, her photos and her old passport -- and the credit card. What's she going to add to all of this?" I still don't know the answer to that question.

• Visit number four: With my daughter in tow at 7:30 am, we arrived at the Ministry. Have any of you been stupid enough to take a 15-year-old anywhere at 7:30 am? They may be moving but they are surely not awake.

That's when the miracle began although I didn't immediately recognize it.

There was a small group of people waiting for the office to open. No one was talking and no one was pushing. They were all just milling around. Then someone pointed to an ad-hoc sign-up sheet tacked to a bulletin board on the outer wall of the building. I realized that all that calm was because those who had arrived prior to me and my daughter had signed their names on the list and were confident that there was no need for anxiety. For a minute I could have sworn I wasn't in Israel. All that civility was unfamiliar to me.

My daughter signed her name and then leaned on the wall listening to her iPod.  I, on the other hand, started making mental notes of the faces of everyone in front of us. I did not have the slightest confidence that the list would be worth the paper it was written on once the doors opened. And I was already shifting into combat mode. 

My daughter looked at me and said: "You know you have a crazed look in your eyes like you are going to attack someone?" I didn't know that, but the news didn't surprise me or concern me.

At promptly 8:00 am the doors opened and the guard came outside to begin checking bags before people entered. Without a word from the crowd, he noticed the list, yanked it from the bulletin board and began calling out names according to their numerical order. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

No one tried to jump the line. No one pushed. No one complained. No one pleaded for special consideration. Everyone just lined up according to the list and took their turn.

If you live in your average western civilized country you are probably wondering when the miracle in this story is going to begin. And that's the great thing about miracles; you don't always fully appreciate them in the moment unless you are there.

Weddings: A Uniquely Israeli Problem

Most Jews assume that if they move to Israel they have increased the likelihood that their children will marry other Jews exponentially. That's true. And personally I think that is a good thing. But there's problem with Jewish Israeli weddings that Jews outside of Israel have never considered --probably because they are too busy worrying about keeping their children Jewish (or maybe they aren't worried enough but that will not move my story forward so forget it.).

The problem is geographical. Yes, you read that correctly. It's all about the location.

If you are a Jew living outside of Israel, this is not even on your worry radar. But after several years of multi-wedding weeks, it is on mine -- and I know I am not alone.

Here's the issue:

Since there are lots of Jews in Israel, we can let our marriage-age children wander hither and yon, never really worrying about the religion of the people with whom they come in contact. Chances are pretty damn good that any interesting/desirable person your child meets will also be a Jew. So far, so good.

But what happens when your child comes home with his or her potential mate and that person's family lives in The Golan, Metula, Jerusalem, Efrat or Beersheva -- and you live in the center of the country? They announce that they are going to get married and that is pretty much when the first white elephant enters the room; and it's name is Wedding Location.

Here are a few possible scenarios for what happens next. Keep in mind that everyone is trying to be on their best behaviour with the "new people":

1. The person from Central Israel caves like a deck of cards at the first mention of this issue and agrees to get married in some almost-God-forsaken corner of the country. (It can't be a totally God-forsaken place because this is Israel and there are no God-forsaken places.)
2. One or both of the parties are hell bent on getting married in the holiest city on Earth (hint: not Ra'anana)
3. One family has more effective negotiating skills, and it is never the family from Central Israel  -- those urbanites are way too soft to negotiate with the hearty types who live on the periphery, possibly with goats.
4. Everyone wants to make nice and be fair so the couple agree to get married half way between their parents' homes. Unfortunately one half of the couple is from Mitzpe Ramon.
5. Somebody plays the "my extended family of 5000 kibbutznicks won't come if it is in a big urban center" card. (Guilt is a very powerful Jewish tool.)
6. The couple want to get married in some place that no one they know has ever considered getting married, making it a very unique/hip venue that has not been selected for its proximity to central-Israel civilization or its sanity.

