That’s Not the Way to Say That

June 28, 2009

As I sat on the bench at the Bet Yehoshua station waiting for the 2:41, I opened my notebook to review some Hebrew notes. Sitting on the next bench was a young man with closely cropped red hair and freckles, seemingly entranced by whatever was playing on his earpieces. After about a minute, he asked, in halting English, “what are you studying? Do you have any questions for me in Hebrew?” As he turned to talk, I noticed that his right cornea was scarred, there was a scar on his lower lid, and his right arm was a stump, just above his wrist. Were his injuries from a terrorist blast, a military skirmish, a motorcycle crash? I was curious to know, but our conversation stayed on language, as we boarded the train and sat together. He explained that he was taking a six month course at the Wingate Institute in order to become certified as a trainer in horseback riding, asking several times to clarify what the English expression might be. As the train rolled toward Herzliya, he helped me understand the various expressions for next station or next stop, but a woman across the aisle chimed in with an alternative opinion. My friend disembarked at Herzliya, explaining that he had missed it the first time, which is why he was taking the train back from Bet Yehoshua, another of these remarkable chance encounters here in Israel. The woman across the aisle then continued her story about language. She had moved from Slovenia 17 years ago, just before the war, but Slovenia was really affected, she said. In her home, her mother speaks Hungarian, her husband Croatia, and she herself studied German, English and her native tongue while in school in Slovenia. Hebrew she has picked up and offered some additional corrections from my red-headed friend. Because our “lessons” were about stations, the man in the next aisle jumped in, asking if I knew that Tel Aviv University was the next stop and did I know that I could take a shuttle from the station to the campus. As I stood near the door while the train pulled into the university station I recalled that my red-headed friend has asked me what was different or the same between Israel and the U.S. I responded that in Israel people are often willing to jump in with an opinion about politics or what you are wearing or what you are carrying from the store. I realized that they’ll also weigh in with thoughts about whether I was going to reach my destination on the train.

I hope my red-headed friend gets certified as a trainer. His physical challenges don't seem to stand in his way.