Making Aliyah: The non-accent

When I made aliyah, I didn't give my accent very much thought. I have a near-perfect Israeli accent when I speak Hebrew, which, I have learned, is both a blessing and a curse.

When I go out with other olim chadashim [new immigrants], they're all sure that Israeli vendors are trying to rip us off. As we approach booths in the shuk [market] or at the Nachalat Binyamin art fair, my friends' voices drop to hushed tones.

"Ask him, in Hebrew, how much the necklace costs," someone will whisper, then stand hunched behind me, listening for an answer and hissing demands as I try to negotiate the price.

When we hail a cab, I'm always the one sent to crouch down in front of the window to tell the driver, in Hebrew, that we're going to Bar-Ilan. Then, on the way home, my friends sit in complete silence, as if the driver will jack up the price by at least ten shekels the moment he hears their foreign accents. If I'm lucky enough to bargain the driver down to a good price, rather than have him use the meter, my friends and I release a sigh of relief: We can talk normally!

I'm not sure that our strategy works so well; sometimes I emphasize the wrong syllable or forget to roll a resh. Then, our cover is blown. Even if my accent doesn't backfire, I'm not one-hundred percent safe from sneaky vendors. Israelis get ripped off sometimes, too, especially when they look as young and naïve as I do.

There are times when an accent comes in handy, and that's when I make sure to lay it on extra-thick. Once, a friend and I couldn't find a good place to sit on the beach. We strolled into a hotel, flaunting our foreign accents, and easily got into the guests-only pool.

At cafes or bars, speaking a foreign language can get you past the doormen even when there is a line of Israelis waiting outside. A good friend of mine (we'll call her Chana) taught me this trick.

"Always make reservations in advance," Chana told me in her thick British accent. "When I call, I always speak in English. This way, the manager thinks we're rich tourists that are going to spend a lot of money." That's how she got a group of twelve friends into an exclusive bar in Tel Aviv a few weeks ago. When we told the bouncer the name, we were led to the VIP area, where a couch was reserved for us "high rollers."

People shouldn't make such brash assumptions. We're just a bunch of poor students! I don't think any of us spent more than 50 shekels. We definitely got a great value for our money, though, and we didn't even need to use my Israeli bargaining skills.