The neighbor

Nine years ago, we were asked to leave our first apartment in Israel. Our landlord's son had just moved back to Israel with his fiance, and after living with them for a few weeks she asked us to vacate the rental so that she could give it to them because she did not care for her daughter-in -aw to be. 

The cost of our inconvenience would be for our landlord to pay for our move. Since our lease would be up in a few months anyways, we agreed to the terms. Back then, our neighborhood had fewer buildings. Today, it is 20 times the size, but when we had to move out, there were only three apartments for rent. 

We chose the apartment that we live in to this day. To be honest, I've never loved it, but I will be here until the landlord wants it for his annoying daughter or son-in-law, the rent is too high, or we leave Israel. The price is right, and I hate moving. Besides, nothing is perfect, right? 

My son was born five months after we moved in to this brand new building. It was so new that not all of the elevators were functioning. Immediately, the occupants of the building viewed us with some skepticism. They did not like that we were renters. However, I adopted Lior's life's attitude (that's their problem), and most of them were appeased by my children's beautiful eyes, dimpled cheeks, and the fact that we paid our bills and were not very loud. 

There is always an exception to being well liked, and that exception was our next door neighbors. From the second we moved in, our next door neighbors despised us. They spoke poorly about us to our babysitters, saying things like, "How can you stand those people?" One summer, after my nephew and I had cleaned out the storage closet and left a thin line of dust, the scary owner left a note on my door that read in menacing, broken English, "You dirty, dirty woman." There were more threats there. I have that note, but I don't feel like finding it. Life is to short to look through my Google photos.

When Maya was home sick from school one day with Lior, the woman got into a physical altercation with our cleaning woman. The conflict had been brewing for months and climaxed when our cleaning woman called her a "Russian whore." Our neighbor attacked her and she attacked back - all in front of Maya. The police were not called. No injuries were reported. (This is a really nice neighborhood - I swear). We had to, sorry, Lior had to, fire our cleaning woman, who sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. We paid her a hefty severance that one pays in socialized country. I knocked on our neighbor's door to tell her the news. Her response was not one of gratitude but of surprise, "It's so difficult to find someone you trust to clean your home." 

Fast forward several years later to today. I was heading out to the car and there she was at the elevator. (Lior just shuts the door if he sees her waiting there).  I usually stare at my feet avoiding her gaze as she avoids mine. Unexpectedly, she begins a  conversation in Hebrew.

"The elevators move so slowly. Why do they move so slowly?" she asks. 

I hesitate, but say hesitantly, "At least it's better than previous years when only one was working." 

She nods knowingly as if we are friends. The doors to the elevator open. I let allow her to enter first. She asks, "Do you know that I am a nurse?"

"No, I didn't," I say truthfully. "I knew your husband was a doctor." I knew that because she once screamed at me because her husband "a very important physician" was asleep and she said the kids were being too loud.

 

"Yes." she continued. "I work in the ICU at Ichilov Hospital. The 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift. Last night was very difficult with the soldiers. Tonight will also be very difficult." 

I looked at her in the eyes for the first time in nine years and said, "Thank you for all the you do." 

This is Ichilov Hospital.