Since we've been here, for over a month, and we have been told we will receive our cards in the mail, we have not received one piece of mail. Not even junk mail. The concept of: "Neither rain nor snow nor heat..." has quite reached the mail delivery people here. The deliver system is more "whenever" than daily.
David sold a couple of books through e-bay and took them to the post office to be shipped. He bought the mailers and filled out the address remembering to put the return address on the back, which is how they do it here and in Europe. If you forget and put your return address in the front, there is a strong possibility your mail will be sent right back to you. You paid postage for nothing.
When David went to buy the postage, the clerk needed to see what was inside the package he was mailing and his ID. At first he didn't understand, but later realized, for security purposes they want to know who is sending what and will open all packages. The idea is to prevent bombs from being mailed, but if one does get past security, they will know who the culprit is.
When/if we ever find a permanent apartment, we will need to register at the post office with our new address. Makes sense. If you want to change health insurance, you also do that at the post office.
We were talking to a man who speaks English fairly well. Somehow the conversation turned into terrorism. We were talking about the cursory search before going into a mall. At least at the Grand Canyon mall, they send you through a metal detector and open your bag. At the other mall, the security just waves you through. I mentioned seeing security looking in the trunks of cars before letting them park in the mall underground parking, and suggested a terrorist bringing in bomb could simply hide it under the back seat. He said that Arabs aren't the smartest people in the world -- he said it, not me -- and that even cursory security tends to scare them off.
Then the subject turned to the West Bank. He said Palestinians are happy there now, that it is very nice, they have shopping and cafes and it is no longer a horrible place to live so we don't have to worry about them tunneling under the fence. The Gaza Strip is another matter. But then Israel may be getting ready to go in and clean that out. David asked about bomb shelters. The man assured us every building has one and that sirens will go off. He told us during the Lebanon War, and bombs were going off everywhere, he still had to go to work and was driving down the street and taking his chances.
I asked about gas masks. "Oh, I don't have one, but I got one for each of my kids." I asked where you could get a mask and he said, "You can go get one at the Post Office."
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Riding the Bus
Although almost everyone owns a car in Haifa, the bus routes are extensive enough so that no one needs a car. We decided not to purchase a car, at least not until we settle in and actually need one. Seeing how people drive here, we prefer taking the bus -- sort of.
If you want a bus pass, you need your ID card and can get one for free. The bus pass has your picture on it, and you can "fill it up" by giving cash to the bus driver. The bus driver carries thousands of shekels in cash and will make change, if necessary, from a 200 shekel bill for a 6 shekel fare. A month's worth of unlimited riding for the city of Haifa -- suburbs not included -- costs 235 shekels or about $65. The month begins on the first, not on the day of purchase; therefore you should purchase the month's pass the first day or two of the month otherwise you'll pay for a whole month but won't get a whole month of benefit. It's a good thing Israel uses the Gregorian calendar and not the Jewish calendar or things would get really confusing.
Overall, the bus drivers are terrible. It's almost like they don't want to stop and pick up passengers. The other day we had to flag down bus #19. Another bus in front of #19 had stopped at the bus stop to pick up and let off passengers, like all buses who go down that street are supposed to do. The bus driver of #19 wanted to go around the stopped bus and completely by-pass the bus stop altogether. So we ran after the #19 and the driver stopped for us. When I got on, the driver swore at me in Hebrew.
Bus drivers zoom forward before everyone has even paid and if you're not sitting you're flung to the back of the bus. They come to screeching halts thrusting passengers forward. Haifa is built along a mountain (or hill, if you happen to be from Colorado), and the roads are windy and some even have hairpin curves. Many of these drivers take the turns and curves like they are riding a motorcycle. There have been times we thought the bus might tip over. If you get a seat, riding the bus isn't too bad -- but standing -- you need to brace yourself and hold on for dear life.
When going around curves and corners in the bus, I try to determine which would be better if the bus tips over. Would it be better to be on the side that hits the ground first, thus a shorter fall, but with the possibility of other passengers falling on top of you? Or would it be better to be on the side furthest from the ground where falling on other passengers might break some of the fall?
Anyway, Israeli soldiers ride the bus for free. After graduation from high school all Israeli's must serve in the army, except for Arabs and Jews of certain fundamentalist sects. What's strange to see is an Ethiopian Jew in a military uniform wearing a kippah. Most of the kids have military uniforms the color of desert sand. I've seen other uniforms that are a sickly sort of khaki green, and grey uniforms. I don't know if the color indicates a branch of the military or another sort of status. At any rate, the girl wearing the grey uniform was waiting to get on the bus and slinging around an Uzi as casually as a woman's handbag. That's something you don't see in the USA.
If you want a bus pass, you need your ID card and can get one for free. The bus pass has your picture on it, and you can "fill it up" by giving cash to the bus driver. The bus driver carries thousands of shekels in cash and will make change, if necessary, from a 200 shekel bill for a 6 shekel fare. A month's worth of unlimited riding for the city of Haifa -- suburbs not included -- costs 235 shekels or about $65. The month begins on the first, not on the day of purchase; therefore you should purchase the month's pass the first day or two of the month otherwise you'll pay for a whole month but won't get a whole month of benefit. It's a good thing Israel uses the Gregorian calendar and not the Jewish calendar or things would get really confusing.
Overall, the bus drivers are terrible. It's almost like they don't want to stop and pick up passengers. The other day we had to flag down bus #19. Another bus in front of #19 had stopped at the bus stop to pick up and let off passengers, like all buses who go down that street are supposed to do. The bus driver of #19 wanted to go around the stopped bus and completely by-pass the bus stop altogether. So we ran after the #19 and the driver stopped for us. When I got on, the driver swore at me in Hebrew.
Bus drivers zoom forward before everyone has even paid and if you're not sitting you're flung to the back of the bus. They come to screeching halts thrusting passengers forward. Haifa is built along a mountain (or hill, if you happen to be from Colorado), and the roads are windy and some even have hairpin curves. Many of these drivers take the turns and curves like they are riding a motorcycle. There have been times we thought the bus might tip over. If you get a seat, riding the bus isn't too bad -- but standing -- you need to brace yourself and hold on for dear life.
When going around curves and corners in the bus, I try to determine which would be better if the bus tips over. Would it be better to be on the side that hits the ground first, thus a shorter fall, but with the possibility of other passengers falling on top of you? Or would it be better to be on the side furthest from the ground where falling on other passengers might break some of the fall?
Anyway, Israeli soldiers ride the bus for free. After graduation from high school all Israeli's must serve in the army, except for Arabs and Jews of certain fundamentalist sects. What's strange to see is an Ethiopian Jew in a military uniform wearing a kippah. Most of the kids have military uniforms the color of desert sand. I've seen other uniforms that are a sickly sort of khaki green, and grey uniforms. I don't know if the color indicates a branch of the military or another sort of status. At any rate, the girl wearing the grey uniform was waiting to get on the bus and slinging around an Uzi as casually as a woman's handbag. That's something you don't see in the USA.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Ulpan Dropouts and Socialized Medicine
Oy!
We dropped out of Ulpan, not because it was hard and we were behind, but because our project coordinator had us enrolled too soon. Everyone else in the class had been in the country for up to six months and had all their bureaucratic stuff settled. Studying at Ulpan is a full time job, Sunday-Thursday, from 8:15am to 12:45pm. In places like the US you could deal with government issues in the afternoon and use the weekend for apartment hunting. As you may have guessed, it doesn't quite work that way in Israel.
Many of the government institutions close down in the afternoon, and that includes the banks. On Friday afternoon almost everything else shuts down until Saturday night, even the malls and grocery stores. Rather than taking care of business on Friday morning, it is essential to go to the market and pick up enough food to last until Sunday lunch. Keep in mind our kitchen is limited and we are not able to stock up a week's worth of food earlier in the week.
You must understand that Israel is part of the Middle East where the operative term is, "Manana." Oh wait, that's not a Middle Eastern term but it should be. The operative terms are: five minutes-10minutes!, slowly-slowly (although people, including bus drivers, drive like hellions), two weeks. Even though the bank, the insurance, and other institutions will tell you that they will mail your bank card, checks, insurance card, grocery discount card, etc. -- and you should receive it two weeks -- your card never arrives. You have to go pick it up. What we don't understand is why don't they just say come pick it up instead of insisting they will mail it.
Ulpan was interfering with our ability to deal with the government and bank problems that never seem to get resolved. What's more, David and I both had to miss Ulpan during week 1 and week 2 because of doctor's appointments. One for him and one for me. Like the government, or possibly because of socialized medicine, many doctor appointments are only available during morning hours.
I made my first appointment before Ulpan started. There are four insurance carriers in Israel and you should have one picked on the day you arrive fresh off the plane. David, the excellent researcher that he is, discovered the providers were all similar. We decided on the plan that advertised themselves as being olim-friendly, they even had a website all in English.
In spite of their website, when I made an appointment, no one spoke English very well. I was able to figure out date and time, and was told it would be an English speaking doctor; but was given no further information, like where to go and what would happen and what to expect. I was expecting an American-style doctor's office: you arrive on time, check in with the receptionist, she confirms you have an appointment wants some insurance/payment information and then you sit and wait...and wait...and wait. It wasn't like that at all.
