Where What When

Getting an Israeli Driver’s License

The Lighter Side of Yissurim

Chazal tell us that Eretz Yisrael is one of those dear things which is only acquired through yissurim, suffering. The yissurim that come to mind might include parnassa (livelihood), difficulty with language, and acclimating to the new (and very different) culture. I would like to offer another angle on yissurim based on a teaching from parshas Shemos.

In describing the affliction that the Egyptians placed on the Jewish people, the Torah says “b’farech” (backbreaking work). The Torah repeats this expression, adding “that all the work with which they enslaved them was backbreaking work.” The word “all” is clearly extra and must come to teach us something. Many commentators explain that “all” comes to include every form of work. Building store cities for Pharaoh was understandably hard work. But the Egyptians made even simple daily tasks an insufferable burden for the Jews. This idea was brought home to me while attempting to obtain an Israeli driver’s license.

Preliminaries

I thought the process would be similar to the one in America. When you relocate to a different state, you take a written test to demonstrate knowledge of the new state’s laws and, upon passing, are granted a license for your new state. Was I naïve!

The first step to a license is to go to MEMSI, the Israeli equivalent of the AAA. There, you fill out an application and are photographed. You are given a form, which must be filled out by a “licensed physician” and a “licensed eye doctor.” As I walked out of the MEMSI office, I was greeted by a seedy-looking fellow seated on a moped. He told me that for 35 shekel (about eight dollars), I could have the exam performed at the doctor’s office across the street.

Had I been aware of this “arrangement” prior to this meeting, I would have run away. Instead, I smiled and followed his directions. After entering the “doctor’s office” and paying the 35 shekels (they even give an official receipt), I was told to wait for the doctor. Several minutes later, I was ushered into his “office,” a cubicle about as large as, well, a cubicle. There was the licensed doctor, complete with lit cigarette in hand, behind his cubby, I mean, desk. He asked me (in very broken Hebrew) if I was healthy, if I smoked (not until now, thanks to him), and if there was anything that I should tell him. (Yes, put out your cigarette, please!) He checked everything off, signed and stamped my form, and I was on my way – across the hall to the licensed eye doctor. Once again, I was given a “rigorous” exam to ensure that I was healthy enough to drive on Israel’s roads. More signatures, a stamp, and back out into the Jerusalem sun. (Note: MEMSI no longer offers this service, as another organization outbid them for the government contract.)

Israel’s Mondawmin

Now I had my form and I was official – well, not quite yet. The next step was to go to the local Misrad Harishui (MVA). I phoned them and asked: 1) What are your hours of operation? (very important to know in Israel) and 2) What papers must I bring? (even more important than the hours). I gathered all my papers and set out the next morning. After a half-hour bus ride, I reached the office. I noticed that the doors were shut and locked. Upon closer examination I saw a small, yellow Post-It note with the following message: “There will be no regular office functions today. If you had a test scheduled for today go to…. Regular hours will resume tomorrow.”

Why didn’t the lady tell me this yesterday? The next day I tried again. This time the doors were still locked but without a Post-It explanation. Approaching the guard, I inquired about the closing.

“Oh yeah,” he answered. “They decided to close a day early for Chanuka vacation. They should be open by Tuesday or Wednesday. I wanted to ask him Tuesday or Wednesday of what year, but I stifled myself.

Waiting another week (just to be sure there weren’t any new chagim on the horizon) I attempted again. Bingo! They were open. And someone was actually behind the desk, and she wasn’t talking to someone on her cell phone.

I proudly presented my documentation and certificate of health to the clerk.

“Where is your teudat oleh (ID proving that I made aliya)?” she asked.

“You didn’t mention that when I called” I replied.

“I’m sorry, I must have forgotten. But you must have it. Come back tomorrow,” she smiled.

“Will you be open?”

“Of course! We’re open every Sunday through Thursday from 9:00 until 1:00.”

I picked up my things and headed back home.

The next day I phoned first, and behold – they were still there. I quickly ran to the bus and made my way back. If Egged only had frequent rider miles.

