Getting Her Identity Card

[image: Israeli ID card.]

   The first step in tackling Ricki’s army deferment was to obtain an identity card for her. All Israelis have one (except children, who are listed on their parents’ card). I had actually filled out an application form with Ricki once, simply to give her experience in working through official papers. But she had been too young then to actually obtain her identity card. But now we DID need one, and so one day last week I set about obtaining the document for her.

   First I printed out from the internet the needed form, and then went to Ricki’s school to take her to the nearby “Internal Affairs” office to make the formal request. It was one of Ricki’s first days at school after her “strike” and I prayed that she would readily acquiesce to the “outing”. She didn’t.   It was windy outside when I arrived, and Ricki’s class had at that moment “break time”.  I explained that the government office was nearby to no avail. So I informed her that I would wait (in the teacher’s chair) until she agreed to accompany me. I sat down and gazed at the ceiling, hoping that the lack of negative attention would work better than hounding her. After five more minutes of unsuccessful waiting, I informed Ricki that I was going to tell the principal.

   The principal rallied to the cause, and managed to get Ricki outside of the building. But when Ricki felt the wind, she turned to reenter the school. However the principal, thankfully still there, informed Ricki that she would lock the door to the school, and wouldn’t it be warmer to go with your mom than sit outside? So Ricki reluctantly joined me, only to be pleasantly surprised by the brevity of the walk to the office.

    We reached the office (on the way we took the needed ID photographs), and took a number for our turn. It looked like we had at least a  half-hour wait ahead of us, and I regretted the half hour or more that I had already lost at the school. So we sat down near the front, opposite one of the clerks. When the clerk next had an opening, she signaled for us to come to her counter. The person who must have been in line complained that there IS a line (quite rightly, actually). But the clerk said “Some things are out of line.” She was obviously giving us preference due to Ricki’s  disability, and for once I went along. (I hope the person who was in line forgives us; I hope they never have the exasperating experience of dragging a 85 kilo teen with Down syndrome somewhere that she doesn’t want to go….).

   As we left the office, Ricki with ID in hand, I informed her that I needed the ID (to get certain papers for her deferment). Ricki started to refuse, but I had come prepared. I fished out the new shinny health fund card that I had obtained for her a few days before, as well as the extra unneeded copies of her new ID photo. She agreed to the swap, and enjoyed the walk back to her school.

The Next Soldier? (Obsessing over Options)

 Prolog:  In Israel, the draft is mandatory. So sure enough, Ricki received her draft notice about half a year ago, and I took it to her school. The girls in her school routinely receive a deferment, not because of their disability, as you might expect. They receive an exemption because they are religious girls who feel that the atmosphere of the army is not suitable for them. (I do not in any way mean to degenerate here the girls who do serve; they do a lot of good work in the army or in national service.) However, last summer when the school arranged the exemptions, Ricki was in the hospital ICU with pneumonia, so her claim was not processed. I asked about it at the start of the school year, and I was under the impression that it would be taken care of with the “next group” of students. Well, that didn’t happen, and a week ago I received notice that Ricki has to show up at the induction center this Thursday, or face the consequences. And my sons in the army informed me that the “consequences” by this point could be the police coming to our house and taking Ricki by force. And they further informed me that if the police DID come, they would act, golem-like (ie, without reasoning), despite the obvious fact that she has Down syndrome, and is thus eligible for a medical exemption. (I mean, the army DOESN’T want her….****)

The Post:

    I am sure that all of you can relate to this: You have a problem, one that may even not be that big, and there are a few different ways to resolve it. But each way has its drawbacks, often related to the actions or good-will of 3^rd parties, which we may not fully be able to predict. The result? One can spend a day or two (or more) consumed in the grip of having to decide how to act, which action to choose. The preoccupation with this problem causes stress, which can be very draining, even on a physical level.

   This morning at 11AM I went for my regular 60-70 minute aerobic walk, knowing that I would need to get it in quickly, before the predicted rainfall would hit at noon or thereafter. I had been obsessing all morning about what would be the most expedient way to resolve the army problem. [Do I go through the channels of getting her an exemption due to her being religious, or should I just shlepp her to the induction center on Thursday, and let the army see for themselves that she is not exactly what “Uncle Sam  Israel” is looking for?] Compounding this is my need on a as-yet-to-be- determined-day this week to hopefully attend the circumcision of my new grandson.* (The circumcision was postponed for health reasons, and we will have only 12-24 hours warning in advance as to when it will be held.) Also a strike is looming, which may effect an office needed to receive the religious exemption, but when I phoned and asked if they would be part of the strike, the incompetent person who answered could not answer the question. And a query I wanted to ask the army got unanswered because their information phone is automated, and you can not reach a real live person.** Things just were not progressing....

    The end result of all this thinking was that after half an hour of walking, I was ready to call it quits. I was drained.... In the end I finished the walk only by reminding myself of my favorite line: “There will come a day that you can’t do this anymore. Today is NOT that day!”

  In reality, I needed to do (and did do, to a certain extent), what needs to be done when one is under stress from the need to make a choice.  I reminded myself that I can make my decision as things progress, I don’t need to make a irrevocable plan right away. I also reminded myself that in the scheme of life, this really is a very small matter to get worked up about……

    So I worked both fronts, reminding myself that the likelihood of them dragging Ricki away before her papers get processed is really NOT likely. (The army doesn’t act that fast in these cases.***)   In the end, a 3^rd party who I needed cooperation from to get the religious deferment could not do so, but I was referred to someone else, who acted decisively, promptly, and with good manners. That, coupled with the likelihood of the circumcision being on Thursday will have me running to the court on Wednesday to finalize the religious exemption. (That is, if they are not on strike……)

* Yes, thank-you for your congratulations!

