Well, another chapter in the long car saga has ended at last. After having decided on exactly which car I wanted, I put down my 2,000 shekel deposit and waited for my Mazda 3 to complete its journey through the perilous straights of Tiran.
In preparation for the new arrival, I began the process of researching costs a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately, my cousin Rafi was a car insurance salesman, so he set me up with one of his "buddies" in the industry, and English speaker. After calling several times and having some difficulty understanding what he was talking about over the phone, I hiked the two miles from my yeshiva to his office to meet the guy face to face. He offered me a good deal and a shidduch, but it turns out I can't get my insurance set up until I have the registration number for the vehicle, and I can't get the registration number until I've got the car. But the next day, a call came through. My Mazda had successfully made aliyah to the tiny Jewish homeland, so it was off to the dealership.
Now, personally, I'm very comfortable with simple spoken Hebrew. I can sign a lease, buy a desk, or negotiate a cel phone contract without a problem. But when I'm spending tens of thousands of shekels, I wanted some Hebrew backup. I managed to get an hour of Rafi's time and hitch a ride with him over to the dealership. But after about five minutes, it was clear that I was not going to be able to get the car right off the bat. I had two options: take out a loan or pay up front.
Unlike normal Israelis, new immigrants are not allowed to borrow against the car as collateral. The problem is that, because we receive the car with discounted taxes, we are forbidden from selling it to anyone or even letting someone else drive the car. This is to prevent immigrants from using their rights to buy a car at a step discount, then allowing a normal Israeli to drive it and pocketing the change. The problem this causes immigrants is that, if we default on the loans, the bank can't take the car back and resell it either. Therefore, immigrants need to have loans guaranteed by someone else. I wasn't comfortable asking Rafi, or anyone else, to co-sign on such an enormous loan, so I had to go with plan B: paying for the thing outright. Sadly, I left the Mazda dealership with nothing accomplished.
To bring huge sums of money into the country isn't easy either. I called my bank to set up a wire transfer, only to learn that, because I have a personal and not a business account, I have to come into the branch itself to make the transfer, which is extremely difficult as the closest branch of my bank is about 10,000 miles away. And I don't have a car to drive there either.
So I had to try a different option. Wednesday morning, hiking the mile and a half from my yeshiva to "Cheerfuly Changed," the foreign currency exchanger company, I had to work out a deal. With bank transfers an impossibility, we figured out that I could write myself a check, cash it there, and have it deposited in my Israeli account. They take a 1% commission on checks instead of the 0.5% commission on money transfers, which really adds up when you're transferring tens of thousands of dollars, but I was completely out of options, and I'm not waiting until my next trip to the old country to set up a money transfer. Meanwhile, while I'm filling out the paperwork, vacuuming out the last dollar from my savings, the guys behind the counter were looking at me like I'm loaded. The manager has to call his supervisor to get authorization, and conducts a spot examination.
"Yeah, he's an engineer and wants to buy himself some wheels. Where do you work?"
"I work at a company in the United States and live here."
"He telecommutes.... How old are you?"
"Twenty eight"
"Uh huh... uh huh... are you married?"
"Nope."
"Are you looking?"
"Yup."
"Write your phone number on the front of the check for me please."
And with that, the transfer from America to Israel was complete. But I don't want to actually write the massive check from my Israeli account to Mazda's account until I can confirm that the money is safely in my account. Unfortunately, due to a bank glitch, all passwords to check one's account status via the internet have been lost. So, it's off to the bank, another two mile hike, hauling my backpack full of paperwork and holy books, until I arrive at my bank to reset my password.
Unfortunately, my new password won't work for another two days. Given that I reset my password on Wednesday, it is supposed to be working first thing tomorrow (Friday) morning, at which point I should be able to check my account. If, that is, the password actually works when they say it will. Of course, the dealership closes at noon tomorrow, and I have a shidduch at 10 AM, so I may not be able to buy it until Sunday anyway. But it's getting so close I can feel it, baby!
Showing posts with label car. Show all posts
Showing posts with label car. Show all posts
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The Car is Getting Closer
A Plus: 8 Months, 1 Week, 2 Days
Before deciding to call our dating off, probably due to my droning on about how badly I want a car, one of my previous shidduchim gave me the number of an English-speaking driving instructor way out in Talpiot. Having just descended from the Talpiot Licensing Office, completed paperwork in one hand, cell phone in the other, I stood on auto row, drooling over the87-octane fueled chariots glistening in the windows, until I heard a frantic honking sound. Running across the street I jumped into the slowly moving vehicle with the giant cardboard letter "lamed" on the roof and the "Nahag Chadash" (new driver) sticker.
"Give me the paperwork."
