Sometimes, people wonder what I do for a living here in Israel.
Even more weirdly, sometimes they don't. I guess they assume I make a living blogging or writing children's books. But no, or at least, not yet. Which may be why you don't hear from me here so often!
A lot of what I do these days is translation. (You can find out more on my site: IsraelTranslation.com) I translate a whole bunch of stuff: kids' books, academic documents, and these days, a whole lot of CVs. Oh, and from Hebrew to English only.
Many people assume I translate both ways, which baffles me. I'm great at writing in English (in my humble opinion), but I can't imagine my writing in Hebrew ever progressing beyond the most basic level.
Sometimes people ask if I provide "legal translation," not meaning legal documents (which I don't do; you need a specialist in the legal system for that), but legally certified translations that you can use for purposes like immigration or other legal-related things.
The short answer is that what they want is probably a NOTARIZED translation, and I can't do that because I'm not a notary. And because in Israel notaries must be lawyers, it will probably cost a whole lot more for translation even if you do find a notary to do it. Fortunately, there is another way.
"It's all your fault," I tell myself. Most of these thoughts start with the words, "That's what you get..."
That's what you get for living in an older building, without a vaad bayit. A building that isn't maintained. A building where the tenants seriously don't care about anything as long as the thing doesn't fall down around their ears. A building where the neighbours physically threaten us
What's the best age to make aliyah? What's the worst age? The truth is, there is no perfect age. It’s always hard.
You read that right: making aliyah can be tough at any age, but I also believe it can be great at any age. So much depends on you, and where you are in your life, and how flexible you are and ready for change and challenge (and growth, and we all know growth is painful!).
Yes, aliyah is tough. HOWEVER. Since there are no clouds without a silver lining, there’s always a flipside... so I thought it would be fun to put together three reasons it's tougher to make aliyah when you're older, along with three reasons it’s easier... and then the flipside: three reasons it’s tougher when you're younger and three reasons it’s easier.
Whew! It sounds complicated to explain, but I think it’ll be clear
Should you bring Ziploc baggies? What about furniture and appliances? One question every single oleh is going to have to face before moving to Israel is – what should I bring with me?
So I thought I’d turn to the real experts – olim who are already here. I asked the following question on two major aliyah groups on Facebook:
What ONE item did you (or should you) have brought with you when you made aliyah? Bonus: what ONE item did you bring that turned out to be utterly useless? (ours was snowsuits!!!)
I’ve divided up the responses into categories to make it easier for you to read. But essentially, there's no one answer that works for everybody. Some people bring several lifts' worth of items, others come with just a backpack.
The advice here is also sometimes contradictory. I’ve met people who say, “Don’t bother bringing anything major, you can get everything here.” And then there are others who tell you to bring everything you possibly can. It really depends on who you are and regardless of what other people’s experiences have been, what you choose to bring is up to you.
That said, hopefully we can all learn something from what people chose to bring (or what they regret bringing...). Spoiler alert – not one person mentioned ziploc baggies. Or toilet paper, tuna, chocolate chips, or any one of a huge range of items that they would have been begging for 10, 20, or 30 years ago. You can get zipper bags of various kinds (though they’re still not very good, in my opinion!), the tuna is excellent, and they even have Godiva chocolate for sale here now.
(Mmm… I saw these in a store the exact DAY my husband surprised me by showing up with one as a Rosh Hashanah present!)
Here are the major categories of people’s MUST-BRING items as well as their aliyah REGRETS.
The very biggest regret, hands-down, is a category
You've been reading these posts for a while. How about I reward you with a gift?
It's a single word that works as a magic key, opening doors here like no other word can do -- including "please" (בבקשה), which really doesn't go a long way at all in Israel.
Actually, I’ve come to believe that saying please is actually a cue for whoever is supposed to be helping you--in restaurants, government offices, or wherever--to ignore you for a certain period of time. Like counting to 10 when you're angry. At least, they kind of stare at me cluelessly when I do it. I’m not kidding. It will only slow you down here. Try it!
So what's the word?
