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The saga continues. Where shall I begin? I opened a bank account with absolutely no problems. The clerk spoke English.
My ex-husband’s cousin Eytan and I then went back to the Post Office to see if the strike was over so I could get health insurance. Of course not! I commented to him “I guess they want me to die first.”
The postal clerk understood my English because I got the biggest smile from her as I started choking on my coughing.
Next step — get a cell phone.
The salesman speaks English like a native, and I find out later that he is. He comes from Sherman Oaks.
I tell him the most important thing is that I get a plan that allows me to be able to use the phone to make long distance calls to the States. I also ask if I could get all the information in English, and if there is a discount for my new status here.
What Could Have Been
After saying “yes” not “ken” (yes in Hebrew) to everything, and all is agreed upon, he hands me a contract in Hebrew, which he claims is their only contract.
Allegedly, it gives me a student discount since, technically, I will be in an Ulpan studying the Hebrew language for five months.
When Eytan and I get home, Eytan sees that the contract says I could have had a contract in English as well as directions for use of the phone in English. So now, not only do I have no clue as to what I signed or how to operate the phone, but the salesman also checked the box stating no international calls.
Maybe a non-English speaking salesman would have been better because I seem to be doing worse with people who allegedly understand me.
I am given the student discount because of my age, not school status.
This Is My Birthdate?
According to the contract, I was born 12/12/2007. Not only is my baby granddaughter older than me, but I won’t be born for another four months. What would the Absorption Center in Raanana say about that fact?
How can they say I am too old to go there now?
Then I contact the Misrad HaKlita, the Ministry of Absorption, to make an appointment to get a voucher for the Ulpan.
After waiting through the voice mail for instructions in English, and following those directions, all of a sudden the English message switches to Hebrew. I patiently wait for the English to come on again. But I am disconnected.
A Little Becomes a Lot
I try again. This time Eva, Eytan’s wife, handles the call. She puts me on the phone with a counselor who will be my personal guide through this process.
I say “Hello.”
No response.
I repeat my hello. Sill no response.
I take Eytan’s advice about not moving (even though I am on the phone where no one sees me), point my fingers (more like messaging my headache) and raise my voice (because I think someone on the other side of the phone must be deaf since “Hello” in English is translated to “Hallo” in Hebrew).
Finally. someone answers.
I ask, “Do you speak English?”
“A little,” she responds.
A “little” became a lot when she informed me that she couldn’t help me because I was in Raanana. I explained I was not in Raanana, and that my documents were changed at the airport to reflect that I was not going to the Raanana Absorption Center since it rejected me because I was too old.
It seems no one else was ever notified, and the change never was input into the system.
This becomes the first of my problems. Until next time.
L’hitraot, Shachar
Shachar is the Hebrew name of a California-based attorney and former Los Angeles County deputy sheriff, who recently moved to Israel.
