For a country that's constantly trying to ensure its sustained existence, I've had an easy and optimistic time spent in transit. And I do spend a lot of time moving around the country - my boyfriend Ron lives near Tel Aviv, so I make the trek each weekend from Beit She'an south to Tel Aviv so I can spend time with him. This means that on a Thursday night I catch a bus from Beit She'an to a larger city in the east, Afula, where I catch another bus to Tel Aviv and Ron picks me up! It takes me around 2.5 hours to do the whole thing and no two trips are alike, depending on traffic, bus driver, passengers, time of day and weather.
As is typical in Israel, if it rains, everything ceases to function. The country can figure out how to make flowers bloom in the desert, but is incapable of installing a sewer system. So rain means that everyone loses their minds, the traffic lights go out and radio stations fade off. But as long as it doesn't rain, it's business as usual and I can drift off into the meditative and relaxing ride and watch the Israeli landscape change from grassy rolling hills of the Galilee, to sandy dunes near the coast around Netanya.
Each trip is really it's own adventure. This past trip to Tel Aviv, I had just left my Beit She'an teaching gig and packed up all my things to disperse across Israel for the next month. So me, a giant suitcase and a backpack needed to navigate the buses to Tel Aviv, while a smaller suitcase and another backpack sojourned in Beit She'an waiting for my next, less weighed-down move.
I made it the Afula bus station and as I was walking to the 825 bus to Tel Aviv, a man came up to me and asked if I wanted to take a shirut to Tel Aviv. I looked at him suspiciously, but asked to know more and found it he was a legitimate shirut and charged 10 shekels less than the bus. So I followed him out of the bus station and to his van [having written that sentence, I can thoroughly see the sketchiness!] where he had several other people were heading to Tel Aviv as well. One of my fellow passengers was an Israeli-Australian who spoke perfect, fluent English. She and I began talking and realized that we had a lot in common, beginning with where I was planning on volunteering over the next couple of weeks with Uri Mayer-Chissick. She happened to be a big fan of his, and her life in Melbourne, AU was devoted to eating very clean and learning more about leading a sustainable lifestyle. So we spent the entire shirut ride talking about recipes, lectures on different topics and her studies to be a naturopath. The whole ride completely flew by and I didn't even notice the landmarks passing by the window, since I was so enjoying conversation with her. It was amazing to be brought together with a kindred soul by the universal connectivity power of a slightly sketchy shirut.
I've had other car pools where I've been impressed at the conversation and instant connection while I'm in transit. One Thursday night, I was volunteering at the kibbutz cooperative before I made my journey to Tel Aviv. After I finished my volunteer duties, I caught a ride from another cooperative member who was heading home towards Afula. When you are in the habit of catching well-timed rides from whoever happens to be available in the moment, you have to fine-tune your talents of making pleasant car talk. Alon and I had a nice conversation about his newborn baby and his music studios, as well as this really helpful discussion on following your heart to doing things that just feel more meaningful, which really helped me gain some understanding at the time.
During a car ride, I have just a passing minutes to exchange some words with an individual. I've found the Israelis I share the road with to be insightful and thoughtful people; very able up sum up something complex in a few simple, blunt words. It's been really amazing to me in these moments to get a window into Israelis' lives and their view on the world. Many who I've talked to are really trying to find their happiness, care a lot about their families and if their job isn't fulfilling, they have a project or something that aligns more with their own personal beliefs.
The fact that everyone is so caring and concerned about helping me get where I need to go, does a good job in summing up the psyche of the country. There's a huge community cohesiveness in Israel; whether they're brought together by this "us against the world" mentality, or because their mutually shared military background fosters a feeling of brotherhood, that they open their car doors, homes and kitchens to anyone who is in need.
There are always road bumps and pot holes along the road - the traffic in Tel Aviv is obscene. I've had to learn this lesson the hard way from Sunday morning drop-offs when Ron valiantly has to bring me to either the bus station, or a to a conference that has a start time against the laws of logic and gridlock. It's a great time to learn how to swear in Hebrew and since Israeli driving technique seems be odds to the idea of lanes and lines, there's ample opportunity for me to learn these! (Sorry, Ron!)
It should be noted that Ron is an intrepid driver; from years of figuring out how to drive tanks with ease, he's extreme adept at the wheel and I trust him, but it's the person in the other car that I really don't!
My favorite experience of car-culture based idiocy, was when I was headed home from the road trip to Jordan and Eilat. We stopped to get a tank of gas; as the car was filling up,I left my passenger-side door open and went to open the trunk to retrieve something from my bag. Whatever it was, feel down into the emergency tire cavity. I was up to my elbow trying to get my hands on the object, when an Israeli woman came up to me to ask me something. Realizing that I only spoke English, she walked away, but returned a moment later at the wheel of her car, careening around the corner, only a narrow inch from my open passenger door, to get to an available gas pump. She then made the miscalculation of pulling up on the wrong side of her gas tank, but this didn't stop her. She hauled the pump and hose over her car's roof to attach to her gas tank. I couldn't believe the effort that she had dedicated to being impatient and incompetency. But it seems this is a pretty common trend in Israel. I don't think anyone really knows what side their gas tank is on.
Typically, I come away from each car pool adventure feeling connected and inspired. One day I was trying to get to the cooperative via bus, but had not heard the news that there was a bus strike that day and random local lines were not running. Particularly, the 412 line, which I needed. I wasn't traveling alone, another was en route with me and because of that, we made the decision to try to catch a ride as we walked in the direction of the kibbutz. Almost as soon as I held out two fingers pointed down, a car pulled over. Three Ethiopian women and a baby peered out and motioned to the both of us to hop into the one free seat. No one spoke English, and there was only one seat available, but we all scrunched in together and smiled as we made the drive towards the kibbutz. We made it safely in one piece, thanked our driver and passengers for their generosity.
The people continue to surprise and impress me with their altruism, openness and ability to sum up the world around them so succinctly. I might use 100 words to convey a concept, an Israeli would use 10 words and they'd capture the concept completely. They're hardened and capable, no emotions are worn on their sleeves, yet they're warm and welcoming and you're always greeted with a hug, kiss and asked if you're hungry.
So there's this really interesting dual psychology going on between being in cars and out of cars with Israelis. When you're inside their cars with them and can share the same obstacles and conundrums, you'll note their generosity and openness and you truly appreciate and admire them. But when you're peering in their window from another car trying to figure out why the fuck they would decide to merge lane now, that you really can't understand what is going on in their heads.
Five months under my belt in Israel and I still walk that line constantly. I'm not sure Israelis even know what it all means. There's lot to contemplate and try to understand here and maybe it's the weight of all that, which causes the time spent in transport to be such an introspective and ridiculous experience!
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