Well, it's a little word that makes everything POSSIBLE...
Because it means "possible"!
And the word is... אפשר / efshar.
(And okay, since I’m not the grammar maven that you might be—technically it means something a lot more like “possibly,” but for the rest of this post, you and I are going to agree to overlook grammar and technicalities almost entirely… if you want a more linguistically inclined site, check out Balashon – currently on hiatus but nonetheless packed with great info! Also a terrific pun: balash means detective, lashon means language.)
Now, in English, the word “possible” isn’t used nearly as often in Hebrew. Here, you can use this little word instead of “please” in a huge variety of situations.
For example, in a restaurant:
Efshar ketchup? / Literally, “possibly ketchup?” but it means
Let's play a game: see if you can guess which country is which! Two countries, two passport offices. One of these experiences took place in Canada; the other in Israel. Let’s let them go head to head.
PASSPORT EXPERIENCE #1:
Walk into passport office, get in line. Wait in line an hour, reach wicket. Lady inspects documents: birth certificate, passport application, passport photos, signatures, guarantor form and signatures, old passport, miscellaneous other ID. "Great," she says, "Here's your number. You can go get in line in the other room." Half an hour in line in the real passport room waiting for the number to be called, go up, hand in documents, pay fee, leave. In and out in under two hours!
PASSPORT EXPERIENCE #2:
Walk into passport office five minutes early for appointment made online. Enter info into computer at entrance, receive a number. Sit down for 2 minutes until number is called. Go up to wicket, hand over old passport and ID. "Great," she says, "Here's the price." Tell her I already paid online. "Oh, right, no problem. Here's your receipt." In and out in under ten minutes!
Now... in which country did I have which experience?
Did you come to Israel – or are you planning to come to Israel – hoping hoping to start a small business? Good for you! I really mean it. Israel is the Startup Nation. It’s a land of opportunity. It’s the place where you can make many of your dreams come true in amazing ways you never even dreamed of back where you came from.
As long as you’re careful.
For all the opportunities here in Israel, it’s also… (shh) a very bureaucratic place. And you have to stay on top of the bureaucracy because, unlike in certain larger and more anonymous countries I could name, where you can owe the tax people money for years with absolutely zero consequences, neglecting some of the bureaucracy here in Israel can have serious repercussions.
How do I know?
Um, let’s just say… I’ve learned this the hard way. Not the extremely hard way, which probably involves jail time. But the kind of hard way, which involves having your bank accounts frozen and threatening letters from various government agencies.
Setting yourself up as a small business here is actually super-easy. There are three basic steps, and I’ve found that Rifka Lebowitz’s guide is terrific in terms of explaining these in detail:
Register your business for Ma’am (Value Added Tax = VAT): There are two kinds of businesses, which mostly depends on how much income they bring in, and for both types, you need to open a “tik” (file) – tax-exempt (osek patur) and tax-paying (osek murshe) with the VAT office.
Register for income tax: True, they’re both taxes. But the VAT people don’t talk to the income tax people and vice versa. So you have to tell the income tax people you’re a business now. And then they will hound you forever after (see Tip #1) until you close your business tik, which is very easy to do if you’re no longer running your business.
Register with Bituach Leumi: This is a socialized country You no longer have an employer paying your national insurance, and most importantly, your health insurance to your kupat cholim (HMO, healthcare provider network) – so this is your responsibility now as an independent business person.
In general, skipping one of these steps is a recipe for disaster – so don’t do it.
Here are three mistakes I made along the way through this simple process that I hope you can learn from instead of having to untangle on the other side. Any tips here are NOT a substitute for a good accountant. If you think your needs are at all complex, please consult a real tax advisor (not just a blog, for heaven’s sake!) before you take any steps you may regret.
Mistake #1 – Tax ≠ Tax
Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Except I was lulled into complacency because when you come here, everybody says
Quick, where will your first bank account in Israel be?
One of your first tasks when you step off the plane is opening a bank account so you can start getting sal klitah, the six months of “absorption” money that you’re entitled to when you arrive in Israel.
