I'm Googling the Wrong Words

Route: From Rosh Pina to Kfar Nahum
Distance: 13.5 km / 8.3 miles
Time Waited: 8 minutes

The Story: I was making good time heading back to Jerusalem. As I waited at the bus stop, the day began to warm up. A car with three twenty-somethings pulled up. The guy in the backseat, speaking in very slow and accented Hebrew, asked where I was going. They were planning on driving around the Kineret, albeit the Golan side, and would drop me off at Kfar Nahum/Capernaum. Plus, I'd hoped to make good enough time to dip my toes in what's left of our water source.

The two guys were exchange students from Brazil, studying at Tel Aviv University. The girl was their Brazilian friend, who studies in France. For some reason, I can't find an appropriate link to insert here without getting into some sort or porno site. Maybe I should google something other than "brazilian men hot."

Israel is Our Home?

Route: From Koach jct to Rosh Pina
Distance: 19 km / 11.8 miles
Time Waited: 15 minutes

The Story: Last time I hitched from this intersection, I got a ride directly to Tel Aviv. I hoped my Car-ma would come through this time, but I ended up waiting a while, made friends with a 15-year old girl who was also waiting and finally got a ride to Rosh Pina.

I was surprised this driver stopped, because his car had red license plates - police. I asked about this and he replied that he always stops. His uniform indicated he was part of the border police. As we chugged along, we listened to the radio. It was the first day of the current operation in Gaza and Uzi Landau was spewing his ideology over the airwaves. He was advocating making citizenship contingent upon a declaration of loyalty to Israel as a Jewish, Zionist state and completing military or national service. Freedom of speech anyone? Freedom of thought? Apparently not (find Liberman under each season's 'characters' tab).

Elevator Technicians and Hanuka.... A Coincidence?!?

Route: From Baram to Koach jct
Distance: 26 km / 16 miles
Time Waited: 6 minutes

The Story: I'd finished a killer hike by 10am and needed to get back to Jerusalem in time for a wedding. Except there I was, 2.5 km from the Lebanese border. Pretty much as north as I could be. With no cars in sight. Luckily, one of the first cars that passed picked me up. It was a company car, but nevertheless I kindly refused to put my bag in the trunk. Their final destination was Kiryat Shmona - they'd take me to highway 90.

This was probably the most literary and seasonally apposite ride I ever had. The guys were elevator technicians, in charge of the northern region. And it was the 7th day of Hanuka. Sound familiar? Really, what are the chances. Plus, I've had my picture taken with A.B. Yehoshua.

The conversation started off with the regular chitchat. Where I'd been hiking, for how long, where I slept. The guy in the passenger seat pointed out I must have a strong personality to go out alone. We then slid into a whole conversation about doing things alone versus letting other people enrich our lives through sharing experiences. He thought I was 23, so ten points for me. "By 35" he said, "people will be pressuring you to settle down and have kids." Gotta love Israel. Or hate it.

That's What Friends Are For!

Route: HaSharon jct to Tel Aviv
Distance: 36 km / 22.5 miles
Time Waited: 4 minutes

The Story: After waiting for some time heading south on highway 4, I realized that I probably wanted to be heading down the parallel highway 2, which would bring me into Tel Aviv, possibly even reaching the beach for sunset. My driver pulled up right away, and seemed more eager for conversation than I was - if that's even possible. He introduced himself right away and offered me a tangerine. Noam, probably in his mid 30s.

He lives on one of the nearby moshavs, but apparently waking up early and trimming his hedges was the most moshav-like thing he'd done in a while. He'd studied education, facilitated groups, lead hikes, and currently runs his own business. I was traveling with my medium-sized backpack, which caused him to think been a) hiking b) leading a hike. He asked a few times, just to make sure.

He was heading into Tel Aviv for a blind date his friend had set him up on (why don't I have friends like that?). It was, he reported, the 2nd time he'd ever gone on a blind date. When I didn't say anything, he pointed out that for this to be the 2nd, there must have been a first. OK, I'm not that nosey.