Instead of a modern glass or brick building that has the look of professional medicine, the Lumed -- the name of our insurance carrier, which also provides the doctors -- building is about 70 years old and looks like one of those creepy insane asylums like what you see in the movies. We arrived early knowing we would have some struggles figuring out where to go find the doctor. The pharmacy, appointment makers/money takers, and nurse are all situated on the main floor or ground floor -- which in US is also called the first floor. In Israel, the first floor is the level above the ground floor. So if you are told an apartment is on the second floor, you think you would only have to go up one flight of stairs. Wrong. The first flight takes you to the first floor and upward.
Going to the doctor for the first time and not speaking the language, David came with me. We were told to go to the third floor, and didn't know that in American lingo they meant the fourth floor. I don't like taking old, decrepit elevators and suggested using the stairs. On the third floor, we found ourselves in a small dimly lit hallway with one locked door. Back down the stairs, "Third floor, Third floor." We took the elevator this time, and were squished in with two other people. The elevators are maybe 3x3, and we push #3 and now end up on the 3rd floor which would be the fourth floor to everybody else in the world.
I shouldn't fault Israel for this, because the United States is notorious for not having a "13th" floor in many of their high rises.
We entered this large L-shaped room which appeared to be a waiting room due to the fact there were people sitting in chairs waiting. The room was windowless and painted a dingy green color and the 3rd floor had the look of the creepy insane asylum and feeling of a communist bread line. Most of the people waiting were older Russian woman.
There was no receptionist, just a bunch of closed doors and people sitting in functional green chairs waiting. Fortunately, there was a young girl from India who spoke English and seemed to know we had no clue what to do. She helped us figure it out.
So here's what you do. On the outside of each door is a list, written in Hebrew letters, and you find the time you were scheduled and see if your name is on the list. If not on that door, go to the next door and continue until you find your name. My name was written with my first name as my last name: Jona, ET. At least it was there. When your time comes, you simply go into the office. No one calls out names, and if you miss your turn -- too bad. As typical of most doctors, they do run late.
If you happen to speak Hebrew or better yet Russian, you can ask the other people waiting who's next and figure out who to follow. A man from Britain who spoke Hebrew quite fluently was able to do that for us. Apparently being a sci-fi fan, he was amused by "ET," and found out which woman was right before me. But there was an old lady waiting who didn't have an appointment and, "only needed a refill on her prescription and would only take a few minutes." Being the sweet, kind and gullible person that I am, I let the old lady go first and a few minutes turned into half an hour. Finally, it was my turn and I rushed in before somebody else could get in before me. The doctor spoke only Russian and Hebrew and was only interested in seeing my ID card. She called downstairs and made me reset another appointment with a doctor who spoke English. All that, so I could make another appointment.
The next appointment was after Ulpan started, but we were able to set it for around 6pm. The English speaking doctor was an Arab with a small and dingy office. At least he had a window, covered with battered mini-blinds with bent slats. Again, he was more interested in my ID number, took a quick look at this absolutely, disgusting thing growing out of my head and told me I needed to see a dermatologist. He printed out some paperwork that he stamped and initialed and had me go downstairs to set the appointment.
David and I set the appointment through a nice young orthodox lady -- hair covered -- who spoke a modicum of English but tried very hard to communicate with us. She found us an English speaking dermatologist and set another appointment. This appointment could only be in the morning so I would have to miss Ulpan. It would be in a blue building, and as typical with directions here, she pointed vaguely in the direction where it was located. The problem was, once outside there were two blue buildings.
The blue building is a modern structure more associated with a professional building like you might see in the US. Because I am seeing a specialist, I had to pay an additional 21 shekels for three months worth of service. That's approximately $5.50 -- not too bad. The system for waiting and finding your doctor was exactly the same as in the insane asylum building, and I now knew not to let anyone go before me for any reason. The dermatologist looked at the disgusting thing on my head, said it didn't look bad -- I'm taking that to mean it didn't look like melanoma -- and told me to schedule an appointment with a plastic surgeon to have it removed. Then I need to go back to her and make sure the surgeon, "got it all." She printed out some paperwork, stamped and initialed it, and sent me back to the appointment/money takers to schedule yet another appointment.
David saw all that I went through, and he takes some medication for high blood pressure. He become concerned that based on the way Lumed manages their appointments, he could end up running out of pills. He went ahead and made an appointment for a prescription refill.
Old pro's now, we got the English speaking Arab doctor, and he threw a fit when he saw what David was taking. He wants to change David's prescription and says 100mg of whatever he is taking is too much, too dangerous and it's not doing much good anyway. David has to go back and have his blood taken along with some other lab work, and of course, the appointment for the blood work would involve missing more Ulpan.
We still haven't found an apartment. When we first arrived, our project coordinator told us not to worry we had plenty of time. Yesterday, she told us we needed to be out in February. Uh-oh.
Apartment hunting has its own travails and we decided to focus all our efforts on finding a place, then resume Ulpan in February or March. So we have officially dropped out of Ulpan.
Oy.
We dropped out of Ulpan, not because it was hard and we were behind, but because our project coordinator had us enrolled too soon. Everyone else in the class had been in the country for up to six months and had all their bureaucratic stuff settled. Studying at Ulpan is a full time job, Sunday-Thursday, from 8:15am to 12:45pm. In places like the US you could deal with government issues in the afternoon and use the weekend for apartment hunting. As you may have guessed, it doesn't quite work that way in Israel.
Many of the government institutions close down in the afternoon, and that includes the banks. On Friday afternoon almost everything else shuts down until Saturday night, even the malls and grocery stores. Rather than taking care of business on Friday morning, it is essential to go to the market and pick up enough food to last until Sunday lunch. Keep in mind our kitchen is limited and we are not able to stock up a week's worth of food earlier in the week.
You must understand that Israel is part of the Middle East where the operative term is, "Manana." Oh wait, that's not a Middle Eastern term but it should be. The operative terms are: five minutes-10minutes!, slowly-slowly (although people, including bus drivers, drive like hellions), two weeks. Even though the bank, the insurance, and other institutions will tell you that they will mail your bank card, checks, insurance card, grocery discount card, etc. -- and you should receive it two weeks -- your card never arrives. You have to go pick it up. What we don't understand is why don't they just say come pick it up instead of insisting they will mail it.
Ulpan was interfering with our ability to deal with the government and bank problems that never seem to get resolved. What's more, David and I both had to miss Ulpan during week 1 and week 2 because of doctor's appointments. One for him and one for me. Like the government, or possibly because of socialized medicine, many doctor appointments are only available during morning hours.
I made my first appointment before Ulpan started. There are four insurance carriers in Israel and you should have one picked on the day you arrive fresh off the plane. David, the excellent researcher that he is, discovered the providers were all similar. We decided on the plan that advertised themselves as being olim-friendly, they even had a website all in English.
In spite of their website, when I made an appointment, no one spoke English very well. I was able to figure out date and time, and was told it would be an English speaking doctor; but was given no further information, like where to go and what would happen and what to expect. I was expecting an American-style doctor's office: you arrive on time, check in with the receptionist, she confirms you have an appointment wants some insurance/payment information and then you sit and wait...and wait...and wait. It wasn't like that at all.
Instead of a modern glass or brick building that has the look of professional medicine, the Lumed -- the name of our insurance carrier, which also provides the doctors -- building is about 70 years old and looks like one of those creepy insane asylums like what you see in the movies. We arrived early knowing we would have some struggles figuring out where to go find the doctor. The pharmacy, appointment makers/money takers, and nurse are all situated on the main floor or ground floor -- which in US is also called the first floor. In Israel, the first floor is the level above the ground floor. So if you are told an apartment is on the second floor, you think you would only have to go up one flight of stairs. Wrong. The first flight takes you to the first floor and upward.
Going to the doctor for the first time and not speaking the language, David came with me. We were told to go to the third floor, and didn't know that in American lingo they meant the fourth floor. I don't like taking old, decrepit elevators and suggested using the stairs. On the third floor, we found ourselves in a small dimly lit hallway with one locked door. Back down the stairs, "Third floor, Third floor." We took the elevator this time, and were squished in with two other people. The elevators are maybe 3x3, and we push #3 and now end up on the 3rd floor which would be the fourth floor to everybody else in the world.
I shouldn't fault Israel for this, because the United States is notorious for not having a "13th" floor in many of their high rises.
We entered this large L-shaped room which appeared to be a waiting room due to the fact there were people sitting in chairs waiting. The room was windowless and painted a dingy green color and the 3rd floor had the look of the creepy insane asylum and feeling of a communist bread line. Most of the people waiting were older Russian woman.
There was no receptionist, just a bunch of closed doors and people sitting in functional green chairs waiting. Fortunately, there was a young girl from India who spoke English and seemed to know we had no clue what to do. She helped us figure it out.
So here's what you do. On the outside of each door is a list, written in Hebrew letters, and you find the time you were scheduled and see if your name is on the list. If not on that door, go to the next door and continue until you find your name. My name was written with my first name as my last name: Jona, ET. At least it was there. When your time comes, you simply go into the office. No one calls out names, and if you miss your turn -- too bad. As typical of most doctors, they do run late.
If you happen to speak Hebrew or better yet Russian, you can ask the other people waiting who's next and figure out who to follow. A man from Britain who spoke Hebrew quite fluently was able to do that for us. Apparently being a sci-fi fan, he was amused by "ET," and found out which woman was right before me. But there was an old lady waiting who didn't have an appointment and, "only needed a refill on her prescription and would only take a few minutes." Being the sweet, kind and gullible person that I am, I let the old lady go first and a few minutes turned into half an hour. Finally, it was my turn and I rushed in before somebody else could get in before me. The doctor spoke only Russian and Hebrew and was only interested in seeing my ID card. She called downstairs and made me reset another appointment with a doctor who spoke English. All that, so I could make another appointment.