So that’s why many olim feel rushed into opening their first bank account, and don’t think the process through as much as they should.
Sure, you can always move your account later, but you might not want to once you have an established line of credit, “standing orders” (הוראות קבע/horaot keva – fixed monthly payments), government deposits or debits, not to mention (hopefully) payroll deposits coming in and out of that account every month.
So you do want to put some thought into opening your account, even if it seems like you don’t have a lot of choices. When you look back on your aliyah process in five years’ time, these are some of the mistakes you may end up regretting…
1) You didn’t set aside enough time
I’ve opened bank accounts in Canada where I’ve walked in, plunked down ID on the counter, and walked out 15 minutes later with a bank card. That’s not how it works here.
Let's assume you'll never get sick in Israel, shall we?
My teacher in ulpan had a cute habit. When we were learning about ailments, she refused to use the first or second person - "you're sick; I'm sick." She would only let us talk about ailments in the third person: "he's sick; she's sick; they're sick."
So in honour of Morah Sarah, let's do that here, too. Let’s assume you’re going to pick a kupat cholim (health care provider) and never need to use it.
Because, I'll admit, I've been holding back.
In all these years of blogging, I haven't really said anything about how to choose a kupat cholim, one of the four healthcare provider networks that exist in Israel. I feel like I don’t know enough, but the truth is, I’ve been navigating this system long enough to know a thing or two. So I’ll try to help you straighten things out as far as healthcare is concerned. If you have questions, ask below and I’ll try to answer. I’ll also give a list of links for good information at the bottom of this post.
What are those words again? Practice saying them; you’ll be using them a lot here (but hopefully never in the first person):
קֻפַּת חוֹלִים / kupat choleem = sick fund, usually translated into English as “HMO” for people from the U.S. who don’t understand any other approach to healthcare
Note, the above is the vowelled spelling. Without vowels, it’s usually spelled “קופת חולים” for clarity. Pronunciation is the same: kupat cholim.
It’s sometimes abbreviated as קופ"ח / koopach
קֻפָּה / koopah = “fund,” like a supply of money, but sometimes people use this as shorthand to refer to your particular health plan
The plural is קופות חולים/ koopot choleem = sick funds.
How do I choose???
Here are the 4 choices (4 kupot cholim), in English alphabetical order:
כללית / Clalit
לאומית / Leumit (not to be confused with BANK Leumi!)
מכבי / Maccabi (pronounced ma-KAAAAA-bee, not the way English speakers say it in the Chanukah story)
מאוחדת / Meuhedet (the "h" is actually a "ch" but this is how they spell it)
All of these 4 have offices all over the country, though one may be more prevalent in a given area, which will probably factor into your decision-making.
These days, most new olim are asked to choose their kupat cholim at the airport when they arrive. If you don't know your choice, however, you can still do it at the post office like in the old days. There may be other ways to do it as well.
Don’t let anybody force you to pick at the airport if you aren’t sure yet!
But the question everyone asks is: how do I choose???
(Assuming, of course, that you and your family will never get sick!)
Even with the best-laid plans, there are some important things that can fall through the cracks. Here are 9 of the most important reminders – things you’ll want to take care of before you pull on that spiffy new Nefesh b’Nefesh ballcap and hop on the plane to Israel:
1. Medical Check-In
Sure, health care in Israel is free. But you’ll be sitting in front of a doctor who doesn’t know you, doesn’t have your records, and perhaps doesn’t speak English. (Medical clinic receptionists will insist that “all the doctors speak English,” which means they know the names of medical conditions, but many still can’t carry on a conversation.)
There’s also a different cultural approach and you may not have the confidence as a dripping-wet oleh to be pushy enough with Israeli doctors to make your concerns known.
If you have any medical worries, even little niggling things that you’re concerned might get bigger before your Hebrew gets better, get them taken care of ahead of time.
2. Prescriptions
This could have been part of #1, except it’s so important I’m giving it its own bullet point. Get a copy of all prescriptions, and a six-month supply of any medications you take on a regular basis.
