On Our Own

It's been five weeks since I made aliyah and as they say in Hebrew, “ani ohseh chaim,” which means “I'm having fun” but the literal translation is, “I'm doing life” – living equates to fun.

Over the past months I’ve had numerous coffee dates and all-day breakfasts with new friends and with "old" ones who made aliyah years ago; took grandchildren out for lunch and dinner and post-Shabbat ice-cream; spent fulfilling Shabbatot with their families, (my days of often being alone for Shabbat meals are over, Baruch Hashem); volunteered putting tzitzit on uniforms (where it was confirmed that I have two left hands – which was apparent in Home EC class when my classmates were knitting scarves while I was stymied as to how to get stitches on the needles); had doctors’ appointments that introduced me to Israel's socialized medicine; browsed at book and arts and crafts fairs; participated in an outdoor exercise class; went on frequent bargain hunting excursions at the second-hand store at the nearby community center (10 items of high-end clothing for 30 shekels); attended a vort, where I did an extraordinary amount of Jewish geography – as I've been doing with every North American I met – that has us mutually gobsmacked at how super connected the Jewish world is; gave a short dvar Torah at a women's tea on Shavuot; attended several fascinating shiurim ; attended a granddaughter's gymnastics performance; wandered up and down the hills of Ramat Beit Shemesh to get to where I need to go – a built-in workout – often helped by strangers who turned around to put me on the right path.

And of course, hung out with the family twice in the middle of the night in their mamad – safe room – during a night of sirens. I am now living history as it happens – what a privilege!

Which makes me sad and frustrated and annoyed that so many future olim in the process of making aliyah are being subjected to what a big majority consider onerous and plain head-shaking bureaucratic rules and regulations that cause unnecessary stress, expense and delayed approval. A colleague who made aliyah a few years ago shared that two weeks before her scheduled aliyah flight, where it would seem she had a “green light,” she was told to get another letter from a recognized rabbi that she was Jewish. The letter she had just expired – as it’s good for only a year (extended from six months).

The question that begs to be asked is why is there ANY expiration date? Jewishness is not time sensitive! What’s the big deal, she was told. Just ask for a new letter. He had moved out of the city, she explained. “So go to a different rabbi. “So, she had to approach a new rabbi in the midst of her packing, organizing and doing the 1,000 necessary tasks that an international move entails.

I too had to get a rabbi letter even though my kids, who had made aliyah a few years earlier were verified as being halachically Jewish by their rav – which means they were born to a Jewish mother. This same rav gave my son a letter on my behalf attesting that I was Jewish, that was downloaded to my aliyah file, but the aliyah office wanted a hard copy. Wasn’t digital good enough?

Since my son did not know where the original was – I had to find a local rav to attest to my Jewishness. Which means scheduling a mutually convenient time, with him being a lot busier than me.

In the meantime, there was an issue with a cut red ribbon on a marriage certificate of half a century ago, and fingerprints that were not printable – due to worn fingers – an issue many older people have.

And a problem many children of Holocaust survivors have to deal with – how to prove who you are, when the name on your birth certificate doesn’t match the name you grew up with after a legal name change. Those born in DP camps may have to go on a “wild goose chase” to obtain records that no longer exist.

I was born in Canada but have a birth certificate that reflects a name that existed for only a few months, as my parents’ legal name change was approved shortly after I was born. I ruefully think that had I not been six weeks early, I could have avoided this stressful roadblock.

And even though I had gotten married over 50 years ago, and was Kupfer, I was unable to prove that it was me, as my birth certificate name wasn’t the name on the marriage certificate. Had I not miraculously found my father’s 70-year-old Certificate of Citizenship that reflected both his original and new names, and a couple of their old passports that stated the same, I might have had to legally change my name back to the name I grew up with – after being Kupfer for half a century – for I hadn’t quite proved I was me.

I’m assuming once my parents changed their name, our names as minor children were automatically included. So, there would be no record of my name change. Miraculously, the powers that be in the Ministry of Aliyah, eventually decided being my parents’ daughter was proof enough.

But that was just one brick wall I had to jump over. As I mentioned, my marriage certificate had a cut red ribbon. It had been attached to an affidavit from the Israeli consulate. Likely the ribbon was cut two years earlier so both pages could be scanned to my file. Yet it was considered a “tampered” document. It wasn’t a police criminal background check document so it shouldn’t have been a security concern.

And then there was the tale of my non-viable fingerprints. More details next time. And some suggestions to smooth the path to aliyah.