Half-way there we picked up another hitchhiker, who was heading to Hertzliya, where she'd left her car. She was also offered the perfunctory tangerine, and together a merry ride was had by all. After locating the street of his date, Noam let me off and I walked to the beach. I ended up missing the sunset by 4 minutes, but the sky was absolutely stunning nonetheless. Someday I'll figure out how to post pictures.

Hum Dee Dum

Route: From HaSargel jct to HaSharon jct
Distance: 55.5 km / 34.5 miles
Time Waited: 15 minutes

The Story: I'd spent an extended weekend up north, first for work and then visited Matar. I'd interviewed octegenarian ideologues at Ein Shemer on Thursday, spent the night at the Alon HaTavor field school (woohoo employee benefits), and returned to for a conference at the ecological greenhouse on Friday.

Matar almost died a few months ago, and has since been keeping busy with doctors, physical therapy and trying to regain the weight she lost. I was thrilled to see her, and had a blast visiting her kibbutz. I was reminded that other (saner) realities exist in Israel and was introduced to kibbutz rugby (pronounced roogbee in Hebrew) culture. Yizrael's team is Israel's best and has gone undefeated for years. Really, why even bother playing if your best opponent can only reach 45-12.

Why am I telling you all this? Because the guy who picked me up didn't really want to talk, real conversations or otherwise. It was a total bore. Boohoo.

Something's Fishy Here....

Route: From Ein Gedi to Jerusalem
Distance: 83.5 km / 51.5 miles
Time Waited: 10 minutes

The Story: Yom Kippur was amazing, and as the sun went down, I broke open a pomegranate to break the fast. I packed my stuff, and headed out to the road. A young man heading for Jerusalem stopped. Perfect.

Turns out, we'd spent the holiday doing very similar things. He's staked out a spot by Nahal David where he spends every Yom Kippur. He goes alone, cherishes the silence, and thinks. While I wrote, slept and chased the shade, he actually prays. He was armed with a beach umbrella, mosquito net and plenty of yummies from his Moroccan grandmother, including some delicious fried and honey-covered treats. He said he'd been suddenly awoken at night by biting ants. He described humongous ants, like he'd never seen before. They were all over him, biting away. Apparently they didn't get the Yom Kippur memo. He woke up, and began praying. When he went back into his sleeping bag, they were gone.

He works as a fish distributor in Jerusalem - his route goes throughout Mea Shearim. Turns out, most fish are delivered to the shop dead - except the carp, which apparently can remain dormant for an extended period of time and instantly spring (or wiggle) back to life upon reaching water again. Hm. He loves eating fish.

In his free time, he designs and makes silver jewelry. He showed me a beautifully detailed Magen David necklace he was wearing, inlaid with white stones. No, he corrected me, it was ivory. Eeks. His teacher had given him tiny shards. Apparently ivory is a fascinating and wonderful material to work with, and he'd contemplated buying some off EBay. For $120 he could have gotten a 10-inch piece, which would have lasted him for years. But his ethics got the best of him. Truly a good guy - he also dropped me off at home.

Can't Touch This

Route: From Metzukei Dragot (Dragot cliffs) to Ein Gedi
Distance: 4 km / 2.5 miles
Time Waited: 10 minutes

The Story: My ego was a little bruised after the previous driver had out-Turked me, but all was good. I was thrilled just to have finally gotten out of Jerusalem. I was waiting at the checkpoint marking everyone's favorite Green Line, which is actually very inconvenient because the bus-stop is not directly on the road. Finally a sun-weathered man driving an open Jeep (plus backseat dog) picked me up.

Most of the time I'm mildly annoyed by short-distance rides. But this was different. While most drivers were racing against the clock (Erev Yom Kippur), my driver was apparently racing against the speed of light, the whole while cracking seeds and telling me about his masseuist career. In typical Israeli manner he calculated his income and pointed out how much free time he had. FYI, working mainly with tourists visiting the Dead Sea, he makes around 400 shekels per massage. Glad to arrive, I hopped out of the car, ready for a day of silence and solitude (except for those loud mangal-ers also camping out).

