Fax Is Not A Friendly Word

Nicole Nathan Bem

<!–
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}

It’s been one of those weeks; lots of long working hours
speckled with frustration Israeli style. In this country, the simpler the task,
the more complex it is to complete. (Maybe since reading and writing are
backwards here, everything else follows suit.)
Take, for example, the bank. Banks do not keep regular hours
here. Not only are they irregular, they are different each day. I wanted to
open an account for my son. Simple, right? Well, when I compare his free hours
to the bank’s opening hours, I am left with about fifteen minutes. 
One afternoon, he sauntered
in from school early. I barked at him before he could even open the fridge. “The
bank is open. Let’s run for it.”
We simply wanted to give the bank our money and sat down
with the teller. She asked me for I.D. I gave her my bank card, the same card I
have been using at this bank for eight years.
“Teuda zeut?” she asked. I handed it to her.
“Where’s the picture?” she asked, smirking at my crumpled
identity card.
Feeling like a child who forgot to do her homework, I
confessed. “I lost it,” I said, rifling through all the cards in my wallet,
hoping it would magically appear. “Here. Take my driver’s license. It has a
photo.”
She frowned. This card was not good enough for the Israeli
bank, even though it was acceptable to the electoral system when recently I cast a
ballot using my driver’s license.
“You cannot open an account for your son without your teudah
zeut. Go to the Misrad HaPanim, get a new card and then come back.”
I gulped. The words Misrad HaPanim were akin to purgatory.
One could spend an entire day in that office without seeing a clerk. (My
husband has been so frustrated waiting there, he has even offered people cash to
snatch their place in line.)
I will not go to the Misrad HaPanim…so I guess my son may just
have to wait until he is an adult before he gets a bank account.
One day later I found out that I had to make an appointment
at the hospital for an out patient procedure. Simple, right?  I was given a form by a doctor and then called the  hospital only to be told that one cannot make
an appointment over the phone. I have to fax in the referral form.
Fax? That is not a friendly word around here; our fax
machine doesn’t work.

Freshly picked.
So we call the computer guy. He comes over, fixes it and
finally, I fax the form. One day goes by, then two and then three. No
appointment. I call back. No answer. I call another number only to be told that
there is a special number to call to see if the fax has been received. If and
when I do get this appointment, I am told that I must go to the health
provider’s office with my form and get another form to take to the hospital.
Baaa. Sheep grazing in Herzliya Pituach.

Looks like I may not get to that hospital until my son opens
a bank account. Looks like neither of these will happen until,  as my grandfather used to say, “Shabbos the fortnight.”

Which brings me to the point of this rambling tale. Whenever
I feel frustrated, I head to the beach. Just a ten-minute drive or a
twenty-minute bike ride away, the beach provides pure, simple bliss.

No photo
IDs required. No faxes to fix. No clerks to cluck. Just bare feet, warm sand and sparkling surf; the perfect antidote to a long week.

Aahhhh!

Discover more from Life in Israel

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Unknown's avatar

Published by Nicole Nathan Bem

I am a writer and editor. When I moved to Israel with my family in 2005, I decided to create this blog, wanting to capture the intensity of living in this land. Days are never static; they are vibrant and there is a depth of emotion here that I feel nowhere else. These pages are my honest reflection and observations of life in Israel as an Anglo immigrant.

Leave a comment