Bureaucracy
Often when we hear of aliyah or the klita process, this more than often follows some comment about bureaucracy. Usually it is that dealing with Israelis can be annoying and how incredibly unhelpful they are.
Six years ago I had one such story when I had to renew my Israeli passport at the consulate in Boston. After going in once (at very specific hours) my application was denied and I was told I needed an apostille on my birth certificate (new law, not written on the form). We drove to Annapolis and got it done. One shiny gold sticker later, I made my way back to the consulate. I had everything prepared, down to the cash and armed with other documents just in case. The woman behind the screen looked at me, and in Hebrew asked "ואיפה בעלך?" No where was this written in the documentation. I called Josh frantically at the time (and apologize, but yes there were some crass words), who was working in Newton and asked him to drive down right away. Upon his arrival, he told me they never checked his license.
I could have picked up any man off the street.
This same birth certificate has come back to bite me once again but in an unexpected way. The aliyah process as of January 2019 requires that all birth certificates be apostilled. No biggie -- I had that done, right? Well, my certificate didn't have my parents names on it. How this worked six years ago and approved then, but not good enough now, is rather mind boggling.
We take immediately to the forms, requesting a new one. It finally arrives after three weeks and...my mothers maiden name is misspelled. Imagining and hoping it was a simple mistake on the keyboard from an "n" to an "m", after ten calls to the Maryland Vital Records office, and three left voice messages, I found out that the hospital is to blame for this mistake...33 years ago.
"You will need to send us new forms for the correction, your mother's marriage license and a birth certificate from an older sibling that hopefully shows the correct name. Then get the form notarized, send us back the one with error and give us $10." Give or take, this expense from start to finish will come out to $30. If not more. Luckily I have beautiful, supportive sisters (three of them) that react and listen to my venting. No where do they say that they can't help or check.
A bit of stress is felt as Josh later in the day sends me an image of my library card. "Is it mine," I ask. "It has your name on it...." he replies.
Silly me for what feels like a mistaken identity I've gotten away with for the longest time. I think of the passports I've been able to renew, registering for my SATs and drivers license.
"You know, this would come back in some other way or form down the road," I tell him.
So the next time you believe or think that bureaucracy only exists in Israel, like some special black hole, America makes plenty of its own mistakes and even the answer received, not so helpful. I have no way on my end to really verify (easily) that the hospital made this error long ago. My parents received the form as it was, and I will not know if they were even alerted for the opportunity to make changes within a year from my birth-date.
This too shall resolve and pass.
Six years ago I had one such story when I had to renew my Israeli passport at the consulate in Boston. After going in once (at very specific hours) my application was denied and I was told I needed an apostille on my birth certificate (new law, not written on the form). We drove to Annapolis and got it done. One shiny gold sticker later, I made my way back to the consulate. I had everything prepared, down to the cash and armed with other documents just in case. The woman behind the screen looked at me, and in Hebrew asked "ואיפה בעלך?" No where was this written in the documentation. I called Josh frantically at the time (and apologize, but yes there were some crass words), who was working in Newton and asked him to drive down right away. Upon his arrival, he told me they never checked his license.
I could have picked up any man off the street.
This same birth certificate has come back to bite me once again but in an unexpected way. The aliyah process as of January 2019 requires that all birth certificates be apostilled. No biggie -- I had that done, right? Well, my certificate didn't have my parents names on it. How this worked six years ago and approved then, but not good enough now, is rather mind boggling.
We take immediately to the forms, requesting a new one. It finally arrives after three weeks and...my mothers maiden name is misspelled. Imagining and hoping it was a simple mistake on the keyboard from an "n" to an "m", after ten calls to the Maryland Vital Records office, and three left voice messages, I found out that the hospital is to blame for this mistake...33 years ago.
"You will need to send us new forms for the correction, your mother's marriage license and a birth certificate from an older sibling that hopefully shows the correct name. Then get the form notarized, send us back the one with error and give us $10." Give or take, this expense from start to finish will come out to $30. If not more. Luckily I have beautiful, supportive sisters (three of them) that react and listen to my venting. No where do they say that they can't help or check.
A bit of stress is felt as Josh later in the day sends me an image of my library card. "Is it mine," I ask. "It has your name on it...." he replies.
Silly me for what feels like a mistaken identity I've gotten away with for the longest time. I think of the passports I've been able to renew, registering for my SATs and drivers license.
"You know, this would come back in some other way or form down the road," I tell him.
So the next time you believe or think that bureaucracy only exists in Israel, like some special black hole, America makes plenty of its own mistakes and even the answer received, not so helpful. I have no way on my end to really verify (easily) that the hospital made this error long ago. My parents received the form as it was, and I will not know if they were even alerted for the opportunity to make changes within a year from my birth-date.
This too shall resolve and pass.
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