and the employee didn't even fart!

So it’s a no go. For now.

To make an appointment at Misrad Hapnim, you need to speak good Hebrew. I don’t. So I relied on the head of the ulpan to set me up an appointment. “I need an appointment,” I told him. He told me, “No you don’t, you can just go in.” “No,” I stressed, “I’m pretty sure I need an appointment.” “No,” he repeated, “trust me, you don’t need an appointment.” He seemed pretty sure, and I thought maybe on the phone in Hebrew they were telling him something other than what I read online in English. So I did just that—I trusted him.

So I woke up at 6 am today. I took the 6.50 bus out of here so that I could arrive in Jerusalem at 7.15, walk over to Misrad Hapnim and arrive at 7.30…..and at 8 the office would open and I could wait my turn.

And so I did. And I waited my turn until 9.15. They called my name, I went in….

I waited in the wrong fucking area. Why? Because nothing is clearly marked in that fucking building, and the absolutely meager signage that they do have is in Hebrew. Well I’m not fucking fluent in Hebrew, so I had no idea I was in the waiting area for people who wanted to get their mixed marriages or marriages performed abroad recognized.

I mean, Jesus Christ, you’d think things would be labeled a little bit more clearly in a building that sees so many IMMIGRANTS pass through!

So after I got called in and informed that I was in the wrong place (after waiting for almost 2 hours….), I initially was not too concerned and I said, “Oh, well where do I go to change my visa to olah status? Where’s the correct room for that?” And they said, “Well, it’s just down the hall but absolutely need to have called in to make an appointment.”

I needed a fucking appointment. Fucking ulpan director!

So I left the Misrad Hapnim and decided to walk down to the Old City. I was so frustrated. I was upset that the ulpan director didn’t listen to me and now I might be a couple months behind in my aliyah process (it might take 2 months to get an appointment!), and I was upset that I was still a fucking tourist. As I walked towards the Kotel, some Arab guy tried to sell me a cross, and I was ready to fucking snap. I’m so sick of it—every single time I go to the Old City, EVERY SINGLE TIME, some American Christian group beckons me over as if I have just temporarily been separated from them, and now I have some guy trying to sell me a cross. I’m fucking sick of it! I’M JEWISH!

In that little area near the Kotel where there’s several cafes, I went to get a drink. I put a Fanta up on the counter for the guy behind the counter to ring up. I’m not carrying ANYTHING with English writing, I’m not carrying anything touristy like a camera, and yet he immediately speaks to me in English. Fuuuuuuck. Does something about the way I look just scream tourist? What the fuck am I in ulpan for? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life here?
I thought maybe he spoke English to everyone, and assumed EVERYONE was a tourist, so I watched for a little while. No. He spoke Hebrew to everyone. Except me.

So I sat down in some shady area not too far from the Kotel plaza to drink my Fanta….and I get so upset by the fact that I feel like such a fucking tourist, and about the fact that I just want a fucking olah visa, and is that really too much to ask for???—that I started sobbing. Oh my goodness, it was terrible. I just started shamelessly sobbing in the Old City. I guess of all the places in the world to start sobbing, that’s a good one cos people will just assume that you’re having some sort of extreme religious experience. Oh but fuck no, this was no religious experience for me! I was considering going to the Kotel, but I was so angry and upset I thought I was going to try to kick it down. Every single time I saw a Jewish person, I wanted to rip their yarmulkes off and kick them. Urgh, I was just so frustrated with everything Israel and everything Jewish at that moment…I think everything that’s been frustrating me for the past month and a half just kind of exploded at this moment, because through it all I was always excited about getting to be an olah. You know? I don’t want to fold towels for 5 months only to come back to the U.S. No. If I fold towels for 5 months, I want to know that it was something I did in order to pass time in Israel in order to get citizenship. And now I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to wait. Grr….

So I’m sitting there crying—I mean, it’s an absolutely disgusting thing to see, because I’m really much too old to be crying—when suddenly over this public address system comes the song “Bad Day.” First of all, I didn’t even know there was some sort of public address and/or muzak system in the Old City, but I guess you learn something new every single day! Anyway, even though I was frustrated and in the middle of sobbing, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it was that I was sitting there crying with the song “Bad Day” playing, so I went from sobbing to giggling like a schoolgirl.


You know what song I heard in Misrad Hapnim? “Hey Jude.” I think that’s appropriate.

Something I love about Israel though? People don’t seem to use dryers. They let things air dry on drying racks. You know what irritated me about Scotland though? See, we stayed there for a week or so in high school to do something at the theater festival, and the apartment we stayed in had no dryer. And that irritated me. But it would irritate me if people in Israel used dryers. Because there’s no point. But in Scotland it’s always rainy, so there’s no point in hanging your clothing out to dry. You know?

Someone from an Israeli number just sent me a text message that said simply, “Fuck you.” Jesus Christ, I’ve only been here about a month and I already have enemies…

Oh wait. Now the number keeps calling back. Every two seconds. And they’re laughing at me. It sounds like two Israeli girls, and they’re making fun of my accent when I pick up and laughing their asses off.