Sacred and Insane

I’ve been having quite some trouble getting into our apartment lately, all due to a strikingly peculiar feline that seems to have become, over the past few months, a permanent resident of our building. About two months or so ago, Ravid and I first took note of the sluggish, haggard creature, clad in disheveled fur and slumped over top of the building’s doorstep. Due to his one-and-a-half ears, we immediately named him Van Gogh.

Van Gogh on Nov. 28, drooling, and seemingly quite ill.

Until recently, Van Gogh would sit idly on the building entrance’s welcome mat, curled into a ball and not making a sound – while drool often seeped out of his mouth. You could step right over him and he wouldn’t know the difference. For a while, I suspected he had rabies, but at this point I’m doubting that assessment, as he most definitely could not still be alive if that was the case.

In the past week or so, however, rather than further embracing his familiarly sluggish state, Van Gogh has taken to following us, as soon as we enter the building. So much so that he chases us downstairs to our front door, blocking the entrance. The only way to get into the apartment sometimes is if we quickly scare him off by a noise like that of dangling keychains, and then slipping inside before he can notice the trick. Right after, however, Van Gogh crouches at the foot of our door and moans loudly for about 45 minutes time, until I suppose he moves back up to his building entrance stance.

Van Gogh two weeks ago, still rather lifeless.

I’m not quite sure what to do about our new feral feline friend, as he could most certainly be diseased, but calling animal control would presumably result in his death. I mean, I know wild cats are pretty much the norm in Jerusalem, but when they moan and circle you and try to get inside your apartment, that’s somewhat of a different story.

On the eve of my second birthday in Israel, I’ve realized that tomorrow will be my first birthday ever that will occur on either a school or work day (last year, my birthday fell on Shabbat). Around me in Jerusalem, I see no signs of midnight celebrations or champagne toasts that we were all so accustomed to growing up — and no lingering Christmas decorations, the smell of pine and holly still fresh from the week before’s festivities. That is, of course, excluding the hummus eateries in the old city of Yaffo, which are still boasting giant blow-up Santa figures and fake-snowing plastic trees, an oddity and even wonder to an Israeli eye but a mundane lawn decoration to a family in New Jersey.

It is this time of year that I truly see — and even embrace — the differences between the two cultures, the two nationalities of which I am a part, and I remember how lucky I am to have this opportunity, to be able to be a citizen of two different worlds and still love both. As my boyfriend Ravid pointed out, in the just over one-and-a-half years I’ve been here, I have been able to accomplish much more than I expected, and have immersed myself in exciting work and cultivated lasting relationships. But even still, I have not foregone the old, and am grateful to Skype and Google Chat for maintaining my American friendships and family bonds. Though I am the first to admit that there are some people I with whom I’d like to keep in much better touch.

I really hope that 2012 proves to be an amazing year as well, an exciting beginning to the 28th year of my life (that’s what happens when you turn 27, technically) in which I hope there will continue to be mostly happy times to share. And to Israel: despite my occasional — or not so occasional — digs at the ridiculousness of your bureaucracy, transportation system and quirky mannerisms, I thank you for making me still feel welcome in my now not-so-new home.

Happy New Year!

Thank you to everyone who tuned in for the first episode.  In response to requests for more posts, I present you with episode two of “The New Olah.”  I do not anticipate blogging an episode detailing the events from every week, but since the first month was so eventful (mostly thanks to all the government bureaucracy associated with aliyah), I decided I would give a weekly play by play.  Sharon and I played tennis on Friday and realized that our posts may not always put Israel in the best light (in other words, could potentially discourage people from making aliyah).  So before episode two begins, I will put out this DISCLAIMER: Overall, aliyah is amazing.  I genuinely love it here.  But let’s be honest, the bureaucratic and other stories poking fun at Israeli society are way more entertaining (and after all, I would like people to actually ready this).  I’m also sure that there is a lot of bureaucracy in the states to become a citizen, but fortunately, I’ve never had to deal with it.  I’ll try to also toss in a few more “Israel moments” I have when I’m overcome with such joy and gratitude that I live here.

Driving: A New Year calls for new opportunities, experiences, and…in the case of driving for the first time in Israel, risks.  Seeing as how I moved here I thought it was necessary to finally be brave enough to drive here.  I consider myself a pretty brave, adventurous person (I have been bungee jumping, sky diving, etc.) and yet, I was petrified to get behind the wheel here.  I was more nervous driving for the first time in Israel than I was driving for the first time when I was 15.  As soon as I learned to expect the unexpected (including having a motorcyclist cut me off and then drive next to the car in front of me and bang on the hood when he realized he knew the driver…only in Israel), I was fine.  Hopefully converting my American license to an Israeli one won’t be a huge nightmare (especially now that I have Sharon’s tips: See blog post about Misrad HaRishui if you also need advice)….but I’ll leave that fun project for next summer.  First things first, I had to officially become Israeli and get a teudat zehut.

