After Hours at the Arnona Office: When Bureaucracy Shuts Down

A short anecdote and a short observation:

Anyone who has ever visited Jerusalem’s City Hall knows that they are serious about their hours. The Arnona Department, specifically, is inundated by swarms of residents eager to file for property tax discounts. Similar to many of Israel’s bureaucratic offices, it is a place no one really wants to be. And, truthfully, it doesn’t seem that they are too eager to keep anyone there. The one o’clock closing time is strictly enforced and as closing time approaches the gate abruptly closes, locking out a crowd of unhappy Jerusalemites.

Last week I was one of those unhappy Jerusalemites—on the other side of that closed gate: I wasn’t locked out; I was stuck in. The hour was after one and I was sitting on a chair waiting for my roommate to return with a document that needed to be urgently signed. The kind secretary assured me that if I remained she would allow my roommate to reenter with the necessary paperwork.

So I sat there and waited. For an hour. Alone. With nothing to do.


I glanced over at the secretary and I noticed that she was engrossed in conversation with a man who, too, remained in the room past the one o’clock closing time. I wondered what they were discussing. And then I overheard (they were speaking in audible tones): they were discussing faith. She was not religious and he was religious. Their conversation was beautiful: he was gentle and unimposing in his argument and she displayed a genuine interest. They discussed God and belief and the responsibility that duality places upon man. She questioned and doubted and wondered; and together they thought and considered and answered.

And then I realized: in that same hour that I sat there and waited—Alone. With nothing to do—those two people stood there. Together. Engaged in meaningful conversation. Her formal work hours had ended and yet she remained, curious to hear what this man had to offer. And this man, his needs fulfilled, remained, eager to speak with a stranger.

The juxtaposition of our two experiences—disparate yet connected—emphasized the power of time and the potency of human relationships. The sentiments of frustration and impatience that result from the bureaucratic system are seemingly a common experience; and yet this moment revealed its latent subjectivity. The nature of the experience is determined by the individual and his or her attitude. While time is a fleeting factor, it can be appreciated through the determined efforts of the individual to recognize and realize his or her surrounding elements.

Soon after my friend returned with the document. All that remained was for the secretary to sign the paper and enter the data into her computer. Concerned that I would interrupt her conversation, I hesitatingly handed her the paper. She took it from my hand and yet, preoccupied, continued her conversation with the man. I stood aside and smiled.

I waited patiently and watched with amusement as the guaranteed durability and strength of the bureaucratic model disintegrated. Its supposed speed and efficiency was supplanted by the instability and precariousness of human life. The reality in which genuine personalities interact exposed the human side of bureaucracy. My past experiences with Israel’s bureaucratic offices, while sociologically interesting, provided little means of personal interaction. They were either ‘do you have that document?’ or ‘please go pay this fee’ or ‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to first get a signature from that office. And, by the way, they are only open on Wednesdays’. And then a polite smile.

This time, though, there was none of that. This time, there was silence from her side, as well as mine. I was unconcerned with the delay and I didn’t mind her disregard for my needs nor her negligence of her duties. It was a simple encounter in which the efforts and concern of one stranger and one government worker exposed that which hides behind the rigidity and stiffness of bureaucracy: real people. The system often stifles the individual, prides itself on impersonability, and yet this experience allowed me to glimpse within her soul, to her concerns and worries and hopes.

While I expected myself to be frustrated and impatient, I found myself enjoying the situation. I enjoyed interacting with a real person, one whom I could appreciate and understand; I enjoyed witnessing a genuine conversation; and I enjoyed watching as she rebelled, albeit unknowingly, against the system.

And mostly, I enjoyed that it was all for the sake of Judaism. How holy.