Next thing you  know, a location not-of-your-choosing has been selected and you have to send invitations to the peanut gallery of people who were previously your friends. They are only too happy to give you their input.

• "You want us to drive where? I have never even heard of that place."
• "Who the hell came up with THAT idea?"
• "Didn't you consider saying no to that brilliant plan?"
• "I really like you all but I am not driving two hours for your (son/daughter's) wedding."
• "Are you offering a hotel room with that invitation?"
• "If we have to drive two hours to get there, we are going to have to leave by 10 to get home."

In the end, almost everyone shows up and has a good time. There I said it -- but please note that that will not stop me from complaining for at least two weeks leading up to any such event. And because a greater power loves destroying any ridiculous plans I concoct, I am willing to bet that now that I have put this on electronic paper and told my children that they can only marry people who grew up within a 30 km radius of our house, they are all going to go out and do the exact opposite. 

In other words ... See you at my kids weddings in Beersheva?

Sometimes the strangest things happen 150 meters from home

Everything went off the rails as I was in the final minutes of preparation for Shabbat this past week. I couldn't find the shoes I wanted. I couldn't find all my electric timers. I never put on make-up or  a pair of earrings. The kitchen was messy so I had to do a quick clean-up. The extra leaf for the dining room table wasn't sliding into place as expected. Really nothing catastrophic but enough to send me into a tailspin.

I managed to get to synagogue. Late. Very late. My seat of choice was already occupied as were most seats in the sanctuary. I am usually one of the early arrivers and that is the way I like it. This past week I had to search for a prayer book (thanks Sher) and a seat (thanks Pam) and my reading glasses (still searching). People who expect me in my usual spot, ultimately noticed me while they were gazing around aimlessly, and mouthed the words: "what are you doing way back there?" Damn good question.

But there is always something good that comes out of a bad situation. From my new, much higher vantage point, I could see the entire women's section without visual interference. Since I didn't have my reading glasses I couldn't read along. And since my husband and sons couldn't see me, I had the freedom to mentally wonder off without sensing their disapproval or seeing their hand motions for me to either stop talking or pay attention.

That's when I noticed a young woman on the other side of the floor wearing a white sweater with the letters WTF emblazoned on the chest in about 1000 point type. No, I am not exaggerating. I didn't want to jump to conclusions because I was sans glasses so I asked my friend: "Does that sweater say what I think it says?"

She automatically said no because it was pretty incredible, but at second glance (she is as blind as I am), she changed her mind. "Wow, I think it does."

 Now, I have been known to go out in my pyjamas and without brushing my hair. I could even be accused of wearing socks with flip flops on occasion. But who the heck wears at sweater with the letters WTF the size of a small child, to synagogue? Fearing that I was becoming an old fogy, I had to let it go -- even though I wanted to go to the other side of the sanctuary for a better look.

I went home and forgot all about it until the next morning, when I was back in synagogue and the next weird thing happened.

In the middle of Torah reading, some kid -- about 11 years old -- mozied up onto the bima (or the altar segment of the sanctuary if you aren't Jewish) while someone was reading the Torah and started to play catch with himself against the walls of the cabinet that holds to Torah scrolls. For those who don't see a problem: this is a big no-no. I mean a really big no-no.

Once again, no one reacted. And we have a synagogue where people are known to over react for lots of reasons (most, not good reasons). I had my glasses this time so I knew I could see what was going on, but there wasn't a peep from the otherwise overly vocal crowd. I was sure I was losing my mind.

I moved into a seat near a friend of mine who has five boys and asked her: "Am I the only one who sees a kid playing catch on the bima? Am I the only one who thinks that's a bit odd?"

She stretched for a better look and said: "yeah, but he isn't bothering anyone and I don't recognize him so he is obviously a visitor who doesn't know any better." And that was that. That will teach me to ask someone with five boys -- they apparently need to be in a burning building before they sense trouble.

