"It's a Kapara"

When the mirror on my car got broken by the construction men two weeks ago, one week after the car's annual check-up, and it cost me 1600 NIS to repair, my Mother said, "It's a Kapara."

Today, on Purim, my pocketbook got stolen for the 30 seconds that I left it in the stroller while delivering Mishloach Manot.  It contained the keys to my house and my car, my wallet (and all associated credit cards, driver's licenses etc.), my cell phone and the digital camera, with photos from Purim that I had not yet down-loaded.  It contained some money, my professional Chiropractic license and more alarming, both mine and Raphaela's US Social Security cards.

I tried to call my cell phone, but it was shut off.  Not by me, I assure you. I kept hoping that given the import of the day, someone found it and will return it to me; so far I have heard nothing from anyone.

Now the person who has my bag can steal my car, break into my house, take my memories and possibly steal my identity using the social security numbers.

Hell of a Kapara.  I must have done something really naughty for the Universe to punish me this way. 

I called the Police and they said that I have to come down to the station to report the theft.  When I explained that it makes it quite difficult when I have a baby, am a single parent and can't easily find a sitter, and can't even drive my car over there because my car keys and my license were stolen as part of the package.  The answer I got was typical in this Third World Beurocracy, "That's procedure, take it or leave it."

I am at the moment in a state of shock, trying to keep myself busy organizing the lists of how this needs to be resolved.  I have not eaten since breakfast this morning, I tend to starve myself when I am under extreme pressure.  Raphaela, picking up on my tension, refuses to fall asleep and give me a minute to collect my thoughts, and cry.

Yes, she and I are alive and healthy, but this really really sucks.  Happy Purim.