Once an immigrant, always an immigrant

I didn't realize how negligent I had been, but after a quick check I see that I haven't written since April. Apologies to my loyal readers.

Fortunately, not writing does not imply that there's been nothing going on. Au contraire. Lots has happened.

One thing about Israel is that is a country comprised primarly by Jews. This is not a news flash to even the most ignorant person out there. But what most people don't understand is that living in a country of Jews means that when it comes to getting a good bargain -- or not being a "fryer" (sucker) -- all of the most clever players are playing in the same ball park. Shopping and bargaining in Israel is sort of like playing in the NHL All-Star Game every day.

Last week one of my friends told me that if I went through my national medical insurer's dental program, I could get a better price on my daughter's pre-orthodontic xrays than if I paid privately -- which, until that little news flash, I had fully intended to do. And, being true to my nature, I am not one to pass up a good bargain.

Off I went in search of the necessary dental administrative offices.

When I finally found them, I entered and asked the receptionist about what I had heard. She looked baffled and then she went off to check with a few coworkers. After they all quizzed me and generally looked perplexed they collectively agreed that "my friend's" information was incorrect. I left.

Once outside I called my friend and told her what had happend. "No," she said. "You went about this all wrong. Just go home now because they will be suspicious if you return with different information. I will tell you what to say before you go back."

I felt ridiculous that I couldn't follow her instructions so I did as she said. I went home.

A few days later, armed with a much more clever and subtle approach, I went back to the national dental administrative offices. I took a number to open a file in my daughter's name. After sitting for about 10 minutes, one of the women at the service counter (who appeared to be doing nothing at all but definitely wasn't servicing anyone) called out in Hebrew: "What do you need?" Apparently I looked out of place.

Armed with better information, I explained in Hebrew what I needed and once again I got that perplexed, baffled look. I was starting to wonder if it was something about me or my hebrew that was throwing them off.

"Come here," she said. "Now tell me again what you want." And I proceeded to do so.

"There's no such thing," she told me curtly.

"I heard there was," I responded -- undeterred.

"Where did you hear this?" she asked.

"From one of my friends in synagogue," I responded.

"Oh," she said subtly rolling her eyes in that immigrants-in-synagogue way. How long have you lived here (it is blatantly obvious from my Hebrew skills that I am not a native)?"

"Nine years," I muttered a quietly as possible. I knew what was coming next.

"Really? Why isn't your Hebrew better? And why don't you know what to do? How long has your friend lived here?"

Since I had so many options on which question to answer first I said: "My daughter didn't need braces until now so of course I didn't know what to do." And then I added: "where do you think immigrants get their information? FROM EACH OTHER!" I skipped the question about my hebrew skills altogether.

"Okay," she then said in very good English. "Here's what you have to do," and she proceeded to explain the whole process to me.

"I understand everything now," I answered in English. "Thanks for all your help."

And as I got up to leave, she smiled a little smirkishly and said: "No problem and say hello to your smart friends in synagogue for me."

Lost in Translation

I couldn't decide if I should title this posting Lost in Translation or When Hysterically Funny Things Happen to Immigrants. Trust me, it was a toss up.

Last night I got a call from the mother of one of my daughter's classmates. According to her there was a parent teacher meeting tonight. It made perfect sense because when all the other parents and teachers were meeting a month ago, our daughters' teacher was home in bed with the flu.

When I asked my daughter about the meeting, she didn't know what I was talking about. I assumed (remembered that word) that my daughter could not have been paying attention and missed the last minute meeting announcement. Okay, I thought, not the first time or the last that we missed the message to parents.

Fast forward to today. Word of the meeting spread quickly. My daughter's class has been together for five years now. The girls function more like sisters and frankly, so do the mothers. Or let me correct that statement .... the English-speaking mothers interact with sisterly familiarity. We all consult on pretty much everything that happens in our daughters' class.

We have to. We are immigrants and it takes the entire lot of us (22 mothers out of a class of 30) to navigate the school system. We didn't grow up here and we were never educated in the subtleties of Israeli education. And, on top of that, we all don't speak hebrew well. Some speak well but don't read or write well. Some don't speak hebrew at all. We're a real mixed bag and as a result, we depend on one another a lot. In many ways we are also getting an Israeli education.

And tonight was definitely an education.

I arrived at the school late because I truly dislike these bi-annual meetings and I was being a little passive aggressive. We have been having the same conversation at the meetings for the past five years. We discuss acceptable snacks, the hypothetical cirriculum (because they never do actually teach what they say they will teach) and the interaction between hebrew and english speakers. The agenda hasn't changed one iota since first grade and therefore, I attend reluctantly. I said everything I had to say when the girls were in first grade.

So despite my annual threat not to attend the following year's meeting, I always show up .... late. And that is exactly what I did this year. Except, when I arrived, the entire school was pitch black and there wasn't one car in the parking lot.

It was suspicious but I wasn't deterred. However, when I got to the school gates and they were locked I decided to call the original mother to ask her to come let me in. Here's how the conversation went:

Other Mother: I hope you are calling because you got my message.

Me: No, I noticed that you called but I couldn't answer at the time so I didn't.

Other Mother: I am so sorry. I did try to call you at home and on your cell... There's no meeting tonight.

Me: (curious silence)

Other Mother: I misread the note. It was on school letterhead and I read some of the important words and assumed that it was a parent teacher meeting since the last meeting was cancelled. I am so sorry. I started the whole thing.

By this point, I couldn't respond because I was laughing too hard. She was so upset that she had given misinformation to everyone but all I could think was "this is a real immigrant moment!" She reads and speaks hebrew much better than me and when she said there was a meeting, everyone was more than happy to believe her. Even the better hebrew readers who took her word for it and never read the note.

Welcome to our world. It is truly amazing that these things don't happen more often. Functioning in hebrew is a big change for many of us and there are many words that easily get confused. Also, we rarely understand all the words in any given message. We just hope we understand enough to figure out the rest. And that is exactly what happened tonight. The original mother had a very high credibility rating .... okay, it's a little shaky right now, but I am sure she will redeem herself.