elinor אלינור
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The Learning Curve,
Part II
One of the first things I learned after making aliyah was how to
get lost in Jerusalem. My Polish neighbour lady taught me to stand
proud on the curb as the bus swooped toward us, and to waggle a forefinger as an
unneeded one approached, giving the driver the option of not threatening our
lives. When she rode off in the opposite direction, I would jump
on what I thought was the right bus and find myself in a place I might have
heard of. In those days, Israeli bus drivers were trained not to
give information. Assent was signalled with the tiniest
nod. Disagreement produced a barrage of criticism.
Not what I was used to.
Fortunately, street signs and other locators were usually in two or three
languages, but that didn’t help when flagging a bus. Oh, I’d
think, I’m in Beit v’Gan. Imagine my surprise when I realised that
I wasn’t. How to get from here to there was another story.
Somehow I have the kind of face which makes people think I know what I'm
doing. Did the #6 bus pass already? Is this the
direction for downtown? Do you know the way to San Jose? I
perfected my mini-shoulder-shrug and my can’t-be-bothered-to-answer look.
Never before did I not respond to direct questions. My character was
being reshaped.
I was interviewed for a position which, thanks to my many arcane and
frequently unusable talents, I obtained. The philosophy professor
needed someone who could speak, read and write French; edit manuscripts and
organise an author's speaking tour of America. No problem.
I again followed the Hollywood maxim: If they ask if
you can tap dance, say Yes and go out and learn. I
learned.
One thing I learned was this: Never assume that someone
called Shirley is actually named Shirley. Her name was Shir-li,
meaning ‘a song for me’, and she didn’t speak English at all.
Fortunately, she moved on shortly after we met, taking my embarrassment
with her.
I began to lead a totally English life, which although it produced scorn
among the Israelis, was exactly what I wanted. The professor and
his PA were both completely bilingual and my work barely touched theirs.
But when they were not in the office, I was tasked with answering the
telephone. I was paralysed when the first Hebrew-speaking caller
said, If he’s not in the office, please tell him (I was OK to this point):
Dadjkfa. Khat dsfajoef grjaet fsasyde; mfssd. Mehfq
Khan Younis.
I felt infantilised, three steps worse than feeling like a child.
When I said Khan Younis rang, the professor nodded.
Slowly. Now I know that Khan Younis is a place. I
was mortified but, on the other hand, he went right out and bought an
answering machine. So being totally ineffectual in areas beyond
ones declared competence can be productive. Hmmm.
The professor held seminars under the aegis of his Spinoza
Institute. You, he said, will stand at the door and collect the
entrance fees: Students and soldiers free, pensioners half-price,
everyone else full fee. Another wonderful example of my exceeding
my competency and I knew it long before the event began.
I stood at the door. As people arrived, I discovered they
didn’t particularly wish to identify themselves, which was no problem with the
soldiers. They whisked right by me, knowing they would get in
free, and it’s still like that. As long as there’s space and those
serving their country are in uniform, they’re in. So that segment
of the population was easy.
I assumed that pensioners would be fairly easy, too, but the Hebrew word
for them, pension’air’im, was not universally applied. Some
identified themselves as gimla’im, retired, not on pension, able to
afford the few shekels’ admission fee. I had never heard that word
and no one had told me that there were two kinds of older people in this
world. I felt, in the Australian way in this kind of situation,
quite buggered.
You know the myth about rescuing fair lady? Happened to
me. I heard a dulcet British-tinged male voice ask Do you need
help? Oh God, did I need help! He handed me the cash
box, asked for and got a 3-second explanation of the fee structure and took
over.
Eventually my hero became a part of
my life. He was divorcing, things were thorny and I was an island
of tranquillity—after the seminar, of course. He lived near Tel
Aviv and we had endless phone conversations. I learned a lot from
him, but after my vacation in Canada the
following summer, I returned to find him engaged to an Israeli woman whom he
recommended as being as clean as I am. Losing him was no great loss.
The professor had hired me on a part-time basis. As the
first year passed, he admitted that he could no longer afford me.
His PA, one of the seminal characters in my early years, decided to find
the funding for me, as she deemed me ‘an excellent and creative worker’.
She had discovered that one of the State Ministries was offering two
scholarships for recent immigrants. The criteria were murky but she aced it and
got one for me. The other one went to a forestry expert from the
Former Soviet Union. Naturally.
So I was to be a part-time employee of the professor for another
year. Heaven help us all.
cross posted Israel Thrives
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