A public default, a private ruin

Zahava Yitzhak feels sometimes like someone is testing her to see when she will break. There was a first pregnancy at the age of 17 by a boyfriend who left her. Later, her husband left her after they had four children. And then came that terrible moment when she was told that her little Ezra has Down's syndrome and the first day at the special hostel and the first night she left him there alone.

And all along the economic abyss threatened to swallow her up. Her ex-husband doesn't pay a shekel, and the National Insurance Institute is not exactly lady bountiful.

She was diagnosed with a serious illness and could no longer go to work. Between treatments she helps solitary neighbors in the Southern neighborhood of Ashkelon. There is always someone who is worse off than she is, says Zahava. But at the age of 54, her body is tired and has been through many wars; her senses are dulled.

About a month ago she was told that Ezra, now 21, was abused at the closed hostel where he lives in the south. To visit him (she does so monthly) involves three buses and hitching a ride from the last stop. There is nothing she can do. Where would she take Ezra? Who will help take care of him? He's and heavy, and she is just getting weaker. She didn't even have the strength to face down the director of the hostel.

One thing gives her strength - the belief she can make life different for her 15-year-old daughter.

Zahava has given everything - more than she has. She paid NIS 8,000 to the Shoresh chain of dental clinics to fix her daughter's smile, which the girl has always tried to hide. Zahava lives on guaranteed income, NIS 2,300 from the NII and went to tremendous lengths to obtain the money to pay for her daughter's braces.

But shortly after treatment began, Shoresh went bankrupt. Everyone knew this was about to happen - the chain's management and the banks - and the Knesset discussed the impending crash four months before the clinics closed. Only Zahava didn't know;no one warned her or thousands of other clients.

Three days running she came to a closed clinic. On the fourth day, someone told her there were no more dental treatments - and the money was gone. If the checks were crossed, they told her, everything will be fine. But she doesn't know what it means to cross a check, and she asked the bank to cancel the checks. Months later a letter came from a lawyer representing Shoresh clinics' bank, informing her it was impossible to cancel the checks.

"I don't have any business with their bank," says Zahava. "I wrote a check to Shoresh, I didn't get treatment. Why do I have to pay?"

The Shoresh clinics had 45 branches, 450 employees, thousands of clients and one receiver, who in August of 2008 declared finally he had not found a buyer. The branches were shut, and the clients lost their money. Shoresh has debts of NIS 70 million, and since the clients are not considered guaranteed creditors like the banks, they received nothing. Zahava's dream of orthodontia for her daughter died. "They told me to phone someone called the receiver," she says. "He has all the checks, he knows everything."

Zahava's bank account has a lien on it, and now a bill come for the ambulance that picked up her son after a hit-and-run accident. The blows keep coming, and she is still trying to get in touch with the receiver.

A flub at the Finance Ministry

Behind the glass doors of an antique cupboard in her living room, Reba Shelekman keeps all the trophies and medals won by her late husband, Yitzhak.

With tears in her eyes she relates what a successful man he was, a good husband, an excellent chess player. He was beaten only by one player, the Finance Ministry. Reba and Yitzhak Shelekman, Holocaust survivors from Ukraine, struggled for years to receive survivor benefits. When Yitzhak Shelekman became ill with cancer, they focused on fighting the disease. In August 2008, he received a letter from the Finance Ministry stating he was entitled to full survivor benefits and would receive a monthly stipend, plus a retroactive sum and a recuperation allotment.

The money did not come into the bank, and the couple inquired and were told there is a two-month lag between the order and its payment.

However, in September 2008, Yitzhak died. The cancellation of his eligibility for the allotment arrived before the money did. He lost all the rights he hadn't been given, by mistake, during his lifetime, and his widow received nothing. All that arrived was the recuperation allotment (NIS 2,023), which the Finance Ministry hadn't managed to stop. The widow notified the authorities she had received the money, but no one contacted her.

A month ago, on the anniversary of her husband's death, Reba Shelekman discovered an overdraft at the bank.

The Finance Ministry had taken back the payment without informing her. She had an attack of the tremors and was taken to hospital.

Yes, there is a law, but there is also an elderly widow who needs the money very much. Will NIS 2,023 save the State of Israel? Is this the way to treat people who have suffered?

The Finance Ministry responded that "as a result of a technical mishap the Interior Ministry did not report the deceased's death to us and therefore we transferred the recuperation allotment of NIS 2,023 to his account.... After his decease was reported to us, the accountant applied to the bank for the money. We are sorry if distress was caused to his widow, but we must act in accordance with the law."