"Am I being an old fogy?" I asked her. "Yeah," she said and then went back to her prayer book.

And with that, I realized that some weeks it is better to stay home. If you begin Shabbat on the wrong foot, there is no where to go but down ... and apparently you have to go there alone.

Immigrants on the move

When I was a thoughtless teenager, I remember making fun of the car loads of immigrants off on day trips. The families were larger than the number of available seats in their cars but that did not stop them from cramming everyone in and hitting the open road (this was Canada after all). I never said anything out loud but man oh man, was I an effective eye roller.

Well, the chickens have come home to roost and I recently found myself in a similar situation. Granted, we had several cars, but it was Hol Ha'moed Sukkot and since the kids were off school, etc... we headed out with approximately 40 of our immigrant friends on a mini vacation to Ashkelon.

Most of us do not have family in Israel with whom to spend our holidays so over time we have become a family unit of our own. Frankly, I would probably choose to vacation with these people even if we had family nearby -- these people are way more fun and I like them all!

This year, we decided to go south as a show of support for the merchants who had experienced such a difficult summer thanks to the constant missile attacks from Hamas. Plus, the beaches near Ashkelon are excellent, so it was an easy decision.

We stayed in little guest houses (with 5-star hotel prices) at a kosher kibbutz called Ein Tzurim, half way between Ashkelon and Ashdod. We've been there before because they have the largest sukkah we have ever seen and since eating in the sukkah is a big part of the holiday, the World's Largest Sukkah seemed like a good starting place.

The problem was that the WLS was only open for breakfast and that left another one to two meals a day that required comparable sukkah space.

Imagine the mixed reactions of the hostess of a lovely restaurant who was both thrilled and downright distressed when we called to make dinner reservations for 29 in the sukkah our first night in the area. After some intense negotiations she arranged for 18 seats in the sukkah for the men (who have an obligation to eat there) and a few of the women.

We arrived all at once with everyone loudly speaking English, which is comparable to arriving naked in terms of receiving the unwanted attention from other diners.

Once we were all seated (yes, an organizational event in itself), then came time for the ordering-by-family group. No one wants to figure out the bill for 29 people on a full stomach. Trust me, we tried that one year and I personally ended up with a bill for close to 500 shekels for two shwarma.

The second night we were 48 people so we decided to approach the dinner arrangements differently.

First we had to agree on a place to eat. You know the saying "two Jews, three opinions"? Well, multiply that by 12 and I can't even begin to count the number of opinions that resulted. First we had to decide where to eat -- Sderot, Netivot, Ashkelon or Ashdod. Everyone was standing in a loose circle in a corner of the kibbutz, Googling restaurants on their phones and calling to inquire about sukkah availability. Things I now know: never assume that a kosher restaurant has a) a sukkah or b) room for 48 people.

Next, everyone was trying to sell their restaurant recommendation to the group. Who wants a dairy meal? Who wants meat? Who wants a light meal? Who was really hungry? Who was prepared to drive for 40 minutes? Who was prepared to drive 30 minutes? Who was not?

In the end, yes, you probably guessed it, we ended up at the same restaurant as the previous night. The problem was that despite management's insistence that if we were returning we needed to contact them by noon, it was now 7:00 pm and we were driving there without any such warning. I would like to say that they were happy to see us, but they were not.

I would also like to say that I was happy to be there -- but I was not. I don't like meat and the last thing I wanted was two meat dinners in a row. I struck out on my own in search of anything but meat. It was a great plan but it totally failed in the first attempted execution. I resigned myself to returning to the original restaurant.

No sooner had we rearranged all the indoor tables to suit the needs of the women (all the men were squashed into the sukkah) in our group, then my friend Debbie came running in waving a menu from another restaurant. It was dairy. It was nearby. We promptly and noisily departed (for light dairy food). You can imagine how happy the original restaurant was at this point.

