Since we made Aliyah, he has his office at home. So instead of leaving at 6am in the morning and not returning until 7pm, he was located in the house all day. Before, when he arrived home and I was in position on the beige sofa, it was because ‘OMG, I. Have. Not. Stopped. All. Day. I have literally just sat down the minute you walked in’.
But now, he had begun to notice little things like……
…..the house was filthy not because we 'live in the Middle East now. Dust is all around us. It’s impossible for me to be cleaning 24/7’. It was actually because I didn’t do any cleaning.
……. dinner was served in fancy foil dishes not because ‘the foil brings out the taste – I read it on Mumsnet’, but actually because I had been buying it from the amazing ready-made food place across the road and didn't do any cooking.
.…… my bank account was in major overdraft not as a result of some Israeli scammer bloke stealing my identity, but because I had spent a fortune at the ready-made food place across the road. (because - again, no cooking).
.…….there was an imprint of a large bum shape on the beige sofa because, well, I had a large bum, and it was on the sofa. All day.
Husband had discovered the truth. He quickly deduced that I must be spending a large proportion of my day watching Netflix. He did not think this was acceptable. But he kept calm and gave me an ultimatum. Either I got a job or it was over between us.
Fear and panic overwhelmed me. Over between us? After all we'd been through? I couldn't bear the thought. I could cope with Husband leaving me, but he was threatening to take away Netflix. I had no choice. I had to get a job.
I found an advert on Facebook. It said they wanted a grant writer. That was handy. Because that's what I am. The interview was in Hebrew. I managed to hand-signal that I was a highly qualified Fundraising Consultant that had sat at home looking at Facebook, run my own business for the past 20 years, and they agreed to give me a go.
The job required that I spoke English. Luckily, I am fluent. (I don't mean to show off). It also required that I was knowledgeable about fundraising from the UK. I'd read a few books over the past 20 years. Unfortunately, not that many about Fundraising.
After some lengthy complicated hand signaling about what the boss expected in return for giving me money, I got the basics. The computer was there for me to do some ‘work’. It was not to be used for improving my, rather impressive, (if I say so myself), Candy Crush score.
As the office was situated in the religious area of Bnei Brak, I would receive invitations to attend a wedding / barmitzvah / circumsion every week. I was expected to regularly contribute money to a wedding cake / engagement card / birth of new baby gift, say Mazel tov and Baruch Hashem and look happy about it.
I was not required to cover my hair, but I was expected to gush frequently about the other girls' ‘Cheryl Cole style’ sheitls, and take selfies of myself wearing them in the toilet. I was responsible for maintaining a comprehensive spreadsheet of my co-workers names, keep a running total of how many children they had (that day), how old each child was, and when each one was due to be barmitzvah / married / have their own baby.
I had to acclimatise to the fact that raising your voice was the ‘normal’ way of communicating in the office, and that just because two people were screaming and gesticulating wildly did not necessarily mean they were having a disagreement. They may just be discussing where to go for lunch.
I quickly realized that my boss would ignore me every morning, and wouldn’t look me in the eye, until I shouted ‘Boker Tov’ directly in his face. I would have to avoid the many temptations of the numerous delicious falafel / schnitzel / houmous restaurants directly beneath my office and keep the window closed so the smells wouldn’t waft up, sneak their way in, tantalise my tastebuds and increase my, not insubstantial, waistline.
I would become accustomed to walking past the glass-walled conference room and seeing lots of bearded men dressed in long black coats and hats, huddled together mouthing words silently and rocking back and forth. I even learned to be grateful for their presence, as I was told they were there to kindly pray for my good health and prosperity. I would attempt to time my numerous trips to the toilet (for a much needed Candy Crush fix), to avoid walking past when they were there - lest I should inadvertently flash my knickers. Which can happen on occasion when you reach middle age.
I would have to teach my colleagues to make a cup of proper English tea if I didn’t want to drink 'white paint water' with some pitiful mint leaves floating on the top. I would have to learn enough Hebrew to say ‘when are you due?’, ‘I like your sheitl’, ‘can you learn to communicate with each other without blowing out my eardrums’ and, ‘on no occasion does proper English tea include mint leaves’.
I’ll let you know how I get on, but so far I feel I’m fitting in nicely.
Baruch Hashem.
