A Tribute to Israeli Buses

My friend Natalia told me to never chase a man or a bus, because another one will always come in 5 minutes. This wise sentiment was given to me after I already learned my lesson, but I’ll leave it here for anyone who needed to hear that today.

So here it is, the story of how I stopped chasing after buses.

My relationship with Israeli buses is very much alive, a living breathing entity. And believe me when I say that it’s somewhat of an abusive relationship (not an exaggeration). Hear me out: I am dependent on the buses, but do not respect them and often dread them. They’ve injured me more than a few times. They are dirty, jerky, loud, irreverent, and unreliable.

BUT they also happen to be the most comfortable mode of transport at this moment in time, and not completely terrible, so I’ve gotten used to sitting in air conditioning reading my book or staring out the window, depending on the day.

The morning ride is always preferred. There’s an unspoken rule no matter where you are in the world that most people seem to understand, which is that the morning is quiet time—-a beautiful silent meditation shared by strangers in a public space. I’m a big believer that the way you start the morning has the power to affect the rest of the day. So as you can imagine, my interaction with the bus (Did it come on time or was I waiting a while? Was the driver friendly? Were there maintenance problems? Were the other bus goers rule-abiding citizens or jack asses? Was everyone wearing deodorant, or was I stuck gagging on the guy-who-just-ran-the-entire-tayelet-’s body odor for half an hour?) —it all plays a role in the direction of my day.

Note that Israeli buses breed a special kind of chaos, namely in the form of old ladies who answer the phone on speaker to tell Sapir—very loudly—that they are on the bus. Or as shameless angry men who tend to create a habit of putting their unhappiness on others. Or even as cringy Russian teenagers listening to heavy metal with no headphones. I really couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. 

Conversely, sometimes you won’t mind the bus. It becomes part of your daily routine, and can even be an enjoyable pause in between the sections of your day. Other times though, the stress of making it to the stop can cause you to trip over your flowy pants and scrape your knee and fall on your face and lose your brand new left airpod. But it’s ok because when you explain to the dentist why you’re late, she’ll feel bad for you and offer you a free fluoride rinse. Months later, your boyfriend will find a left airpod on the ground just like the one you lost and bring it home for you, leaving you thinking that God works in mysterious ways, indeed.

What I’ve realized is that the buses mirror the roughness of Israeli culture. If you take them often enough, they have the power to slowly grind away at you, like a waterfall falling heavy on immovable rocks. Over time, the accumulated pressure becomes so great that the rocks actually change shape to withstand the fallout without breaking. In much the same way as a boulder under a waterfall, I feel as though the buses are molding me, forcing me to adapt to the sharp edges of Israel living. But no matter how adaptable you are, there comes a time in everyone’s Israel journey when the maddening chaos strikes you so deeply that your rock armor cracks, and you curse and kvetch and cry out of frustration.

Sometimes when I’m convincing myself that the bus isn’t that bad, I feel like I’m in a televised social experiment for spoiled Americans. Like, how long can they go before cracking? You see, I grew up in beautiful easy Miami, where most everyone I know has a car. I have maybe taken the bus in Miami once in the whole 25 years I lived there, and I will probably never do it again. I’m privileged in this way, used to having the freedom and control to choose when I come and when I go, the privacy to blast whatever music I like without headphones, to talk to myself, to scream at other cars, and to store as many personal items as I very well please on the empty seats. So you can imagine how the stark contrast between the incredible luxury and comfort of driving your own car versus taking a public bus was difficult for me at first. I am aware of all of this, and definitely have my moments, but ultimately I’ve accepted the buses as part of my molding. This may sound shocking, but in the scheme of things, I think they might actually be a useful tool for me to learn how to cope with inconvenience: ideally through humor instead of anger. Let’s take a shot at it, shall we?

Sometimes, you’ll get on the bus at the exact same moment as the rest of the people who still go into the office and you’ll be packed in like a sardine in a net. Your Grandma might call you while you’re in this pickle, but if you can feel someone else’s breath on the back of your neck, it might be best to call her back. Often, you’ll fall on the bus because the drivers are so aggressive and the roads so bumpy, but an old lady will catch you in her lap and nod with the wisdom of someone who has fallen on the bus a hundred times.

Sometimes you’ll cry on the bus, because you had a hard day, and there’s no point in holding it in. Often, you’ll witness someone else crying, and you’ll send love out to them telepathically, understanding that when you’re that person crying on the bus, you don’t want anyone talking to you, either. Sometimes strong-willed women will yell at the bus drivers with so much emotion you’d think the driver murdered one of their family members. Other times a terribly rude man will spew racist slurs at an Arabic driver, but another patron will go up after they get off and apologize on behalf of all Israelis.

Still, sometimes you’ll witness moments of magic on the bus. A young couple newly in love, giggling in the very back, their heads bobbing closer together with every bump in the road. Random acts of kindness as a woman offers her seat to an elderly man. Strangers helping a mother lift her stroller on and off the platform. Or most shocking of all, a bus driver doing you a favor (it happens on occasion), and opening the doors for you despite the fact that you were late to the stop. Sometimes you’ll make a friend on the bus: a girl with a yoga matt who just finished a class. Sometimes you’ll bump into an existing friend, a familiar face that brings you comfort amidst a sea of mugs.

The thing about the buses in Israel is that no matter how chaotic, frustrating, ridiculous, or unreliable they may be, they (usually) get you to where you need to go. They are as they are, largely unchanging and yet still completely unpredictable (for better or for worse). With the buses, like in life, lots of acceptance and forgiveness are in order. Although feelings are important, I’ve realized that the difficulties in life are not about how you feel. The point of hardship, the real test, is how you decide to move past it. This is how we learn to cope. Maybe the real function of the bus, aside from taking me from point A to point B, is to humble me. 

So hat’s off to Israeli buses for forcing me to accept the more unfavorable characteristics of living in Israel, and of myself. It’s taken me some time to acknowledge (3 years to be exact) and I’ll admit, although the farthest from gentle, this was a lesson I needed to learn. I will most definitely continue to take the bus for as long as I need to, but if I miss it (it happens a lot), I’ve learned to shrug it off and wait for the next one. Or take a nice long walk.