His student, a recent immigrant from Ethiopia, was having trouble navigating the crowded traffic circle.
"You've driven before? LEFT!" Strange. His accent is Israeli, but his name is Martin. Not an Israeli name.
"Yes."
"BRAKES! Automatic or manual?"
"Both."
"Good. I teach manual. There are two types of licenses, there's a manual license which.. now turn to the right SLOWLY... lets you drive either a manual or an automatic, or there's the automatic license which doesn't let you use a manual. I can only give you a manual license."
I think about it for a second. Yes, it would be convenient to have a manual license, but I'm already in the car, and I don't want to waste another few weeks or months trying to find an instructor for manual.
"Sounds fine. When can I start taking lessons?"
"It's a problem. I have to bring your papers to the licensing office to schedule a test time. Pesach starts in a few days, and then there's Chol Hamoed," the intermediate days of Pesach, "so they're closed for at least seven days. And they're planning a strike after. And then they will have a backlog of work from the past few weeks. Just give me your papers. Don't call me, I'll call you."
Three weeks later...
I'm in the middle of calculating fan sizes for an electrical room cooling system, chewing on rasin bran in my pajamas at two in the afternoon, wondering what I'm going to do with my free time now that yeshivah is on break, when my cell phone jumps to life.
"Ephraim, it's Martin. Be at the bridge at French Hill at five thirty tomorrow."
"But that's just an hour before Shabbat (sabbath) starts."
"No, I meant five thirty in the morning."
"WHAT!? Why?"
"Because your test is at seven, and you have to take a lesson before they give you the test."
I consider my options for a moment. Being there at five thirty means leaving my apartment at at four thirty. Which means waking up at four. I'll be trashed for the test, but they give you two chances. If you fail to pass on the second time, you have to start from the beginning and take twenty six lessons. It's a risk, but I'm sick of waiting. What the hey, I'll sleep it off on Shabbat.
"Okay," I tell him.
"Great, now you have to pay. But wait... BRAKES!..." (I hear break screeching in the background) "you have to pay at the post office before the lesson, and the post office isn't open tomorrow at five in the morning."
"I'll go downtown now, I'll be there in an hour. You'll give me the bill, I'll bring it to the post office, and I'll bring you the receipt tomorrow."
"Great! Call me when you're here."
I get there, call him, turns out there will be a half-hour delay until he can do the handoff, so I buy some combat boots for my hiking trip to Safed in a couple of weeks (this was a couple of weeks ago, so it starts tomorrow.)
The handoff goes smoothly. It's the same setup, with him quickly opening the car door and me jumping into the back seat as his student jerks and rattles the vehicle along. He hands me the bill, I jump out, and I don't think the Shabak (Israeli FBI) spotted us.
Friday morning, my bill paid in full, I begin my lesson. As it turns out, starting before dawn was a great idea. I haven't driven in seven months, and I need some warm up, but we're the only car on the road. I was concerned that I would have difficulty with the test being in Hebrew, but there are only four words you need to know, "Smolah" (left), "Yaminah" (right,) "Kadimah" (forward,) and "Atzor" (stop.) Nearing the end of the test, his coffee cup running dangerously low, he breaks into English, "Go faster! Go FASTER!"
I was worried about having passed the test, realizing I had forgotten to use my signal and gotten confused as to which lane I was supposed to be in on Israel's bizzare traffic circles, but Martin reassures me.
"Did the tester ever touch the wheel?"
"No."
"Did he touch the breaks?'
"No."
"You probably passed."
And sure enough, I did. I'm still procrastinating heading all the way back out to Talpiot to the licensing office to get my newly minted Israeli driver's license. And now for the next challenge... selecting and financing a vehicle. I spoke with my rabbis and decided to wait a while. We are now in the period of the Omer, a period of trepidation as we count the forty nine days between Pesach, the festival of the Exodus from Egypt and Shavuot, the festival of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. During this period, or at least until the thirty third day (Lag B'Omer,) we don't shave (my beard is already getting nappy) or make major purchases, such as motor vehicles. But the day is coming.
Anyway, I'm off to go on a big hike through Tzfat, where I will spend shabbat. Pictures will be forthcoming, but I won't be back until Sunday. Shabbat Shalom!
What I learned in Yeshivah today, now that the new semester has started:
I learned NOTHING today because I had vast quantities of work to do and couldn't spare the two-hour round bus trip. If I only had a car, things would be much, much different.
Before deciding to call our dating off, probably due to my droning on about how badly I want a car, one of my previous shidduchim gave me the number of an English-speaking driving instructor way out in Talpiot. Having just descended from the Talpiot Licensing Office, completed paperwork in one hand, cell phone in the other, I stood on auto row, drooling over the87-octane fueled chariots glistening in the windows, until I heard a frantic honking sound. Running across the street I jumped into the slowly moving vehicle with the giant cardboard letter "lamed" on the roof and the "Nahag Chadash" (new driver) sticker.