Someone Drops the I-Bomb

Route: From Beit HaArava jct to Metzukei Dragot (Dragot cliffs)
Distance: 26 km / 16 miles
Time Waited: 10 minutes

The Story: My foodless co-travelers didn't take this ride - I think they were first trying to locate nosh. The driver was a student in Jerusalem but not, as I originally assumed at Hebrew University. He was completing and re-doing matriculation exams, so that he could do a year of preparatory studies and then, hopefully, be accepted to the university. Yes, the system lacks many of the California system's charms.

While I generally feel extremely cool for taking 2 years of Turkish, the driver put my Turkish brownie-points to shame. He's a heir to some branch of the Turkish royal family, which was banished to the corners of the earth some point. One ended up in this neck of the Ottoman Empire (although by this point, it may have become the British Mandate of Palestine), where his family has lived every since. He doesn't speak Turkish or identify as a Turk, and yet apparently his unchanged surname was a dead giveaway when he visited Turkey last year. And although it happened at least 3 generations ago, the Turks at border control still hold harsh feelings. So, from now on, he must coordinate with the Turkish police whenever he wishes to visit. Judge for yourselves.

Mid-way into my explanation of why I find Turkey so interesting, he turned the topic of conversation eastward, to Iran. He believed in taking action against Iran, since nobody else seems to be willing, comparing the situation to Osirak. I said that if anyone takes action against Iran, it'll be an unidentified pilot, carrying no papers, flying a previously unknown airplane and using a one-in-a-kind missile - all to preclude identification and blame. The driver seemed to believe Israel should either recruit (or open the door to) volunteers willing to become, essentially, kamikaze pilots. I strongly disagreed, reasoning that something in the Jewish/Western psyche makes this scenario impossible.

Cramped in the Back

Route: Almog jct to Beit HaArava jct

Distance: 4 km / 2.5 miles
Time Waited: 8 minutes

The Story: Due to new traffic arrangements in Jerusalem, I have no choice but to take the bus to Almog, and hitch a ride from there. I also consider it a safety precaution, since the bus whizzes past the exits to Ramallah and Jericho. I was heading to my Yom Kippur camping spot.

I got off the bus, and met my co-travelers: a hippy, free-spirited teen couple. The girl wasn't exactly dressed for a desert outing, and the guy's fisherman pants were barely tied up. I had no answer when they asked where they could find bread. No fasting for these folks. It was hot. Very hot. The guy "stands," and I sit in the shade of the bus stop with the girl. Suddenly she called out, "maybe we should fast." He looked at her like he suddenly realized he'd been dating an alien. She continued: "we don't have any food anyways." He responded, "we have food." She was determined, "yes, but why did you bring only 1 can of corn but 5 cans of tuna?" He replied, "tuna is more filling." This ends the conversation, although it was still unclear where they'd find food.

The driver who stopped took us a very short distance. The three of us crammed into the back seat and I let them do the talking. My favorite are long rides,when the driver is willing, even anxious, to talk. I dislike short (functional) rides in full cars. Especially when trying to avoid impaling myself with my tent poles in the tiny back seat.

It's the Moustache, Stupid!

Route: From Gedera to Jerusalem
Distance: 50 km / 31 miles
Time Waited: 45 minutes

The Story: I ended up waiting longer than expected, but was nonetheless glad for the previous ride. While waiting, I'd toyed with trying to get to Abu Gosh for some Shabbat-afternoon hummus, but decided that any efforts would be futile and frustrating. I would just hope really hard and play along with whatever came my way.

Eventually, a station wagon pulled up. Moustached Dad at the wheel, Bleached Mom riding shotgun, and Antsy Kid sitting in the back. After buckling up I noticed that the car was emitting a super-annoying beeping sound, that just kept going. Apparently they were inured to it.

