For a very nice woman, Alyiza Olmert has one of the worst jobs in the world.

Her job is being wife of Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, a man whose approval rating has Zero within the statistical margin of error. Across from their home, boisterous (as only Israelis can be) protestors of every shape and size camp out and yell things at them that even Bella Pelosi on her worst day (and that’s saying something) wouldn’t have dared even thinking about W.

(Olmert is a sort of Accidental Prime Minister. A former Mayor of Jerusalem, he had leveraged himself to kind of the Vice Prime Minister because his party thought he could deliver voters in Jerusalem. Serving under Arik Sharon, many believe his primary responsibility was keeping the regular straight from the decaf. When Sharon pulled up lame, Olmert became PM. Olmert has been able to cling to power because all the parties know that, if he called an election, they would all get thrown out. 

I have personal fantasy that I once saved his career all by myself — I was in a small group once when Bob Kraft gave him a Patriots helmet, and Mr. Olmert had his very own Michael Dukakis moment when he put it on. I have a picture. And had I posted it….)

(There is a lesson here somewhere for people (like me) who at first thought Sarah Palin was not such a bad choice, because, really, what would she ever do. But I digress).

Still, for Mrs. Olmert, it’s a job, and one she likes doing. Much as First Ladies in this country adopt causes to champion (like Mrs. Bush adopted national parks as a cause to promote, or Mrs. Clinton adopted, well, herself), she has worked tirelessly for children at risk.

In my ideal life, I stay under everybody’s radar, but Ashalim is a program that is on hers. So something leads to something, and I am on my way to her house for a meeting.

I sometimes have the experience of shaking my head, and wondering how I get into situations. Like what am I doing here? This is one such moment.

You will recall that in my Foreign Service career, I have been denied the Bondian 00 (license to kill) rating, and even been denied the less vaunted 0 (license to wound and fight dirty) classification. Indeed, I have been stuck in the zero 0 category (license to insult without provocation). So I hope I can just get through this meeting without creating an international incident.

Security into the Olmert house is pretty robust. Lots of checkpoints, reviewing of passports, Great Big Men speaking into their lapels, other Great Big Men holding Great Big Guns. It must be a challenge for the Olmerts to have their neighbors over for tea. On the other hand, the neighbors probably don’t like them, either.

Mrs. Olmert is remarkably gracious, and serves a mean cappuccino. It turns out she is more familiar with many of the Ashalim programs than I am, and is into many of the details more deeply than I (with my 2 ½ days of experience). She offers to help with whatever lobbying efforts we may need (Israel being Israel, establishing a 10 person pre-school requires the approval of the Ministers of Commerce, Health, Finance, Education, and Immigration). She is proof that even nice people sometimes get caught in horrible jobs, and they still do them well. And smile.

I will head to the airport from here (I started writing this last Wednesday), with a bucketful of unusual experiences and opportunities. 

It is the day after the Cease Fire has taken hold (as opposed to the day after the cease fire), and, off to the south, I can see a row of helicopter gunships hovering perfectly still at about 500 feet, pointed straight towards Gaza, enforcing it. The roads north, meanwhile, are clogged with tank carriers and busses bringing soldiers home.

Me and Mrs. Olmert. Helicopters buzzing about like Apocalypse Now. Bedouin tents with Hamas flags. Another day in the Middle East.