I had that student. I remember his first time in my class vividly. He chose a chair, positioning himself with his back to the window to shield his eyes from the sun. As he settled in, he seemed to claim the space as his own. With piercing, attentive eyes, his demeanour challenged me with a ‘Well? Show me what you’ve got.’
Whoops! In that very instant, I sensed he would challenge me every second of our 90-minute lesson.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” I suggested.
“My name is Yuval. I am married to Iris. Iris speak English well, I not. We have two boys, Itay is eight, he is at school; Aviv is six, he is in that… childrens park? er, no, yard… flowers…”
I offered, “Kindergarten?”
“Yes, that!”
I waited.
“By the way, I work for IDF before, now don’t work. Intelligence, you understand?”
So, my new student is a charismatic guy head over heels in love with his wife. And oh, by the way, he is a retired Israeli army intelligence officer. Great.
In the first fifteen minutes, Yuval proved there is no such thing as an ex-intelligence officer. I have that book of pictures to discuss with my students, you know. And there is that picture of a railway station. Usually, my students just agree with me: this train is leaving, that train is arriving, people on the platform are passengers, there are no trains on the platform, and the train is on track number one. Departures, arrivals, how long does it take to get to Edinburgh, let’s look at the next picture.
Yuval proved I knew nothing about my material.
“They – not passengers.”
“Oh? So, who are they?”
“They looking that way, they not passengers. They meeting them. And this train not arriving, see, she waving somebody? This train departing! These people not his family, that guy late, them go on holiday for a week…”
Want to feel like Dr Watson? Try teaching Yuval.
Every lesson he’d speak about Iris.
“Yesterday I go to a supermarket…”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Yesterday I went to a supermarket, I buy…” my raised eyebrow, “I bought all these things for a garden, you understand? Iris want a garden.”
“Iris what?”
“Iris want a garden!” proudly, like he is saying, “See? My Iris is the best, she wants a garden! To hell with these stupid “s” in English verbs, Alla! My Iris want a garden, I have the best wife in the universe!”
“No, I can’t come at eight next time. Iris go jogging, I must come home and stay with our boys. Can I come at seven?”
“See, this pictures? Iris say a table in the garden is good, I build a table, I finish tomorrow!”
“Itay plays football. Iris think it is good for him.” “Iris told Aviv…” “Iris cooked…”, “Iris asked…”
“Iris said my English is getting better!”
I think this was the day we became friends. Iris approves your teaching, you understand?
He brought a packet of the tastiest candies to our last lesson as a little thank-you gift. There was a beautiful bow on it. Of course, it was from Iris.
***
On the seventh of October, terrorists attacked Israel.
On the eighth of October, I started seeing news and posts about thousands of retired soldiers and officers volunteering to go to the front to protect women, children and the elderly.
I was terrified. Thinking that my friends could be going to the actual real freaking front with bullets flying around and all this shit scared me senseless.
On the tenth, I pulled myself together and messaged Yuval.
“Yuval, how are you?”
In reply, he sent a photo and a voice message. In the photo he was in the uniform, his boots still in his hands and making a funny face – someone’s camera got him changing.
He sounded hasty in the voice message, “Hi, I am OK, I am very busy, I miss you. I will call you after the war!”
“I will call you after the war,” rings in my ears since.
I am still waiting for his call.