While Dad bore a striking resemblance to Thomas Friedman, that's all that can be said. He didn't strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed, although he answered his son's questions regarding IQ with great detail. I think it was more the way he barked out his words, while mom remained silent the entire ride.

When it became clear they were not Jerusalemites, it struck me as slightly odd that they'd be heading into town Saturday afternoon, as the weekend was coming to an end. Dad proudly informed me that they were en route to visit their two older kids, who study and live at the Israel Arts and Science Academy. They dropped me off at the entrance to the city, and I continued reading Moon Palace while waiting for three stars to become visible, indicating the renewal of bus service.

Stroke Your Dog (aka Everyone Knows Ron)

Route: From HaBonim to Gadera
Distance: 109 km / 67.5 miles
Time Waited: 15 minutes

The Story: I'd been waiting for about 7-8 minutes when two girls joined me. They'd been at the reggae festival (which apparently wasn't that great), and were trying to reach Netanya. We pooled our resources (whoever doesn't look like a prepubescent boy or have crazy dreads gets to "stand"), and waited. It didn't take long for a car to stop. A driver in his 30s, holding a very cute (and very tiny!) dog on his lap picked us up. We piled our bags in, and set off. His destination was Gedera, which was a little more south than I intended, but he would drop me off at a great intersection. In other words, I could get from Haifa to Jerusalem with 1-2 rides - hitchhiker's jackpot. Bypassing Tel Aviv is key!

As we chugged along, he kept petting and stroking his dog. Words cannot do justice to how cute, fluffy and adorable this dog was. And I don't even like dogs. It was about the size of a large melon, and looked like something you wouldn't mind keeping wrapped around your neck, or use as a pillow. Throughout the ride, he kept babytalking at the dog, and at one point he leaned down to get the dog to "kiss" him. Please sir, keep both eyes on the road. Plus, he really enjoyed talking about the dog, which he'd gotten off the street a week ago (vaccinations pending). The driver had been at his annual HaBonim beach weekend with friends, and it had been the dog's first time at the beach. Good times were had by all.

The driver works in real estate, which is apparently going quite well. Apparently Gedera strikes the country-living-but-close-enough-to-commute balance quite well, and houses are in high demand.

Ron, my former housemate (also known by his nom de guerre Hummusius - the Greek god of Hummus) is from Gedera. I texted him and asked if he was around, and sat back for the ride. As one point I mentioned Ron, and it turns out that they know each other! The driver said, "tell him Ben-Shabbat gave you a ride," and added, "we're even friends on Facebook." Of course, this shouldn't come as a surprise. At a recent street party Ron was selling hummus, and nearly every conversation I overheard was someone bragging that their friend made the hummus. Cheers.

Whevever you go, there's always someone.... from Berkeley

Route: From Habonim Beach to Geva Karmel
Distance: 8 km / 5 miles
Time Waited: 0.5 minutes

The Story: I quickly found one good soul leaving the glorious morning on the beach who was willing to take me to the main road (refer to previous post). The driver was in his late 40s and his female companion was probably around the same.

The driver was born in Geva Carmel, but moved to Colorado, where he still lives. His Hebrew was perfect, except for a slight American accent on the R's. But who am I to judge. When he found out I lived in Berkeley for 5 years and La Honda for 1, he had to share his own connection to the Bay Area.

He'd spent 6 months hitchhiking around California in the early 70s, and spoke of those times with much nostalgia. He also told me about his friend who still lives in SF, who had graduated from the Technion, married an American, and moved to the US, where he earned his Ph.D. in physics at Cal. For the last 24 years, he's been working on the Large Hadron Collider. The driver made sure that I realized that long before any of us ever heard of CERN, his friend was hard at work. Ooops.

