Waiting in the Misrad HaRishui for a drivers licence

Yesterday morning I decided to do one of the things olim (new immigrants) and Israeli’s alike abhor, go to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles (Misrad HaRishui) and get my drivers license.

Getting a drivers license is not a simple process and takes many steps, each of which involve arguing and of course, plenty of waiting. According to the AACI’s (The Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel) website, new immigrants, temporary residents and returning residents are permitted to drive in Israel with their foreign or international driver's license for one year following their date of entry into Israel. In addition, tourists who have resided in Israel for more than one year are obliged by law to drive with an Israeli driving license. The Misrad HaRishui allows olim and tourists who are in Israel to transfer their foreign driver's license for an Israeli driver's license within three years of arrival. They are exempt from taking the written exam. However, a driving test is compulsory.

In my particular case, I am heading for the army next week, and decided it was high time to get my Israeli license. The first step is to go to one of several glasses shops and get an eye test taken. It’s a simple computerized test, after about five minutes the woman at the counter handed me the green paper. The paper is green, has my photo on it, several boxes for driving instructor comments, the licensing ministry’s comments and a medical form. I went to take the eye test months ago in Jerusalem. I got my green paper but just swept it under the rug and conveniently forgot about it. After I realized it may be a good idea to get my license and be able to drive in the police and in the army, I decided to finish the process. After getting a physical and all the medical information filled out on the back of the green paper with a signature and a stamp of approval.

Its a little known fact that Israelis are crazy about stamps. Nothing is official unless it has one. Many people carry around little pocket stamps in order to stamp in addition to their signature. There is a whole story about our family car years ago and finding the right stamp, but that’s a whole other story.

Thinking I was now on my way to getting my Canadian drivers license switched to an Israeli one, I called a driving teacher and asked to schedule a test. In Israel tests are taken with a driving instructor’s car, he waits outside, and the official tester administers the road test. The helpful English speaking instructor asked me if I had the stamp from the licensing ministry, and I said no, seeing as I had no idea what he was talking about. He explained I had to go to Misrad HaRishui (the licensing ministry) and talk with them to get approval in order to take the test.

I arrived at their main office in Holon, just south of Tel Aviv, at about 8am. I had no idea how to get there, but a couple lucky bus changes at random stops landed me exactly where I needed to be. The scene inside the office was already chaotic. People were everywhere, running, shouting, waiting in line and talking loudly on their cell phones. The guard told me to go to window 8 and ask for a ticket. It took me a minute to find window 8 under the sign “foreign licenses”. Once I got my number, I settled in to wait for my turn. I found it hilarious when I later realized that the entire room was pasted in no cell phone posters and everyone sitting underneath them shouting at someone on the phone. I wondered what would happen if you had a waiting room full of people and no one was actually allowed to talk on the phone. Here everyone has at least a couple of phones, and since incoming calls are free, everyone is always talking with someone. The waiting room is large, brightly lit and filled with rows of chairs. On one side of the room Israelis were queued up to get and renew their drivers licenses. On the other side of the room were two counters, one for taxi licenses, and the other for foreign license exchange. The taxi drivers’ side of the room was filled with tired looking middle aged men, all looking like they could use an extra cup of coffee. It was hard to tell if their shifts were just beginning or just ending, but everyone sat quietly, reading the paper and waiting their turn. At the foreign license desk, people were conversing in every language known to man, English and French mixing with Arabic and Russian.

I waited and waited, time slipping by. I kept trying to do something like count the ceiling tiles, but my attention kept drifting back to the people and the stories going on all around me. The room seemed to divide evenly, after an hour or two of watching the door and observing new arrivals, I got a sense of where people were going just by the way they looked. The pair of teens wearing Abercrombie and Fitch naturally made their way to the left side of the room to sit and wait for the foreign license clerk to call their number. Their accessories were laptops and ipods, running shoes and baggy jeans. In contrast, when the tall, dark guy with greased back hair and a jean jacket walked in, I had the feeling he was heading to the right, and the Israeli license line. It may have been the greased back hair, or maybe it was the too tight black sweater or jeans. Perhaps it was the hair band, or the leather boots. His accessories were a pack on Nobles (the cheapest cigarettes in Israel) and a sheaf of papers. I love it how there is a look here combining a 50’s era greaser, imagine the Fonz, then add in a splash of tight Euro fashion and an Israeli flair, and you have, well, you have to see it to understand. In any case, you could definitely tell where people were going.

The place was packed and everyone was jostling in line when the loudspeaker blared “the fast line is now open in the lobby”. It was as if they announced they were giving away free cars or ice cream. The entire room emptied out as if hundreds of people had been sucked out by a vacuum. Startled, the girl seated next to me asked what was going on, I can see how easily someone could have misunderstood the announcement. If they had said “clear the building, there is a bomb in the basement and Jack Bauer is on the way” people could not have emptied out quicker. It would follow that the non native Hebrew speakers would be left standing at the counter trying to figure out what has just happened. The olim were left standing at counter 8, watching the big hand of the clock slowly crawl by.

Number after number, hour after hour, it finally came, my turn was next! I was getting ready to dash to the window and make sure no one snuck in front of me, when the loudspeaker came on again with another announcement. “Attention ladies and gentlemen, we would just like to let you know that the clerks will be on break from 10 to 10:30”. Glancing at my watch, it was now 9:59, and of course I was stuck waiting. I just took a deep breath, reassured myself that I was next in line, and went back to playing Monopoly on my cell phone.

When they finally called my number I kind of felt guilty that I was not letting the waiting crowds go on ahead of me. I did wait three hours though, so I guess it was OK to take my turn. The clerk asked to see my green paper, my license and my teudat zahut (identity document). As expected, it was not exactly smooth sailing.

The clerk asked me when I came to Israel, looked over the stamps in my passport, and glanced at my Ontario drivers’ license. She told me she was sorry, but since I didn’t have the document from the Ministry of Absorption stating I was a returning resident, she could not give me permission to take the written and practical tests. I explained how I was in Israel for more than a year now, was no longer a returning resident, and could she please just stamp the paper? She told me that since I now had residency, it would help if I left the country for four months and came back, which would make me a returning resident and allow me to just take the test. Since most everyone getting their license here must take 28 lessons, I really did not want to go that route. I explained that I was going to the army in a week, and it seemed a bit crazy that I would have to go back to Canada, where my drivers license is valid until 2011, in order to get a license in Israel. I think by that point she was bored with the whole affair and just gave me a couple stamps on my green paper. She just said “OK, just take the test and no lessons. Next?”

It was so simple, I wanted to cry. Three and a half hours of waiting, ten minutes of explaining / arguing and I can now study for the written test, but that’s a completely different story.