“Memoirs of Israel”
Another trip to the Promised Land to unravel another box of surprises without paying a shekel! Yep,that’s right boys and girls – I’m taking you for another stroll in this fine country.
First of all, let me recount how many Sundays I’ve spent in Israel so far-17. Come to think of it, that’s a little over 4 months. (Yeah, I did my math homework.) That didn’t take much calculating, but when it comes to figuring out equivalent costs from shekel to dollar or vice-versa, I’ve found a new best friend – my calculator.
Negotiating is common and fun to do at festivals, open-air markets, bazaars and non-retail stores. More respect is given the customer if he/she is satisfied with the product. I spotted this beautiful lightweight flower dress at a small outside shop at Zion Gate in the Old City of Jerusalem. After bargaining for 10 minutes, I got it for only 10 bucks. And the man who had the fun of going back and forth with me was pleased to see it go with a happy customer.
Even with all the financial straits through which Israel is going, trillions of menorahs, evil-eye hand symbols, mezuzot, sculptures, paintings, flowers, jewelry, yarmulkes and many other religious items are sole everywhere at great prices. Many new buildings are being built and old ones renovated. Tourists aren’t exactly making the business boom (??????) But they certainly aren’t difficult to spot. Beaches in Tel Aviv, Netanya, Rishon le Tzion and Ashkelon are always packed with young people screaming, “Newspapers! Wanna know what’s going on in Israel and what’s happening this month? Get it!” (And they’re freer) On boardwalks, watch your back – a moped is just about to creep up your back – and bleached blond hair blinds your eyes. Music blares from beach cafes which are always filled with young people dancing in their near-to birthday suits. Life in Israel!
Have you ever heard of stargazing? Me, too. How about people-gazing? It seems like THE thing to do here. I wouldn’t necessarily question the motive behind it, except they do it with brazen immodesty. Once, I was signing with a friend, waiting for a bus, and this kind-looking finish man stood with his face completely attuned to us. Le me emphasize – it wasn’t one of those “steal-a-glance” kind of encounters. He practically stood only a foot away, watching steadily at our hand movements. Even after giving obvious signals we didn’t want to be bothered, he wouldn’t look away. By the time the bus arrived, he barely missed hopping on it.
On first-time encounters with strangers, friends’ friends or colleagues, they’ll make the look from toe to head painfully obvious. Forget making a quick dash to the W.C. (water closet) and taking a close look at yourself -they’ll tell you if they see anything that’s out of place. Unbeknownst to me, I had this splat of humus sitting on my navy blue tank top when I met one of the social workers in Tel Aviv, and she pointed out, “Oh, look down, you’ve got this spot. How are you?” People!
My free time is mostly spent with a newly formed tight circle of young Deaf Israelis both in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Understanding Israeli Sign Language and its context is still a faculty of wonder. After 4 months of being here, I’m able to carry a decent conversation completely in ISL with some Hebrew lip-synching. For all I know, I could easily win a lip-synching contest and not know how the words are exactly enunciated. That’s the art of assimilation!
Speaking of assimilation, I’ve practically chopped my hair off and have started walking like an Israeli, yelling and screaming, interrupting people, walking without looking both ways and many more appalling things. Actually, none of this is true except for my hair. And yet…..
Israelis continue to surprise me with their warmth and hospitality. Even now, after 17 weeks, I’m still raw to their touch and straightforward kindness. Just the other day, I had to take my dresses to this tailor’s place to get them altered, and this woman looked at me and said, “Where do you hail from? Here are the specials of the day…” Or if I’m ordering a falafel for the umpteenth time, I would be given a wink and a half smile. If I’m stuck on figuring out which skirt to buy, I can rest assured that the salesperson will say which looks better on me. I can definitely take her word. If I gave too much busfare, the drive will look at me as if I’m some kind of nut and with his gestures say, “Here are your two shekels back.” Or if I just look tired and worn out, a kind stranger sitting next to me on the bus will offer a smile.
