My first ever work experience was at Tatler magazine. Not the most natural fit for a Jewish girl from south Manchester and I have to admit I was somewhat surprised when I received a letter asking me to come for an interview for a two week placement. Although not as surprised as the managing editor who interviewed me and was horrified to realise I had schlepped all the way to London for a 15 minute meeting for a job with no pay.
I suspect someone had hurriedly read my CV, which I had sent to numerous magazines at the time in an effort to get some experience, and mistaken my SK8 postcode for an SW8 one. Now here was an 18-year-old who had gone to great efforts and expense for an opportunity to work for nothing for two weeks. And so, despite the way I pronounced bath, glass and grass, I was in.
It was, unsurprisingly, a culture shock. During my two weeks I witnessed the late, infamous Isabella Blow strip as she selected her outfit from the fashion cupboard; I was asked what a Jew was by one intern and I smiled and nodded at the others who confessed they only read Tatler to see their friends featured in the society pages. In a way I could relate - I did the same with the Jewish Telegraph (I was too provincial for the JC at that point in my life).
Yet what I witnessed during those two weeks in between the photocopying and the fashion director's bosoms was something weirdly familiar. It actually reminded me of being on Habonim Dror summer camp. In and amongst the coiffed blonde hair and the double-barrelled surnames, Tatler had something of a zionist socialist Jewish youth group about it.
Ok so the parallels were not abundant but what I recognised in that first glimpse of the working world were things I learnt on Habo being putting into professional practise, something I still see over a decade later.
Office politics is really just bad hadracha
In every office there are teams working together, sometimes under stupid deadlines, to produce an end goal, just like we did on Habo when we split up in kvutzot (teams) before coming together to make a successful camp, with most of us averaging four hours sleep a night.
I often say office politics is really just bad hadracha (leadership) - a statement that helps nothing as only my one Jewish colleague understands what I'm on about. And everyday I see men shout louder than women which I first learnt to find problematic on Habonim Dror, thanks to an inspirational madricha who felt the movement should do something about the very male-led culture at the time (shout out to Hannah Weisfeld if you're reading this).
When, at 17, you choose to spend your summer trying to creatively educate mostly overprivileged kids on issues like socialism and the Holocaust, when they are really only there for the snogs, you inevitably learn a work ethic.
I distinctly remember leading a tiyul (hike) one summer, schlepping a group of 13-year-olds up a hill in the pouring rain when I received a text from a school friend. She was in Majorca, saying "hi" from her sunbed. I remember stopping and thinking "what I am doing here?" before being distracted by one kid complaining their bag was too heavy and three others who needed the toilet. Little did I know that I was being prepared for working life. That I would be able to handle being asked to research sloanes' bikini waxing habits (true story) as a result.
So good luck to all madrachim. You'll feel so tired you'll almost hallucinate and there will be moments when you think "I could be in Marbella right now" but you'll laugh a lot and pick up valuable skills for when you are far out of your comfort zone and your postcode.
Abigail Radnor is acting features editor of Guardian Weekend