Misrad Hapnim: The first of many stops on the journey of immigrating to Israel.  Thanks to the Jewish agency/NBN, I had a 9am appointment set up for me with Elbaz.  After acquiring every visa available to me, I know to bring EVERYTHING with me.  So I show up with a massive folder containing every document since birth (including, but not limited to: birth certificate, official Rabbi’s letter declaring that I’m Jewish, copies of every visa and document I’ve filled out the past 3 years I’ve been in Israel, old passports, documentation of every entry/exit date in the past 3 years, 15 passport photos, the original letter declaring Abba renouncing his and my Israeli citizenship, and about 5 copies of each of these documents–did I mention I also had the kitchen sink with me?).  As I pass through security, I thought: Elbaz, here I come.  The security guards sent me to the third floor where supposedly, I would find Elbaz.  But of course, that would be way to easy.  Little did I know I had to earn my teudat zehut (ID card).  If I had known they were going to make me participate in a stair master class, I would have at least stretched before hand.  After waiting 20 minutes in line, I was told to go downstairs to find Elbaz, who (of course) made me wait another 20 minutes because she was meeting with someone (clearly appointment times in this country mean nothing).  When she was finally ready for me and I explained that NBN sent me, she gave me the “what the hell do you want from me” look and I immediately knew she had no idea how to help me or why I was sent to her.  Just to clarify, all I needed was for someone to change my teudat zehut from a “temporary resident” status to a “citizen”–I got to keep the same number, all my details were already in the computer, just needed that one line changed.  Elbaz sent me back upstairs for me to wait in line again to get a new number only to be told by that person that I needed to go to the back room for “special cases.”  I was naively excited that there was only one person in front of me as I sat there for 45 minutes (luckily passing the time having a very interesting conversation with a blind Arab who told me his life story).  As I explained to the woman who was supposed to be the “expert” on special cases what I needed she too, proceeded to give me the “what do you want from me” look and told me that Ilana knows how to do it.  ”Great! Where is she?”  She isn’t here today.  Shocker.  And this is when sweet Becky turned into an aggressive Israeli who went on about how there is no way only one person in this entire building knows how to do it.  It’s really not rocket science (in fact, after seeing that they literally glue stick my passport photo to a piece of paper to make the teudat zehut, I was convinced that even the other Ilana–my 6-month-old niece–could do it).  She called back down to Elbaz and directed me back downstairs to her, who looked at me like, “What are you still doing here?  It’s been 2 hours–why don’t you just give up and go home?” and pointed to the last kiosk where Nina was sitting.  Of course she asked me for papers that I was told by someone upstairs that I would not have to fill out.  She handed me over the 2 papers (which took me about 2 minutes to fill out) and went outside for her 20 minute cigarette break.  Nina and I became good friends once I realized that she seemed like she actually knew what she was doing.  Clearly she thought we were best friends seeing as how she looked at my passport photos and said, “Mami, your hair looks so much cuter curly” (my hair happened to be straight that day).  Well thank you Nina for your hair styling advice.  I could see the light at the end of the tunnel as Nina handed me the final document and sent me back upstairs to finally make my tuedat zehut.  I felt like I had won the golden ticket as the woman handed me my ID card with my curly-hair passport photo glue-sticked to the corner like a kindergarten art project.  Success, now on to Misrad Haklita!

Misrad Haklita: Major failure.  After a few hours at Misrad Hapnim I ventured up the street to Misrad Haklita in hopes of getting my teudat olah (the document needed before you can receive any of your aliyah benefits).  I begged NBN/Jewish agency to make an appointment for me before I arrived and attempted to call and make one for myself (of course, unsuccessfully because nobody answered) for fear of receiving the dreaded phrase: “achrei hachagim (after the holidays)” if I waited until I got to Israel.  I stepped up to the desk proudly displaying my new teudat zehut only to be told (wait for it….you guessed it!) we only have an appointment in two weeks “achrei hachagim.”  After much pleading & arguing, the best I could do was to be put on the wait list for cancelations.  On the plus side, it meant more time with Abba setting up the apartment and spending time with family.

