This could be a win-win for everybody. The company sells the apartment, and we buy it. Esther gets her commission, the lawyer gets his fee, and I’m sure you make something on the deal (not that I want to pry!). These remarks were directed at Asaf, who was assisting us in our efforts to buy said apartment (THE apartment on Hashofar) that we were hoping would be the answer, if not to our prayers, then at least to our thoughts. I was sitting next to him as he was driving Barbara and me through the backroads of Har Hotzfim to the offices of the firm that had built and owned the project. We were going to meet with one of their representatives, the hope being that we could come to some agreement that would make everybody happy.

I could have kept going with my ruminations on the economy, as in:  if we take the apartment, think of all the people who would get employment: moving men, our contractor,Tomer Peretz, and his crew of workers, salespeople of all types, Rafi, our a/c guy, numerous people behind the desks in banks and insurance companies. And that’s just on our end. What about the family that would be taking over our apartment, and all the people involved in that? And someone would be taking over their apartment. The ripple effect goes on and on. That’s the glory of the ‘market’ economy.

But that’s only if the deal goes through. If we can’t agree to terms, then it’s been a monumental waste of everyone’s time and effort, and nobody makes a nickel….whoops, a shekel. But why shouldn’t it work out? The way Barbara and I figured it, the company has been sitting on an empty apartment, and we, prospective buyers – the only ones in sight – would be sitting in their office, ready to sign on the dotted line. And this is Israel, where give-and-take gets given and taken every day of the year – except perhaps for Shabbat and the hagim. So we were cautiously optimistic, to use a hackneyed expression, that things would work out. But why wouldn’t they?

The woman sitting behind the desk at company headquarters was Racheli, whom I was told later was an attorney. She listened patiently when Barbara and I made our pitch, which went something like: We are currently living a block away in a ‘pentcottage’ on Hakeren, 6.5 rooms, completely and lovingly renovated. The only reason we’re planning on moving is because we don’t need such a large apartment and the stairs are becoming a problem for Barbara. (We have a nice place and we’re not desperate, so keep that in mind.) Our apartment is on the market, but, obviously, we can’t know how much we will get for it or how long it will take to sell. (We’re ready to buy, but we’ll need some flexibility on your part. So keep that in mind.) Barbara has carefully and thoroughly gone through our finances, and we can show you the numbers.  (We’ve come prepared; so keep that in mind.)

And then I waited for a response. If you’re sitting in a car dealership in NJ, trying to trade in your old clunker for something more up to date, everyone will be as friendly as possible. There will be a sense that you’re there to do business, and the salesperson will try to find a way to make a deal possible, under the general idea that a sale is better than no sale. And if they can’t….

It’s probably a good thing that Racheli was not selling automobiles in Union City. It was a bad thing that she was sitting on the other side of the desk from us in Jerusalem dealing in real estate. Here were the terms as she laid them out: 10% down, another 10% in two months, full payment in six months, no ‘escape clause.’ Oh, and the banks doing the financing won’t let us reduce the price by one dime…..oops, one shekel. Basically, take it or leave it; we don’t care either way.

It didn’t take me long to realize that we were wasting our time, but as we were sitting there in an air-conditioned office, and Asaf had taken the time and trouble to drive us, let’s continue the conversation. (I should also mention that, at some point, Liz, the woman whom Barbara had first spoken to, had joined the conversation. Why not? Let’s add insult to injury, while we’re at it.) What was the big deal about six months, as in, supposing we needed eight months to come up with the money? As Racheli explained it, full of indignation, it’s the arnona, stupid, the tax that a resident pays every month determined by the size of the premises. Every additional month that the contractors own the apartment means another month that THEY are responsible for this tax. That’s why it HAS to be six months and not one day longer. (Maybe you want to stop reading at this point and spot the fallacy in Racheli’s thought processes.)

That’s right. If we got up and walked out, saying thanks-but no-thanks to their offer, then Racheli and Co. would still be stuck with an empty apartment, waiting for some other would-be buyer to show up next week, next month, next year, and the company might keep on paying the arnona until the cows come home. I didn’t make the effort to explain this to the company lawyer; either she knew this herself or she didn’t – either way…

Now that I knew that they were bluffing – or trying to, anyway – I was curious how they would justify a 10-11000 NIS voucher to install a kitchen, especially when we explained that our man Tomer had given us an estimate that was almost ten times higher (which we readily admitted was for a high-end job, more than what we would need or could afford). We knew from Asaf that their voucher was for a bare-bones installation appropriate for the fortunate young families who had won their apartments in a lottery. Would these two women at least admit that it might cost a little more than their offer to do the job right?

One lesson to learn from certain politicians, if they’re going to tell a lie, they do it with absolute conviction and repeat it as often as necessary. Make it that there’s something wrong with YOU for questioning them. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll get away with it – so they hope. Liz was horrified (horrified!) by what I had just told them. There was no reason why anyone needed to spend anything more than the voucher price for a kitchen; the folks at Gal in DCity would do it for something like that price and would install everything in one day. (I can only imagine!) We had mentioned that the cabinets that Tomer had installed for us came from Semel – meaning top-of-the-line – to which Racheli replied that she knew someone who worked there. (And your point is…?)

But the best was yet to come. If one is going to be obnoxious, do it on a grand scale. When it became obvious that the money we thought we could come up with didn’t match what they were asking, Liz looked at us and inquired, ‘Well, can’t you borrow from your children?’

We’ve shared this exchange with a number of friends and had the pleasure of witnessing their varied spontaneous responses, but on one point, everyone with adult children was in full agreement: Our children should give US money?; we’re still helping THEM out. A normal person might have suggested to us, Do you have any family or friends who might be able to lend you the money; or perhaps you have some investments? Something a tad less aggressive. (As if we wouldn’t have thought of that on our own.) But remember, this is Israel, where not knowing how to talk to people has been raised to an art form. No, Liz, that’s not possible, although you have demonstrated an amazing ability to add insult to injury.

It’s not as if the apartment in question had become less desirable. Au contraire, mes amis. Less affordable, but not less desirable. We left the meeting with our virtual tail between our legs. We were down, but were we out? Stay tuned.