“Hello?” “Hi it’s me.” “Hi, hun how’s the drive going?” “Not so good. I’m lost. Can you help?” “Uhhhh…okay where are you?” “Ben Gurion Street and I need to get to Ben Yehuda.” “Okay. Which Ben Gurion? Tel Aviv, Ramat HaSharon, Ra’anana, Herzliya…” “Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv.” “Okay. So what’s your cross street right now? Uhhh Snir, no Smir! Smir.” “Hmmmm…I don’t know where that is. Wait, let me check the map online.” “Okay.” “Where do you want to go again? Ben Gurion?” “No! No! I’m ON Ben Gurion and I need to get to Ben Yehuda.” “And you’re in Tel Aviv right?” “YES!” “Alright. Rega, wait…okay, can you find Pinskell St.?” “What?” “Peen-skell. Find Pinskell St.” “That can’t be right. I don’t remember doing that on our practice run yesterday.” “Well that’s what it says here!” “Don’t you remember what we did yesterday?” “No.” “Well there was no Peen-skell!” “Hun! I don’t remember. I don’t know streets in Tel Aviv.” “What do you mean? I thought you knew Tel Aviv.” “I do.” “Then how do you get around?” “Like everybody else, I just do. Look, you’d better just pull over and ask someone for directions.”
“Well, now I’m on Dizengoff going toward the fountain.” “No! No! Don’t do that! Only taxis can do that! You’ll get a ticket.” “Where? It doesn’t say that.” “Trust me. Don’t do it!” “Well, I’m doing it now.” [The GF sighs] “Hon.” “What?” “I gotta go, I’m getting pulled over.” [Ten minutes later] “Did you get a ticket?” “No. But I almost got arrested.” “What?” “Nevermind, it’s a long story.” “So did you ask someone for directions?” “I’d rather die.” “Why would you rather die?” “I can’t explain it. It’s in my DNA.” “Well, that’s how we do things in Israel. I know you hate it, but you have to do it.” [Sighs. Smashes fists against steering wheel.] “Alright. Alright. I’m just going to park. I know I’m close. What do the red and white lines mean again?”
“You can’t park there.” “What about the Blue and white?” “That’s fine, but you may or may not need to buy a parking ticket.” “How do I know? Is there a sign somewhere?” “Sometimes. Yes.” “Sometimes? Alright…I'll just get one to be safe. So where do I get the ticket?” “From a corner store.” “Okay. Oh crap, I just stalled the car. Wait.” “What’s all that honking?” “Nevermind. Ah…shut up you motherfu—.”
“What?!” “No, no, not you. Alright, I’m parked, but I don’t see a corner store around here.” “Ihhh…whatever, don’t worry about it.” “Are you sure?” “No.” “No? Well…dammit I’d better find a store. Crap. I’m already 20 minutes late.” “Hun, forget it, just go, just go.” “Are you sure?” “Just, whatever, it’ll be fine, just go.” “Alright. I’ll talk to you later.” “Bye.” “Bye.” [Leaves car. Comes back later to find parking ticket. Sits on corner and hangs head.] A North America to Israel driving etiquette conversion guide 1. Cut off = lane change 2. Lane = decorative paint 3. Traffic light—stop, slow, go = honk horn, honk horn, honk horn 4. Lane direction signs = more decorative paint 5. Turn signal = cultural faux pas 6. Change lanes on highway and accelerate = change lanes on highway and decelerate 7. Honk horn = every second you’re in the car 8. Speed bump = ramp 9. Stop sign = "?????" 10. Yield sign = That triangle in my rearview mirror 11. Parking spot = sidewalk
* aromano's Dizengoff Square used with thanks under the Creative Commons Attribution license

Your average street in Tel Aviv. Note the sidewalk parking.
It's hard to tell from this picture, but just in case you try to ignore it that stop sign is flashing.
Mmmmm...road humps.

