As I’ve mentioned before, I think our half-yearly elections are great fun. But, part of the pleasure is how jolly my election station is.

From my home, it’s a 15-minute walk uphill. Walking there, I feel like on my way to a birthday party, and when I arrive, that’s the atmosphere I find.

Yesterday, I walked my uphill battle to encounter two ladies coming down, with the younger, in her 20s, wearing an oversized Mini Mouse pullover. ‘Mini didn’t vote for the cats, I hope,’ I told them. The ladies looked bewildered. Israelis don’t remember what slogans or pictures are on the clothes they put on in the morning. Let alone that they realize what day it is. I walk on. It gets far less fun(ny) when you have to explain a joke.

At the gate, I thank the guard for his work. It must be so boring, thank G^d.

Other voting rooms have waiting lines, but mine never does.

I’m always greeted by a group of eager, happy-looking poll attendants. This time, there was also a poll watcher of, I guess, not older than 10.

As every time, I thank them for the hearty mood and reception.

‘We are simply the best,’ says the head of the board while the others nod.

I hand them my ID, the head of the room calls my number, the one next to him says my name, they cross out my line, and the former puts the picture next to my head and compares. I ask: ‘Does it look anything like me?’ Advertisement

They keep my ID, give me a signed envelope, and gesture me to the booth.

But first, I reassure them that I’ll pick a slip from the stack that’s the highest because ‘otherwise it’s not fair.’ But, once I get there, and look for and find the specific piece I want, I call out: ‘I’ve got it!’ The booth walls are as high as my nipples; I live in a country of dwarfs. They could have seen from which direction I took the note, but no one cares.

I put the piece in the envelope. I check 5 times if it’s not a fake, not double, not damaged, and really the one I want, and stick the envelope closed.

Now I walk slowly and dramatically toward the ballot box. Advertisement

‘Where are cameras?’ ‘There,’ points the poll watcher. ‘Which TV station?’

Carefully and theatrically, I lower the envelope through the slit. The watcher applauds.

My ID returns, and I joyfully say to the committee: ‘See you in half a year.’

On my way out, I notice a guy of about 25 years entering, pushing a baby carriage. ‘Forget it,’ I prepare him for the shock. ‘She’ll be too little to vote.’

Pleased, I leave the station after greeting the guard. How many people can say that they did something easy, for free, and constructive in one minute that will make world news the next day?

It’s also nice to know that my party won, also thanks to me. All Israeli voters feel like that. And if it lost anyway, at least, it won’t be my fault.

QOSHE - I looove Israeli elections and my voting station - Moshe-Mordechai Van Zuiden
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I looove Israeli elections and my voting station

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02.11.2022

As I’ve mentioned before, I think our half-yearly elections are great fun. But, part of the pleasure is how jolly my election station is.

From my home, it’s a 15-minute walk uphill. Walking there, I feel like on my way to a birthday party, and when I arrive, that’s the atmosphere I find.

Yesterday, I walked my uphill battle to encounter two ladies coming down, with the younger, in her 20s, wearing an oversized Mini Mouse pullover. ‘Mini didn’t vote for the cats, I hope,’ I told them. The ladies looked bewildered. Israelis don’t remember what slogans or pictures are on the clothes they put on in the morning. Let alone that they realize what day it is. I walk on. It gets far less fun(ny) when you have to........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)


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