Partyyyyy!!! Like I said in my last post, my family and friends here make it all worthwhile.  Abba and I spent the rest of the week enjoying time with family who truly make us feel at home.  We had a lot of fun with our cousins in Kochav Ya’ir and Tel Aviv (Nevei Tzedek) and relaxed on the beach with ice cream (which was well deserved after all the balagan!  I made sure Abba got in beach time during his trip because he always tells me that if he moves back to Israel it won’t be because of Zionism, but rather because you are never that far from the beach…clearly, I have an agenda!).  I also got to celebrate at Ariella and Jonathan’s wedding (mazel tov!) and at my own party the following night.  My parents are so thoughtful and generous and organized an aliyah party at my cousin’s cafe on the namal in Tel Aviv (yes–I have a cousin who does everything in this country).  Unfortunately, mom couldn’t come this trip because she had to help Tammy and Etan with Ilana, but I am really grateful she helped organize the party even from Virginia and excited for when she visits.  I am so lucky that I got to celebrate my aliyah with family and friends.  Despite being a very outgoing person, I get nervous speaking in front of groups (especially in Hebrew!).  But I stood up there and spoke from my heart about how excited I am to be here.  When Abba introduced me he said that Sabba always wanted to come back to Israel, but never had the opportunity.  I’m so grateful that the opportunity presented itself for me to come back home.  One of my cousins got up and spoke on behalf of the family which made me feel so welcomed and supported.  It doesn’t matter that my family here are more “distant” cousins (2nd, 3rd, etc cousins) because they truly care about me and are there if I need them.  I was so happy that some of my friends were able to come from Jerusalem to celebrate with me and can’t wait for many more celebrations in Israel with everyone in the future.  I constantly feel in Israel that everyone is one big extended family so it’s easy to feel right at home.

Yom Kippor: Yom Kippor in Israel has a special energy that is hard to describe.  I love the chagim in Israel and really feel the holiday spirit.  I was excited to spend Yom Kippor in Jerusalem with Abba (who hadn’t been to Israel for YK since he studied at Hebrew U for the year in 1970!).  On Yom Kippor, there are no cars on the street (even secular people do not drive).  Instead, the streets are filled with kids on bikes and people walking to synagogue in the middle of the street.  There is a calm, peaceful, quiet feeling that really sets the mood for the holiest day of the year.  There is beautiful singing coming from all the synagogues and people wishing each other “chatimah tovah.”  I really feel part of Am Yisrael here and am happy that I got to celebrate and start off the new year in my new home.

Look to the post that precedes this one. for an introduction to this blog’s newest guest character, Becky Haendel, who will be guest-writing on occasion about her own current Israel immigration experience. While not the “secular” Jew that I describe myself to be in the website header, she is my very dear friend and has certainly delved into the Sacred and Insane that defines Israel, and more specifically, defines Jerusalem. She presents yet another perspective of a not-so-cookie-cutter immigrant to this country. So welcome, Becky, and b’chatzlacha b’aretz! (good luck in Israel!)

Although I regular sent email updates when traveling the past few years, this is my first official blog post (thanks Sharon for setting me up to be a guest blogger!).  It’s kind of hard to know where to begin to summarize the first month of aliyah when ever day is so eventful and crazy (or as Abba and I decided, a live unscripted endless version of Seinfeld).  As Lisi put it so well, you just can’t make up stories this good.  Since so many people have been asking about my experiences and I have a little time before I start classes on Sunday, I will do my best to sum up some of the highlights (I’ll break it down by episodes/weeks).  I am beginning to think my calling here is to start a reality TV show about olim (new immigrants).  I suppose it’s good to have back up options in case the clinical psychology thing doesn’t work out (please consult me before releasing my “script” to any producers).

WEEK 1:

What better place to begin than with some classic Israeli bureaucracy (in other words, the story of my life here).  I moved here with the intention of studying clinical psychology and not Israeli bureaucracy, but little did I know that I would have the opportunity to conduct one large psychological case study on how the government functions (potential master’s thesis topic?!).  Here are a few of my favorite highlights from week 1 (feel free to skip over the government offices if they bring up too many traumatic memories for you):

“Greetings”/Misrad Haklitah at the Airport: When Nefesh b’nefesh (NBN) went over the procedure of what to do once I landed they told me I would be greeted and taken to misrad haklita at the airport.  After hearing Sharon’s traumatic story about being putting in a detention room for over an hour upon arriving (see her post for more details), I was very skeptical about this alleged “greeting.”  When I asked NBN if I could have a contact number or information about what to do if the representative didn’t show up (and explained what happened to Sharon), he proudly told me: “We have a  90% success rate.”  Really?!!  And you are proud of that?  It doesn’t take master’s level statistics to conclude that their success rate isn’t that high considering I was also not greeted at the airport.  My new amazing roommate, Abigail, made up for the lack of greeting at the airport with a much nicer welcoming: a “bruchim ha’baim” (welcome) sign on our door and a honey cake with a note waiting for my dad and me