Keep these prescriptions in your carry-on baggage along with a few days’ supply, at least. Checked baggage does get lost, and stuff gets lost inside checked baggage (especially if you’re bringing a dozen or more huge suitcases!).
You don’t want to deal with a medical crisis immediately on landing.
3. Dentist
Read everything I just said about doctors and multiply it by ten. Then take out the part about it being free – you will have to pay for dental care in Israel, after you’ve figured out how to find it and how much it’ll be.
Here’s the truth that nobody is going to tell you: you may just be in for the worst 6 months (or so) of your life.
That’s the side of aliyah that you don’t see in the ads, or the videos, or the posters or the shots of smiling, happy families at the airport.
My family’s not in those shots.
You won’t see my son, lying kicking and wailing on the floor of the airport.
You won’t see my daughter, weeping because she misses our family in Canada.
You won’t see me in our apartment at the merkaz klitah, screaming and crying in the middle of the night because my husband cannot make the cruddy Israeli beach karaoke – literally the loudest music I’d ever heard, and I’ve been to more than a few concerts – go away at 3 a.m. on Shabbos morning until I finally fell asleep with a pillow over my head.
Or the kids lying in bed calling out, “Juke! Juke!” (cockroach, cockroach)
I don’t know if I’d call it the worst six months, but it was definitely a difficult period. A very difficult period.
Friends of ours spent 6 months in Israel a year or so before we came. They'd just had a baby, so he had parental leave, and they’d always wanted to spend time here. Everything went wrong - absolutely everything.
It’s back to school time here in Israel. And we all know what that means: online shopping!
I can’t be the only one, right?
In Israel, just like around the world, the hottest shopping site these days is Aliexpress. There, you can buy directly from China, mostly with free shipping, cutting out the middleman and saving a bundle.
That's the theory, at least.
In practice, it's not so simple. The quality is usually low, and it's better in theory to buy Israeli (or local, wherever you happen to be). Sometimes, though, when buying Chinese is the only option anyway, things do work out much better, price-wise.
But there are many downsides to Aliexpress, including:
Long shipping time
Dubious quality merchandise
No recognizable brand names
No brands, price comparisons or reviews (sometimes there are reviews, but rarely)
Merchants don't speak English
The biggest down, however, is that for higher-value items (I think it's over $50), you could get hit with a big tax bill. The same thing was true in Canada - there, anything worth over about $20 could get opened and dinged for import taxes. And there are added fees you have to pay as well if you're billed for taxes. Sometimes, it's just not worth it.
That's why it's nice to know that there are online-shopping alternatives that let you buy "locally" here in Israel. The goods may still be made elsewhere, but you're dealing with local suppliers who know how to get stuff to your door quickly, and can often save you that big tax bill.
The best place to start is on ZAP - zap.co.il. There, you can search (in Hebrew, so use Google Translate if you're not strong at it) for whatever you want, and hopefully, you'll get a whole bunch of good results.
Would you make aliyah and leave your family behind? If you've got a precious fuzzy (or scaly, or slimy) friend at home, you probably wouldn't consider a big move without them.
Your dog, cat or reptile may not be exactly Jewish, at least according to the Law of Return, but that doesn't mean they aren't family.
Before we go on, I’ll admit something. Two things, actually.
One, I have owned almost every kind of pet there is except dogs and birds. Lizards, guinea pigs, ferrets, cats, frogs, hamsters, turtles, fish.
Two, when I found out I was expecting my son, twenty years ago, I got rid of every single living thing in the house. I love animals. But I knew I could either raise animals and plants... or I could raise a kid. I wasn't responsible enough to do both.
We've had a couple of near-brushes with cats since then, but so far, nothing has stuck.
So when we made aliyah two years ago, we were petless. To get some advice on what it's like doing it with a fuzzy (or otherwise) buddy, I turned to some reliable sources on Facebook, as well as personal friends who brought their sweet (ginormous) doggie to Israel from Canada.