Riding with Bikers

Route: From Beit Oren Junction to Ofer Forest
Distance: 12.5 km / 7.75 miles
Time Waited: 15 minutes

The Story: I was waiting at an intersection lacking a bus stop, which broadly speaking, isn't the best way to find a ride. The American reader needs to understand that although I was on one of Israel's main highways, at this point it consisted of a mere one lane in either direction and lacked any engineering spiffiness generally associated with highways.

The driver (Assaf) was actually heading to my exact destination - Ofer Forest. I'd decided to hike, camp out and continue the next day, but hadn't decided which trails to take. He was heading to the forest to bike. According to his calculations, he had exactly 1 hour and 15 minutes to pedal before he had to return home for Shabbat dinner. I glanced at the car seat in the back, noted the ring on his finger, and wondered how his wife was coping with him taking off right before dinner. To give him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they'd been invited out.

Assaf dropped me off in the middle of the forest, and pointed me towards a nice trail. I ended up going a different way, but still got a wonderful 4k hike in before deciding that camping at the beach was a much better idea. Turns out, my friend was hosting a reggae festival at the beach, but since I don't particularly like reggae, I passed. More on this issue to follow.

Drunken Frenchie

Route: From Ein Gedi to Jerusalem
Distance: 75.5 km / 47 miles
Time Waited: 20 minutes


The Story: It was about an hour before sunset, and I was sick and tired of being assaulted by waves of flying pebbles at the beach. Ouch. After listening through endless hours of Forum and TTBOOK, I'd had enough and decided to head out. I took up the normal hitchhiking position and found a Frenchie hanging out at the bus stop. He said (it wasn't clear if he was asking or informing) that a bus should be coming any minute. Needless to say, it was Saturday, and thus I wasn't holding my breath. (I did check, and a bus from Eilat would have arrived 1 hours later, around 7:30pm.)

Finally, someone stopped - he was heading to Jerusalem. I asked where to (safety precaution), and he replied Givat Mordechai, my neighborhood. Bingo. The driver was probably in his 40s and was alone, except a small suitcase in the back. The Frenchie hopped in the back seat, and we were off.

The driver was quite taciturn and didn't want to talk about anything, except make well-deserved derisive comments regarding the Frenchie under his breath. Needless to say, The Frenchie's English wasn't that great, and he leaned forward the entire ride (apparently car safety has gone the same way as personal hygiene), talking loudly. Again, it was unclear whether he was asking or commenting. Topics included flights to France on Saturday night and whether the driver was married (he was divorced - perhaps related to the solo vacation to Eilat). He then prophesied that the couple would be reunited. The driver's question whether he'd been drinking wasn't understood. He lent forward and taped my shoulder the entire time, in failed attempt after failed attempt to communicate.

Finally, my personal space became more important than the ride. I got out by the Hebrew University, got a (gross) sandwhich at Aroma, and hopped on the #19 bus home.

Here to Stay

Route: From Kalya to Ein Gedi

Distance: 38.5 km / 23.5 miles

Time Waited: 25 minutes

The Story: The driver was a 52-year old man with a black knitted kippa and trimmed beard. It was Friday afternoon, Shabbat was approaching, but there were no indications that he was heading towards Shabbat plans (suitcases or a suit in the back seat). Also absent was a wife and/or kids. Most people driving past were already checking out for the weekend, and had either fancy clothing or camping gear in their cars. Turns out, he works for a leasing company and he was en route to help a client who needed his car fixed at Nahal David.

He'd spent every day of the past 52 years of his life in Israel. Yes, he's never left this tiny strip of land. His parents were Moroccan immigrants, and I'm sure his 3 kids (all married, he duly noted) have left the country. But he's not at all curious to see what the great outside world contains, although he'd had chances through his previous career.

He'd been raised to be a good person, which he tried to pass onto his kids. Although he's observant, he expressed tolerance towards his secular father, and secular daughter (who is married +1 and lives with him at the moment). One of his sons has become a little less respectful. This son was the Thai boxing champion during high school, but was then inducted into the army (a right, he points out; not an obligation). There he became more observant, and now turns over photographs of the daughter wearing low-cut shirts. This infuriates his father.