The next appointment was after Ulpan started, but we were able to set it for around 6pm. The English speaking doctor was an Arab with a small and dingy office. At least he had a window, covered with battered mini-blinds with bent slats. Again, he was more interested in my ID number, took a quick look at this absolutely, disgusting thing growing out of my head and told me I needed to see a dermatologist. He printed out some paperwork that he stamped and initialed and had me go downstairs to set the appointment.
David and I set the appointment through a nice young orthodox lady -- hair covered -- who spoke a modicum of English but tried very hard to communicate with us. She found us an English speaking dermatologist and set another appointment. This appointment could only be in the morning so I would have to miss Ulpan. It would be in a blue building, and as typical with directions here, she pointed vaguely in the direction where it was located. The problem was, once outside there were two blue buildings.
The blue building is a modern structure more associated with a professional building like you might see in the US. Because I am seeing a specialist, I had to pay an additional 21 shekels for three months worth of service. That's approximately $5.50 -- not too bad. The system for waiting and finding your doctor was exactly the same as in the insane asylum building, and I now knew not to let anyone go before me for any reason. The dermatologist looked at the disgusting thing on my head, said it didn't look bad -- I'm taking that to mean it didn't look like melanoma -- and told me to schedule an appointment with a plastic surgeon to have it removed. Then I need to go back to her and make sure the surgeon, "got it all." She printed out some paperwork, stamped and initialed it, and sent me back to the appointment/money takers to schedule yet another appointment.
David saw all that I went through, and he takes some medication for high blood pressure. He become concerned that based on the way Lumed manages their appointments, he could end up running out of pills. He went ahead and made an appointment for a prescription refill.
Old pro's now, we got the English speaking Arab doctor, and he threw a fit when he saw what David was taking. He wants to change David's prescription and says 100mg of whatever he is taking is too much, too dangerous and it's not doing much good anyway. David has to go back and have his blood taken along with some other lab work, and of course, the appointment for the blood work would involve missing more Ulpan.
We still haven't found an apartment. When we first arrived, our project coordinator told us not to worry we had plenty of time. Yesterday, she told us we needed to be out in February. Uh-oh.
Apartment hunting has its own travails and we decided to focus all our efforts on finding a place, then resume Ulpan in February or March. So we have officially dropped out of Ulpan.
Oy.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Spoiled Americana
Ulpan is in a building similar to a school building with classrooms that seat abound 30 people. There are probably a 100 or more students and we all get a break at the same time. There is one men's room and one ladies' room. The woman's restroom has three stalls, but one of the toilets doesn't have a toilet seat. In my mind, the logical thing to do is to not use that stall. But women will use that stall, and I have no idea how they do that. I have actually seen women select that stall -- the one without a toilet seat -- even when the other ones are empty. More puzzling is I have seen women exit a stall with a toilet seat and the seat is up.
I am a spoiled American, and I need a seat on the toilet. And I must always under all circumstances use toilet paper. Many of the fellow students don't seem to care if there's toilet paper or not. I bring my own toilet paper from home, just in case. What's more, there is no soap in the restroom and only rarely paper towels. These women don't seem to care about that either, they just don't bother washing their hands afterwards. Although, when there's no soap or towels and the best you can do is dip your fingers in cold water and let them air-dry, they do have a point.
Get this, one day in our search for Thai food, we went to an upscale Pan-Asian restaurant. It had Pad Se Eu with tofu but it wasn't up to the quality found at Tommy's in Denver, or that place in Bellingham, Washington. Anyway, the restroom there had three cubicles with toilets and no indication of which sex should use what. It appeared male or female could just use an empty stall. Luckily the tiny cubicles had just been cleaned, but ick. The cubicle had a real door so no one could peek in, but right outside a man and woman started talking, and I was like: This just isn't going to happen.
I am a spoiled American, and I need a seat on the toilet. And I must always under all circumstances use toilet paper. Many of the fellow students don't seem to care if there's toilet paper or not. I bring my own toilet paper from home, just in case. What's more, there is no soap in the restroom and only rarely paper towels. These women don't seem to care about that either, they just don't bother washing their hands afterwards. Although, when there's no soap or towels and the best you can do is dip your fingers in cold water and let them air-dry, they do have a point.
Get this, one day in our search for Thai food, we went to an upscale Pan-Asian restaurant. It had Pad Se Eu with tofu but it wasn't up to the quality found at Tommy's in Denver, or that place in Bellingham, Washington. Anyway, the restroom there had three cubicles with toilets and no indication of which sex should use what. It appeared male or female could just use an empty stall. Luckily the tiny cubicles had just been cleaned, but ick. The cubicle had a real door so no one could peek in, but right outside a man and woman started talking, and I was like: This just isn't going to happen.
A long time ago I was in a writer's group. For fun, we were talking about writing a novel together combining our favorite genre's: there was a sci-fi writer, a romance writer, a mystery writer, a drama writer. Well, wanna-be writers. So we came up with this plot that would incorporate all of these elements in a book, part of the story involved a romance on a Star-Trek like spaceship. One woman, perhaps the mystery writer, asked how would you use the restroom on a spaceship? (Which goes to prove, I'm not the only one who obsesses about this subject). We looked at the sci-fi writer for an explanation and she couldn't give one. Then one woman joked that in romance fiction a white dove comes and magically takes it away.
US restrooms in a school would be similar to what's at Ulpan, except I'm pretty sure they would provide soap dispensers and some kind of method to dry your hands. A restroom in an upscale restaurant would have a men's room and a women's room nicely separated. I've been in public restrooms in the United States that are grander than most people's homes complete with a lounge furnished with comfortable chairs, flowers, and wall to ceiling mirrors. These restrooms have large, comfortable, private cubicles where you can hang up your coat and place your purse somewhere other than the floor. If necessary, you can put a toilet seat cover over the already clean seat, and when you stand it flushes all by itself. Maybe a dove doesn't magically take it away, but in the US it comes pretty damn close.
Before David and I left California, we wondered what would be some of the things we'd miss the most about America. David likes his steak and he had concerns about that. I like my movies and Netflix and thought going without TV entertainment would be a killer. We've been too busy to miss Netflix. It never, ever occurred to me I would miss US public restrooms.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Gays, Russians and Ulpan
The first week of Ulpan is finished!
On the first day of Ulpan, we were tested to see how much Hebrew we knew and to determine where we would be placed. Although I knew how to say in Hebrew, "Where is the restroom," and the instructor agreed that was very important, ir wasn't enough to put me in a level 2 class. Nope, David and I are Level 1 or "Aleph," as they say in Hebrew, and we are happy to be there.
The first day of class, we found ourselves with a female Orthodox instructor. We could tell she was Orthodox because her arms, legs and hair were covered. She was very nice, but spoke very little English. There were about 28 people in the class, all of them Russian. David and I were the only two English speakers. The Russians were very friendly, and almost all of the men were named Alexander unless they were named Uri. The common female Russian name was something like Syrianna, but only two women had that name.
Our instructor, Ef-rat -- you roll the "r" and say r-r-aht -- was very soft-spoken. She spoke Russian quite well, but very little English. When she presented a word in Hebrew, she could explain it to the Russians, but her explanation to us often didn't make sense. The first day we learned three letters of the Hebrew alphabet in cursive, and 7 Hebrew words. The second day we learned 7 more words and three more letters.
The following day, a blond female instructor came in and took over, and she seemed to have an attitude. She was dressed like a flight attendant, wore a hat, but you could still see her hair, so apparently was not as orthodox as our first teacher. Her name sounded like S-T. She was quite stern and humorless. Soon another lady entered the class and started calling off names. Although it may have been explained in Russian, we had no idea what was going on, but those people who were called got up and left the class. Then the woman with brown hair called out David and I, and we started following the others to another classroom. "No, no, Room 10," and she pointed to a far away classroom across the courtyard.
I was kind of sad to go, because -- like I said -- the Russians seemed like a fun group who would enjoy a good party and a lot of laughs. There was one Russian sort-of "picking" on us. Our thinking he was born during the cold war and learned a lot of negative propaganda about Americans, and still hadn't grown beyond the brainwashing. He would say "American!" add something in Russian like it was some kind of joke. Of course, we had no clue what he was saying.
There seems to be a drinking fountain shortage in Israel, as in maybe there's one at the airport in Tel Aviv and no where else. David and I bring bottled water to class. The other option would be to purchase cafe-au-lait during break and pay for it. Since we don't drink coffee, bringing water seems like the logical choice. The Russian picking on us, wanted to know if it was Vodka: vodka we understood.
There was another Russian couple who were in the class that I am rather curious about and wanted to observe their relationship. They are rather handsome people, she blond and he dark and dashing. They have a certain amount of sophistication that is lacking in most Russians here in Haifa, and look like the stereotype of Russian spies. But that's not why I'm interested in them. They seem to have a curious relationship. On the first day of school, they arrived late and as they were coming into the room, he was yelling at her so loud it disrupted the entire proceedings. A lot of men in the class laughed out loud, the laughter seemed to be a mix of discomfort and agreement. He didn't care that he was making a spectacle of himself, and he ditched his wife to sit next to another woman complaining loudly in Russian. I gathered he was justifying his actions and dignifying his righteous anger. The wife was sitting alone in the back row and I glanced over at her, she looked ready to cry.
