The Israeli Bureaucracy Strikes Back, Part 1

Today I began my first day of 100%, unadulterated nothing to do.

On Thursday I graduated from Ulpan, taking a test that, as far as I could understand, meant nothing. We began preparing for this test a month ago, and it's all we've been talking about for two weeks. We've taken a couple of practice tests, we've done exercises to simulate sections on the test, and we've discussed strategies for conquering each section in a timely manner. It was a couple of days ago when I decided to ask my teacher, the fabulous Zmira (To be clear, I added the "fabulous" part. She is, in fact, fabulous, but doesn't go around calling herself "The Fabulous Zmira" like a magician or an attraction at the circus or something like that.), what the test meant. The conversation, translated into English and summarized, follows:

Me: So, Zmira, why does this test matter exactly?
Zmira: It's for us to know when our students pass to the next level of Ulpan.
Me: Okay, but don't you know when your students are ready to move to the next level?
Zmira: Sure, but the country requires that we give the test. It's the same test that the department of education gives to every Ulpan in the country. There are students all over the country taking this test at the same time.
Me: So how do you know when students are ready to move to the next level?
Zmira: It's based on your score on the test.
Me: What score do we need to move on to the next level?
Zmira: You need to do as well as you possibly can.
Me: And I will, I promise, but what is the minimum score that I should shoot for?
Zmira: The best score you can get!
Me: But what number means I pass?
Zmira: 65.
Me: All I need is a 65?
Zmira: No, you need to do as well as you can.
Me: But why have we been preparing so much if all we need is a 65?
Zmira: Because YOU need to do much better than 65. That's not nearly the best you can do.
Me: Fine. I'll do the best I can. How do I find out my score?
Zmira: You don't, actually. You just find out whether you pass. You'll get a certificate.
Me: So I'm supposed to do as well as I can, but won't actually find out how well I did?
Zmira: Right!
Me: So does anyone find out how I did?
Zmira: Well, the ministry of education finds out. And we know the average scores of our students. We're running out of time, we have to move on to the review of changing passive verbs to active verbs now.
Me: But...
Zmira: The book WAS read by Shmuel. Shmuel...

And so class continued without my questions really being answered. Here's what I've decided must be the case: We take these standardized tests and based on our scores, Ulpan teachers receive bonuses and/or different Ulpans get more or less Federal money. These are the only reasons I can think of that would justify our teacher pushing us so hard to succeed on a test that we could all easily pass after a night of heavy drinking, or after slamming our heads in a car door a couple of times. If you have another possible explanation, I'd be glad to hear it.

In the two practice tests, I got an 85, then I got a 90. I figured that with no study at all, I would get between an 85 and a 92. With hours of intense study, I determined that I would probably get between an 86 and a 94. And no matter how much I studied or didn't study, I wouldn't find out how I did anyway. So my studies weren't exactly dedicated, but I feel pretty confident that I passed. The great news: I didn't even have to experience any head trauma beforehand. The better news (well, maybe not better, but...): Even if I didn't pass, none of it matters, because the Ulpan at Beit Canada, where I've been learning since I got here, only goes up to the level I've almost certainly passed with the completion of the meaningless test. So if I want to go study at another Ulpan, they're just going to give me their own test, making the pointless test that I just took take on a whole new level of uselessness. Thank you Israeli Bureaucracy!

Speaking of Israeli Bureaucracy, I'm not working right now (which is why I'm currently doing a whole lot of nothing). In order to work, I need a work permit. To get a work permit, I need: My passport, a letter from a place that wants to hire me saying that they want to hire me, proof that I am a Jew, health insurance, multiple passport photos, one of Randall Cunningham's shoelaces from the 1988 season, a burlap sack, and any eight-track tape. I have all of these things, I swear. I have to take this collection of items to an office downtown called Misrad HaPanim that only helps people if they make an appointment weeks in advance. I have not made any such appointment. My plan is to show up and beg for their help, and to continue to show up every day until they help me. Figure some person will not be able to make it for some appointment at some point, right? Today was Day One of my quest to get legal permission to work. I showed up at Misrad HaPanim at 1pm. They had been closed for the day since noon. Can you believe this? They're open four hours a day, from 8am til 12pm, except on Wednesdays, when they're open from 2pm til 5:30pm. Wow, they really have to tough it out that day when theysuffer through a three and a half hour work day. There must be some very hardworking people in that office.

I can't wait to meet them tomorrow morning.