Luckily, I had NBN send me directions of what to do “just in case” I wasn’t greeted and had a picture with a big circle around the phone I had to find right before passport control to call Misrad Haklita.  If you want a fun scavenger hunt next time you are Ben Gurion airport, I recommend trying to find it (I can send you the “map” to help you find the prize).  I was warned ahead of time that they wouldn’t be able to help me because I was a “special case” (a term I’ve learned to embrace in every government office here).  I just savored the sweetness of not having to deal with Israeli bureaucracy that day and walked through the Israeli “line” as the newest Israeli citizen.

Scheduling my Misrad Hapnim (Ministry of the Interior) Appointment: I feel like the past month this office has become my new home away from home.  NBN usually helps new immigrants get a teudat zehut (ID card) and teudat olah (immigrant certificate) at the airport, but because I was on an A1 temporary resident visa last year and already had a teudat zehut, they weren’t able to help me.  In the past 3 years I have been on a tourist, student, work, and temporary resident visa so by the time I arrived on an aliyah visa (or as Noah put it: hitting a grand slam), I consider myself an expert on acquiring visas and dealing with government institutions.  I have been contacted by many Americans inquiring about all different types of visas and seem to become famous as the “go to girl” on these matters (another potential job if the other 2 plans fall through).  Knowing that misrad hapnim would probably tell me to come back in a month “achrei hachagim” (after the holidays),  I begged the Jewish agency/NBN to set up my first meeting at Misrad Hapnim so that I could start the long process of endless paperwork.  I made aliyah on Monday, Sept. 26 (best day ever!) and requested to have the meeting on Tuesday since the offices would be closed on Wed. (erev Rosh Hashanah), Thurs & Friday (Rosh Hashanah) and Sat. (Shabbat).  Of course it would be too easy to automatically be put into “the system” when entering the country  and I was told I had to be in the country for 48 hours before I could meet them.  My appointment was scheduled for the following Monday.  As annoying as it was that I had to wait an entire week to even begin the process, it was nice that I had no choice but to relax and enjoy the New Year with my family and my first week as an Israeli

Signing up for a Cell Plan: Only Israel can make the mundane task of signing up for a cell plan an adventure.  I was lucky to have Sharon (with her excellent cell plan) by my side to help me with bargaining.  We quickly became friends with Dvir at Orange as he began to explain the various special options available to me as an Olah Chadasha and student.  I finally got with the times and now have a smartphone (a galaxy instead of an iphone because of a stupid rule that I need an Israeli credit card and an American Visa or Israeli debit card were not sufficient–I just don’t understand how they even come up with these random, ridiculous rules, but you just can’t argue with “company policy”).  After a little shopping around to other cell plans, Abba and I decided to return to Orange to sign up.  When we returned the power was out (of course only in the Orange store and no other place on Ben Yehuda Street) and that we needed to come back.  Dvir warned us earlier that day that this package would only be good until the end of the year (as in Sunday it would be gone) and it was already Tuesday.  The following day, Wed., was our last chance to get the package before the store closed for the holiday and it would be gone (of course he can only guarantee it would not be there after tomorrow and couldn’t guarantee anything about what would be available instead).  He worked at the mall on Wed. so we loyally followed Dvir to Malcha Mall to ensure that I would get the package he promised (since one thing I learned fast in this country is that there is no consistency and the key is to try and work with the same person until the mission is complete).  After signing my life away at Orange, I officially had my new Israeli number along with many other goodies to help make our apartment more homey (Thanks Abs!).

Family & Friends:

As frustrating as Israeli bureaucracy can be and the daily hassles that make life more annoying (or interesting/comical depending on how you look at it) than in the states, my family and friends here make it all worthwhile.  I miss my family and friends in the states a lot, but I am so lucky to have such wonderful family and friends here.  They make me feel at home, supported, loved and reaffirm that this is where I am meant to be.  I have friends who make special “back to school” packages (thanks Sharon!) and help me apply to school (thanks Michal and Dahlia!), cousins who help me with Hebrew (Thanks Tsvika!), friends to go on fun tiyulim all over the country, and people who go out of there way to invite me for Shabbat.  I am proud that I am helping to build a Jewish state and part of the big family of Am Yisrael here.  People are so excited when I tell them I made aliyah (and I’ll admit, the olah chadasha discounts are very nice!  I’m wondering how long the “chadasha” (new) will last!).

