The Ministry

The Israeli Ministry of the Interior has been heavily featured in the news this past week. This is my own small experience with it.

I'm in the process of applying for a visa for a year-long stay in Jerusalem. There are many steps involved, but one of the most important is making an appointment at the ministry. It took me a while to find it because the address they give online is not even close to the place you actually need to go to get a visa. With help from a kind taxi driver, I found the ministry, which looks less like a ministry than a nondescript door wedged between two shops on a busy commercial street. I asked the driver three times if he was sure if this was the right place.

When I walked up, there was a fight already going on between a girl speaking heavily-accented English and the security guard, who was snapping at her from behind an almost-closed door. After a few minutes, I learned that the girl was trying to get her visa extended for a week. The guard kept telling her that she needed to call the number on the door, and the girl kept insisting that she had called the number many times and nobody ever answered. Soon, a woman and her children pushed in front of the girl and started their own fight with the guard, who continued to peer out at us from the crack in the door. Not wanting to be left out, I jumped into the fray and started to yell at the guard with everyone else. After a while of this, another guard appeared and told us that our only window of opportunity to get what we wanted was to come back at 7:45 the next morning. This seemed like progress.

I woke up early the next morning, but my bus was stuck in miserable rush-hour traffic, and I didn't get there until 8:15. On my way in, I ran into the girl from the day before.

"Did you get your visa? Am I too late?" I asked her.

"I have my visa and you're very lucky," she answered. Apparently everyone who had come at the appointed time had been told, once again, to call the number on the door. The woman in charge claimed that this was a special new number, but really it was the same useless number we had all been calling to no avail. But not knowing what else to do, the crowd wrote down the number and left. Infuriated, my new friend complained to the security guard on her way out. He realized something was wrong and took her back upstairs where it turned out that the visa officer had simply been late to work, and the woman had been trying to cover for him. The visa officer himself was a very kind man.

"Go to room 204!" The girl called as I raced up the dilapidated stairs to try to catch this miraculous visa officer. When I arrived at room 204, I walked past it three times. There was a sign that said 204, but no room there. The closest room was down a cramped hallway. I got in line, hoping I was in the right place. Around me were piles of papers that appeared to be people's files stacked haphazardly on top of each other. In front of me was a couple speaking French. (Details have been changed to protect their identity.) I asked them if this was the line to get visas.

"No, you don't get visas here. You get appointments to be considered for a visa."

"Right! That's what I want," I said pleased I hadn't been standing in the wrong line for the past 30 minutes. We talked, and the couple started to vent about the Israeli bureaucracy in French. They had been living in the country for some time, and even had a son in the army.

"They're just ill-mannered!" The man was getting heated. "It's a country for the ultra-religious and no one else." I looked around to see if anyone could understand our conversation, as the couple became louder and louder with their criticism of the Israeli government.

Finally, it was my turn. The kind visa officer gave me an appointment date and sent me on my way. I said goodbye to the couple on the way out. We had the same day, so we will be meeting again. After my experience, I began to wonder what percentage of the ministry's behavior is discrimination, and how much is complete disorganization.