Next week I start my Hebrew course at Ulpan Gordon in Tel Aviv.  Classes are four hours long, four times a week for the next five months.  By the end of it I hope to be able to function in Israeli society, and not a moment too soon. In Israel, at least for the time being, I am functionally illiterate.   As a result, every new encounter requires me to rehearse a dialog in my head so I can understand and be understood.  The first time I decided to go solo and order my morning coffee by myself was one such occasion.  I grabbed the dog and spent the ten minute walk to the cafe going over and over the dialog. “Shalom.” Hello. “Efshar HaFuch katan veksha.” I’ll take a small cappuccino please. “Beseder.” Okay. [Barista brings coffee and says a number in Hebrew.  I hand over a 50 shekel note ($12 USD) and casually put whatever change I get back in my pocket without counting it.] End Scene. Fairly simple and straightforward, but I practice anyway to make sure I have the intonation just right.  “Efsahrrrrr, Efshah…Veksha..Veksha!”  Sooner than I’d like I’m at the corner and entering the cafe.  The place is packed and more people are coming in behind me so there’s no turning back. A minute later it’s my turn and the barista’s staring at me—at least I think she is.  But I can’t waste too much time trying to figure that out or my plan will be ruined.  Shalom or no Shalom here I go. “Efshar, uhhh…HaFook k’tan uhh veksha?” “Le Cachat?” Uh-oh, that wasn’t in the script!  Why isn’t she following the script?!  I practiced and practiced!  I’ve seen at least ten other people order coffee before, and this question—whatever it is—has never come up!  Why me? Why now? Not seeing any other options, I resort to my default tactic: stare listlessly at the wall.  I try to make it look like I’m engaging in deep thought, but I’m sure it looks closer to a mild stroke.  After a moment she realizes my predicament. “Take away?” “Ken!” Yes. “Uhhh…Twelve shekels please.” I hand over the bill and she comes back with my change.  This time I count it, grab my coffee and head out.  Not an entirely successful outing, but I got my coffee and that’s the important part. On the way home, the dog starts sniffing around and finds another doggie butt to sniff.  Often the dogs in our neighborhood aren’t attached to a human, but this time I’m not so lucky.  I’m staring down at the two dogs as they start to play, and a younger 20-something blonde is doing the same.  Sooner or later she’s going to try talking to me.  Since I’m outside my preferred reaction of staring listlessly at the wall is out. That leaves me with two other choices: tell her I don’t speak Hebrew or just smile and walk away. Today, I choose a variation of option two.  She says something, and I just smile, say “Ken!” and walk away.  I don’t dare look back, because I have no idea what I’ve just agreed or consented to, or even if the correct response was “yes” in the first place. Thankfully there are no more dogs on the way home.  We see a few stray cats that get the dog excited, and some jackass almost runs us over, but that’s just another day on the mean streets of Ramat HaSharon. I get back home with coffee in hand, but the trials of Hebrew are far from over.  You see, the GF’s parents have a cousin staying over.  She’s about nine years old, doesn’t speak any English and doesn’t seem to accept the fact that I can’t speak Hebrew.  She likes me and likes my dog even more, so Hebrew or no Hebrew the questions don’t stop coming out of her mouth. I can catch a word or two, but then she throws out about six more and it’s all over. “Ani rozze…” Ooh!  “I want…” great she said “I want.” Okay here we go. “Ani rozzee….shabble dazzle lachlechem-o-mim-shevet?” I stare at her, eyes wide. After a moment we’re both frozen, just looking at each other now that the conversation has broken down.  Usually she can point at something or make a gesture that helps me figure out what she’s saying.  Not this time.  Must be some sort of ethereal concept, like emotions, nothing you can point to or gesture into understanding. “Ma?” What?  I ask.  As though if she repeated herself things would be clearer.  Well, here she goes again. “Ani rozzee….shabble dazzle lachlegeddle-o-mim-shevet?” I stare at her, then the wall, then back at her.  No one else is in the room and she is looking at me, smiling and waiting.  So I do the only thing I can do.  I shrug my shoulders and say, “sure, okay.” Now she’s really confused.  “Sure, okay” was obviously not the right answer.  I stare at the wall again, then back at her. “Ask me next week,” I say.  I get up and leave the room.  I look back and the girl’s eyes are wide as she stares listlessly at the wall.

Coming January 30.