I am also really grateful that my family in the states are so supportive of my decision.  When I decided to accept Hebrew U’s offer and make aliyah, Abba said: “Great!  Now we have an excuse to visit Israel more.” He truly meant it and suggested coming on my aliyah flight with me to help me settle in and celebrate the chagim together. We spent a wonderful Rosh Hashanah at our cousin’s moshav.  We ate delicious food, enjoyed the company of family, had fun with the horses, peacocks and other animals, and relaxed (which we definitely needed before the crazy weeks that followed!).  When I am here I feel Savta and Sabba’s presence a lot and know they are so proud of me that I’m following my dream.  At the end of my first week as an Israeli, I felt such joy, gratitude, and excitement that I took the biggest risk of my life so far and decided to follow my heart and come home.

Now that I’m through, and actually had a very positive encounter during my final (for now) visit to the Misrad Harishui (Licensing Office) – here’s a complete guide on converting your American/foreign driver’s license to an Israeli one, with some help from the Nefesh B’Nefesh guide.

1.) Visit an optician to get your “tofes yarok” (green form), which is literally a green form. The optician must be affiliated with Marmanet or Tel Dor, because like everything in this country, somebody has a monopoly on the driver’s license eyesight market. I chose Roim Shesh-Shesh, which is on the corner of King George and Ben Yehuda in downtown Jerusalem. Tell the salespeople that you need your tofes yarok, and they will quickly give you an eye examination, take your photograph and charge you NIS 40. The owners of Shesh-Shesh also gave me a sizable coupon to their store to use in the future, which is actually convenient since I need a new pair of glasses regardless. Make sure, as always, to have your teudat zehut with you, and also bring your glasses or contact lenses.

2.) Both you and your physician must fill out and sign the health section of the tofes yarok. As you may have read if you have visited this  blog before, this can lead to you getting royally screwed, as you may then be delayed weeks or months if “Rachel” in the back of the Misrad Harishui sends your form to the ministry doctor for additional screenings.

3.) After visiting your physician, take your tofes yarok to Misrad Harishui, where they will either give you a stamp of approval and yet another form for your driving instructor, or they’ll send you to the back with Rachel. In Jerusalem, Misrad Harishui hours are Sunday through Thursday, 8 a.m.-1 p.m., and the office is located at HaTnufa 17. REMEMBER TO NOT ONLY BRING YOUR TEUDAT ZEHEUT, BUT ALSO YOUR TEUDAT OLEH AND FOREIGN DRIVER’S LICENSE. I, naturally, forgot my teudat oleh the first time and had to go back once again.

4.) Schedule a driving lesson. If you’re a relatively decent driver, you will likely only need one 40-minute lesson, after which your instructor will schedule your road test for you. I really liked the driving instructor I chose, whom I heard about through friends of friends on Facebook. Eyal Ben Harush speaks both Hebrew and English clearly and is experienced teaching both native Israelis and immigrants converting their licenses. He charges NIS 150 for the lesson, plus NIS 500 to use his car for the road test (which you MUST do – you CANNOT use a private vehicle), which although is slightly pricey, I found to be quite worth it. You can pay him the NIS 650 total at test day.

5.) Upon completion of your lesson, your driving instructor will take your tofes yarok from you and give you a new, small form, which you must take to the postal bank and pay NIS 65. Make sure you receive a receipt.

6.) Test day. You will either be picked up by your instructor or told to meet him at the Talpiyot facility as I did. Naturally, me being me, I got tremendously lost finding the place, so leave yourself plenty of time getting there. Now that I know this, the testing location is at (approximately) HaUman 3, but you’ll see it from there. As I arrived at the test center, sweating from sprinting and with about two minutes to spare, I noticed that two other students of my instructor were there at the same time as me. Apparently, you take your test with other students in the car. Interesting. We chose an order – I was going to be second – and the first driver pulled out of the testing center with us in the backseat and the test up front. Each of us drove for about five minutes total, turning right, crossing traffic to turn left and some simply circles around southeastern Jerusalem, until one person was told to pull over and the next person took the driver’s seat. You are NOT taking the regular Israeli driving test that Israeli 17 year olds must take; rather, you have the heartily slimmed down “mivchan shlita” (control test – literally, to test that you can control an automobile). The only advice I can give you for these five minutes: make sure you pull down the parking break at the beginning and pull it back up at the end of your turn, watch out for one-way street signs, and just drive as you normally would.

7.) About two hours after you take the test, call your instructor and find out if you passed.

