29/1/99

Change-of-20 Vision

Talk may be cheap, but in this country, anything is worth a good debate.

    I got on a bus the other day and gave the driver a 20. This being Israel, that was enough to spark debate.
    The driver was chatting with a zaftig brunette, and both his hands were busy (he was driving with one, talking with the other), so he couldn't be expected to make change for me.
    Half the passengers thought I was wrong, half, the driver. Another half blamed the government, five or six said it was Egged's fault, and two people asked why I don't have a car, and when I answered that I do, they asked how much I want for it.
    The driver yelled at me -- he had to, because the radio was on very loud -- and I yelled back at him to turn the volume down so we could hear each other. Everyone agreed that I had some nerve, though nine of the passengers preferred a different radio station.
    Finally, grumbling something about idiot Americans, the driver snapped the radio off completely (I was blamed, unanimously), and resumed yelling at me all the same.
    Now I understood. He wanted me to change my 20 with the help of the passengers.  I tried to explain that I'm not the sort of person to stand up in front of several dozen strangers and loudly ask for a favor, and besides, by now they all hated me. The driver shrugged, opened the door and suggested I get the hell out, mindless of the fact he was doing at least 60 at the time.
    It occurred to me I could continue arguing until I got to my stop, and then jump out, never having paid the fare at all. But then someone called out, "Yalla, uncle!" and announced he had change for my 20.
    That's when the real debate got going. I gave him the bill - one of the new ones.
    "Have you seen this new money?" he said to no one in particular, all of whom had a very definite opinion.
    "I hate it."
    "What's to hate? It's nicer than the old shmattes we used to have."
    "The picture's sideways."
    "She's right, it is. Whoever saw such a thing?"
    "Fool. When you count money, it's not sideways. All the money everywhere else in the world, that's sideways. It takes Israeli genius to figure it out."
    "Maybe, maybe not. But the design, it's messy. Who needs all those lines and boxes and scribbles?"
    "The country's going down the toilet, and this you worry about?"
    "Oh yeah? Who voted for those gangsters? If not for people like you, this 20 would be worth 25."
    "If not for people like us, this 20 would have a picture of Arafat on it."
    And a fight broke out. Not that it's even worth mentioning.
    I was still holding the bill, until a lady took it from my hand. No, she didn't have change, she just wanted to see what it looks like.
    "Why," she wondered aloud, "do they still call it 'New Shekels'?"
    "Good question!"
    "Dumb question. Obviously, you're all a bunch of immigrants. About 15 years ago -"
    "Who doesn't remember? My daughter was getting married, and -"
    "So why don't they just call this a shekel, and the old shekel an Old Shekel? That would make sense."
    "So my daughter was getting married, and my husband was paying the caterer, and -"
    "Hey!" I shouted. "My money!" The lady was still admiring the 20 when she reached her stop. I lunged at her just as she was getting off.
    "What, you think I'm a thief?" she accused me. "Here, take your stupid money, it's ugly anyway."
    The man who was going to change the bill got off, too. We were now stuck in traffic, and someone suggested I run off the bus and get change at a kiosk across the street.
    "And while you're there, get me some cigarettes."
    "And gum for me, sugarless."
    I didn't think it was a good idea, until the driver said I could get him a Coke, and gave me a few coins (for this he had a boxful of change). That reassured me that he wouldn't drive off.
    I ran across the street. I handed the kiosk owner my crisp new 20. "Ptui!" he said. "I spit on your filthy new money!" Turns out he's boycotting the new 20s because one of the pioneers pictured on the back of the bill  was on kibbutz with his father, and they'd had a terrible feud back in the early '40s about the grazing schedule. I tried to reason with him, but it didn't seem as if he was interested in my opinion.
    Traffic started to move. The bus drove off.
    I raced after it, catching up at the next stop. I got on. The driver didn't recognize me. That turned out OK, because now I had change: the coins he gave me for the Coke.
