Over time, and definitely due to my international experience, I've been losing my native accent. I have never noticed it myself, but it has been brought to my attention by former coworkers, random people on the street in Israel, and even my family. I've been told that not only has my pronunciation changed, but also that my rhythm, diction and register have changed. Nobody can put a finger on exactly what it's morphed into, but a few claim that it sounds Spanish (after I told them I had just come back from Spain).
I have mixed feelings toward this transformation. On one hand, being an American without one of the ugliest accents in the English speaking world (the American accent) is a plus. It is also something that might give me more of an "international aire" and, thus, perhaps an advantage with employers or graduate schools actively pursuing more diversity. On the other hand, my accent is muddled and indistinguishable. It is neither blatantly American nor blatantly belonging to any other country or culture. I feel that while it may be intriguing to some people, it could also be something that would unconsciously create space between me and someone who is less accepting of foreign-seeming people (would only be a problem in America I feel).
Ya. I'm probably thinking too much about my stupid accent. But it's interesting that it's happened. And interesting what might happen as a result of it.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
So You Want to Drive in Israel?
As a new immigrant to Israel, I am allotted 3 years to convert my American driver license. This means that in my first 3 years, I don't have to take the pain-in-the-ass theory test and pay an extra couple hundred dollars. So, I decided to take advantage of this nice little "grace period" and get an Israeli driver license.
I've heard this conversion process being described as "an expensive scavenger hunt". And I think that does some justice to it - at least from an American perspective. It may seem like a simple and painless process to some europeans who tell me their licenses cost them thousands of euros and 6 months to attain. But, to me the whole process was a two-week affair of running around town, waiting for hours on end in the Israeli DMV, and witnessing the ridiculousness of the actual practical test itself.
First, I had to pick up a form from some optometrist in central Tel Aviv, and then, for some reason, walk to another optometrist and get a quick eye check. The next step was to go to a doctor for a "check up". It consisted of him asking me none of the questions on the form, making eye contact with me for about 2 seconds; and then sending me on my way after 2 minutes of checking boxes and signing the form. A couple of days later, I took a bus to Holon, just southeast of Tel Aviv to get the DMV to sign the form saying that I was medically ok to drive. I get there at 8, tear off a number from an extremely conspicuously-placed ticket roll and wait... and wait.. In the 5 hours that I was waiting there.. ya I said 5 hours..
Something registered in my head about how bureaucracy works in Israel in those hours of waiting. Not once but thrice were there huge outbursts from people trying to NEGOTIATE the terms of how the bureaucratic process of whatever motor vehicle issue they were dealing with, would be carried out. In two of these instances, security guards were called in to quell the outburst. You would obviously never see anything like this in the States. I brought this up to my roommate who told me that she felt that people think they can negotiate the terms of anything - even in a government institution - because the wages are so low in Israel that workers feel it is not necessary to do some of the more effort-intensive (and required) tasks that their jobs entail. So, Israelis feel that if they push hard enough and in the right way, they can get whatever it is that they want out of an institution, because, presumably, it is something that is definitely a part of the job description of the person with whom you're dealing.
Anyway, after 5 hours of that, I set up the second-to-last thing that I had to do for this conversion process - setting up driving lessons. It basically consisted of driving around in a piece of shit car and listening to the driver instructor lazily go over Israeli traffic laws for an hour.
Next up was the practical test. It started at 7:30 in the morning in front of some train station. Sketch. I started to drive and stopped at a stop sign, waiting to make a left turn onto a busy street. There was a lot of traffic coming from the left and the right and, although I could have made a quick maneuver to make the left turn, I decided to wait and play it safe so that I could pass the test without a hitch. After about 30 seconds of waiting, the tester sighs and postures in his seat uncomfortably as he tells me, "we could have already made the turn 3 times. This is a very unsafe way of driving".... WHAT? NOT driving quickly to get into to crazy crowded traffic is considered to be unsafe? I know that that is how Israeli drive... but in the driving test, this is what they test for? To make sure you're as crazy as the other maniac drivers out there?
So, finally, I floor the accelerator and get into traffic, driving like a typical Israeli asshole. The tester comments, "that's more like it"... and after 10 minutes, I had an Israeli driver license..
I've heard this conversion process being described as "an expensive scavenger hunt". And I think that does some justice to it - at least from an American perspective. It may seem like a simple and painless process to some europeans who tell me their licenses cost them thousands of euros and 6 months to attain. But, to me the whole process was a two-week affair of running around town, waiting for hours on end in the Israeli DMV, and witnessing the ridiculousness of the actual practical test itself.
First, I had to pick up a form from some optometrist in central Tel Aviv, and then, for some reason, walk to another optometrist and get a quick eye check. The next step was to go to a doctor for a "check up". It consisted of him asking me none of the questions on the form, making eye contact with me for about 2 seconds; and then sending me on my way after 2 minutes of checking boxes and signing the form. A couple of days later, I took a bus to Holon, just southeast of Tel Aviv to get the DMV to sign the form saying that I was medically ok to drive. I get there at 8, tear off a number from an extremely conspicuously-placed ticket roll and wait... and wait.. In the 5 hours that I was waiting there.. ya I said 5 hours..
Something registered in my head about how bureaucracy works in Israel in those hours of waiting. Not once but thrice were there huge outbursts from people trying to NEGOTIATE the terms of how the bureaucratic process of whatever motor vehicle issue they were dealing with, would be carried out. In two of these instances, security guards were called in to quell the outburst. You would obviously never see anything like this in the States. I brought this up to my roommate who told me that she felt that people think they can negotiate the terms of anything - even in a government institution - because the wages are so low in Israel that workers feel it is not necessary to do some of the more effort-intensive (and required) tasks that their jobs entail. So, Israelis feel that if they push hard enough and in the right way, they can get whatever it is that they want out of an institution, because, presumably, it is something that is definitely a part of the job description of the person with whom you're dealing.
Anyway, after 5 hours of that, I set up the second-to-last thing that I had to do for this conversion process - setting up driving lessons. It basically consisted of driving around in a piece of shit car and listening to the driver instructor lazily go over Israeli traffic laws for an hour.
Next up was the practical test. It started at 7:30 in the morning in front of some train station. Sketch. I started to drive and stopped at a stop sign, waiting to make a left turn onto a busy street. There was a lot of traffic coming from the left and the right and, although I could have made a quick maneuver to make the left turn, I decided to wait and play it safe so that I could pass the test without a hitch. After about 30 seconds of waiting, the tester sighs and postures in his seat uncomfortably as he tells me, "we could have already made the turn 3 times. This is a very unsafe way of driving".... WHAT? NOT driving quickly to get into to crazy crowded traffic is considered to be unsafe? I know that that is how Israeli drive... but in the driving test, this is what they test for? To make sure you're as crazy as the other maniac drivers out there?
So, finally, I floor the accelerator and get into traffic, driving like a typical Israeli asshole. The tester comments, "that's more like it"... and after 10 minutes, I had an Israeli driver license..
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