Clearing all the hurdles
Most important: don't assume that just because you've mentioned your pet to your Jewish Agency rep that it's all taken care of. The Jewish Agency is in charge of HUMAN aliyah.
Pet aliyah is governed jointly by the Ministry of Agriculture and the Nature Reserves Authority, along with the Director of Veterinary Services. All of which will require a whole slew of paperwork of their own (some no doubt redundant and - seemingly - unnecessary).
Well, I spent this morning hobnobbing with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and President Reuven Rivlin. Does that count as a big deal?
Okay, we weren’t exactly hobnobbing.
Actually, neither of those guys has a clue who I am… and I’m okay with that. I’m kind of shy in real life.
But one of the things I’ve loved most about my time here in Israel is putting on my cub reporter hat and attending events (fun and not so fun) with ambassadors, ministers, in the Knesset, and various high-level government offices.
If you’re not planning to spend time in the upper echelons of government, maybe my secret isn’t so relevant. But I’ll tell it to you anyway. Here is the secret to my success: leave an hour to go through security.
Getting in to see these guys is like an airport, only more so.
Remember – Netanyahu is one of the most hated people in the world (and I don’t just mean outside of Israel). As a nation, we have far more enemies around the world than friends. As far as his security folks are concerned, you are one of those enemies, until proven otherwise.
So smile, relax, and bring a nice blended iced coffee with you to help make the process go smoothly. I recommend Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf – you’ll be standing around for an hour, you’re worth it.
Last week, a friend who volunteers teaching English to kids in an Arab village near Karmiel mentioned an informal survey he’d done among the kids he teaches. He asked them, hypothetically, who they wouldn’t want living in their village.
He listed a whole bunch of different types of people: Arab Christians, Americans, religious and non-religious Jews.
It turned out that the main group of people that the kids didn’t want coming to live in their village was religious Jews.
Why?
Because, according to the kids, religious Jews hate Arabs more.
In other words: not because they hate us, but because they believe we hate them.
I was astonished, but actually this makes sense. They probably figure that the people who are most passionate about the religion are also the most passionate Zionists. And thus, the most passionate Arab-haters.
To me, being a religious Jew is totally about Israel. But it is not at all about hatred.
I always figured that when I made aliyah, I’d understand the situation here a lot more clearly. You know, being actually present on the ground, as opposed to being way off in North America.
That’s about as accurate as a flea expecting to understand a dog’s life just because it lives on the dog’s back.
How will you be greeted when you finally arrive here in Israel? Or, if you’re already here, how were you greeted?
Was it a depressing, bewildering, lonely aliyah story (I’ve heard my share of those) or an upbeat, thrilled, amazing aliyah story?
I really hope your story is as beautiful as that of friends of ours from Toronto (let’s call them Chana and Shlomo), who just arrived last week. What made the difference for them?
When you read her email, I think you’ll figure it out right away.
Catch the Jew! by Tuvia Tenenbaum (Gefen Publishing House: 2015) is not only required reading, it's enlightening reading.
Did you ever wish there was somebody who could talk to ANYBODY who would run around making sense of the Middle East so you don't have to?
I know I have.
And then, did you wish they'd make it fun to read so reading all about it didn't feel swallowing taking some kind of dull, boring medicine?
I’ll tell you the truth: I wasn’t looking forward to reading this book. I picked it up in a bookstore because it was only 70nis. For an English book of this size, that’s a great price. “That’s a lot of book!” I thought, excitedly. But then I realized that it was about Israel, and politics, and it had a goofy cartoon on the cover, and I groaned inside.
(The cover for the Hebrew version is a little less goofy, but also strange…)
But once I started reading it, reluctantly, once I’d read everything else I had on hand, I was immediately sucked into Tenenbom’s world.
You might not like what Tuvia Tenenbom has to say, or who he rubs shoulders with in his new book Catch the Jew!, but if you're interested in Israel and Judaism today, you'll want to read it anyway.
Tenbenbom, born and raised Hareidi in Israel, but who has lived as a non-religious Jew in the U.S. and Germany most of his adult life, is a modern-day chameleon.
