The Mad Dash Of Rehovet

"For we are like olives; only when we are crushed do we yield what is best for us."

-The Talmud

Today I had something of an adventure to reach a Western Union in the town of Rehovet, neighboring the Kibbutz Naan I am currently staying at.

This was my last paycheck from the United States, and the funds are necessary for me when I leave Naan.

I left the Kibbutz at 4:45, reaching Naan within fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I knew that there was a post office (almost all the western unions are in the post offices, as opposed to the convenience and grocery stores back in the United States) on Herzl street, and luckily the shuttle dropped me off less than twenty meters from that street. I immediately tore down it; I knew that with my terrible sense of directions I would have difficulty finding it, and I did.

Herzl 165 post office is located off a side street better put as a garbage strewn alleyway where you’d expect drug deals rather than letter sending, and it was only with the directions of the adjoining store was I able to figure out where it was at all. That ate up twenty minutes. Now when I checked the site online, I read that the post office closed at six. And while this is normally true, apparently during the summer the hours shift, and instead is closed at 1:30. After rattling the doors to no avail, which makes sense since it had been closed for almost four hours since the time I arrived, I was somewhat desperate.

The bus I had taken, while free, would be difficult to get back on. This was because the driver spoke no English, and I only vaguely understood with my poor comprehension of Hebrew that with his hand gestures he would be retrieving those of us who would use the bus somewhere to the right. Whether that was across the street or the city, I didn’t have a clue concerning.

I was desperate because I was worried (I’m Jewish, we worry like mice over matters) that the next time I could retrieve the money would be sometime later in the week, and I assumed that given the difficulty I was already experiencing in obtaining it as it was, would probably only magnify the longer it took for me to reach a location with a western union.

So I decided to not give up. I had a few hours to kill before it was 7:30 when the bus would return, and so headed to the mall. Surely I would some kind of information, and maybe with luck, a post office that was still open.

Turns out that was a good idea. A teller at a ritzy watch shop informed me after looking at his phone online that surprise even to him, there was actually a post office still open, and it was located on the top floor of the mall. It was 5:27 when I found out, and I hurriedly thanked him and took off at a fast pace. I was so relieved when I got there; I could get my money.

Well, turns out that not every post office has a western union, only the main branches. o.O

So, with the help of the postal worker there, I learned of a western union station a few streets away on Jakov street. I tore off, not really having a clue where to go, since the directions were again in Hebrew. I tore up the street, past the shuuk (the open marketplace) and around the corner. I followed the directions as best able (by some weird and awesome coincidence in my Ulpan the day before we had JUST gone over directions in Hebrew) but somehow ended up back on Herzl street. OK.

I asked a few other store clerks who told me to cross the street to get to Jakov, which of course with my luck was only labeled in Hebrew, and none of the words it was labeled with remotely read as Jakov. I tore across the street, Jay walking (no clue if that was illegal, but I’m going to assume it was) by that time I estimated it was around 5:40- 5:45ish.

I kept going up the street, walking into any store I thought someone might speak English, and it turned out maybe one out of the three I went to, to ask for help actually did in any form, from bad to excellent.

I learned that I was gradually making my way in the right direction. I luckily stepped into a cell phone store, and a beautiful woman around my age in perfect English directed me that it was just down the street, in the direction I had been going in. She gave me the directions with an expression that spoke of a bemused kind of pity. In hindsight maybe I should have asked her out?

I entered what looked to be a post office from the exterior (the other two offices I had been to had similar signs) and was relieved to see that it was only 5:45. I don’t know how I did it, but apparently I tore down two flights of stairs, across four city blocks, and spoke with maybe ten people across eight stores.

I was able to exchange my money, but I never did learn if it was an actual post office (it looked nothing like the other inside, which looked like your traditional post office) but literally half the room was packed with packages. I think it might have just been a branch of Western Union, but to be honest I don’t know.

I went back to the mall and got dinner, of all things Pizza hut. I must look pretty American, or come off as American because when getting the pizza for six shekels (that’s a bargain for the monstrous slice I got the size of my face) they inquired if it tasted the same as back in the States. I had yet to have it, so couldn’t know of course, and thanked them for the food and would let them know next time if I came back.

Turns out that while the texture was different, it tasted pretty much the same. Kind of like it had the crust of a Dominos pizza, and the topping consistency from Pizza Hut. I’m not complaining, it was good, and I was hungry.

I wandered through the shuuk afterwards, there wasn’t anything to buy, and I intend to keep a fairly tight grip on my money. This is basically me saying I’m in survival mode, and the only shops that were open were mainly clothing, and most of those sold only underwear.

As I exited the shuuk I ran across two young boys who had ridden with me on the bus to Rehovet, and asked if they would be coming back at 7:30. In broken English they told me yes, so now I am at the bus stop benches where they told me the bus would retrieve me. And it’s across the street where I was dumped unceremoniously off.

And that was my crazy sprint through Rehovet. Summed up by pizza, three post offices(?) a beautiful woman, and sweating what I’m guessing was around two liters.

Gotta say, with the money safely secured, it was well worth the effort. Perseverance and tenacity pays off

An exasperated sigh. I had many.

P.S. The bus showed up, and I’m on it. Never would have thought I could wander into a foreign city, not speaking a lick of the language save the word yes (ken) and then make it back intact and better off.