Tel Aviv Dispatch: For Once I Am Not the Only One Unemployed
By Anat Kamm
On the day before the Seder, while most of the Jewish people in Israel were wondering how to celebrate the most familial holiday of the year under the COVID-19 restrictions, food banks and charity organizations had one of their busiest days. As a young, healthy woman without pre-existing conditions, who still maintains the otherwise unhealthy habit of smoking, I’m one of the least likely people to get sick. I also happen to own a car, so I volunteered to help with delivering food packages to home-confined people in need.
I was asked to arrive at the distributing center in Jaffa at 10 a.m. Knowing the ride from my apartment usually takes about half an hour, and since I prefer to arrive early, I left home at 9:15 a.m.
The ride took 12 minutes.
Without buses — public transportation was halted as part of the new situation — designated bus lanes were available. Without people going to work, there was no one on the road.
Last week, I drove to Jerusalem to keep (a distant) company to my 78-year-old dad, who is home alone and bored out of his mind. I left Tel Aviv around 4 p.m., in what is usually the rushest of rush hours. Ayalon Highway, the main route to exit Tel Aviv which at any other day is packed with thousands of commuters returning home from work, was open. It was one of the smoothest rides I ever had.
When I think about when this is all finally over, I know I will miss those rides. Driving nearly alone, with little to no distractions or crazy drivers who can kill me, owning the road. I hate the circumstances, but boy was this fun.
It’s not just the lack of cars I’ll miss, but also the near-total absence of people from the streets. With the drinking age in Israel being legally 18 and practically 15, it is not uncommon to end Friday night stumbling over drunk teenagers lying on the pavement on your way home. On holidays, and especially those in which excessive drinking is a must like Purim and Independence Day, it gets even worse. Rabin Square, Israel’s main venue for big public events — imagine Times Square and the National Mall combined — becomes a Roman bacchanalia in those days.
This year, due to the ban on all public gatherings because of COVID-19, the square was as empty and quiet as if it was the middle of the night, on a plain Monday, during a rainstorm. Since I live only a few minutes’ walk from the square, over the years I used to spend these holidays at my parents’ house in Jerusalem, because I couldn’t bear the noise and stench that came from it. I don’t need to wait for next year’s celebrations to know that I will remember spring 2020 holiday season fondly, not having to run away from my own neighborhood.
But what I will miss most is not being the only person I know who is not fully employed, gigging from home with short-term projects, sometimes not showering for days. I consider myself lucky for not losing my job and not having my whole daily routine disrupted — but that’s only because I have neither.
It’s been more than seven months since I returned to Israel and I still haven’t found a proper job. The Israeli media market is struggling, suffering from the same problems media markets around the world suffer, but with Hebrew as a very niche language it doesn’t enjoy the grace of catering to international audiences which could help.
In addition, I come with a personal heavy load of having a criminal record. Nine years ago, after my identity as a source was disclosed by the newspaper to whom I leaked classified documents from my military service, I was convicted of espionage and was sentenced to serve time in prison. Even though I was released more than six years ago, this affair still deters editors from hiring me. So I don’t really work, regardless of the situation, and I’m painfully jealous of people who get up in the morning, dress up and go to their offices.
COVID-19 took that from many people, and as evil as it may sound, it was somewhat comforting to see others in my situation — realizing that “freelancing from home” doesn’t mean a care-free Netflix-binging lifestyle, like some people who hate their boss think.
When this is over, most of my furloughed friends will return to their I-hate-my-boss daily lives, gladly leaving this period behind. I will miss this forced camaraderie, of having our professional fates joined, of understanding each other, while I will keep looking for a place which would agree to hire me. Many people are lonely now. I will be a different kind of lonely then. At least until the next wave of epidemic hits us all.
Anat Kamm is a graduate of the M.A. Class of 2018 in the business concentration at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism.