This led to a general conversation on the lack of respect in Israeli society. I shared experiences with the kids I've begun teaching. He shared that often, on the road, he'll let drivers cut him off. This leads them to realizing how aggressive of a culture we've become. Once someone got out of his car and thanked my driver for "waking him up." He believes this is a result of living in this tiny conflict-ridden country, that people become stressed and just go along, without critically examining their own behavior. Nonetheless, he has no plans to get out and release steam abroad, like so many Israelis do.

Furd Culture

Route: From Netanya/Beit Yehoshua to Kfar Saba
Distance: 12 km / 7.4 miles
Time Waited: 2 minutes

The Story: At first, the young man who picked us up seemed like the typical Israeli. Driving a dented small car, wearing a black button-down shirt with jeans, a short beard and glasses. In perfect Hebrew, he informed us he was going to Kfar Saba. We hopped in, glad for the quick ride, and still entertained by the potato packer.

My traveling companion and I spoke English and, turns out, so did our driver, albeit with a slight accent (I'm sure he'd disagree, but my American ears definitely picked up on it). Turns out, he was born and raised in Netanya, but his parents are from New Zealand. After his stint in the Army, he spent 2 whole years chilling in the antipodes. Now he's in school. Up until now, no surprises.

I was tipped off by his subject of study - a method of counseling, based on the New Testament. Hmmm... I'm sure he's mapped out, and is sick of, the "standard" conversation, yet he effortlessly filled in the details. His parents are Christian, and moved to Israel. Not to be missionaries (not that he'd admit his parents were engaged in activities that are illegal here), but just to live. His father works in construction and his mother is an English teacher.

By this time, our 12 km were up, but we were having an interested conversation. He pulled over and we kept talking. I commented on the hardships being a non-Jew in a largely Jewish country. Especially when 99% of the non-Jews are Arabs, whether Christian or Muslim. He agreed, and asked if I'd heard of the term "Furd Culture." I hadn't. He described it as something common amongst children of missionaries, who grow up imbibed by a culture different from their parents', never feeling fully at home in either. He feels most connected with Israeli Christian Arabs, yet openly admits that he'd probably feel like an outsider with them too.

Afterwards, I realized that where solidarity and identification fail, enunciation steps in. Although our driver felt like an outsider in Israel, he was unable, like 99.9% of native Israelis, to pronounce the "th" sound. Yes, obviously I was familiar with the term "Third Culture." Duh.

Eco-Friendly Potato Packing

Route: From Habonim Beach to Netanya/Beit Yehoshua
Distance: 43.5 km / 27 miles
Time Waited: 30 minutes

The Story: The driver was 50+, large belly in tow, initially came across as a slob. We talked hiking trails for a while. He claimed to have hiked the Carmiel section of the trans-Israel hike, which is cool, except that... it doesn't exist. (I should know, I've done the northern part twice). He's a member of Misgav Am, but since he recently divorced and moved to Netanya, where he manages a potato packing plant (Israel harvests in August and April and exports to Russia and Europe). He's still a kibbutz member, returning on weekends to see his children, aged 16 and 18.

He was returning from the annual kibbutz-buddy gathering on the beach. For the first time each person was asked to bring their own dishes, to avoid using disposables, which "pollute the environment."

He built a grey water system for his packing plant. Potatoes are covered with dirt when harvested, and reach us clean. This requires a lot of water, which then carries whatever pesticides were used. The more water his plant re-uses, the less they dump (although the issue of concentration wasn't explained clearly). Such a system never pays itself off - the cost is high and water is still (relatively) cheap.

He believes that environmental and social education are of utmost importance: knowing more math won't turn kids into better people. People today believe money can buy anything; we've forgotten how connected we are to each other and to the natural world. The connection between excessive use of water and a general drought and shortage isn't being internalized.