Sunday 24 May 2009

Feeling like a foreigner

In the last month, I've felt more mixed emotion than ever before. Probably because I've well-passed the period of time that feels like 'holiday' territory (having been here for three and a half months) but I'm still too new to feel at home. In many ways it feels odd to me because of how long I've spent in Israel over the years. Because my dad is Israeli, I've basically spent every summer holiday here since I was born. I also spent a year here before starting university, and somehow I thought that, as a fully-grown adult, I'd find it easier to adjust.

Not at all, sadly. I still feel like a stupid foreigner at least once a day. Sometimes because of my Hebrew (which is improving despite not attending classes), other times because of cultural differences (don't even get me started on dating, buses and other key etiquette areas) and sometimes because I'm just having a tough day and I'm not thinking properly.

In the last few weeks, I've been lucky enough to receive several visitors from the unholy land of Britain, most notably and honourably, Tash, one of my best friends, and her mum and aunt. I love having visitors, partly because of the British flavour they bring to my days but also because I was feeling quite homesick and it was a real break from feeling so foreign... But when they went home, I think I took a few backwards steps because I got too comfortable in my British bubble and felt like I'd been left behind when they flew home.

There's no denying it, life in Israel is hard, and when you feel pangs of that mantra, you want to revel in your vulnerability and curl up into a ball for a while. No such luck in elbow-nudging/blowing Israel... Unfortunately, recently, when I've been feeling a moment of unsteadiness, another event will happen upon me and totally destroy any semblance of stability. E.g. Getting ripped off in a taxi and then almost losing my phone in a bar. Total annihilation and the tears come freefalling down...

Despite working in a mainly English-speaking workplace, I often feel like a foreigner too. Although I do use Hebrew for work, if I receive a dense document in Hebrew, I have to sheepishly ask a member of the affable internet team to give me a hand. I've also been severely scolded for leaving an English answerphone message on someone's phone. "What do you think you're doing leaving me a message in English", boomed the uncompromising voice. "Not everyone speaks English in Israel. You are a journalist, you must know Hebrew!" My resolution here was to call her back semi-apologetically (if she got English sarcasm, she'd have been offended) and pass on the call to a colleague who spoke better Hebrew than me...

Opening a bank account here made me feel rather alien-esque too, not least because when I entered the bank, I encountered a digital queuing system... unheard of in England and even more surprising in chaotic, disorganised Israel. Truly a shocking moment. Of course I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I missed my number flashing on the screen by nano-seconds and the bank teller refused to see me. Except I didn't understand this as she mumbled something abruptly in Hebrew. So I stood in front of her, while a sweaty man in his 40s stole my slot. Luckily for me, her colleague took pity on me and explained that I'd been shunned for missing my turn... happily she saw me instead and opened an account for me. I'd heard horror stories about banking, the same ones you hear about anything mildly bureaucratic in Israel - that you should expect to wait for hours, brace yourself for abuse and general non-sensical behaviour. Yet banking for me was easy and they didn't even need my address.Yes that sounds slightly dodgy, or "sketchy" as my American housemates say, but I wanted an account and fast. Plus, the woman helping me said I had beautiful eyes, so I decided this was a bank I could trust.

Everything was going fine until she handed the paperwork over and it was all in Hebrew. I can speak, read and write in Hebrew but I'd never learnt banking terms. I think I owe the bank 23 shekels for opening an account. Or have they given me 23 shekels? Or am I paying a 23 shekel standing order every month to subscribe to the Bank HaPoalim magazine 'Bank or Skank'? Either way, 23 shekels holds some kind of significance on my bank statement and I will probably find out more.

It's not all been doom and gloom though, apart from lovely visits from friends and family, I was a grateful recipient of something very special and Israeli last week. After watching a film with a friend, I realised it was very late and could potentially miss the last bus home... and be in for a rather pricey taxi ride home. So I sprinted (for 'sprinted', see 'jog semi-energetically') for an incoming bus. Happily for my pathetically poor athletic frame, the bus waited and I just about hauled myself on. I was exhausted but just then was given a spritely boost - the passengers of the number 18 clapped for my efforts. And in a moment of both madness and magnanimous gratitude, I curtseyed for my adoring audience. A good way to end an evening.

In other news, I have enrolled for Hebrew classes, beginning in July, and had my Hebrew skills tested by Israel's answer to Sinead O'Connor. Amazing.