Now we were just the women. The new restaurant would not agree to our family billing plan from the previous night. Immigrants or not, we argued with them like real Israelis until we simply exhausted them into submission.

Then there were all the little girls amongst us who could not decided what to eat -- even after they had ordered. Let's just say that there were several order revisions before the waitress finally got our orders to the kitchen, and one revision after that! Order envy is a strong motivator with the under-10 set.

Somehow we all finally ate, paid, tipped and got out of there alive. No small feat.

I don't think I am exaggerating when I say that Ashkelon was glad to see the end of us. And it goes to show that no matter where you are, immigrants receive eye rolls from the locals. They may arrive in more cars and they may have more money to pay for their meals, but at the end of the day, they do things differently and well out of the comfort zone of the locals.

Remind me: What was the Fast for?

I jumped out of bed this morning ready to get on with my day and my life. All that soul cleansing yesterday left me many pounds lighter. I grabbed my cell phone to get a quick overview of what was going on in my neighbourhood and further afield. And that's when I read the bad news in the Jerusalem Post:

According to Iran's Chief of Flowy Bedroom Attire and Perpetual Hair Washing: " Contrary to their foolish aims, the Zionist regime and its supporters are very close to collapse and total extinction." Sheesh, was I pissed. My first thought was "and I wasted all that time yesterday apologizing for a bucket load of sins -- many of which I didn't even understand -- when I should have been living it up in anticipation of the eternal void?"

Now I had no idea how to plan my day. Originally, I had intended to walk the dog, go to Ikea to get a new blind for my pergola, go to the grocery store for more cooking supplies, teach a few English classes, and whip up a few challot before bed. Since we're on the verge of total collapse and extinction that list now sounds a little overly optimistic -- not to mention, totally pointless.

So, here is how I am going to spend my day instead:

• I am still going to walk my dog -- why should she die without a good bowel movement?
• Then, I am going to email everyone I know and apologize for any thing I did to offend them in the past. I will be hoping that they forgive me, but frankly, does it matter under the circumstances? (Oh yeah, I sort of did that a few days ago when life looked so promising.... so never mind)
• I am not going to Ikea -- why leave any additional money in the pockets of anyone from Sweden since yesterday Sweden decided to be the first country to officially stab Israel in the back.?
• I may still go to the grocery store because my kids are going to be "starving to death" right up until "the end". I guess there is no point in telling them that starving to death is the least of their concerns right now.
• Then I am going to have a cup of full-caffeine coffee, a Skor bar, an ice cream, a slice of pizza, cream brule, fettuicini alfredo, and any other food item that I love but deny myself on a daily basis for health reasons. 
• I am going to write a quick note to the two families having weddings this week to tell them that I will not be attending (neither will they, but it is not my place to give them the bad news).
• I may try to get my 1961 group together to see if they want to move our trip to the Gaza border up by 34 years. I really don't want to leave this world without sticking it to Hamas in the only way I can.

I am sure that more last minute things will strike me as the day wears on so please do not consider this a final list. If you think of anything else, let me know. Many of you will be too busy getting ready for your own end-of-times since you either live in Israel or one of the few countries that officially support Israel on paper.

I actually feel bad for those countries right now. Most of your countries don't like Israel, but up until the Bearded Iranian of the Perpetual Pyjamas announced that the party was over, it has been a wise military/strategic decision to support the only Middle Eastern democracy for thousands of miles. Ironically all your citizens who never liked Israel to begin with are going to die right along side us because the guys they support don't see them as the true friends that they are. 

Maybe some of those anti-Israel/anti-Semites can still get to the airport in time to catch the last plane to one of those delightful countries before it is too late. I am sure they would be happy to have you. That way you can get up every morning until the natural end of your time looking forward to a day of grocery shopping, errands, coffee drinking and the likes without any Zionist entities to ruin your day.

Oh right, did I mention that it will be a hijab-free-day in Iran, before Zionist entity goes anywhere.