8.) Congratulations, you passed! Now wait a few days and head down to Misrad Harishui again to pick up your temporary license – your permanent one will be mailed to you several months later apparently. DO NOT go wait on the long line inside. If you want to wait on a line, go to the small information booth line right where you enter the facility. But as I found out from the really nice teller who left the information booth and personally assisted me with acquiring my license, if you have an IsraCart – basically a debit or credit card from any Israeli bank – you can print your temporary license by machine. You will see the machine as soon as you walk through the metal detector in the Misrad Harishui – all you have to do is stand on the platform (don’t get off, or some motion sensor system cancels your order), type in your teudat zeheut number, and swipe your IsraeCart to pay NIS 385.

Many days, hours and NIS 1,140 later… you’re DONE.

My personal website, sharonudasin.com, is now updated with nearly every article I’ve ever written, including most of the hundreds I’ve completed thus far in my job as The Jerusalem Post environment/energy/innovation/Negev reporter… all the way back to those on the staff at The Daily Pennsylvanian. Hope you enjoy!

The smell of autumn has begun to seep into the Jerusalem air – and with my nose still automatically clings to pumpkin fields and jack-o-lantern carving, fall soccer tournaments with unripened orange wedges at halftime and, years later, the seemingly merciless dictates of the marching band director after six hours of Saturday practice.

This Saturday, I sit not in East Brunswick, New Jersey, but in Jerusalem. And while the leaves aren’t morphing into the yellows, reds and oranges that I grew up with, there is a certain chill pervading this quiet but beautiful Shabbat day. And with that, and the long Simchat Torah weekend I’ve had to catch up on my personal chores, I’ve finally decided to do what I’ve now been procrastinating for two months – writing a post about my August trip to the United States with Ravid, which was my first major return home since moving here (aside from a quick weekend stint for a friend’s wedding) and his first trip ever to the country that so many Israelis yearn to be in.

One of the first things I still hear Ravid mentioning to all his friends is his excitement over the greenness of New Jersey. Surprise I know, for the world’s Jersey haters, but in Ravid’s eyes even the New Jersey Turnpike and Garden State Parkway were impressive in the amount of greenery that lines their shoulders. An outside view makes your appreciate your birthplace, which many view as simply an industry-lined wedge between Washington, D.C. and New York City, a whole lot more.

While the trip started out with double and triple security checks for us Israeli document holders at Ataturk International Airport – yes, we flew Turkish Airlines, only weeks before the strip searches of Israelis began – the flights were smooth an uneventful and dropped us off at JFK just in time. After a first night of heavy sleep, after which I immediately woke up to a morning dentist’s appointment, we spent Monday exploring East Brunswick with my mom and my friend Emily – which, essentially meant, lunching at Panera Bread, spending a couple of hours browsing Target and enjoying my dad’s famous steak dinner.

The following three days, we immediately took to the city via NJ Transit and stepped out into Manhattan from the always bustling and urine-perfumed Penn Station. Carrying a sleeping bag, we toted our luggage crosstown and then onto Ravid’s first subway ride (the #6 train) up to Grammy and Pop-Pop’s apartment on the Upper East Side, where we’d be staying for a few nights. The next three days were packed with friends and adventures: a Metropolitan Museum of Art tour and initial walk through Central Park with my friend Jess D.; delectable tea with my friend Randi; a visit to The Jewish Week; traditional sushi, Brooklyn Bridge galavanting, Staten Island Ferry ride, Shake Shack lunch and a visit to the Cloisters with my friend Jess P.; a Broadway show experience seeing Jersey Boys with Grandma and my cousin Eric; and a genuine Chinese dinner in Chinatown with Jess D. and my friend Eric, where the waiters spoke no English and delivered us pork in place of the vegetarian spring rolls we had ordered.

Aside from the musical instruments section at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ravid’s favorite museum by far was the Museum of Natural History, which we initially explored that first Thursday in New York. Interested in seeing all the exhibits, we bought tickets to all the side exhibitions, but unfortunately didn’t realize that viewing them all would literally take the entire day – and we had plans with Jess P. at Shake Shack and the Cloisters that afternoon. But lucky for us, the museum staff had some mercy. Approaching a manager, I told her that we were visiting from outside the US and only had this afternoon to meet with my good friend before she headed back to Boston. Barely having to plead our case, I immediately received sympathy from said manager, who handed us free replacement tickets for any other day of our choice. And people say New Yorkers are rude!

Sandwiched between this visit to New York and the next a week later was a day at the beach, a near-death experience on the part of my father and a trip to Washington, D.C., among other things.