    Meanwhile, the debate had continued without me. Having covered politics, national survival, the peace process and the economy (in my brief absence, someone told me, there was an exchange of recipes and a wild argument about free education), which left only religion.
    When I rejoined the passengers, someone had pointed out that the strongest currency in the world had the words "In God We Trust" inscribed on every note, and if there was any proof that God exists, that was it.
    "It proves only one thing, that you're an idiot."
    "Leftist!"
    "But the point is, there is no God in America. He's here."
    "No, the point is, they can put Arabic writing on our Jewish money, but to mention God, God forbid, that would get people angry."
    "Who would get angry?"
    Such a clamor arose. Half the bus said they would get very angry.
    "You would go to the bathroom with God's name in your pocket?"
    "What's the problem? Leave your money outside."
    "Some solution! Maybe in God we trust, but definitely not in Man."
    "Alright, so who says they have to put His name at all? The religious have all kinds of ways to write it without writing it."
    "You mean, like 'Hashem?' "
    "Oh, great, then people will think it's Jordanian money. From the Hashemite Kingdom."
    "What's the big deal? It's only money, it's not a piece of Torah."
    "If you were just a little bit Jewish you'd understand. You remember they once printed a stamp with God's name on it? The stamps had to be buried. Like they were holy."
    "Ah, the hell with the religious. They don't work anyway, so they shouldn't have money."
    "Antisemite!"
    "They make such a fuss. Remember the old 1 shekel bill?"
    "It was blue."
    "Green."
    "The one with Maimonides on it. I'll never forget, my daughter -"
    "The haredim screamed. They swore they wouldn't touch it. But when the government gave them free money just for studying in some yeshiva, they took piles and piles of Maimonides money without a word."
    "But what about the Arabs?"
    "The what?!"
    "They work, they get paid. What should the money say in Arabic, 'In Allah We Trust,' or translate 'the Jewish God'? It could start a war."
    "If they put 'Allah' on our Zionist money, I'm leaving the country."
    "So they could just do it in English, like in America."
    "God, or G-d?"
    "Doesn't matter. Either way, a million mad people will demonstrate in front of the Treasury."
    "Then what they should do is put a little line that looks like it's there by mistake, in the middle of the word, and confuse everyone: whoever wants to, will read 'In Gold We Trust.' It's perfect."
    "Yeah, like we trusted Golda."
    "Revisionist pig!"
    "We should have stayed with the lira. Nobody had money then."
    The bus only runs until midnight, so I assumed the debate had to end sometime. 
    But a couple of weeks later, I was in a taxi.
    "And they blame Bibi," the driver said angrily.
    I had taken taxis before. I was being very careful not to encourage conversation, because it always ends up the same way. But it didn't matter. It was not a dialogue that the driver wanted, and certainly not my opinion he was after, unless I was ready to agree with him. So I agreed.
    "It's Bibi's fault, everyone says so," I said.
    Well, I thought I was agreeing with him.
    He uncorked at me. "How can you blame the prime minister? He's busy keeping the terrorists out of the country, does he have to also decide if Sharrett looks like he needs a shave?"
    "Sharrett's dead," I pointed out. "What are you talking about?"
    "The new 20, of course. Don't you know what's going on? Everyone's talking about it. That's the real reason the government fell, you know."
    I was not about to tell this guy that it was my fault the government fell. If only I had had correct change for the bus, this national scandal would never have started.
    But that's the way it is in this country. You just never know.
    "That'll be 32 shekels," he said.
    I handed him a 50.  "Have you heard? It was some political deal, a big secret: the Left got the job to print the 50s, but they made them a little too big, y'know, to undermine the economy and make Bibi look bad. So now they're worth 50.15, and naturally the banks are making the profit in cahoots with the Labor Party. Which means, of course..."
    He gasped. "Another devaluation!"
    He drove off in a panic. What have I done, I wondered with a smile.
    Just wait till I get one of those new 500s....