My mother was driving me to her house and I was trying to tell her she was allowed to turn right, which you're only allowed to do in her area when traffic isn't busy. But I couldn't find the word - in English. Finally, I blurted out, "It's not... a weekday!"
The word I was trying to remember? "Weekend," of course.
I said a while ago that this is just something you have to get used to here. And that we actually DO have something like a weekend, except on Fridays.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to start the week on Sunday. There’s something abrupt, almost rude, about “putting away” Shabbos the minute it goes out.
In Canada, we could maybe leave the dishes, not sweep up, whatever it was, until the next day. The next day was Sunday, and we knew we’d have time to do stuff.
Sunday = Day One
Here, Sunday is not only a regular weekday… it’s the first day of the week.
That may seem obvious. If you went to Hebrew school, you’ll know already that instead of fun Norse god-based names like Friday and Tuesday, the Hebrew days of the week are droningly simple: Day One, Day Two, Day Three and… you get the picture. The only exception is Day Seven, which is called “Shabbat.”
Trouble is that in Canada, in the back of my mind, the days of the week ALSO had numbers. Very powerful number associations that I really never thought much about.
Maybe it’s the thought of having to find a job here in Israel. If so, I don’t blame you. It’s very, very scary having to start over again in another country.
Close your eyes and think about work. What do you picture yourself doing? Maybe it’s more of the same – exactly what you’re doing now – or maybe it’s something completely different.
I haven’t written much about looking for work here so far. Why? I’ll be honest: I feel unqualified. Maybe because I don’t have a job myself, but also because so much depends on what kind of work you do. (If you’re a writer, specializing in articles and blog posts in English, or in children’s books, then let’s talk.)
Your experience will depend on whether you’re a doctor, English teacher, hairdresser, yoga teacher, graphic artist, or… well, you get the picture.
But I’ve certainly talked to enough olim and potential olim to have a sense of what things are like. So I’ve put together five questions you can ask yourself that will definitely make finding a job easier once you’ve landed in Israel.
What about finding a job first?
This has got to be the biggest question for many olim – their dream of hitting the ground running.
How can you have a job lined up the minute you arrive?
Tomorrow, we’re going to visit our friends who live in… Tzfat? Tsfat? Maybe its ultra-weird English name, Safed?
No problem, though, we’ll just catch a bus from where we live in Kiryat… no, make that, Qiryat… hmm, or Qeeriyat… Shemuel. Shmuel?
Argh.
English place names here can make you crazy.
If you’re lucky, the English version bears some resemblance to the actual place name, ie what the people who live there call it. Sometimes, it doesn’t.
A minor example: Haifa. Before I lived here, I had no idea, really, if it was a “H” or a “Ch” at the front. Is it “Hi” as in, “Hi, howya doin’?” Or “Chhhhhai” as in “Le’chhhhhayim!” (turns out it’s a Ch)
Some places are impossible to guess. For various historical linguistic reasons, even one of the most currently newsworthy areas, the Gaza Strip (let’s think of it as part of Israel for a moment) is actually called Aza in Hebrew.
Blame it on the Crusaders
But the city spelled “Acre”? Let’s pronounce it Akko. I think that one is the Crusaders’ fault.
Safed? Hmm… better pronounce that one Tzefat. If you’re Ashkenazi and not going anywhere other than shuls and graves of holy people, you may be able to get away with calling it Tzefas, but don’t try it in the rest of the country.
Some of this is the fault of Christianity, which has popularized these ridiculous names. It’s hard to unlearn 2000 years worth of Bible study. Here are some of the good place names Christians have ruined permanently.
Joppa? Say it Yaffo.
Tiberias? Teveria.
One of my favourites, for the way it fails to trip of the tongue, is the now no-longer-a-town, Capernaum… or, in Hebrew, kfar Nachum.
Halfway through her school year, our older daughter started referring to the city where she lived, most pretentiously, as Jer-oo-zalem. Another Crusader / Christian legacy, I’m sure. The rest of us stuck with Yerushalayim.
