Sometimes I think the world needs to know what is happening in the center of the universe, but from the viewpoint of a non-journalistic foreign correspondent. That's me, just a woman who used to live in Philly, who on September 11th saw my life flash before my eyes - not in reverse, but in fast forward, and moved to Israel against all human logic. A newspaper in Michigan is publishing my series. They give me the deadlines, I give them the news. The real news, from my heart to theirs. I now feel like I have many friends in Michigan and they know they have a friend in Jerusalem.
Maybe not everyone should make Aliya the way I did...on the wings of September 11th, but it's been working for me. People ask if I spent any length of time in this country before I made the decision to come. Well, if you take my first trip - 3 museums a day for 9 straight days - and my second trip of 9 days in a Seminary in Bat Ayin - and my third trip of one Shabbos in Jerusalem and then right back to America (it's a long story) and add them all together, the answer would be: No.
I think the toughest trip I had was the first, because first of all, I didn't want to come, and second of all, museums bore me to death. It was my sister's brainstorm - her first trip to Israel and she wanted me there. Sometimes big sisters just know what's right for you, so I went. That was 14 years ago on December 25th. I remember the date so clearly because when we were up in the sky at midnight I remember looking out the El Al window as we giggled at the thought of seeing Santa. (You can see where my head was, filled with xmas songs and decorations as we landed in a place where the contrast was an undeniable relief.) But that's not my point.
My point is, they had a reason for taking us on tours from 8:00 AM until 6:00 PM: They wanted to show us the holiest sights of Israel, to touch our neshmas (our Jewish souls) and connect us with the land. For me they missed the boat, or should I say, the bus. For it is only after living in Israel for 5 months that I have discovered one of the holiest places in Israel: Egged.
Egged is the name of the public transportation authority here, and for the first three months I didn't take one bus. They were a complete mystery to me. I asked Egged for a master bus schedule - there is none. I asked people who rode the bus to get to my apartment, "How did you know which bus to take?" And they answered, "You just know." I'm telling you, it was a complete mystery. Then finally, I set a new goal for myself. I was going to learn the bus routes for everywhere I needed go everyday in Jerusalem. No more Taxis, for which if you are a tourist is great, but if you live here on the Shekel and not the dollar, the taxi will drive you right to the poor house, and we were on our way.
So, after going over the 'basics' with a few of my friends, I was about to embark upon my first solo bus ride, and the first of many of my holiest moments in Israel. I'm not just speaking of the amount of courage one must muster to allow himself to get on a bus in a war zone where the enemy has declared buses fair game for target practice. I wouldn't call that holy. I would call that 'co'ach' - the strength of our people that has allowed us to go on for over 5762 years. Here's what I call Holy:
I saw a boy, about 23 years old, getting on the bus and as he was distributing his bundle of books from one arm to another he dropped 20 Shekels on the floor of the bus. (This looks like a twenty dollar bill and is equivalent to $5, depending on the day.) The bill landed at the feet of a teenage girl dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Without a moments hesitation, she bent over, picked up the bill and returned it to the boy who didn't even know it was missing. They both thought nothing of this. Now that's Holy.
I saw two 'punk' teenage boys sitting in the front seats of the bus, laughing and listening to a band in their head phones I could hear from two rows behind. The bus made a stop, and an elderly couple slowly came up the steps of the bus, whereas the boys, without skipping a beat, gave them their seats and moved to the middle of the bus. This touched my heart tremendously until one day, when I was coming home from a long day's work in the Old City, a teenage girl got up and gave me her seat! Enough said.
I saw a woman with her arms full of groceries from the Shuk, motion to the bus driver with her head and gave a look that said, "I know this is not a scheduled stop, but I really need a favor." Then I saw the bus driver nod, pull the bus over as the woman entered with a smile and a sigh. Holiness at it's best..
And then there was the Saturday night I was waiting for the bus to bring me home. It was close to midnight, pitch dark and I was feeling a bit vulnerable to say the least. A teenage boy in a leather jacket nudged my arm and my eyes opened wider than the moon, only to find him holding my favorite bracelet in his open palm. It had fallen off my wrist. "Thank you," I said, "I would have been so sad." I don't think he understood English, but I discovered gratitude is a universal language as he gave me a wink as he walked away.
And it was just last week I was sitting on the bus when a teenage boy began reading over my shoulder the Hebrew speech I had prepared to give in class the next day. He said to me, "I can tell you are from America. Do you have a pen?" And with that, he began the long and tedious process of correcting all my grammatical errors. At the end of the ride I thanked him tremendously and told him he just ensured me of an A, to which he said, "No, now you have to memorize it!" Thanks a lot, kid. (He really was wonderful, and in case he ever sees this - I got an A)
And when I was sharing these events with my friend in the apartment below, she told me of the time her friends got on the bus, sat down, and saw a girl walk down the aisle to find a seat. The only seat available was next to a very religiously dressed man. When she went to sit down next to the man, the couple decided to do a mitzvah, an act of kindness, for the religiously dressed man, and split up. So the husband and the man sat together and the two women sat together. Then, the religiously dressed man bent over and started talking Arabic into the phone, at which point two undercover teenage soldiers knocked him down, cuffed him only to find his belt loaded with explosives.
This is Kedusha - Holiness - at its finest. This is what The Nation of Israel - Am Yisrael Chai - is all about. Jews of all kinds helping Jews of all kinds. Riding on the bus in Israel I am proud to be a Jew. I am proud of us. I hope HaShem - The Master of our universe - is watching, and doesn't let our holy bus riders ever have to get blown up again.
Please pray for us, and perhaps, take some of these examples into your own hometown in America. It couldn't hurt, and G-d knows, a little kindness goes a long way.
Chana Cohen, Jerusalem