We spent a relaxing Friday morning at the Jersey Shore in Asbury Park with my mom, our friend Leslie and my friend Kristin and her sister Kim – in which Ravid and I accidentally stumbled upon a veritable “Pinball Museum,” where we negotiated our entrance fee Israeli-style. The waves were much stronger than those that lap the shores of the Mediterranean coast, Ravid noted, as I tumbled head first into the sand. At the day’s end, we were able to spend quality time eating Japanese food and sipping Shirley Temples with my best friend since sixth grade, Amanda, who is now a medical resident. We had so much catching up to do that we were at that restaurant till closing time, when the chefs and wait staff were eating the dinner leftovers. I hope that Ravid enjoyed the incessant giggling that always occurs between myself and Amanda.

In Washington, D.C., not only did we get to spend an evening with my friend Tracey and her fiance Dan and explored the Wright Brothers exhibit at the Air and Space Museum, but we also got an in-depth tour of the Capitol Building from my friend Jake who works there. This was among Ravid’s favorite experiences of the entire trip, as we were guided through the congressmen’s tunnels and into the huge Capitol dome and learned information about the American governmental system from so many different angles – including from Eric Cantor’s private office balcony. Jake- if we can ever do the same for you in Jerusalem, you are always welcome!

What was dually impressive during our D.C. trip was the fact that my brother’s hybrid Honda Civic took us there and back (250-some-odd miles each way) on one tank of gas. Oh, and, the double-rainbow we saw on a rainy NJ Turnpike on the way back.

Now, onto my father – the invincible Gary who never gets sick, aside from diabetes and cancer, and the man who with three hours of exercise daily, claims he will be “the healthiest person in the morgue.” The second Thursday of our visit, we had plans to go to a Yankees game with said dad, followed by an evening at our favorite restaurant, Italianissimo, but my dad’s body dictated otherwise – and we had to go without him. For about a week-and-a-half, basically since the evening we arrived to the US, my dad had been experiencing high fever, chills and no other symptoms. For that week-and-a-half, we had been incessantly telling him to go to the doctor – and eventually to the hospital – but a stubbornness gene seems to run in my family. And only that Thursday morning, when the fever got so high and he could literally feel something projecting out of his abdomen did my dad actually agree to go to hospital, rather than face organ sepsis from what started out as a simple infection. Nothing that some heavy antibiotics couldn’t take care of – so please, dad, for next time, listen to our pleas.

Despite this incident, and although disappointed my dad couldn’t come with us, we thoroughly enjoyed the baseball game, and surprisingly, Ravid was not at all bored by it. While he definitely liked the game itself, he particularly enjoyed the seventh-inning-stretch YMCA routine performed by the field sweepers. And we topped that night off with an Italianissimo dinner with my friend Stephanie, followed by back-row tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. The rest of the weekend’s experiences included a wonderful Shabbat dinner at my friends Motti and Shterni’s, a trip to Grandma’s in Queens, a 2 a.m. foray to the top of the Empire State Building, a fantastic trip to the Bronx Zoo, and a return to the Natural History Museum. Our last evening in the city, which began with a family dinner at Grammy and Pop-Pop’s, concluded with roundtable frozen yogurt consumption with Stephanie and Jess D. at the new Upper East Side location of 16 Handles.

While amazing, this frozen yogurt could neither be topped by Tasti D-Lite, which we had many a time naturally, Princeton’s Thomas Sweet’s, Asbury Park boardwalk deliciousness, nor the ice cream cake purchased for us by Aunt Bonnie and the Newville family during our visit to Long Island for a family barbecue.

Leaving Grammy’s and 16 Handles still in rain-soaked shoes, we headed to Penn Station for our goodbye to New York City, and returned to New Jersey for the last two days of our trip. Despite continuing heavy rains, on Monday we were able to finally fit in the hike we had planned, and we ventured to Sourland Mountain in Montgomery, where we were greeted with on-and-off rains but beautiful winding paths beneath the tall deciduous trees known to the East Coast. At one point, we even saw a fox leap through the woods, similar to the way we ran during the last two kilometers of the trail, when lightning was striking nearby amid roars of thunder and pouring rains.

Monday was our last full night in the US, and with my entire nuclear family we gathered for a steak dinner once again, and then finished up odds-and-ends of errands with my mom during the day on Tuesday and of course, me being me, regretted not seeing several people during the two-and-a-half weeks. After such a wonderful trip, I do admit that it was a bit difficult to get back on the plane(s) again and return from vacationing in the land of my former routine life to resuming my routine in the land of my former vacation life. But despite any lingering sadness and nostalgia at once again leaving my birthplace behind, I was looking forward to the new things that would greet me upon our return – namely, an exciting new apartment, a new neighborhood and a slightly new take on myself.

