First Mitzvah from a Sabra in 363 Days

Today something newsworthy happened.

After 11 months and 27 days of relentless struggle in a very difficult language, an even more challenging culture, a bureaucratic system that makes little sense even to those born here - all in the most expensive country on the planet - a young guy who lives in my building decided not to charge me the 150 shekels ($50) we'd agreed on to go and get me a clothes dryer from across town and carry it into my apartment.

Sounds simple, right? Like maybe not the biggest deal? Allow me to back up.

Last week I paid 500 NIS to a professional mover to bring me a TV stand I loved from Ashkelon to Be'ersheva. The TV stand was 300 NIS, so it took me two weeks to decide about this purchase, but I finally chose to splurge on myself since I painted my apartment myself, got a great price on a sofa, will be spending 90% of my life in this room while I look for jobs and hopefully write and work remotely - and - thanks to the crisis that unfolded six weeks into my arriving last year - I also spent most of my first year watching people's dogs and not paying rent - which wasn't living on the kibbutz I had come so close to living on and earning money - but at least it hadn't been spending money. So, due to all of this, I decided I deserved the TV stand I wanted. So, just imagine when the "professional mover" arrived with it in pieces. Two out of three drawers broken.

He charged me full price. Lots of shrugs and confused expressions. Sayings like "what a shame" - and how "strange" that this happened. How "interesting" that only the drawers should break.

For him it was just a game - not a result of his work - not something that should cost him - for failing to provide the service he supposedly provides.

There is nobody to call in these case - it's just my bad luck.

"Eze basa" - "What a shame."

I've also spent six weeks in bureaucratic offices. First to change my address. "You need a new ID card first. Go get two pictures taken next door and come back at 8am Sunday." So, I paid 50 NIS to the photographer and returned with good pictures, only for the office to take their own pictures anyway.

Then there was the epic saga of the driving license office, an eight-step process - to try to have my US license converted within my first year back in Israel (to avoid taking a Hebrew driving course).

First, there was the online application. Easy enough - I was shocked.

Then, I had to find the correct eyeglasses shop to do the eye test before I could even check when appointments were across the country, but the day I went to the store the entire driver's license website was down for all of Israel. Impossible, right? So, I waited for two hours, but it never came back up and I had to return the next day.

There were no appointments in my city soon enough, so I traveled to Dimona, but they don't do foreign license conversions there, so I had to ambush the Be'ersheva office on Sunday (show up without an appointment) and I did manage to get in, only to be sent back to a different government office for a letter, and when I returned I was told - that she can't convert my license because I am not a returning resident.

HUH?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Well, then why did I get the tax benefit on my shipment?

Why did I have a six-month waiting period for my national health insurance during a war? A wait period, that it turned out they were charging me for, as health insurance is not free in Israel, not even when you can't access it. $2000 to ship my things here, and then $1000 for customs clearance which became $2000 due to the "random inspection" I was selected for and other random costs they slipped in. Hard to know when you will get the benefits and when you won't...had I known for sure I would get the tax benefit on my shipment, then I would have shipped my car.

But I digress.

As I try to settle into this ground floor apartment in a brand-new city I know little about, and break apart the walls with tools so I can paint them...

I couldn't help but notice the look on the young student's face today when he went from asking if I was from Be'ersheva or from Kibbutz Hazerim - to realizing I had actually come from abroad to Israel...period. Not just now at this time of war - and not just by myself - but at all.

"But it's so expensive," he said.

"Yes," I replied. "And the bureaucracy is impossible...!"

I stood rooted and nodding rather robotically on the spot.

And that's when a woman called and he had to repeatedly tell her he was here. He was back. He was already in the building. He was back...

"But I had even less 'out there.'"

I managed to squeak out before he left, but noticed this sounded a little more hollow than usual, because let's face it - this year has kicked my ass, as this country has a way of taking us Zionists who come here with our hearts full of passion and our minds rich with idealism and not knowing what to do with us - hell - not even noticing us...let alone considering us...

And who are we to complain?

This - (we) - are just one of many, many problems.

The best people on earth live in Israel, but in terms of governance or how to best use the people who tear across the world to find belonging here - this country has a very long way to go, and very little time to do it - since the Jews of the world are in trouble, so customer service here needs an upgrade - and who should be doing it? Those of us from countries where it exists.

It will simply have to become the job of us immigrants to push this to the forefront and have it be taken seriously, but with so many problems to solve - (and wars to fight) - it will be an uphill battle, but a worthwhile one, as it's crucial those of us that come - stay.

I hereby publicly declare, that when I find my footing, I will find a way to go about this. But just for today, the guy who lives upstairs did more for me today than he could possibly understand. This small act of kindness, "just for the sake of it," by someone I will see in my new day to day...recovered my perception of Israel which had shifted to a place I wasn't comfortable with. It pressed an imaginary reset button and allowed me to exhale.

Thank you, good looking guy on a tight leash upstairs. The "sort of kibbutz" you grew up on did its job. Community before himself is who this man is. What a beautiful way to be - what a beautiful way to live - and what a beautiful way to make the new neighbor downstairs feel like community might actually be possible in Be'ersheva.

To my almost first year back in this tiny, impossible, magical, maddening, passionate country I love to call home - named Israel.

--

Melanie Preston is a writer is flew to Israel immediately following the October 7th attacks, the place she had immigrated to in her 20s. After two years of interviewing the families of those slain and those taken hostage, she returned to live in May of 2025. She has volunteered with the children of Kibbutz Nir Yitzchak and Be'eri and completed her first short film with one family of a former child hostage. To support her work and her new life in Israel, please donate to her GoFundMe. All donations, no matter how small, will go directly to expenses as she works to rebuild her life in Be'ersheva. Thank you and Shalom.