Sometimes, Israelis are so confident in the rightness of their pronunciation that they act like they don’t care a bit how it’s written in English. After all, it’s right there in Hebrew character, and Hebrew (unlike English) is a totally phonetic language.
So who needs English?
English speakers, that’s who.
Somebody has already (in Hebrew) beaten me to the punch with this article (here’s the Google English version) to complain about street signs here in the Krayot, with a pretty funny collection of signs spotted in Kiryat Bialik, considered one of the “nicer” Krayot… but not, I guess, in terms of its English literacy.
Yes, they have spelled the name of one of the world’s best-known Israeli military leaders and statesmen “Mina Aham Begin.”
Remember, these signs were all collected from the SAME very small city. Somebody in City Hall could probably just keep a list of all the street names and consult it when they need to order a new sign.
The secret – revealed!
But they probably do more like what they were doing in the passport office where we happened to be waiting for another reason a few weeks ago.
Here is the secret of English place names in Israel and how they come to be so very, very wonky.
When the clerk had to transcribe a person’s name into English for his passport, she called out to the office in general, “How do you spell ‘Danny’ in English?”
When one of her clerk friends started guessing (wrong; she left off the extra “n”) I called out the answer from where I was sitting in the waiting area.
The guy was doing about thirty passports, I think, for every living member of his family, and eventually – literally after 40 minutes - we left in disgust. But not before helping out with the spelling of 5 names in English that would have been transcribed disastrously wrong had we not been sitting right there at the time.
THAT, my friends, is how street signs are made in Israel.
I have solved the mystery, and here is how it happens: the clerks call out to their friends, “How do you spell ‘Menachem’ in English?” … and whoever answers first calls it.
More signs of madness
One that really drove me crazy when I saw it in person was a street in the Old Port of Jaffa (Yaffo?) named after famous French guy Louis Pasteur.
(“How do you spell PASTER?” the clerk called to her friend.)
(I took this picture myself while my sister was begging me to come see the sites; I knew it would come in handy someday!)
It’s not like this is hard. He himself personally wrote his name every day in English (well, French) characters. So on the sign, you spell it… like he spelled it. Apparently, that type of standardization and reliance on others goes against the Israeli spirit.
One of the wonkiest signs I turned up is nearby in Haifa, though I haven’t seen it in person: Captain Steve Street / Rechov Keptin Steve.
You can see the main illuminated sign above, but what I love is that sometimes in and around Israel, we’ve seen these smaller signs that don’t light up but do tell you a little bit about the person for whom they’re named. Usually they’re a general or politician, but occasionally, you come across something interesting. Perhaps someday soon I’ll go there in person to figure out what this sign is telling me.
In the meantime, I have the Internet, which tells me – in this article from December, 1966, that he was a Spanish captain who brought “illegal immigrants” during the British mandate (those are the article’s quotes quotes, not mine; to me, they were actually illegal at the time; it was just a bad law):
The street… was named “Captain Steve Gate” for Captain Esteban Hernandorene, who was known to the “illegal immigration workers” as “Steve.” Born in Spain in 1905, he died in Haifa last year after serving the Zim lines where his son is now an officer.
Attending the ceremony were Jewish seamen, veterans of the second wave of prestate immigrants, naval officers and Catholic clergymen. The latter took part because Captain Hernandorene had been a Catholic. Poet Nathan Alterman said of the Spanish hero that “we shall yet read songs and poems of this fleet small and grey, and of you, too, Captain.”
Now there’s a story (to read more, here’s Captain Steve’s story in his own words). I guess there is one, behind every one of those wonky street signs and place names.
Want to know something else weird? Did you catch the name of that poet?
Here’s where I got off the bus this morning to walk in to work.
Natan Alterman Street.
Until I sat down to write this, I had no idea who he was either.
Not only is there a story behind every place name… but it seems they’re all connected in this tiny, besieged land of ours. Pray for the peace (piece? peece?) of Jerusalem and the country that surrounds her.
To the stories, to the connections, to the wonky street signs… to life.