And I thought that meeting a gun-toting,  88-year-old working journalist and Kindertransport survivor amid massive amounts of cow feces was fascinating last week.

Yesterday topped even that.

After a day spent covering the Beduin protests against government relocation in Beersheba – and realizing that one should not dress for Jerusalem October weather in the desert – I headed to the university rail station to catch  the train to Tel Aviv, for my friend Becky’s aliyah party. Little did I know that despite reading on the website that the train runs every 20 minutes, it actually only runs once an hour, and a train had just departed minutes before.

“The Internet is always wrong,” the ticket sales clerk informed me, positively annoyed that I had even approached her booth. How dare I ask her a question.

But eventually I made it on the train, and Ravid and I had a great time celebrating with Becky – and her wonderfully warm family and friends. Afterwards, we were even able to get a ride back to the Arlozorov bus station. Once there, naturally we were among the last to board the bus, and I was lucky to find THE last place on the vehicle where we could sit together. Having successfully scored the seat, I waved Ravid over to me, but not without exchanging a strange glance with a very large man standing in the aisle.

As Ravid said down next to me, the couple across the row from us stared at the large man – and then at us – rather inquisitively. Somewhat puzzled, I dismissed the glances. Then, however, the man took out his cell phone and reached across the aisle to show an SMS to the young woman sitting in the window-seat directly in front of me. She read the message, nodded, and got up to move to another seat.

Immediately, the pink-faced, buzz-cut young man sitting next to her also got up – but was stopped by the large gentleman.

“Why are you changing your seat?” the larger man asked. “You were already sitting there – there’s no reason to change places.”

“What’s it to you? Who are you?” the younger man responded, refusing to cooperate with the other man’s orders for him to stay seated in the row in front of us, by himself.

Having failed to achieve his goals in this more subdued manner, the large man – who by now we all suspected to be an undercover cop – stood up and addressed the whole bus, gesturing to the young man:

“This man touches women during bus rides,” he explained to everyone. “No woman should sit next to him. The police are already on their way.”

With that – and quite visibly disgruntled – the young man disembarked the bus with the large man, and the driver immediately switched the idling engine into gear toward Jerusalem.

Much to my readership’s chagrin (hi Dad!), I have once again been absent from the face of this blog for all too long. And while I’m currently also drafting a post about my two-and-a-half week August trip to the US, as well as my forgotten aliyah-versary, what better way to jump back into the blog but with a dose of good ole Israeli bureaucracy.

On June 30 (I think that was the date), I headed down to Misrad HaRishui (read: Motor Vehicles), all my trusty documents in hand thanks to the very helpful guide on Nefesh B’Nefesh’s website to take part in what I thought would be a relatively simple process. Turns out, however, that because my physician was honest and properly noted a very insignificant medication I’ve taken for quite some time, my “tofes yarok” (the “green form” that goes from eye exam to physician to Motor Vehicles and contains your lifetime medical history) needed a stamp – or not – from the office’s head doctor, who would neither examine me nor speak to me.

Makes perfect sense.

Here we go, I thought, I won’t be driving in this country for years – even though in the US, I have been doing so for 10. And doing so quite well, my dad might agree.

No, a woman named Rachel whose voice echoed of 57 years worth of cigarettes told me, you will receive an answer by telephone in one month or less.

Slightly promising, I decided, although Rachel would give me neither her last name nor any mode of contacting her.

A month passed, and I heard nothing, naturally. I went to the US for two-and-a-half weeks. I got back. Ravid and I moved into a new apartment. A few weeks went by. And finally, this morning, I hauled my ass down to the Talpiyot neighborhood – and believe me, it’s an hour-long bus ride each way haul – to the venerable Misrad HaRishui.

Instantly recognizing Rachel in the back-room, I managed to get up to her pretty quickly, and lo and behold, I found out that I had been approved. Not only had I been approved, but I had been approved on, ladies and gentlemen, July 10. Needless to say there was no phone call to that effect, though Rachel did manage to yell at me for not having received their non-existent call and non-existent message, which she promised came through.

Happy to have my approval, however, and unsuccessful at displaying my wrath to Rachel, I moved to the larger waiting room where you must bring said “green form” to another counter where you can submit that form in exchange for another, which gives you the ability to take the two driving lessons and driving exam necessary to convert your foreign license.

A nice man next to me even handed me an extra waiting number (every Israeli government office has those triangular shaped number tickets from New Jersey delis circa 1987), so I moved down from #562 to #539.

But when I got to my destination – a pleasant woman in her 60s – I was asked, “Can I have your teudat oleh (immigration certificate, essentially)?”

Too bad that was still in my desk drawer.