The first, is of the army. I would like to prelude this story by saying that as I was recapping the series of events to my commander he was shocked that getting this simple thing done had become so complicated and convoluted. He told me that the army was not normally like this. I laughed.
About a month ago, I asked my commander if I could switch my uniform and get a skirt. The army does offer religious girls the option of a uniform-skirt, but very few people wear them. I had originally gone with pants because I thought skirts attracted more attention, and I dont think there is a religious issue with women wearing loose pants (and since I am the only girl in the army that didnt take my pants to a seamstress and get them fitted skin-tight, mine are unattractively baggy). This decision was also part of my "I can be religious and still wear pants, you stupid Israelis!" statement.
I have, however, decided to make a different statement. While it still sort of frustrates me, I realized that wearing a skirt in the army is not just an issue of modesty, but rather a statement of religiosity. While a Jewish man can wear a kippah or tzitzit to show that he is religious, Jewish women dont have those options. Those of who are married can cover their hair, but us single ladies have more limited options. So once it started to get warmer and I didnt have to worry about the practical/warmth side of my decision to wear pants, I decided to ask for a skirt.
Now, in order to switch to a skirt, you have to get a permission from the Rabbi of the base. This was not a problem for me, as he sees me at Mincha (afternoon prayer) every day. I then took my permission slip to the Afsanoot (store room in charge of distributing uniforms) and handed it to the girl (we will name her Olga) there. She had me try on the two skirts that they had there, and when I told her they were too small (flashback to my first day!) she told me they would have to order it from the Bakoom (the main outfitting-base). She took down my name and number and skirt size and told me I could go. The rabbi had told me it is only supposed to take two weeks, but as Pesach was in the middle, I gave them three before going back to inquire what was going on with my skirt. Olga was there, from what I understood, she told me "Im waiting for the guy to take it to the thing. I did my job, you're just going to have to wait."
So I waited another week and went back. This time the girl was not there, but her commander, Michal, was. So I asked Michal what was going on with the skirt I ordered and she looked at me and said "I have no idea what you are talking about." I told her all that I had done and she told me to come back the next day when Olga would be back. So, I went back the next day, when both Michal and Olga were there. Michal asked me for my permission form from the Rabbi and I told her I had given it to Olga already. Olga then turned to me and said "I have no idea what you are talking about." I attempted to remind her about our previous conversations, but she continued to look at me like I was crazy and insist that we had never spoken. Michal eventually jumped in and told me to just go get another form from the Rabbi, as well as some other form from a different office.
I got the latter form, but when I went to the Rabbi's office he was not there, and the phone number on the door turned out to be the old rabbi's, who had left more than 6 months ago. So after having a nice awkward conversation with him, I waited an hour for the rabbi to come back. He was pretty pissed that I still hadnt gotten my skirt, so he gave me another form as well as emailing it to the Afsanoot with an angry note that he forwarded to my commander.
I went back to the Afsanoot and they were closed. Figures. So I waited another 20 min, and eventually Olga came back. I went in and she looked at me like she had never seen me before and said "Yea?". So I explained that I had gotten the forms for my skirt and wanted to give them to her. She said I had to give them to Michal, who wasnt going to come back today and whose office was on some other part of the base that I didnt know. Great.
So I went back to my office pissed off and cursing in English. They seemed to pick up that I was upset, so they had me recap my story and then spent the rest of the afternoon cheering me up. Come the next morning, the story has gotten back to my commander who is seriously ticked off on my behalf. So he sent one of the officers to the Afsanoot with me. Olga is there but Michal is not. But voila, Olga suddenly knows how to do her job. She took my forms, filled out a bunch of new ones (that she hadnt had last time) and within five minutes had put in my order and once again told me I just had to wait for the guy to bring it to the thing. Right.
Anyway, story two is shorter. I went to visit graduate programs in art therapy yesterday in Tel Aviv as I am trying to organize my life a little. The first school I went to was awesome and I have an entrance interview scheduled for next week. I then headed over to this other school that I had found on the internet and had invited me to entrance exams today. It quickly came to my attention upon arrival that this was not an art therapy school, but rather a holistic therapy school. Unfortunately they were waiting for me, knew my name and were just way to friendly and attentive for me to just walk back out the door. They sat me down at a computer and had me answer a list of questions on a scale of 1-4 to see how much I agreed with each statement. Some were all right, like "I believe that people are innately good" or "I believe the things I do can make a difference in this world". But then there were ones like "I would describe myself as tasty" and "I dont like wearing clothes". Again, there was no way out, so I worked my way through the questions, skipping those I did not understand (whether because of the hebrew or because I dont know what it means to think of yourself as tasty). Once I had finished, the director of the program (and founder of the school) invited me into his office for my interview. His office has a massage table, a kabbalah chart on the wall, and pillows all over the floor. There were also two chairs, where we sat and he looked over my test results muttering to himself. He asked me a few questions, but apparently my answers were not quite satisfactory, because he asked me for my hands. Not really knowing what was going on, I put out my hands and he then proceeded to read my palms.
He was flipping my hands over, looking at the lines and the nailbeds and taking notes. After a few minutes of this, he sat back and began to tell me what he could see, based on my palms and test results. Ill be honest, I was intrigued and there were some things that he got spot on. Plus he said I clearly had an artists hands and that just made me all happy inside. He talked all about my personality and the things I will need to work on in my first year in the program and then he told me he was very excited to have me come to his school and sent me back to the main office to sign papers.
While this had been a fascinating experience, and I am sure there is some truth to the therapy he practices, there is no freaking way I was going to spend four years in this program and pretend its graduate school. Also, no way I will ever be crunchy enough to pull off what this man does. Thankfully, his secretary is the fluffy-type so I said something about having to confirm something something and Ill call them before high-tailing it back to the elevators.
Was an interesting experience either way. Hope yall had a good week, feel free to share your own funny stories with me :)
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