Life of Yeshiva Guy

“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”

-Robert Louis Stevenson

It’s a weekday evening, but I’m bound for Tel Aviv on a sherut- a shared taxi. Sheruts are larger van style affairs with a boxy exterior and roomy interior. Kind of like an airplane, only everyone is seated in much closer quarters to each other. The reason I’m headed to sin city on stam a night is simple; the zman hasn’t begun yet. I’m maximizing my Bein Hazmanim time, albeit in Eretz Yisroel. No, nothing nefarious is taking place. My activity is totally innocuous, although totally unproductive. Then again, that’s what Bein Hazmanim is for, right?

Squished into the back left corner, I can feel the ache begin. I’m up close against the window. The passing scenery, although pretty at times, has nothing to do with it. Part of the sherut experience is a first come first serve policy when it comes to the seating arrangements. There is no travel agent to call, no help desk to ring. You sit where there is an available seat. As it happens, this was the last seat left. And it is next to a female. Gritting my teeth and plugging myself into mindless muzak, I settle in for the hour plus ride to TA’s tachanah hamerkazit- the central bus station.

Fifteen minutes go by, and an interesting dynamic penetrates the strains of Gershovsky and my strained mind. I realize that the entire back row- a family of African Americans- is paying avid attention to the swarthy fellow with the beak nose sitting directly in front of me. Hmm. This could be interesting. I discreetly (I could be a Mossad agent, seriously) hit the pause button on my iPod, and listen in.

Turns out that the guy in front of me is a tour guide. Apparently, he prides himself on knowing every nook and cranny of the old city. He’s also in the midst of pitching them the services of the second best tour guide in Israel for the forthcoming day- a close friend of his, as luck has it. He, sadly, won’t be available; his nephew is getting married, and all the shekalim in the world couldn’t persuade him to miss it. I suspect otherwise, but keep my mouth shut.

At this point, it is salient to interject the following point. I’m wearing my hat and jacket, and I have not yet communicated with anyone, including the nahag, in anything except Ivrit. Not knowing how this might play out, I stick to Ivrit when the guide twists around and asks me to pass up the payment for the ride.

As our journey continues, the guide begins to wax scholarly about the distinguishing characteristics of the various branch Semitic languages. He also explains that Arabic and Hebrew, for the above reason, are close cousins, and words are often very similar. To demonstrate, he invokes the tired example of Shalom Aleichem and Saaalam al Aqum. The family is sitting and nodding like a bunch of amazed university students. He has them in palm of his hand. I imagine he’s looking forward to something else a little extra making his way into his hand at the end of the day, but again, I keep quiet.

But as he continues droning on about boring language distinctions, I decide it’s about time to stir things up a little.

Addressing the guide in Ivrit, I politely note that I couldn’t help but overhearing his little monologue, and while I couldn’t catch all of it (may HKB”H forgive me for that one), it sounded like he had been discussing the term Shalom Aleichem. Yes, he wags his head eagerly, he had been speaking about it. Well, I ask him, was he familiar with the reason Orthodox Jews use the term Shalom Aleichem? No, he answers, shaking his head in dismay. Seriously, the guy should have been on Broadway. In that case, says I, would he like to hear it? Definitely.

Taking my time, I slowly explain to him the shtickel. That one of G-d’s names is “Shalom”, and that we are actually saying “G-d be with you”. Or in the common vernacular, “Go with G-d”. The hemshich of the vort (why the other fellow answers the reverse) I decide I’ll leave for another time. As it is, I’m worried I’ve given myself away for the Tapuach I am already. But at vort’s end, he appears content, and thanking me in Ivrit, he rotates himsef back to face the family.

Switching to English now, he repeats what I just said, word for word. I’m impressed with his near perfect recall. After finishing, he casts a sidelong glance in my direction, and he tacks on that this vort was, in fact one he knew, of course, but that this gentleman sitting here (me) kindly reminded him of it.

What?! Ah chutzpah.

Keeping quiet, I bide my time.

Just as we are all exiting the vehicle, I cheerily wish the guide and his charges an enjoyable trip, in the best Southern-Midwestern accent I can muster.

Our poor guide snaps his head around in my direction and yes, yes, his face turns ashen.

The family erupts in hearty chuckles; they chap the matzav.

Don’t mess with Yeshiva Guys.