This time I was armed with all my documentation and, just to be sure, some baby teeth, my first grade report card, and a blood sample. In a matter of a few minutes I was signed off and ready. Ready for the next step.

My Driving Lesson

In Israel, you see, it is not as simple as studying the laws of the road and taking a written test. You must prove that you have control of the car. So you must take at least one lesson (mandatory) with a licensed driving school, and then you take your test. Although my Hebrew is passable, I decided it would be in my best interest to practice with an English-speaking driving instructor. This way he could explain any complicated rules to me without any question of my understanding. Baruch Hashem, many other English-speaking olim had the same idea. So I had to wait. And wait. In the meantime, another “English” speaking driving instructor began to advertise. I made an appointment and eagerly awaited my lesson. We scheduled for Thursday afternoon at 12:40. Guess who pulled up in the driver’s ed car? The first instructor, for whom I had waited four months to get an appointment.

It seems that when business is brisk, they cover for one another. I climbed into the car and realized that I had probably been driving longer than he had. I also realized that he didn’t speak a word of English. For this I waited? We drove around for 20 minutes, and he deemed me fit to take the test. He told me to come to the MVA the next morning with my teudat zehut (identity card), my form from MEMSI, a check for 400 shekel, and my receipt from the post office.

“Receipt from the post office? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Didn’t you go to the post office and pay the 58 shekel stamp?”

“No, I wasn’t told of this.”

“Well you must get a form from our office, bring it to the post office, pay 58 shekel and bring the receipt tomorrow for the test.”

So, off I went to the driving school office. I picked up the form and continued on to the post office. I didn’t have to fill in any information. I simply handed them 58 shekel, they stamped it paid, and gave me a receipt.

I have come to realize that everything one does in Israel somehow connects to the post office. In America, the post office is a cute little place where one buys stamps (for mailing), ships items, and perhaps applies for a passport. In Israel, the post office is Government Central. Buying a car? You must get a stamp in the post office. Signing up for health insurance? To the post office. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall seeing stamps or mailboxes in the post office. But I’m certain that if they do sell stamps, you’ll have to buy a different stamp prior to buying your postage stamp.

But I digress. Back to my driver’s license.

The Final Stretch

The Big Day arrived. I came early for my test only to discover that I would be taking the test with other people in the car. We would take turns taking the test. I surmise that this is Israel’s contribution to energy conservation.

Prior to the examiner entering the car, we were briefed by the driving school instructor. He asked us for our teudat zehut, MEMSI form, the receipt from the post office, and, of course, the 400 shekel. I asked him what the 400 shekel charge included. He told me that this fee was for my “lesson” from the previous day and the license test.

“The test? I thought the 58 shekel was for the test!”

“No, that was just the post office stamp”

I, along with my fellow test takers, handed over our documents and awaited the examiner. After about 12 minutes of driving – on the road, as there is no test courses in Israel – the examiner directed us back. He wished us “Shabbat shalom” and left. We were greeted by the driving school representative.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Great” we answered.

“Go home and have a Shabbat shalom. Eli from the school will call you with the results later,” he assured us.

At 2:00 that afternoon, I received the results that, baruch Hashem, I passed. I would be able to pick up my license Sunday morning at the MVA.

On Sunday I called the MVA office to verify that they would be open. I was told that I could come in after 11:00 a.m. Arriving at the office, I was pleased to see there was no line. I was given my “license,” a piece of paper without any picture.

“This is the license?” I asked.

This is your temporary license, good for six months. When you pay the license fee of 373 shekel (83 dollars) you will receive your permanent license, with a picture, and it’s good for five years.”

“What was the 400 shekel that I gave the driving school for the license test?”

“Oh, that was to use his car for the test. You must pay us for the license itself.”

“Can I pay the fee here and now?”

“Of course not, you have to go to the post office and pay it there.”

Rabbi Leventhal is a former rebbe at the Talmudical Academy. He and his family made aliya two years ago to Ramat Beit Shemesh, where he is head of the Lemaan Achai chesed organization.

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Article List - October 2006