Poor Shevy, she’d been so happy to have a sister to rely on, and that sister was proving far too wrapped up in her own life to help out
Sending a daughter for a year in Eretz Yisrael is never simple. There’re the applications and the registration, there’s the shopping and shopping and more shopping, there’s the tickets and the arrangements and a hundred long-distance phone calls, and did I mention the shopping? But when you throw Covid regulations into the mixture as well, you end up like I did at the end of this summer: with a pounding, splitting headache.
“Tell me again, what did the seminary say we need to provide?”
Shevy rattled off the details. “A PCR test. I have to take it within 72 hours of takeoff, and they said to make sure there’s a passport number on the results. And we also need to fill out a form online, and book a Covid test for when we land in Ben Gurion, and…”
We got the PCR. We filled out a bunch of forms (the first few, apparently, we did wrong, and we had to start again). We paid for another test. Made a few frantic phone calls to the seminary office. Reviewed the list ten times, double-printed every piece of paperwork, and hoped that we hadn’t missed anything.
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