When we were removed from the Russian class, she made a point to tell us, "bye-bye." Bye-bye seems to become a globally used word along with okay. After five months of Ulpan, you probably get to know your classmates pretty well, and I'm kind of disappointed I won't have the opportunity to know the Russian spy-woman who is in an abusive relationship. Not that I could help or even that she would want help.
Anyway we now have a much better teacher, Rivka, who speaks English, Russian, French, Hebrew and Yiddish. This class moves at a much faster pace than the other one and after missing the first two days with Rivka, we are already behind. Not good. She spoke to us about this problem and said we can go back to a slower class if we want -- but we don't want, she is a very good instructor. If we can't catch up, what we will do in February is start again from the beginning with a new instructor.
Rivka could be funny, but the student are too international and the class is too intense for jokes. We are learning to recognize and respond to, "Where are you from?" along with directions, places in Israel, capital cities and basic placement. The word for state is "med-eh-not," as in California, or the State of Israel, to which she said: Israel is the 51st state. No one in class except David and I seemed to get the inferrence.
The students in this class are from all over the world. I have met a nice woman from Venezuela and want to talk to her about Chavez when there is more time. Two have lived in the US, but again most students are Russian. This gay couple who used to live next door to us until they found permanent housing are also in this class.
Roberto, not his real name, is from Italy and is kind of a know-it-all. When we're talking he just takes over, but his English is excellent and he, in fact, does know a lot about aliyah and Israel -- yet he has only been here three days longer than we have. He has, however, previously lived in the country for 6 years and also has many friends in Tel Aviv, which happens to have the reputation of being the friendliest city to gays in the entire world. Yet, for some reason he doesn't want to live there.
Roberto told our project director, who showed up at Ulpan to make sure her charges were present, that he hoped to find a wife in Israel. When he said that a look of puzzlement crossed my face and I almost blurted out something inappropriate, but caught my tongue and noticed the project director smiled, nodded, and said maybe he would indeed find a wife here in Haifa. I thought Roberto already had a wife: the man who is his roommate and constant companion. He's very quiet. They're a couple kind of like me and David. He does all the talking and I just stand around and smile and pretend to be a sweet person.
When Roberto and his friend lived next door to us, they would play opera really loud. I enjoyed it, but I always enjoy listening to other people's music (unless it's rap, soul or country). Yet, when I play the exact same music at home, it seems to lose its flavor. Roberto and his quiet friend would often have people over, always men -- never women --and sometimes I heard something like spanking going on, but then the opera would be turned up louder and I couldn't hear much. It's not like I had my ear against the wall trying to spy, these walls reverberate and you can't but hear stuff you really don't want to be hearing.
So, it's probably wrong of me to simply assume two men are gay because they happen to make aliyah together, live together and pretty much go everywhere else together. Anyway, I could care less about other people's sexual preferences, it's just that when Roberto said he was looking for a wife it really took me for a loop. I like Roberto and his quiet friend -- who has been opening up more in Ulpan -- and hope to get to know them better.
On the first day of Ulpan, we were tested to see how much Hebrew we knew and to determine where we would be placed. Although I knew how to say in Hebrew, "Where is the restroom," and the instructor agreed that was very important, ir wasn't enough to put me in a level 2 class. Nope, David and I are Level 1 or "Aleph," as they say in Hebrew, and we are happy to be there.
The first day of class, we found ourselves with a female Orthodox instructor. We could tell she was Orthodox because her arms, legs and hair were covered. She was very nice, but spoke very little English. There were about 28 people in the class, all of them Russian. David and I were the only two English speakers. The Russians were very friendly, and almost all of the men were named Alexander unless they were named Uri. The common female Russian name was something like Syrianna, but only two women had that name.
Our instructor, Ef-rat -- you roll the "r" and say r-r-aht -- was very soft-spoken. She spoke Russian quite well, but very little English. When she presented a word in Hebrew, she could explain it to the Russians, but her explanation to us often didn't make sense. The first day we learned three letters of the Hebrew alphabet in cursive, and 7 Hebrew words. The second day we learned 7 more words and three more letters.
The following day, a blond female instructor came in and took over, and she seemed to have an attitude. She was dressed like a flight attendant, wore a hat, but you could still see her hair, so apparently was not as orthodox as our first teacher. Her name sounded like S-T. She was quite stern and humorless. Soon another lady entered the class and started calling off names. Although it may have been explained in Russian, we had no idea what was going on, but those people who were called got up and left the class. Then the woman with brown hair called out David and I, and we started following the others to another classroom. "No, no, Room 10," and she pointed to a far away classroom across the courtyard.
I was kind of sad to go, because -- like I said -- the Russians seemed like a fun group who would enjoy a good party and a lot of laughs. There was one Russian sort-of "picking" on us. Our thinking he was born during the cold war and learned a lot of negative propaganda about Americans, and still hadn't grown beyond the brainwashing. He would say "American!" add something in Russian like it was some kind of joke. Of course, we had no clue what he was saying.
There seems to be a drinking fountain shortage in Israel, as in maybe there's one at the airport in Tel Aviv and no where else. David and I bring bottled water to class. The other option would be to purchase cafe-au-lait during break and pay for it. Since we don't drink coffee, bringing water seems like the logical choice. The Russian picking on us, wanted to know if it was Vodka: vodka we understood.
There was another Russian couple who were in the class that I am rather curious about and wanted to observe their relationship. They are rather handsome people, she blond and he dark and dashing. They have a certain amount of sophistication that is lacking in most Russians here in Haifa, and look like the stereotype of Russian spies. But that's not why I'm interested in them. They seem to have a curious relationship. On the first day of school, they arrived late and as they were coming into the room, he was yelling at her so loud it disrupted the entire proceedings. A lot of men in the class laughed out loud, the laughter seemed to be a mix of discomfort and agreement. He didn't care that he was making a spectacle of himself, and he ditched his wife to sit next to another woman complaining loudly in Russian. I gathered he was justifying his actions and dignifying his righteous anger. The wife was sitting alone in the back row and I glanced over at her, she looked ready to cry.
When we were removed from the Russian class, she made a point to tell us, "bye-bye." Bye-bye seems to become a globally used word along with okay. After five months of Ulpan, you probably get to know your classmates pretty well, and I'm kind of disappointed I won't have the opportunity to know the Russian spy-woman who is in an abusive relationship. Not that I could help or even that she would want help.
Anyway we now have a much better teacher, Rivka, who speaks English, Russian, French, Hebrew and Yiddish. This class moves at a much faster pace than the other one and after missing the first two days with Rivka, we are already behind. Not good. She spoke to us about this problem and said we can go back to a slower class if we want -- but we don't want, she is a very good instructor. If we can't catch up, what we will do in February is start again from the beginning with a new instructor.
Rivka could be funny, but the student are too international and the class is too intense for jokes. We are learning to recognize and respond to, "Where are you from?" along with directions, places in Israel, capital cities and basic placement. The word for state is "med-eh-not," as in California, or the State of Israel, to which she said: Israel is the 51st state. No one in class except David and I seemed to get the inferrence.
The students in this class are from all over the world. I have met a nice woman from Venezuela and want to talk to her about Chavez when there is more time. Two have lived in the US, but again most students are Russian. This gay couple who used to live next door to us until they found permanent housing are also in this class.
Roberto, not his real name, is from Italy and is kind of a know-it-all. When we're talking he just takes over, but his English is excellent and he, in fact, does know a lot about aliyah and Israel -- yet he has only been here three days longer than we have. He has, however, previously lived in the country for 6 years and also has many friends in Tel Aviv, which happens to have the reputation of being the friendliest city to gays in the entire world. Yet, for some reason he doesn't want to live there.
Roberto told our project director, who showed up at Ulpan to make sure her charges were present, that he hoped to find a wife in Israel. When he said that a look of puzzlement crossed my face and I almost blurted out something inappropriate, but caught my tongue and noticed the project director smiled, nodded, and said maybe he would indeed find a wife here in Haifa. I thought Roberto already had a wife: the man who is his roommate and constant companion. He's very quiet. They're a couple kind of like me and David. He does all the talking and I just stand around and smile and pretend to be a sweet person.
When Roberto and his friend lived next door to us, they would play opera really loud. I enjoyed it, but I always enjoy listening to other people's music (unless it's rap, soul or country). Yet, when I play the exact same music at home, it seems to lose its flavor. Roberto and his quiet friend would often have people over, always men -- never women --and sometimes I heard something like spanking going on, but then the opera would be turned up louder and I couldn't hear much. It's not like I had my ear against the wall trying to spy, these walls reverberate and you can't but hear stuff you really don't want to be hearing.
So, it's probably wrong of me to simply assume two men are gay because they happen to make aliyah together, live together and pretty much go everywhere else together. Anyway, I could care less about other people's sexual preferences, it's just that when Roberto said he was looking for a wife it really took me for a loop. I like Roberto and his quiet friend -- who has been opening up more in Ulpan -- and hope to get to know them better.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
A Day of Rest
Most of Israel -- shops, businesses, buses, people -- shuts down at 3pm on Friday and starts up again sometime after sunset on Saturday. Thank goodness, so far life has been hard here and a day of rest is definitely needed. Driving is allowed on the Sabbath but various side streets may be closed off. In more secular cities like Tel Aviv and yes, even working-class Haifa, some restaurants do remain open. Because of the large Arab population in Haifa, it is the only city in Israel where the buses are allowed to run on the Sabbath. However, for some reason, the buses stop around 5 pm Friday evening then resume later that night at 11 pm. We've stopped trying to understand the logic here.
