My encounters with the law

Ah yes, I promised you tales of my travails last week- so here is another story about Israeli bureaucracy.

So the big thing on my list right now is transferring my driver's license. As you may remember, I tried to do this before I left for America but the issue date on MD licenses is not the day you originally got your license, but the day you got that specific piece of plastic. This was a problem for me because my issue date was post-aliyah, thanks to that lovely day when I lost my wallet in Tel Aviv. (And you can only transfer a license if you had gotten it before you made aliyah). Anyway, I had to get a paper from the MVA while I was in America that said when I got my original license. It turns out they don't actually put this on your permanent driving record (It is listed as a "change of address") but when I went to the MVA they told me the only way to get that paperwork was for them to pull my original application off of microfilm, which would take longer than I had. 

Anyway, last week I went armed with my license and my MVA paperwork hoping that the English would confuse them enough that I could convince them that my paperwork was sufficient. Unfortunately, I spent so much time worrying about this little piece of paper that I forgot another one- my Teudat Oleh (Immigration certificate.) That was annoying, but fine, I would just go home and get it and go back the next day. So I went home. And I opened my nice orange file thing where I keep all that important stuff- and my teudat oleh was not there. I then ransacked my room, unpacked all of my suitcases, went through the garbage, went into Jerusalem and went through the apartment I had rented for a month, and finally came to the conclusion that I had lost my teudat oleh. Crap.

So I went online to figure out how one goes about getting a new one. It is a two step process (sounds simple, right?): 
1) I have to go to court and testify that I lost it.
2) I have to schedule an appointment with the Ministry of Immigration to get a new one.

Right, okay, go to court. Now, um, where do I find one of those?

Well after a few phone calls and some vague directions I figured out where the courthouse was and even got the required paperwork filled out before I left. So Wednesday morning comes about and I am of course running late getting out of the house. I catch a tremp into Jerusalem and as we enter the city I see the bus I need pull away from the stop. Luckily, the car I am in passes it and lets me out at the next intersection. Unluckily, this is one of those intersections where you have to wait for 5 different lights to cross one street. And more unluckily, when I ran across the red one, I ran right into the police officer waiting to ticket fools like me. And there goes the bus. I am somewhat ashamed to say that I played dumb American to get out of that ticket, Anyway, I finally got on a bus and found the courthouse and I still had about 40 minutes to get to work. Eek. 

At this point, I am standing in the information line behind a woman who simply refuses to move. She is not getting what she wants so she insists on simply standing there until the nice lady who cannot help her, does what she wants. The security guards come and she brushes them off. The other guy in line begs her to just go upstairs like they say, and finally, after what feels like forever, she leaves. I get up to the counter, get sent upstairs, wait in another line, finally get into the office and the lady says to me "This is not where you belong. Why did they send you here?" Really, lady? Like I know why information sent me to you? Im just doing what I am told and trying to get someone to stamp this darn paper because I have to be at work in 15 minutes.

As it turns out, the guy I need was standing right next to the front door. He has a little booth there and I walked right by him. So he's pretty cool, stamps my paper, takes some money, and I manage to walk out of the courthouse 1 minute late for work. Luckily, they are cool and were alright with my showing up 15 minutes late.

Anyway, I am on to step 2 this week. Lets hope it goes well because after that I get to dive back into the Israeli MVA and I am sure that will be a blast.

I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL!!

Woohoo!! Now I can stop worrying about not having a Plan B (I tried Ima, but I could come up with nothing better than becoming a hippie and farm-hopping across Italy) (Yes, I am already doing that, but not for the whole year).

I got an email on Tuesday that confused me a little but after some pondering, I decided it was, in fact, an acceptance letter. I will re-enact the conversation that went on in my head:

"Welcome to the Art Therapy Department"

I got in! and then, wait, or are they just saying hi?

Then the email asked me to fill out a form for my internship placement next year

Wait, so I got in?

"This is not your official acceptance letter- that will be coming from the main office of the University"

But I got in, right?

So I stared at the email for awhile, put it into Google Translate to make sure I was understanding it, and then decided, yes, this must be what an acceptance letter looks like. So starting on the 17th of October, I will be learning all sorts of fun things about mental disorders and art and some less fun things about research methods and scientific writing. This also means that I can now officially start looking for a home and could be moving as early as August 1!

In other news, at some point between yesterday (my Hebrew birthday) and Tuesday (my English birthday) I am crossing that line into 25-hooddom. I will be a quarter of a century old. As my 16 year old roommate told me- I am approaching the hill. So of course, I wanted to celebrate by throwing myself a party in a park with a moonbounce and gift bags and a giant ice cream cake. Unfortunately, I make about 600 shekel a month and am about to spend all of my savings on a vacation in Italy. So as much as I wanted a moonbounce, I settled for dinner at a restaurant with my good friends. Might splurge on an ice cream cake on Tuesday- after all, what better way to break a fast. (Note to God- what are you trying to say by dropping my birthday off on a fast day every year? I really haven't been partying that hard, you know!). I also just got my birthday present from my sister and her family and, I must say, nothing makes you as happy as your one year old nephew's signature on your birthday card :)

I have further travails I will regale you with next week because this is a happy email and I would like to keep it that way. As I was tremping (hitchhiking) into Jerusalem last night I had one of those moments of clarity where I just felt really lucky to be who I am and where I am at this moment. I think 25 is going to be a great year.

