A Bit of Bureaucracy

This morning we awoke for the first time in the new apartment and set out to City Hall to inquire about a residential parking permit for Savta's car. As it turns out, City Hall is actually multiple buildings in a square at the foot of Jaffa St, which makes sense since the actual Hebrew translation of where we were is "municipality."

After being initially misdirected to a tourism hotline, we were sent to the building containing the parking office. The man at the desk sat calmly with stone-cut features and spiky grey hair while he informed us we could not obtain a parking permit unless the car was registered in either our name or a parent's name. I left feeling a bit defeated, though Donna remarked that she had only needed to claim she was the daughter of Yehoshua Bareket (Saba), and the bureaucrat wouldn't have known the difference.

Oh well. In the words of a wounded soldier, "I'll lay me down and bleed a while, then up to fight again..."