If you want to go to Friday evening services you either catch the bus and arrive over an hour early and hope for a ride home, or catch a taxi, or walk. It is safe to walk at night and it would be possible to walk home from shul but not to shul. Much of Haifa is built along a mountain side and for us going to shul would be an uphill climb all the way for probably an hour or more. Going home downhill would be a lot easier. What's more, Haifa has walkways and shortcuts with stairs to pass up and down through the city. They are quite hidden, but once found make for a pleasant walk. Since we've started shul, we've been reluctant to try and find our way home by foot in the dark. We probably wouldn't be able to find the walkways and have to follow the road making the trek considerably longer in the cold and wet.
I always pictured Israel as a desert, probably because the only pictures I ever saw were of Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. Haifa is not a desert and actually gets quite a bit of rain, at least in the winter. As is true of all Mediterranean climates, it only rains in winter, and is hot and dry all summer. It has been cloudy and raining for the past five days, complete with some thunder, lightning, and a bit of hail. The thunder reverberates from the mountain and the sea: it sounds wonderful. It will rain hard for 10 minutes or so, shower for another fifteen, stop for awhile then start up again. It's been raining so much, moss is growing on some of the rooftops and there are puddles on the sidewalk and street. Cars go by and splash you. Daytime temperature runs in the low sixties, and on cold days stays in the 50's -- that's Fahrenheit, not Centigrade, if it were in Centigrade the temperature would be around 15 degrees and sound really, really cold. Nighttime Haifa temperatures might dip down into the 40's; the higher up the mountain, of course, the colder it gets.
Nevertheless, fifties and wet is cold enough, making walking home from shul in this type of weather is undesirable.
After a day of doing a whole bunch of nothing, people are out and about going everywhere Saturday night -- even the malls are open until 10:30 pm.
It's kind of nice is to walk around Saturday evening. Our temporary quarters are situated where a lot of Haredi (super-duper ultra orthodox) live, and after their traditional Havdalah ceremony, they go walking around too. The Havdalah ceremony includes smelling fragrant spices. Well, that fragrance -- a combination of cloves, cinnamon and maybe orange -- sort of lingers on the Haredi and they smell wonderful.
On Sunday work and business begins as usual. Sunday here is like Monday everywhere else. For David and I, our days of running around on the bus trying to figure out banks, immigration bureaucracy, paying rent, finding an apartment, and how to manage are over. Well, all that isn't over, we're just going to have to fit it in after Ulpan. On Sunday, Ulpan -- the school that will teach us Hebrew and help integrate us into society -- officially begins.
If you want to go to Friday evening services you either catch the bus and arrive over an hour early and hope for a ride home, or catch a taxi, or walk. It is safe to walk at night and it would be possible to walk home from shul but not to shul. Much of Haifa is built along a mountain side and for us going to shul would be an uphill climb all the way for probably an hour or more. Going home downhill would be a lot easier. What's more, Haifa has walkways and shortcuts with stairs to pass up and down through the city. They are quite hidden, but once found make for a pleasant walk. Since we've started shul, we've been reluctant to try and find our way home by foot in the dark. We probably wouldn't be able to find the walkways and have to follow the road making the trek considerably longer in the cold and wet.
I always pictured Israel as a desert, probably because the only pictures I ever saw were of Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. Haifa is not a desert and actually gets quite a bit of rain, at least in the winter. As is true of all Mediterranean climates, it only rains in winter, and is hot and dry all summer. It has been cloudy and raining for the past five days, complete with some thunder, lightning, and a bit of hail. The thunder reverberates from the mountain and the sea: it sounds wonderful. It will rain hard for 10 minutes or so, shower for another fifteen, stop for awhile then start up again. It's been raining so much, moss is growing on some of the rooftops and there are puddles on the sidewalk and street. Cars go by and splash you. Daytime temperature runs in the low sixties, and on cold days stays in the 50's -- that's Fahrenheit, not Centigrade, if it were in Centigrade the temperature would be around 15 degrees and sound really, really cold. Nighttime Haifa temperatures might dip down into the 40's; the higher up the mountain, of course, the colder it gets.
Nevertheless, fifties and wet is cold enough, making walking home from shul in this type of weather is undesirable.
After a day of doing a whole bunch of nothing, people are out and about going everywhere Saturday night -- even the malls are open until 10:30 pm.
It's kind of nice is to walk around Saturday evening. Our temporary quarters are situated where a lot of Haredi (super-duper ultra orthodox) live, and after their traditional Havdalah ceremony, they go walking around too. The Havdalah ceremony includes smelling fragrant spices. Well, that fragrance -- a combination of cloves, cinnamon and maybe orange -- sort of lingers on the Haredi and they smell wonderful.
On Sunday work and business begins as usual. Sunday here is like Monday everywhere else. For David and I, our days of running around on the bus trying to figure out banks, immigration bureaucracy, paying rent, finding an apartment, and how to manage are over. Well, all that isn't over, we're just going to have to fit it in after Ulpan. On Sunday, Ulpan -- the school that will teach us Hebrew and help integrate us into society -- officially begins.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Scary Things in Israel
In our apartment hunting excursions we found a place that we liked, but was too small. The owner showed where the bomb shelter was, and sadly told us rooms like that are needed in Israel. It was padlocked and he explained another tenant had the key. They had to start locking the shelter because the tenants were using it as a storage place.
Every day we hear military aircraft flying overhead. David said they're probably monitoring Lebanon which is approximately 20 miles north of Haifa. I asked if Lebanon would shoot them down and he said the jets fly too high, but you bet your bottom dollar Israel is keeping track of what's going on in its neighboring countries. I said, we probably don't have to worry as long as they are flying during the day. Ever since I've said that, we've heard the planes going over at night.
Today Israel has been accused by Iran of killing one of their nuclear scientists, and all day and all this evening we are hearing even more jets flying overhead.
But so far that hasn't been as scary as crossing the street.
The right-of-way goes as follows: emergency vehicles, pedestrians, buses, all other vehicles. Drivers go very fast, and although some streets have speed limit signs they are largely ignored. An American couple took us home from shul last Friday and she drove at a normal, careful speed. People behind her were honking and irritated. There are cross-walks and pedestrians simply step out in front of oncoming traffic and they slam to a halt. It's kind of scary doing that, but the other option would be to stand on the street corner all day and never go anywhere.
Busy streets have walk lights: a green person means go, and a red person means stop. That makes walking across a lot easier. In the US, the walk signal is all the way across the street, so when it's green you go all the way across. In Haifa, the walk signals are also in the middle of the street on the median. So you wait for the first green signal to go to the middle of the street and wait for the second green signal to finish crossing. The walk signal might be green across the street, but red in the middle. The problem is, David and I are so accustomed to looking at the signal all the way across the street, sometimes we forget that the walk signal in the center of the street is red and on occasion have stepped out into the street only to jump back onto the sidewalk to avoid being mowed down by an oncoming car.
But that's not as scary as the cell phone. You can't exist in Israel without one. We had hoped to use Skype for our calling needs, and still have it for US calls, but it wasn't working for the apartment hunting in Haifa. Our American cell phones didn't work here, so we had to go and purchase a new phone. We did some comparison shopping.
One vendor, recommended to us by our project coordinator was pushing a cell phone for 400 shekels. We decided to pass, but came back a few days later ready to buy it. He didn't remember us, and the price went up 50 shekels, so we went to the Grand Canyon Mall and talked to some vendors there. We found a plan that hopefully will work, and are paying 1/2 shekel a minute for outgoing calls. In Israel, you are only charged for outgoing phone calls. If someone calls you, it's on their dime (I mean shekel), not ours.
Okay, the cell phone isn't scary. It was the contract David had to sign in order to get on this plan. He signed his name on a contract written in Hebrew 17 times. What he was told and what he signed could be completely different things. Israeli doesn't have consumer protection laws like in the US. We have found that banks and other institutions like to shekel and argot people to death. If, G-d forbid, he signed something that has a lot of hidden fees and costs, the cell phone company could do more than garnish his pay or take money from his bank account. The cell phone company could get a judgment against him that would put out a warrant for his arrest, not allow him to leave the country and send him in jail. Yes, Israel has a debtor's prison.
David has read other blogs about people getting into financial trouble in Israel because they didn't know what they signed. One person's bill turned out to be five times higher than expected and he felt cheated. He didn't want to pay the extra money and hired an attorney to help out, and basically the attorney said go ahead and pay what they say you owe. Buyer beware!
Every day we hear military aircraft flying overhead. David said they're probably monitoring Lebanon which is approximately 20 miles north of Haifa. I asked if Lebanon would shoot them down and he said the jets fly too high, but you bet your bottom dollar Israel is keeping track of what's going on in its neighboring countries. I said, we probably don't have to worry as long as they are flying during the day. Ever since I've said that, we've heard the planes going over at night.
Today Israel has been accused by Iran of killing one of their nuclear scientists, and all day and all this evening we are hearing even more jets flying overhead.