** I HATE it when you can not reach a person on an information line. Yes, many times the automated line is enough, but often there are questions that arise which they do NOT answer, and the automated line is USELESS and downright frustrating!

*** If some robot-like “golem” police officers did arrive, she would probably create quite a scene, to put it mildly. They would need at least four people to get her out the door….

**** Actually, the Israeli army, to it's credit, does have an excellent set-up whereby young men with intellectual disabilities are allowed to voluntarily serve in a special program, doing jobs that their talents suit them for.

Epilogue: On Wednesday I took her papers to the induction center, without the needed stamp (because the court clerks WERE striking), and very quickly (and in a friendly manner) the lady soldier there took care of the entire matter. I KNEW that there wasn't REALLY a problem, so why did I obsess about it........?

The Pink Schoolbag

The other day I sent Ricki downstairs to meet her ride to school. I checked from the window to see that she wasn’t making a detour to the grocery store, and that she crossed the street carefully. Then I went back to the task at hand. A few minutes later, I went again to the window, to see if her ride had arrived. Then I saw IT. A pink schoolbag.
Ricki has somehow gotten hold of a schoolbag which was definitely not hers. I was surprised; people usually don’t leave bags lying around, even if they have to make a quick dash to do something. There is too much risk of someone calling the bomb squad (and the bag getting shot at). But there Ricki was, prancing happily on “her” corner, with a lovely pink schoolbag. I told Ricki to leave it alone, but she was not in the mood to listen. And I knew that if I would go downstairs, Ricki would only run away ahead of me, walking to school on her own. So I called her driver and was about to explain to him NOT to let Ricki enter the car with the bag, that it wasn’t hers. Suddenly the 9 year-old owner of the bag turned up, extracted her possessions from Ricki (who readily returned it), and walked off to school. (Bet she doesn’t leave her bag lying around in the future…..)

An Interesting Point

The following is from the blog "Israel Matzav", which is probably more right wing than most of my readers would like. But I think that the following point is a very valid one.He is quoting, actually, Washington Post columnist Charles Krauthammer

The entire "natural growth" issue is a concoction. Is the peace process moribund because a teacher in the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem is making an addition to her house to accommodate new grandchildren? It is perverse to make this the center point of the peace process at a time when Gaza is run by Hamas terrorists dedicated to permanent war with Israel and when Mahmoud Abbas, having turned down every one of Ehud Olmert's peace offers, brazenly declares that he is in a waiting mode -- waiting for Hamas to become moderate and for Israel to cave -- before he'll do anything to advance peace.

In his much-heralded "Muslim world" address in Cairo yesterday, Obama declared that the Palestinian people's "situation" is "intolerable." Indeed it is, the result of 60 years of Palestinian leadership that gave its people corruption, tyranny, religious intolerance and forced militarization; leadership that for three generations rejected every offer of independence and dignity, choosing destitution and despair rather than accept any settlement not accompanied by the extinction of Israel.

That's why Haj Amin al-Husseini chose war rather than a two-state solution in 1947. Why Yasser Arafat turned down a Palestinian state in 2000. And why Abbas rejected Olmert's even more generous December 2008 offer.

In the 16 years since the Oslo accords turned the West Bank and Gaza over to the Palestinians, their leaders built no roads, no courthouses, no hospitals, none of the fundamental state institutions that would relieve their people's suffering. Instead they poured everything into an infrastructure of war and terror, all the while depositing billions (from gullible Western donors) into their Swiss bank accounts.

Obama says he came to Cairo to tell the truth. But he uttered not a word of that. Instead, among all the bromides and lofty sentiments, he issued but one concrete declaration of new American policy: "The United States does not accept the legitimacy of continued Israeli settlements," thus reinforcing the myth that Palestinian misery and statelessness are the fault of Israel and the settlements.

Blaming Israel and picking a fight over "natural growth" may curry favor with the Muslim "street." But it will only induce the Arab states to do like Abbas: sit and wait for America to deliver Israel on a platter. Which makes the Obama strategy not just dishonorable but self-defeating.

The Terrible Speller (or, Murder of the English Tongue)

My mom, seeing the first half of this title, will be sure, erroneously, that this post is about me. I am a terrible speller. The only D I ever received as a final grade was in spelling. But I was lucky; someone invented “spell-check”, and has made my life easier.
But this post is not about me. It is about the daily slaughter of the English tongue which I am witness to.
First, there are the people (including my own offspring) who use English words, thinking that they are new Hebrew terms. And they will invariably mispronounce it. (Rolling the “R” being the least problem here.)
Do you recognize “absurrrdit” as “absurd”? And “Food Professor” is not a new college instructor, but a food processor.

The next absurdity is the misspellings. And they pop up all over. In package instructions, advertisements, etc. You would think that people would spend a bit of change for an English proofreader……
So it should come as no surprise that coming home from a shoe store in the city center today, my adult daughter and I came over a grocery store with its name written in bold letters over the door:
“Ceaper Buing”


PS: “Disability Blog Carnival”#48 is posted over at Terri’s blog.