"Give me the paperwork."
His student, a recent immigrant from Ethiopia, was having trouble navigating the crowded traffic circle.
"You've driven before? LEFT!" Strange. His accent is Israeli, but his name is Martin. Not an Israeli name.
"Yes."
"BRAKES! Automatic or manual?"
"Both."
"Good. I teach manual. There are two types of licenses, there's a manual license which.. now turn to the right SLOWLY... lets you drive either a manual or an automatic, or there's the automatic license which doesn't let you use a manual. I can only give you a manual license."
I think about it for a second. Yes, it would be convenient to have a manual license, but I'm already in the car, and I don't want to waste another few weeks or months trying to find an instructor for manual.
"Sounds fine. When can I start taking lessons?"
"It's a problem. I have to bring your papers to the licensing office to schedule a test time. Pesach starts in a few days, and then there's Chol Hamoed," the intermediate days of Pesach, "so they're closed for at least seven days. And they're planning a strike after. And then they will have a backlog of work from the past few weeks. Just give me your papers. Don't call me, I'll call you."
Three weeks later...
I'm in the middle of calculating fan sizes for an electrical room cooling system, chewing on rasin bran in my pajamas at two in the afternoon, wondering what I'm going to do with my free time now that yeshivah is on break, when my cell phone jumps to life.
"Ephraim, it's Martin. Be at the bridge at French Hill at five thirty tomorrow."
"But that's just an hour before Shabbat (sabbath) starts."
"No, I meant five thirty in the morning."
"WHAT!? Why?"
"Because your test is at seven, and you have to take a lesson before they give you the test."
I consider my options for a moment. Being there at five thirty means leaving my apartment at at four thirty. Which means waking up at four. I'll be trashed for the test, but they give you two chances. If you fail to pass on the second time, you have to start from the beginning and take twenty six lessons. It's a risk, but I'm sick of waiting. What the hey, I'll sleep it off on Shabbat.
"Okay," I tell him.
"Great, now you have to pay. But wait... BRAKES!..." (I hear break screeching in the background) "you have to pay at the post office before the lesson, and the post office isn't open tomorrow at five in the morning."
"I'll go downtown now, I'll be there in an hour. You'll give me the bill, I'll bring it to the post office, and I'll bring you the receipt tomorrow."
"Great! Call me when you're here."
I get there, call him, turns out there will be a half-hour delay until he can do the handoff, so I buy some combat boots for my hiking trip to Safed in a couple of weeks (this was a couple of weeks ago, so it starts tomorrow.)
The handoff goes smoothly. It's the same setup, with him quickly opening the car door and me jumping into the back seat as his student jerks and rattles the vehicle along. He hands me the bill, I jump out, and I don't think the Shabak (Israeli FBI) spotted us.
Friday morning, my bill paid in full, I begin my lesson. As it turns out, starting before dawn was a great idea. I haven't driven in seven months, and I need some warm up, but we're the only car on the road. I was concerned that I would have difficulty with the test being in Hebrew, but there are only four words you need to know, "Smolah" (left), "Yaminah" (right,) "Kadimah" (forward,) and "Atzor" (stop.) Nearing the end of the test, his coffee cup running dangerously low, he breaks into English, "Go faster! Go FASTER!"
I was worried about having passed the test, realizing I had forgotten to use my signal and gotten confused as to which lane I was supposed to be in on Israel's bizzare traffic circles, but Martin reassures me.
"Did the tester ever touch the wheel?"
"No."
"Did he touch the breaks?'
"No."
"You probably passed."
And sure enough, I did. I'm still procrastinating heading all the way back out to Talpiot to the licensing office to get my newly minted Israeli driver's license. And now for the next challenge... selecting and financing a vehicle. I spoke with my rabbis and decided to wait a while. We are now in the period of the Omer, a period of trepidation as we count the forty nine days between Pesach, the festival of the Exodus from Egypt and Shavuot, the festival of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. During this period, or at least until the thirty third day (Lag B'Omer,) we don't shave (my beard is already getting nappy) or make major purchases, such as motor vehicles. But the day is coming.
Anyway, I'm off to go on a big hike through Tzfat, where I will spend shabbat. Pictures will be forthcoming, but I won't be back until Sunday. Shabbat Shalom!
What I learned in Yeshivah today, now that the new semester has started:
I learned NOTHING today because I had vast quantities of work to do and couldn't spare the two-hour round bus trip. If I only had a car, things would be much, much different.
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