More often than not, there’s at least one person midway through their wash when I arrive at the laundromat. Maybe a young man studying for an exam or an elderly tourist doing a load before his flight home to Berlin. Sometimes there’s the occasional mental patient who can never seem to understand that I can’t speak Hebrew well enough to respond to his gibberish. (Not that a native speaker could respond either.) I’ll inevitably feel bad having to turn my back to him from frustration but it’s usually the only way to complete the task at hand.

That is partially why I’ve made a habit of listening to music via my tiny iPod shuffle when roaming the streets of Tel Aviv. Actually, I do it for two reasons:

1) It provides a soundtrack to my day. Have you ever seen an irate cab driver curse an unruly teenager with Hall & Oates’ “Kiss On My List” leisurely swooning into your ears? Highly recommended.

2) It provides complete privacy and a license to ignore anyone who attempts to speak with you (without having to feel guilty and rude about the brush off).

The white iPod headphones sticking out of a person’s ears have evolved into the universal sign for “I’m not accepting any new conversations at this time”.

When I arrived at the laundromat last week, I realized that I had forgotten my universal sign for “no conversations”. gasp. I didn’t realize this until I heard (for the first time) the sounds of the laundromat. Two of the dryers were humming and a quick scan of the room revealed a woman sitting on one of three plastic chairs set up next to the soap dispenser.

She immediately started talking to me and I immediately started to ignore her which has turned into my habit when any stranger tries to speak to me here (regardless of the language).

She was middle aged and wearing a bright blue short sleeve shirt. She was robust but not obese. She had the sort of thickness you would expect from a Great Aunt or second cousin on your Mother’s side (twice removed). She spoke to me with great interest. Her eyes were persistent. Even after I turned my back to her and started to open my duffel bag of dirty laundry, I could still feel her intense need for a conversation.

I glanced back at her just before I pushed my coins into the washing machine to begin the water and soap mixture. My clothes still sat in the duffel bag on the ground. She waved me to her and I couldn’t help but to obey.

She spoke to me in Hebrew. At this point of my language studies, I’ve learned to respond to this sort of situation by saying, “Ani lo medaderet ivrite” (I don’t speak Hebrew). Although I must say, I find it incredibly ironic to speak Hebrew only to say that I don’t speak Hebrew. Either way, she said to me in perfect English (and maybe even a hint of a gritty New Jersey accent); “Then what language do you speak??”.

Apparently, she only wanted to explain the best way to use the washing machines. She made sure I knew the correct order of soap, water, and clothing in order to maximize the money I was clunking into the machine. My initial reaction was annoyance but then I saw in her eyes honest sincere concern. She wanted to explain (with almost mother-like care) how to properly do laundry. It was heartfelt, helpful, and she touched me with her sincerity.

After I started my wash and sat on the other side of the room reading a book, her dryers stopped. I made quick furtive glances at her between pages and saw her gently fold her laundry on a table. She packed everything into a bag and waved me over to her again.

She asked me if I needed change before she left. I could barely respond before she started taking out of her change purse five and one shekel coins that the machines here only take. I nearly jumped with adoration for this woman because of my previous issues making change with cranky Israeli shop owners. But here she was offering much needed assistance without me having to ask!

She made change for one of my 10 shekel coins and then asked if I needed any more money. She tried to push a few more coins my way “just in case”, as she said. I was astonished! It was an amazing gesture of charity. My heart completely lifted for this tough little country.

Even with all the rough shop keepers, language barriers, and abrasive nature of Israel, everyone was redeemed by this one charitable woman that I met in a laundromat.

Can I go so far to say, “Only in Israel”?

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