In the words of the great sage, Noam

"Nizrom" is one of the most important words I have learned while living in Israel. It means "to flow" but is generally used as "just go with it". It is helpful when you get lost or, more importantly, when you just don't know where you are going. As I nervously await news from U of Haifa and try not to worry about my life plan, I find myself frequently muttering "Nizrom" to myself and trying to shake off my stress. Though really, it is an attitude that is just crucial to living here.

For instance, on Sunday I went hiking in Ein Gedi with my friends Rami and Krystel, who were here on vacation. First we got on a bus with the craziest driver I have ever met. He rushed us all on to the bus as if he wasn't 20 minutes early telling us we could pay him later. Then, when I went up to pay him while he was driving like a maniac through the desert, his bus ticket machine was broken and he took my money without giving me a ticket. I later found out that he overcharged us. We ended up getting off at the wrong stop and found ourselves at a spa next to the Dead Sea- but alright, Nizrom. We caught another bus back and managed to start out hike just as the sun was at it's peak. Now there are two ways (that I know of) to hike Ein Gedi. The first is to go in through the entrance and wander up some waterfalls to more waterfalls and then back again. The second is to climb up the mountain a bit, then some more, then wander through the dry shade-less planes, through the dry boiling wadi and eventually down to those nice fresh waterfalls. We, of course, did the second one. Our hike alternated between near death and amazingness. We climbed up the side of a desert mountain at noon, which wasn't the brightest idea, and I, at least, nearly got heatstroke (do you "get" heatstroke? are there varying levels of heatstroke? I am rather uninformed on this subject). We eventually found some shade and had some lunch and then climbed down the dry wadi to the most beautiful view of the lush waterfalls below and the Dead Sea beyond. However, we could only see the waterfalls, and at about this point, we ran out of water (I know, very bad planning on our part). So we climbed back out of the wadi and eventually stumbled upon a stream which we deemed clean enough to drink from by using the very advanced method of looking at the water. (It's okay, it was totally safe to drink, we found out later.) This got us through the last dry stretch until we got to the waterfalls at the bottom and fell in. That part was heaven. And the truth is, at the end, it was an amazing hike, because I was with two people who just took everything in stride- as American as they may be, they've got the "Nizrom" mentality down pat.

The rest of the week felt wonderfully usual. I worked during the day, hung out with friends at night, got a sufficient amount of things done on my "To Do" list, and had some down time to read my book (it's in Hebrew!). It felt stable, and home-like, which is a really good for me in a time when I feel like my life is so up in the air. But, yalla, Nizrom.

Sometimes I have delayed emotional reactions

Do you ever cruise along on supreme confidence until the moment when you need it most and you suddenly find yourself overwhelmingly nervous?

Well that is pretty much what happened to me when I went to Haifa for my interview this week. Though I have known that nothing was official and keep meaning to come up with a Plan B, I have not actually done that because deep down inside I was pretty confident that I would have no problem getting into this Master's program. I even tried to get nervous the night before because I felt like I should be, but couldn't quite get it. Even though my bus took 45 minutes and I was nearly late, I was still doing okay. That is until I sat down with the other 15 women who had been called for this interview and eavesdropped on their conversation. Which was all about how hard it is to get into the art therapy program and how many of them were there for the second year, having been rejected the year before. Oh, great.

Of course, at the moment the three professors (also women- apparently no men are interested in art therapy) who would be interviewing us came in. The interview would be split into two parts- an individual project and a group project- both with the objective of drawing a picture that represents what art therapy means. I had a pretty good idea for the individual part, creating what is called a "Feelings Map" that allows you to chart out your various emotions and their interactions without having to find the words for it. This is a big part of art therapy- expression without words, so I thought this was a great idea. That is, until we all reconvened to talk about out drawings and I realized I did not have that much to say. This was further aggravated by the fact that I had to go second and had stupidly been thinking in English this whole time. So I fumbled through a short explanation of my drawing and then proceeded to feel more and more stupid as I listened to these Israelis all say things that sounded really smart and well worded in Hebrew. Ugh.

So when we were split into three groups, I was determined to show the professor monitoring us that I was not a total nincompoop and was in fact capable of speaking Hebrew. I think I actually did pretty well on this one, in terms of working with the group and standing out as the spectacular individual that I am. I also approached the professors afterwards to explain that, though my Hebrew may not be perfect, I will work very hard to make sure it is not a problem. They did not seem at all concerned about my Hebrew, but I left feeling rather nervous regardless.

This was the last step to being accepted, so I will hopefully know within a few weeks. I guess I should thank my odd mental state for at least waiting until now to let me get nervous. At least its only a few weeks, right?

I have also started looking for apartments in Haifa. I am at that point where I would really like to unpack. And have a home. And feel grounded. But as that will not be happening for a few more months, I will throw myself into planning my Italy trip as a distraction.