September 13, 1972

I’m so glad I have my husband Abe to run interference for me, as otherwise, I’d be annoyed as hell about everything we’ve been going through to get the least little thing approved.  So much bureaucracy.  I think I’ve mentioned that before.  Every little detail in living here has to be approved in triplicate.  And when the government sends you a communication, they put a staple right in the middle of the envelope.  Why?  Is everyone opening everyone else’s mail?

Then there are other aggravations like El Al losing the box that had all of my son Ben’s outerwear, his raincoat and sweaters with the Israeli winter fast approaching.  Also, my maid Mima is annoyed that I don’t speak Hebrew yet.  I haven’t even started at the ulpan for learning Hebrew.  Nor does she like the way I make the kids’ beds.  She has instructed me how to do it properly.  Am I grateful?

Meanwhile, the food.  All I can say is Oy!  Since everything is kosher, what passes for beef here is inedible—for all of us except Abe.  He has no trouble eating it.  I stick to chicken or frozen cod.  If I get the chicken, I have to have someone clean it, as the head, the feet and some of the feathers remain.  You will not find this woman plucking a chicken.

Ben is finally in school.  Already at five, he doesn’t want me walking him to and from school.  Since it’s right down the street, I let him go on his own.

I’m not too sure about his teacher Hava.  She doesn’t speak English and has informed Abe that Ben doesn’t know how to hold his pencil.  This kid has been reading since he was three and he’s left-handed, which means he holds his pencil differently than a right-handed person.

Am I being too sensitive?  I doubt it.  Later in the year, she told us how bright he was and that, if he worked hard, he could grow up to be a mechanic.

Why did she say that when I never saw any mechanical ability in my son, even nascently?  Could it be because in Israel there are two tribes, Ashkenazi and Mizrahi?  Since my husband is originally from Iraq, that put him in the wrong tribe in Hava’s eyes.  The perception is that Ben will never be more than a drudge, despite the fact that his father’s a professor, I have my Master’s.

Speaking of which, the Russians are coming in greater numbers now.  The joke is they hold up two victory signs as they deplane, one for villa, one for Volvo.  The government goes out of its way to welcome them which is causing consternation among the Moroccan contingent, who are still left to languish in the Negev development towns with no work but plenty of dust.