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That too happened this week
I'm not actually screaming at my maid like Sarah.
I'm mostly ashamed of her
Apart from the shock of the serious allegations made in the "source" investigation into Sarah Netanyahu's attitude to the cleaning facts at the prime minister's residence - it made me rummage through my unresolved issue with myself: the shameful and embarrassing relationship I have with my assistant
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Sarah Netanyahu
Strider Schleider Putschnik
Friday, 04 June 2021, 00:01 Updated: 10:23
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Sarah Netanyahu - The Source (Network 13)
There are quite a few people who pay someone else - usually, someone else, to have their house cleaned.
There are very few people who will (allegedly) chase this woman in the corridors of their homes and run her in terror, make her cry, hold back 12 hours or more without going to the bathroom, call her "stupid" and "obscure", threaten her with screams and body gestures that hint more at violence, Or they will treat it as a contaminant that has "bacteria" in it and that must be kept at a distance between it and clean laundry.
This week I watched the "source" investigation (Network 13) about Sarah Netanyahu's attitude to the cleaning facts in the prime minister's residence and apart from being shocked by the unusual and very serious allegations that arose, it made me rummage through my unresolved issue with myself: the shameful relationship I have with my assistant.
On the face of it - a legitimate barter of money for services.
My partner and I pay her, and she performs for us (and much better than us) a task we do not want to do ourselves.
But beneath the surface of this simple deal are bubbling underground springs of latent shame, subtle ripples of guilt.
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Abuse?
Sarah Netanyahu (Photo: Screenshot, Network 13)
She's a terribly sweet woman. At least half a head shorter than me, thin, active and always smiling. When she arrives in the mornings when we are still at home she tries to strike up a conversation with my children, who hide behind my leg and answer in short, quiet words, if at all. They are embarrassed by the situation, and do not respond as fluently and politely as they can and as I would like. But I can not blame them - also because they are small children and this is how they almost always react when an adult who is not a close family member tries to talk to them, but mainly because I too am not completely comfortable in this situation and maybe their behavior actually echoes my embarrassment.
Honestly and not without shame (again) I have to admit that sometimes I try to avoid this encounter proactively.
Accelerates the children who "must go out because it's too late and I have to get to work."
Something about this encounter with the woman who cleans my house is very embarrassing to me.
She is exactly the age of my mother, who also cleans her house.
A woman in her mid-sixties moves the furniture in my apartment, rolls carpets, climbs to the top shelf of the library, bends over to retrieve the toys sent to a two-week-old exile under the living room sofa.
And then, pumping, sweeping, dusting, wiping, spraying, polishing, scrubbing, flooding, sweeping the water with a mop and drying.
Then she empties the tin, goes out, and locks the door behind her.
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I'm uncomfortable with the situation.
Illustration of a maid (Photo: ShutterStock)
I've known her for years, since I was a girl. And when I left Tel Aviv for an apartment of big and settled people in the suburbs, I was lucky and she found a day for me too. She bought me a gift on each of the three times I gave birth. I was at her house with challah discharge. My computer browser knows how to complete the year of birth and certificate number. Her identity is on the Social Security website.
For 7 years she has been coming to our house on Sundays once every two weeks, and I like to come back to him these days. Sometimes I try to get there earlier and spend some easy time there and really enjoy its sheer cleanliness. It's a matter of hours (minutes, sometimes) until this magic wears off. She's very good at her job. I would kill for her to come to me every week and not once every two weeks, but she has no days.
I employ her legally and pay her on time and I do not have to make an effort to be kind to her because I genuinely have an affection for her. And yet I can not get over the fact that she's terribly terribly unpleasant that she's cleaning my house (and also: why it always feels like it's 'my place'. Like she's doing what was supposed to be 'my job', even though it's clear to me that it's not necessarily "My." What, when I order pizza for dinner I feel guilty about someone else feeding my kids in my place? No. I feel guilty about sticking empty carbs again, even though I basically try to keep, like any normal person). And yet I can not feel comfortable with it.
I know I'm not the only one who feels that way.
There are quite a few men and women who experience similar discomfort in the face of the fact that they employ men and women in cleaning or housework.
Although on the face of it there is no logical reason for this, and these are usually people who earn a decent living in legitimate work, there is something in this position that feels too much like the worlds of "masters and servants."
Not to mention the disconnection we all have to do in front of the people who clean our toilets, who roam freely in every corner of our house and know exactly which corners we do not reach, who among us has given up and no longer bothers to clean the couscous crumbs under the table. Far too many) and that they have direct access to the bin in the bathroom (which is unequivocally and in the bin gap with the most embarrassing contents in every home).
What fun to sit in a clean living room (Photo: ShutterStock)
This necessary detachment is harder to hold when you stand in front of this man, and look him in the eye and do a daily small talk, while in the not-so-great physical space between you stands a bucket full of cloths and a bottle of bleach.
It's easier for me to leave the house a quarter of an hour earlier and not stand in front of her and try to look in her eyes for an answer to the question: what does she really think of me?
So sometimes I deliberately avoid this class and try to spare myself this embarrassment, which is completely mine and probably not hers at all.
And in the afternoon when I get home I stand in the doorway and look at all the things that look better after she comes, inhaling the clean-clean scent, and a shirt and walking barefoot on cool, smooth, shiny floors that are unpleasant to the touch (especially in summer).
And everything is so fresh and clean and polished.
Except for my conscience.
why is it?
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