But so far that hasn't been as scary as crossing the street.
The right-of-way goes as follows: emergency vehicles, pedestrians, buses, all other vehicles. Drivers go very fast, and although some streets have speed limit signs they are largely ignored. An American couple took us home from shul last Friday and she drove at a normal, careful speed. People behind her were honking and irritated. There are cross-walks and pedestrians simply step out in front of oncoming traffic and they slam to a halt. It's kind of scary doing that, but the other option would be to stand on the street corner all day and never go anywhere.
Busy streets have walk lights: a green person means go, and a red person means stop. That makes walking across a lot easier. In the US, the walk signal is all the way across the street, so when it's green you go all the way across. In Haifa, the walk signals are also in the middle of the street on the median. So you wait for the first green signal to go to the middle of the street and wait for the second green signal to finish crossing. The walk signal might be green across the street, but red in the middle. The problem is, David and I are so accustomed to looking at the signal all the way across the street, sometimes we forget that the walk signal in the center of the street is red and on occasion have stepped out into the street only to jump back onto the sidewalk to avoid being mowed down by an oncoming car.
But that's not as scary as the cell phone. You can't exist in Israel without one. We had hoped to use Skype for our calling needs, and still have it for US calls, but it wasn't working for the apartment hunting in Haifa. Our American cell phones didn't work here, so we had to go and purchase a new phone. We did some comparison shopping.
One vendor, recommended to us by our project coordinator was pushing a cell phone for 400 shekels. We decided to pass, but came back a few days later ready to buy it. He didn't remember us, and the price went up 50 shekels, so we went to the Grand Canyon Mall and talked to some vendors there. We found a plan that hopefully will work, and are paying 1/2 shekel a minute for outgoing calls. In Israel, you are only charged for outgoing phone calls. If someone calls you, it's on their dime (I mean shekel), not ours.
Okay, the cell phone isn't scary. It was the contract David had to sign in order to get on this plan. He signed his name on a contract written in Hebrew 17 times. What he was told and what he signed could be completely different things. Israeli doesn't have consumer protection laws like in the US. We have found that banks and other institutions like to shekel and argot people to death. If, G-d forbid, he signed something that has a lot of hidden fees and costs, the cell phone company could do more than garnish his pay or take money from his bank account. The cell phone company could get a judgment against him that would put out a warrant for his arrest, not allow him to leave the country and send him in jail. Yes, Israel has a debtor's prison.
David has read other blogs about people getting into financial trouble in Israel because they didn't know what they signed. One person's bill turned out to be five times higher than expected and he felt cheated. He didn't want to pay the extra money and hired an attorney to help out, and basically the attorney said go ahead and pay what they say you owe. Buyer beware!
Saturday, January 7, 2012
5 Myths about Israel Debunked
Every time I close my eyes, I can still see that severed pig head in the box with its black eyes wide open. Dead pigs were the last thing I ever dreamed of seeing in Israel. However, pig farming is allowed in Israel as long as you are not a Jew. If you're a Jew, it's illegal. If you're a Christian or not born of a Jewish mother you can raise and slaughter pigs to your heart's content.
The myths are:
Israelis don't stand in line, they push and shove to be first
Most Israeli's speak English
You won't find toilet paper in public restrooms
You can barter for better prices
And you receive a gas mask when arrive/there's a bomb shelter in every building
Our experience has been Israelis stand in line like everyone else at least at the grocery store and on the bus. At the post office and bank you get numbers and wait, which is kind of nice, because you can sit down rather than stand in line. We are not sure if the take-a-number thing is a result of Israelis not being willing to queue up or for some other reason.
We were told most Israelis speak English and they learn it in school. So far, most of the Israelis we have met do speak some English. The operative word here is "some." They speak about as much English as we speak Hebrew -- we've had twenty 30-minute Pimsleur Hebrew CD lessons; they supposedly had several years of English in school.
Whew! So far, there has been plenty of toilet paper in the restrooms. It's a good thing, because I'm funny about those things and would probably hold it until I busted before having to air-dry. The other good thing is Israeli women don't have this phobia of not sitting on top of the toilet seat. A lot of American women, rather than sit, will squat over the toilet without touching anything and pee leaving urine drops for the poor unwitting person following them to sit and feel that unwanted dampness on the back of their thighs. What does seem to be scarce is restrooms are paper towels. I cannot count the number of times I've washed my hands only to find the electric hand dryer does not work and both paper towel dispensers are empty.
We haven't purchased much yet so bartering may still be something people do here. However, we have watched people in front of us in the grocery store and they pay the price the cashier asks for. There was no bartering at Office Depot either, nor at the place where we purchased the alarm clock.
You would think we could barter for laundry prices, but in our comparison shopping they all charge 12 shekels a kilo. Even though it's expensive, I prefer having someone else do my laundry. It comes back all folded, smelling kind of soapy, and cleaner than when I do it myself. Since dryers aren't used widely here, David hasn't had the pleasure of hanging clothes out on the line -- oh wait, I guess that would be my job.
I have heard that if shopkeepers know you're American -- and they can tell by our accent even if we say, "How much does it cost?" in Hebrew -- they will raise the price by a few shekels since all Americans are rich and can afford it. Somebody told me a shopkeeper insisted she had to pay 60 more shekels because she was American and could afford it. I guess she paid the higher price. I would have walked away. And David would have been really mean and before walking away tell them something like: "You not only lost my business, I'm going to tell every olim I know what you did and you're going to lose that business too."
I have heard there is bartering for the rent and negotiation of the lease. That doesn't really seem to be the case either. Or, maybe they can tell we're "rich" Americans and simply refuse to barter. We are still looking for a permanent place and we'll see how that goes.
Totally false: new immigrants do NOT receive a gas mask when you arrive in Israel -- unless we didn't get ours. There is not a bomb shelter in every building and no one has instructed us on where to go if sirens start going off. Maybe the thinking is Hezbollah and Hamas missiles are too erratic and no more dangerous than getting hit by a bus or a driver who doesn't see you in the crosswalk and comes to a screeching halt too late. Maybe the Israeli government feels the only bombs citizens have to worry about is the big one Iran may be lobbing over around the 21st of December 2012 -- aka the end of the world according to the Mayan calendar -- and no bomb shelter or gas mask is going to protect you from that one.
The myths are:
Israelis don't stand in line, they push and shove to be first
Most Israeli's speak English
You won't find toilet paper in public restrooms
You can barter for better prices
And you receive a gas mask when arrive/there's a bomb shelter in every building
Our experience has been Israelis stand in line like everyone else at least at the grocery store and on the bus. At the post office and bank you get numbers and wait, which is kind of nice, because you can sit down rather than stand in line. We are not sure if the take-a-number thing is a result of Israelis not being willing to queue up or for some other reason.
We were told most Israelis speak English and they learn it in school. So far, most of the Israelis we have met do speak some English. The operative word here is "some." They speak about as much English as we speak Hebrew -- we've had twenty 30-minute Pimsleur Hebrew CD lessons; they supposedly had several years of English in school.
Whew! So far, there has been plenty of toilet paper in the restrooms. It's a good thing, because I'm funny about those things and would probably hold it until I busted before having to air-dry. The other good thing is Israeli women don't have this phobia of not sitting on top of the toilet seat. A lot of American women, rather than sit, will squat over the toilet without touching anything and pee leaving urine drops for the poor unwitting person following them to sit and feel that unwanted dampness on the back of their thighs. What does seem to be scarce is restrooms are paper towels. I cannot count the number of times I've washed my hands only to find the electric hand dryer does not work and both paper towel dispensers are empty.
We haven't purchased much yet so bartering may still be something people do here. However, we have watched people in front of us in the grocery store and they pay the price the cashier asks for. There was no bartering at Office Depot either, nor at the place where we purchased the alarm clock.
You would think we could barter for laundry prices, but in our comparison shopping they all charge 12 shekels a kilo. Even though it's expensive, I prefer having someone else do my laundry. It comes back all folded, smelling kind of soapy, and cleaner than when I do it myself. Since dryers aren't used widely here, David hasn't had the pleasure of hanging clothes out on the line -- oh wait, I guess that would be my job.
I have heard that if shopkeepers know you're American -- and they can tell by our accent even if we say, "How much does it cost?" in Hebrew -- they will raise the price by a few shekels since all Americans are rich and can afford it. Somebody told me a shopkeeper insisted she had to pay 60 more shekels because she was American and could afford it. I guess she paid the higher price. I would have walked away. And David would have been really mean and before walking away tell them something like: "You not only lost my business, I'm going to tell every olim I know what you did and you're going to lose that business too."
I have heard there is bartering for the rent and negotiation of the lease. That doesn't really seem to be the case either. Or, maybe they can tell we're "rich" Americans and simply refuse to barter. We are still looking for a permanent place and we'll see how that goes.
Totally false: new immigrants do NOT receive a gas mask when you arrive in Israel -- unless we didn't get ours. There is not a bomb shelter in every building and no one has instructed us on where to go if sirens start going off. Maybe the thinking is Hezbollah and Hamas missiles are too erratic and no more dangerous than getting hit by a bus or a driver who doesn't see you in the crosswalk and comes to a screeching halt too late. Maybe the Israeli government feels the only bombs citizens have to worry about is the big one Iran may be lobbing over around the 21st of December 2012 -- aka the end of the world according to the Mayan calendar -- and no bomb shelter or gas mask is going to protect you from that one.