On a hot, humid day, with no water in sight, I’ll take a look at a friend and sign, “Gosh, I’m thirsty.” Before I know it, she’ll rummage through the entire town to get a water bottle. Just the other day, I said to a friend that I wanted to learn how to drive a stick-shift care, thinking it was just another pie in the sky idea. Sure enough, I was surprised by being given lessons. (Yeah! I actually drove in Israel.)
Unfortunately, I’ve had my share of unfriendly encounters also. Israel is no stranger when it comes to that. There’s a peculiar mix of kindness and hostility prevalent. I had to visit the Ministry of Interior to get my visa extended. This is one of the few incidents I experienced feeling inferior both physically and emotionally due to my deafness. After waiting 5 hours, they finally called my number. With all my materials together, I strode to the desk. I was immediately greeted with an unfriendly “Hi.” Looking at her, I knew I would have to communicate by using paper and pen. Heavily accented, it was impossible for me to lip-read, and her abrasive manner didn’t exactly make things better.
With the patience and grace I’ve developed over the years after my constant dealings with hearing people throughout my life, I gently gestured for paper and pen. She looked at me, horrified and offended. Again, I said, “May I please have paper and pen?” In the meantime, while she sat motionless, I helped myself by reaching for little pads of paper and a pen sitting in front of her, and I started writing. While I was doing that, she looked through my visa application and asked several questions. Of course, I couldn’t understand and gently asked her to repeat them by writing so that I would know exactly what I’m getting.
She refused to write to me, and anger welled inside me.I used different forms of questioning just to get the information I needed. Suddenly, she wrote something down my name and number, and she asked, “Why do you need more time here?” I replied, “I am interning and traveling. I would like a few more months here.”
Without any warning, she shook her head and ripped my application in half and three my passport photo at my face. I have never felt this humiliated. No explanation, no nothing. I was furious! I said, “I need to know why! And could you please tell me who this name is and what’s the number for?”
After a few futile attempts, she finally said, “It’s my name and fax number.” Why didn’t I figure that before? When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she called one of her co-workers to come over and commented about all those papers scattered all over her desk. Papers of my questions. They actually started to laugh.
To my surprise, I rose and left with tears in my eyes. I immediately reported this to the Institute for Advancement of Deaf Persons in Israel (IADPI) and received only modest support. I knew it was my fight, as an American on Israeli soil. Only the next day, I went back with a professionally written note from my supervisor to show to the guard so that I wouldn’t have to wait and meet with that horrendous witch again. In less than 20 minutes, I was given only a month’s extension and had to pay 133 shekels.
You see, sad to say, my story isn’t unusual. Deaf Israelis experience more than I can say. Deaf Americans can understand the oppression, but with the limited resources and support available, I’m amazed at the spirit of Deaf Israelis and their ongoing fight for more jobs, equal opportunities and obtaining higher education from universities. Counseling services are still primitive. Social workers with deaf education and background are rare. Interpreters are expensive and few and far between. Gifted Deaf Israelis aren’t given jobs they deserve because of prejudices against deafness and disabled persons.
The first half of my journey here has been mostly observing and learning the ways of life in Israel. In the second half, I’m no longer just an observer. I’m actually experiencing tribulations, trepidations and triumphs. I’ve become, in a sense, an “Israeli.” I react to things and situations more responsively. I’m more engaged in voicing the rights for deaf people in Israel. I’ve developed close friendships with people I’ve met and worked with. In essence, I’ve embraced change and gained new insights on life and humanity both as a Jew and a Deaf person.
With only a month left, I’m due for a few more Shabbat dinners, celebrations and sightseeing. This is my last and I was elated just to see the pen moving! It was a article from the Israel. The next time you hear from me, name and fax number. Incredulous, I asked about the I’ll be back in the States, commenting on the end of journey, perhaps discussing how strange to be in a place where most men do not wear yarmulkes. Thank you, my readers, for keeping close tabs on my travels here. Without you, I wouldn’t have anybody traveling with me, unraveling never-ending surprises along the way.
