Oy va voy!
19 August 2004
Hi
I’m back. Just couldn’t resist adding a few more anecdotes. So what’s with the “Oy va voy”? The Israeli version of the more familiar “Oy yoy yoy!” Vy? I don’t know. But so it goes.
Last night trying to fall asleep, I realised I had forgotten some other humorous incidents. And the first one I’m going to tell you takes place, you guessed it, on a bus. There I was, sitting by the window, quietly minding my own business reading The Elegant Universe, a book by Brian Greene on “Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory”. And if that’s not enough of a clue, it’s all about physics and science. I would like you to think I’m some kind of intellectual genius, but most of it passes right over my head. Still I do like his chapter “Microscopic Weirdness” if just for the title.
Anyway, as I was saying, there I was when this very tanned old man diagonally opposite me springs up from his seat and seats himself in the empty chair beside me. He looks at what I’m reading and asks, in Hebrew, what language the book’s written in. On hearing that it’s in English, he launches into a scathing attack on English, namely stupid Americans. He tells me how he went to America and met this professor there. He asks the professor how many languages he can speak. The professor answers “Only one”. Hah! my bus traveler tells me contemptuously. He’s from Bulgaria and can speak 6 (or 8, I forget how many) languages, and rattles them off. Not English though. He then tells me how he hates all religious people, religious Jews, religious Christians, et cetera. His voice starts to rise and soon he’s shouting. Politley I sit there smiling and nodding at him, while inwardly hoping that there aren’t too many other people on the bus. He curses God and I cringe. There are some religious people behind me. He then tells me how he fought with the partisans during the war. How once he came across a German and stabbed him in the stomach with a knife. The German was begging him to kill him, but he wanted to make him suffer. Yes, he tells me, he was cruel. (I hope I’m telling the story correctly as my Hebrew isn’t 100% fluent.) He then turns to me and asks me about myself. And, for 10 brownie points, take a guess what he asks me? Try, try, come on, this should be easy now. Yes, the question was “Are you married? What 30? What are you waiting for?”. I tell him that it’s not in my hands but in God’s hands. He then asks me a very personal question which I politely reply is private, i.e. none of his damn business! He respects this and shortly afterwards we come to his stop. He smiles and waves goodbye. After he gets off, the religious woman behind me says she’s shocked at what he said about God. Most people keep that sort of thing to themselves she says. I explain to her that from what I gathered he’s been through a lot, seen a lot (the war). She hadn’t heard that part.
I sometimes wonder if there’s something about me that attracts these situations, or if it’s just Israel in general.
Another favourite question that I get asked by Israelis (in fact this question might just outrank the marriage question) is “Why are you not living here?”. Again, I get asked this from across the board. No fear, I will get asked it. Which brings me to another story. Not on a bus but in a taxi this time. It’s very rarely that I take taxis but it so happened that I had been visiting friends in Ramat Beit Shemesh and hadn’t noticed the time flying by. Suddenly it was after 11pm and I started worrying how I was going to get back to Jerusalem. Were there still buses at this hour? My friend walked me outside and tried to get me a ride. But the road was quiet. A taxi stopped and told us it would cost 100 shekels (R150) to take me all the way back to my apartment. That was way too much so I said No. We continued waiting for the bus. The taxi driver shouted out 80 shekels. Then 70 shekels. A bus going in the opposite direction came past. We flagged it down and asked if there were still buses going back to Jerusalem. He said Yes. After the bus had passed, the taxi driver shouts out “40 shekels”. This is quite a considerable reduction. I weigh things up and decide it’s worth it. It’s almost 11:30pm by now. I was a bit apprehensive at first. After all, even if it’s a taxi, it’s not the safest thing for a girl to do late at night. But it turned out to be a very interesting ride.
Along the way we stopped in Beit Shemesh where I friend of his got in the car for a bit of a chat. They asked me what I was doing in Israel and then told me I HAD to come live here. There’s no question about it, they say,this is the country for the Jewish people! The driver was very friendly but couldn’t speak much English. However, it turns out, he was learning English by means of a CD designed to teach English. And so our trip back to Jerusalem turned into one enjoyable English lesson as we listened to Mr Brown speaking to his bank manager (“Would you like a cup of tea?”), and Olympic hopefuls being interviewed (“I’m Dmitri from Greece and I speak Greek!”). I happily clarified words and expressions for him since teaching English is something I do part-time anyway (and I did do a course in Teaching English as a Foreign Language three years back in Prague). When we finally arrived at my building, I jokingly told him that he should be paying me instead!
I’m sure I could think of more to say (after all, when DON’T I have something to say?) but it’s late and I must go to sleep.
Lehitra’ot! (See you soon!)
Meira