How do you pay the rent?
We would really like to pay our rent. And we went to the place where we paid the rent the first time to pay it again. The first time we went with our project coordinator who reserved the unit for us. She's the one who let us into our temporary quarters on our first night here even though we arrived late and she was off work and she would have preferred being at home with her family celebrating Hanukkah. But that night she didn't want any rent, and she would deal with us after her paid 5-days off for Hanukkah were over.
We were supposed to meet up on Monday at the Ministry of Absorption and/or the Ministry of Interior where we would get our ID cards and take care of other immigration details. When we arrived, we couldn't find her and went back and forth from the 3rd floor to the 4th floor back to the 3rd floor, finally figuring out what we needed to do on our own. Well we finally caught up with her and she drove us to a dilapidated building about half a mile away and we trudged up to the second level only to be told the woman she wanted to see wasn't there. However our project coordinator was insistent and we saw another lady who wore dark red lipstick that had smeared onto her upper lip. We listened as they argued in Hebrew. Once clarified, the lipstick lady fiddled with the computer for about 30 minutes and finally we paid about a week and a half worth of rent. Once the rent was paid, our project coordinator gave us vague instructions how to get back home and we were on our own.
We've been doing pretty good on our own.
A week later -- even though no one was actually asking for it -- we decided we should pay some more rent. The first hurdle was finding where to go. Our project coordinator was not going to drive us there this time and all we had was an address -- 48 Hanimal --and vague memories of a dilapidated building with a parking lot nearby. We took the bus and found Hanimal street and started looking for number 48. We found 49, so 48 should be across the street with the other even numbered buildings, right? We walked up and down the block and could not find 48, we found all kinds of numbers that had no particular order, sequence or logic.
We went into buildings and asked in our garbled half-Hebrew mostly English: Where is 48 Hanimal?
Answer: Not here.
Finally someone spoke English and knew the area well enough to explain 48 Hanimal was across a small park nearly two blocks away.
How does that make any sense?
Anyway, we finally found the building and went up to the second floor where we originally paid the rent. An older man who seemed to be the receptionist spoke in Hebrew and presumably asked what we wanted. In English we said, "Pay rent." He didn't understand a word of English, but somehow communicated we should wait while he found someone to help us.
Finally a Russian lady came out and said in English, "I don't speak English, but I'll see what I can do." We explained we wanted to pay the rent. Apparently she could speak English, she just couldn't understand it because she kept asking us the same questions over and over about who we were, where we living and why we were here. She went to find someone to help and we waited. Every so often, she would return ask us the same questions about who we were, where we were living and why we were here, then disappear.
"Pay the rent," did not seem like a concept anyone there understood.
We waited, and waited.
Finally the woman returned and said, Apra will help you, and pointed to a woman passing through the lobby. The next thing I knew, Apra, the Russian woman, and the woman who took our rent the first time were all in the lobby yelling at each other presumably about who would take care of us. Then they left. We continued to wait.
And wait.
Other people came and left. They were taken care of, no problem -- but then they spoke Hebrew.
We waited some more.
Finally it was getting to be lunchtime and we were hungry. We decided we had waited enough and if they wanted their rent they could call us and ask for it. Which they probably will, but it will be in Hebrew and we won't understand a word.
We were supposed to meet up on Monday at the Ministry of Absorption and/or the Ministry of Interior where we would get our ID cards and take care of other immigration details. When we arrived, we couldn't find her and went back and forth from the 3rd floor to the 4th floor back to the 3rd floor, finally figuring out what we needed to do on our own. Well we finally caught up with her and she drove us to a dilapidated building about half a mile away and we trudged up to the second level only to be told the woman she wanted to see wasn't there. However our project coordinator was insistent and we saw another lady who wore dark red lipstick that had smeared onto her upper lip. We listened as they argued in Hebrew. Once clarified, the lipstick lady fiddled with the computer for about 30 minutes and finally we paid about a week and a half worth of rent. Once the rent was paid, our project coordinator gave us vague instructions how to get back home and we were on our own.
We've been doing pretty good on our own.
A week later -- even though no one was actually asking for it -- we decided we should pay some more rent. The first hurdle was finding where to go. Our project coordinator was not going to drive us there this time and all we had was an address -- 48 Hanimal --and vague memories of a dilapidated building with a parking lot nearby. We took the bus and found Hanimal street and started looking for number 48. We found 49, so 48 should be across the street with the other even numbered buildings, right? We walked up and down the block and could not find 48, we found all kinds of numbers that had no particular order, sequence or logic.
We went into buildings and asked in our garbled half-Hebrew mostly English: Where is 48 Hanimal?
Answer: Not here.
Finally someone spoke English and knew the area well enough to explain 48 Hanimal was across a small park nearly two blocks away.
How does that make any sense?
Anyway, we finally found the building and went up to the second floor where we originally paid the rent. An older man who seemed to be the receptionist spoke in Hebrew and presumably asked what we wanted. In English we said, "Pay rent." He didn't understand a word of English, but somehow communicated we should wait while he found someone to help us.
Finally a Russian lady came out and said in English, "I don't speak English, but I'll see what I can do." We explained we wanted to pay the rent. Apparently she could speak English, she just couldn't understand it because she kept asking us the same questions over and over about who we were, where we living and why we were here. She went to find someone to help and we waited. Every so often, she would return ask us the same questions about who we were, where we were living and why we were here, then disappear.
"Pay the rent," did not seem like a concept anyone there understood.
We waited, and waited.
Finally the woman returned and said, Apra will help you, and pointed to a woman passing through the lobby. The next thing I knew, Apra, the Russian woman, and the woman who took our rent the first time were all in the lobby yelling at each other presumably about who would take care of us. Then they left. We continued to wait.
And wait.
Other people came and left. They were taken care of, no problem -- but then they spoke Hebrew.
We waited some more.
Finally it was getting to be lunchtime and we were hungry. We decided we had waited enough and if they wanted their rent they could call us and ask for it. Which they probably will, but it will be in Hebrew and we won't understand a word.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Shopping: Israel v USA
In the United States, malls are a tribute to consumerism -- many indoor malls have a palatial quality with an ambiance of luxury and wealth. The stores carry items we don't need but certainly could use like a $5000 massage chair. Clothes are displayed with panache and sex ala Victoria's secret, and other stores hint at the promise of eternal youth with their expensive cosmetics. Often, the center of the mall will have a water fountain with comfortable couches and chairs so weary shoppers can sit and relax.
Israeli malls aren't quite like that. The largest mall in Israel, home to over 200 stores -- the Grand Canyon Mall -- is just that: and indoor building with a lot of shops. It looks promising from the outside with various neon signs one being for Office Depot. After standing in line and going through security, the interior is not up to US mall standards. The floors are well-worn and the stops rather dreary, all of them selling practical stuff. Window shopping does NOT inspire dreams of new wardrobes, fancy parties, a professionally decorated home, entertaining with flair, eternal youth or sex. The one store displaying female undergarments had mannequin torsos with no arms or legs and were wearing sturdy white bras and grandma panties: no see-through titillating, bust enhancing bras and oh-so sexy thongs here.
Rather than a play area for children or a fountain, the center of the mall has an area where people can look down on red gravel with an art display that looks like a stack of rocks or boulders suspended from the ceiling. It's not very pretty nor interesting to look at. The other mall is a little better in that the floors are not in dire need of refurbishing. It also has some comfortable chairs where you can sit, but only if you buy a drink or some food. I would say an old, crappy American mall beats Israeli malls by a mile.
I was told there were plenty of health food stores in Israel, so far haven't seen any. What I thought was a GNC super store, turned out to be a pharmacy. I saw the Hebrew letters: pay, aleph, and bet, and dyslexically transposed them into GNC. Even though I realized my mistake, my mind is still convinced there's a GNC in the mall somewhere.
The only "supermarket" we have been in is at the Grand Canyon Mall and it is about a quarter the size of a small US supermarket. At least it is well-lit and the aisles are wide enough to pass two buggies through. In order to get a buggy, you have to put a five-shekel coin into a slot to release the buggy and if you return the cart you get your five shekels back. The store did offer some familiar brands like Nabisco and Kellogg's cereals, and, of course, the ubiquitous Coca Cola. You can always tell if you're in an Arab-run establishment because they sell Pepsi.
You don't have to go all the way to the mall for groceries. There is a food market on about every third corner. In some ways these are convenience markets and the prices are more expensive, but they offer plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables over junk food readily available at convenience stores at gas stations in the US.
I can't tell if the produce here is locally grown or imported. My thinking is if the veggies or fruit are all the same size and look flawless they come from a large monoculture corporate farm probably located in California. I try to buy from local, family farms and look for the less than uniform produce that has imperfections. Anyway, these corner food markets are dingy, poorly lit and have very narrow aisles barely big enough to get one buggy through. They are complete with deli, dairy and fresh meat. Some even have baked chicken -- or emu -- depending on the store.
We have found the food tastes better here and it seems to be more robust. For example, in California I always purchased organic, free-range eggs and/or eggs from the farmer's market. Regardless of where I bought the eggs, the yolks were always pale yellow. The eggs I have purchased here have bright orange yolks. The other thing I do is take chicken bones and boil them to make a broth for soup. The US chicken bones produced a nearly clear broth. The Israeli bones make a deep yellow broth that looks exactly how chicken soup is supposed to look, which makes me wonder: What is going on with American food?
