Slaying Ouroboros

להרוג את אוורובורוס

The first thing Michael and I see at the Ministry of the Interior is a crowd of people waiting outside the door. There is no attempt to form a line or figure out who has an appointment and who does not. The security guard from yesterday is here again which is hopefully good news. We wait the fifteen minutes for the office to open as the elevator lobby continues to fill with people.

By 8:30 we are standing in a waiting room, having received instructions to both stand to the side and take a seat. Along with a few other people waiting for an ID card, I hand my passport to a man who takes it for one minute and then hands it back, saying someone will come out to meet us. When a woman comes out to meet us, the fact that I currently have no valid ID gives me priority and she takes my passport, giving no indication if I should follow her or not, until we ask and she dismissively answers in the negative.

We chuckle at this with the other people waiting with us. One woman makes sarcastic remarks on the frustration she feels seeing the office workers get mad at people with no appointments when there are no appointments available for months. In America, people also stand in lines and get caught in bureaucratic nightmares, but they don't laugh as much.

The woman who took my passport comes back and tells me to wait until 9 and then take a number from the kiosk at the front of the room. My passport has a post-it on the back, where she has written 9:12. It's currently 8:42, but I don't wait. I punch in my ID number and get a slip with I162 printed on it. At 8:52 they are up to I130, but they are skipping lots of numbers in between. 8:55, I137, Michael has been thirsty for at least fifteen minutes, but there's nowhere to get a drink, 8:58, they go down to I136, then I132, 8:59, I138, then back to I137, then suddenly I160. I get a call from Maccabi, one of the health plans I tried to sign up for yesterday, the woman on the phone explains in slow Hebrew that I need to call the social security service first but doesn't say why. At 9:40 they call my number, by ten we are in the car with a temporary ID and a promise that the real one will be mailed.

Before 10:15 Michael drops me off at a bank and he joins me after parking. I take a number and fill out a form on their website to open an account. While we are being helped, the teller expresses curiosity that I'm immigrating, and I tell him about some of the volunteering I've been doing. He doesn't say much about it but he nods appreciatively and seems emotionally moved. Or maybe he just thinks I'm insane, but he's still very helpful.

He prints forms and I begin signing them at 11:30. At 11:45 he sets me up with a credit card and with an account for the bank's app. Soon we're done.

With the bank account information we head back to the Ministry of Aliyah office and after a short wait the same woman we met yesterday greets us with a smile. We hand her what she needs from me, she hands things back and gives me information I need. She even makes a call to the social security office to figure out the deal with the health insurance. She asks me where I'm living and if I've found a job, and I tell her about the volunteering I'm doing. She smiles and her eyes gleam as she wishes me safety and success.

On the way back we pass a liquor store and I divert us to buy a bottle of champagne. The owner asks what we're celebrating, and when he hears the answer he throws in a chocolate bar, a pack of Oreos and a handshake.

Back at the house we make a call to Maccabi, who tell us to call back in a few days when the social security service agrees that I'm joining the health plan.

My cousin Michael was a translator, guide, personal assistant and driver. 48 hours ago I did not have an Israeli cell phone, ID, bank account, or membership in a health group. Now I have the first three and am on the way to getting the 4th. Without him this would have been difficult, with him it was fun.