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Avi Rockoff

Lost in Hadassah Ein Kerem

Wikimedia Commons
Wikimedia Commons

Some people lose themselves in work, in music, in sports. I almost lost myself in Hadassah Ein Kerem.

A Distant Memory

Seven years ago, when we were tourists, we came to Jerusalem when our daughter delivered a baby at Hadassah Hospital Ein Kerem.

Before discharge, Hadassah awarded mother and baby a one-night stay in Hadassah Hotel, near one of the entrances. All we had to do was leave the delivery suite and find the right entrance.

An odd caravan: Mom pushing swaddled baby in a cart, grandparents toddling after. We took an elevator down and aimed for an exit. We found ourselves in a mall lined with clothing shops and restaurants. We were lost.

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We asked a clerk at a kiosk selling costume jewelry where the hotel was. She motioned backward with her head. “Go straight,” she said, “and turn left at Burgers Bar.”

This seemed like a strange way to discharge a newborn. But we were just tourists then.

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My appointment was in the GI department at Hadassah Ein Kerem. No other details were provided.

The number 19 bus lists its destination as “Hadassah Ein Kerem,” which seemed promising. All I had to do was stay on.

Ten stops later the bus passed lovely vistas surrounding the hospital complex looming in the distance. We stopped at Beit Sefer L’Refuah, Hadassah Medical School. That didn’t sound right, and just a few people got off. The next stop was Machon Sharett, Hadassah Ein Kerem.  The driver said there was one more stop.

Then came Kenisah Rashit, Hadassah Ein Kerem. “Main Entrance” sounded right. Besides, it was the last stop. A nearby sign said, in English, “Alighting Only.” I alit.

Entering what I thought was the main entrance, I passed the Hadassah Hotel, and found myself in the mall we had walked through years ago with the newborn. This time I turned right at Burgers Bar and proceeded. Sooner or later something would surely look like a hospital.

I have seen commercial establishments in medical centers. I once visited a famous Boston Children’s Hospital whose lobby looked like the Charlton rest stop near old Exit 9 on the Massachusetts Turnpike. But there at least you could see the hospital through the stores.

At the end of a long row of restaurants shops and kiosks, I spied a helpful sign: “To the Medical Center.”

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Proceeding, I came to a set of escalators, one going up and other coming down. A sign to the right had an “H,” implying that I should go up the escalator to reach the hospital. The arrow for going around it pointed to elevators and muffins.

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As the escalator reached the top, another sign gave me pause:

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Hospital/Fast Food/Shops. But a U-Turn?

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Just to be safe, I turned around and went back down the other escalator. At the bottom I again saw nothing helpful, and still did not need any muffins. So I went back up, exited the escalator again, and asked a woman slouching against the wall where the hospital was. She pointed over my shoulder, toward another long row of stores.

At last I came to what looked like an entrance to the actual hospital. There in the lobby was an information desk. Having broken my teeth a few times trying to say gastroenterologia only to hear the reply, “Gastro?” I asked the information guy for Gastro. He pointed to a ramp to the left. “Up there and turn right,” he said.

I got to the top of the ramp and saw no signs pointing to Gastro or clinics or anything else relevant. So I walked down a hall and saw a room labeled Kabbalah. “Reception” – promising! I entered and interrupted a clerk serving someone else. (I am practicing being Israeli.) She asked me to take a seat and said she would call me next.

Which she did. I handed her my hafnayah (referral) and hitchayevut (authorization). She checked in the computer – and found my visit!  I had blundered into the right place. All I needed were directions to the doctor.

The clerk gave the classic Israeli directional advice – Yashar yashar ad hasof – out the door, go straight, all the way to the end. Then go down to minus 1.

When I got to the end, I turned right – the only option – found an elevator and went down to -1. Emerging, I again saw no helpful signs.

A young doctor passing by saw my bewilderment. Hearing my accent, he offered to speak in English, adding, “Everyone in this country speaks English, no?” He asked what I was looking for.

I said I was looking for the Gastro clinic. He looked perplexed. “I don’t know where that is,” he said. After a pause, he said, “I will ask.” I followed him down the hall, until he saw people he thought could help. They didn’t know either. I felt better about my own ignorance when I saw that hospital employees shared it.

The doctor and I retraced our steps back to the elevators. He seemed both very kind and not very busy. He asked another man walking by.

“You’re in the wrong building,” said the man. “Gastro is minus 1 in the Sharett Building.”  He asked if I could handle stairs. When I assured him I could, he pointed to a stairway at the end of the hall and told me to go up one flight and turn left.

I thanked him and the doctor and went upstairs. With help from passersby, I found arrows toward Machon Sharett. Along the way I saw a sign that seemed apt, though not what I had in mind just now.

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Entering Machon Sharett, I found the elevator, descended to minus 1, and there, at last, I was.  I was glad I had built in an extra hour to find the right place. I needed all of it.

The Gastro visit done, I turned my attention to what had been much easier to find to begin with: places to eat. One sign caught my eye:

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I knew what a warm bagel was, but not a Romanian one.

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Beigele” also means “pretzel. And only in Israel would a bakery sign include bracha instructions.

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Should I need another Gastro visit, I will get off the bus one stop earlier, at the Sharett Building. And maybe pick up one of those muffins near the elevator.

And so, thanks to Hadassah Ein Kerem, I nearly lost myself, but found lunch.

About the Author
Avi Rockoff came on aliyah with his wife Shuli in March 2022. They live in Jerusalem. His new book, This Year in Jerusalem: Aliyah Dispatches, has been recently published by Shikey Press.