That’s the box I checked when I got off the plane from Ben Gurion to Newark (NEW YORK!!!!!!).

I’m here to work.

I came to the most incredible city in the world (if you ask me) to hustle hard and live the American dream.

So yes — I’m here on business.

After a 12-hour flight with 3 kids —Shaked (age 9), Yonatan (also 9 — yep, twins), and Yuvali (3.5 years old, who slept on my seat the entire flight).

One reasonably patient husband (probably because no one took his seat),

and 10 suitcases — because honestly, that’s the physical limit of what we could bring.

We’re standing in line at Immigration.

This time it’s a different kind of line — I have an L1 visa, the kind that says I’m coming to manage my American branch.

Yes, yes! I have a U.S. branch.

(Still a bit in shock myself.)

Anyway, after a flight like that — exhausting in every possible way —I’m filled with thoughts:

What’s next? Will we make it? Can we make it? What have I done? What have WE done?

We left our entire family behind in Israel — and here we are, waiting in immigration.

The officer in the booth — surprisingly kind, not as scary as usual —asks me for some form tied to my visa.

Apparently, it’s clearly written on the visa that I need to bring it.

Did I mention I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours?

Not just because I had no seat, but also — the adrenaline, the emotions, the endless preparations to leave one country and move to another.

So I tell him, “I don’t know what you’re referring to, I think all my documents are in one of the suitcases.”

Boom — I’m sent to another room.

One of those “uh-oh” rooms where everyone without the right forms ends up.

They send my husband and the kids to retrieve our 10 suitcases.

(Good thing the big ones are 9…)

I wait. And wait. And wait...

Finally, they call my name.

I walk over to a different immigration officer, and just as I’m approaching, I remember —Of course I brought the forms! They’re in my carry-on, which holds all of our most important family documents.

I’m so organized, I basically organized myself into forgetting where I put things.

(Have I mentioned the flight was a disaster?)

I’m usually a very optimistic person — you’ll see that in another post, I’m sure...

So he asks me:

“Mrs. Rosenberg-Paz, where are your documents?”

And I start explaining that I forgot.

I forgot they were in my carry-on.

And then he says:

“Is this how you behave irresponsibly?Is this how you’re starting your journey — on the wrong foot?

Is this how you plan to run your business?”

I was in shock. A little scared.

I mean, after everything I went through to get here —He’s questioning if I’m responsible enough?!

Did no one tell him how hard it is to even get this visa?!

Anyway, I pulled myself together, apologized, and — thank goodness — he let me through.

Right before the tears made a full appearance.

Let’s go get those suitcases.

And head “home”…?