Israeli malls aren't quite like that. The largest mall in Israel, home to over 200 stores -- the Grand Canyon Mall -- is just that: and indoor building with a lot of shops. It looks promising from the outside with various neon signs one being for Office Depot. After standing in line and going through security, the interior is not up to US mall standards. The floors are well-worn and the stops rather dreary, all of them selling practical stuff. Window shopping does NOT inspire dreams of new wardrobes, fancy parties, a professionally decorated home, entertaining with flair, eternal youth or sex. The one store displaying female undergarments had mannequin torsos with no arms or legs and were wearing sturdy white bras and grandma panties: no see-through titillating, bust enhancing bras and oh-so sexy thongs here.
Rather than a play area for children or a fountain, the center of the mall has an area where people can look down on red gravel with an art display that looks like a stack of rocks or boulders suspended from the ceiling. It's not very pretty nor interesting to look at. The other mall is a little better in that the floors are not in dire need of refurbishing. It also has some comfortable chairs where you can sit, but only if you buy a drink or some food. I would say an old, crappy American mall beats Israeli malls by a mile.
I was told there were plenty of health food stores in Israel, so far haven't seen any. What I thought was a GNC super store, turned out to be a pharmacy. I saw the Hebrew letters: pay, aleph, and bet, and dyslexically transposed them into GNC. Even though I realized my mistake, my mind is still convinced there's a GNC in the mall somewhere.
The only "supermarket" we have been in is at the Grand Canyon Mall and it is about a quarter the size of a small US supermarket. At least it is well-lit and the aisles are wide enough to pass two buggies through. In order to get a buggy, you have to put a five-shekel coin into a slot to release the buggy and if you return the cart you get your five shekels back. The store did offer some familiar brands like Nabisco and Kellogg's cereals, and, of course, the ubiquitous Coca Cola. You can always tell if you're in an Arab-run establishment because they sell Pepsi.
You don't have to go all the way to the mall for groceries. There is a food market on about every third corner. In some ways these are convenience markets and the prices are more expensive, but they offer plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables over junk food readily available at convenience stores at gas stations in the US.
I can't tell if the produce here is locally grown or imported. My thinking is if the veggies or fruit are all the same size and look flawless they come from a large monoculture corporate farm probably located in California. I try to buy from local, family farms and look for the less than uniform produce that has imperfections. Anyway, these corner food markets are dingy, poorly lit and have very narrow aisles barely big enough to get one buggy through. They are complete with deli, dairy and fresh meat. Some even have baked chicken -- or emu -- depending on the store.
We have found the food tastes better here and it seems to be more robust. For example, in California I always purchased organic, free-range eggs and/or eggs from the farmer's market. Regardless of where I bought the eggs, the yolks were always pale yellow. The eggs I have purchased here have bright orange yolks. The other thing I do is take chicken bones and boil them to make a broth for soup. The US chicken bones produced a nearly clear broth. The Israeli bones make a deep yellow broth that looks exactly how chicken soup is supposed to look, which makes me wonder: What is going on with American food?
Monday, January 2, 2012
Back to the Bank
The banking in Israel is weird. We were told to select a bank near where we lived for convenience. Except we are in temporary housing and don't know for certain that we'll stay in this same neighborhood. So we chose a bank near the ulpan -- school where we will learn Hebrew -- since we will be going there everyday. In order to receive the benefits for new olim like free medical insurance for one year, free ulpan for five months and other goodies, we must have a shekel banking account.
We opened a shekel banking account using the balance of the American dollars we had with us as the first deposit. The account information had to be sent over to the Haklita, or absorption department, so they would okay the benefits. Done.
But the next day we received a phone call from someone at the Haklita telling us it had to be a shekel account, and that because we put in American dollars, it wasn't a shekel account. To which David -- who handles this stuff so well -- said: No, no, it's a shekel account you can see on the form we sent you it's in shekels. Luckily, there was someone at the Haklita who spoke English -- after some screaming in the background -- it turned out Haklita will accept the deposit on our new accounts. Whew!
After paying the rent, we were low on cash, and went to a different branch of the same bank where we opened the account. David tried to withdraw some money, and the card was rejected. We didn't know if it was Wells Fargo panicking and not allowing an ATM withdrawal because we were in Israel or what. We went to the teller and she basically said she could not help us because this was not the branch where we opened our account. Our branch is a 30-minute bus ride away. But then David, who reads cursive Hebrew much better than I do, figured out he was not using an ATM but the bank thing that gives you numbers so you can sit and wait for the teller. After David figured out where the ATM was, we were able to withdraw some funds and pay fees at both banks for the exchange rate.
Several days went by and we still hadn't received our bank cards. So we traipsed back to the branch where we opened our account and being more knowledgable knew to go to the bank thing that looks like an ATM but gives you numbers so you can sit and wait for the teller and we inserted our ID and got a number. Our number was 10, the number on the screen was 13. Hebrew is written backwards maybe they count backwards too. Nope, the next number was 14.
It looked like this was going to be a long wait. But the lady who opened our account saw us and told us to come on over. She explained we were supposed to got the the bank thing that looks like an ATM and gives you a number so you can sit and wait for the teller, but she would make an exception for us. We showed her our number 10 and pointed out the number on the screen, she nodded and we realized her English skills are very poor, but she was very likely the best English speaker working at the bank.
David said, "We haven't received our bank cards and we are unable to access our on-line accounts."
"Too soon," she said. "Wait five days," but she took David's ID and pulled up his account. "Why do you want two cards?"
"I only want one card."
She went to a lock-box and retrieved two cards, cut one up and gave the other to David. It was a bank card for getting cash out but not a debit card. Then it was my turn, and I showed her my ID and she asked me if I wanted a debit card to use in the stores. I nodded and signed a bunch of forms written in Hebrew.
"Five days."
David said, "I want one of those too."
She said, "You don't need one, you have the cash card."
David said, "No, I need one of those cards that say Master Card or Visa."
She said, "You have a card, you can get cash."
David said in Hebrew, "Ani rotzay zah." He pointed at my paperwork.
She nodded and corrected his Hebrew, "zay." And proceeded to have him sign forms for a debit card.
She gave us some secret numbers so we could go home and access our account online. We went home and the secret numbers didn't work and we still can't access our account online. I guess this is why they recommend choosing a bank close to where you live, you have to go there all the time. Banking in Israel is a combination of being in the fifties with 21st century technology. Go figure.
We opened a shekel banking account using the balance of the American dollars we had with us as the first deposit. The account information had to be sent over to the Haklita, or absorption department, so they would okay the benefits. Done.
But the next day we received a phone call from someone at the Haklita telling us it had to be a shekel account, and that because we put in American dollars, it wasn't a shekel account. To which David -- who handles this stuff so well -- said: No, no, it's a shekel account you can see on the form we sent you it's in shekels. Luckily, there was someone at the Haklita who spoke English -- after some screaming in the background -- it turned out Haklita will accept the deposit on our new accounts. Whew!
After paying the rent, we were low on cash, and went to a different branch of the same bank where we opened the account. David tried to withdraw some money, and the card was rejected. We didn't know if it was Wells Fargo panicking and not allowing an ATM withdrawal because we were in Israel or what. We went to the teller and she basically said she could not help us because this was not the branch where we opened our account. Our branch is a 30-minute bus ride away. But then David, who reads cursive Hebrew much better than I do, figured out he was not using an ATM but the bank thing that gives you numbers so you can sit and wait for the teller. After David figured out where the ATM was, we were able to withdraw some funds and pay fees at both banks for the exchange rate.
Several days went by and we still hadn't received our bank cards. So we traipsed back to the branch where we opened our account and being more knowledgable knew to go to the bank thing that looks like an ATM but gives you numbers so you can sit and wait for the teller and we inserted our ID and got a number. Our number was 10, the number on the screen was 13. Hebrew is written backwards maybe they count backwards too. Nope, the next number was 14.
It looked like this was going to be a long wait. But the lady who opened our account saw us and told us to come on over. She explained we were supposed to got the the bank thing that looks like an ATM and gives you a number so you can sit and wait for the teller, but she would make an exception for us. We showed her our number 10 and pointed out the number on the screen, she nodded and we realized her English skills are very poor, but she was very likely the best English speaker working at the bank.
David said, "We haven't received our bank cards and we are unable to access our on-line accounts."
"Too soon," she said. "Wait five days," but she took David's ID and pulled up his account. "Why do you want two cards?"
"I only want one card."
She went to a lock-box and retrieved two cards, cut one up and gave the other to David. It was a bank card for getting cash out but not a debit card. Then it was my turn, and I showed her my ID and she asked me if I wanted a debit card to use in the stores. I nodded and signed a bunch of forms written in Hebrew.
"Five days."
David said, "I want one of those too."
She said, "You don't need one, you have the cash card."
David said, "No, I need one of those cards that say Master Card or Visa."
She said, "You have a card, you can get cash."
David said in Hebrew, "Ani rotzay zah." He pointed at my paperwork.
She nodded and corrected his Hebrew, "zay." And proceeded to have him sign forms for a debit card.
She gave us some secret numbers so we could go home and access our account online. We went home and the secret numbers didn't work and we still can't access our account online. I guess this is why they recommend choosing a bank close to where you live, you have to go there all the time. Banking in Israel is a combination of being in the fifties with 21st century technology. Go figure.
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