It's a Small Country, After All

Route: From the Kinneret to Jerusalem
Distance: 180 km/111 miles
Date: April 26, 2008 (and November 27, 2013)

Time waited: 1 minute (and 5 1/2 years)

The story: Passover 2008. The holiday had started on a difficult note; I was released from the hospital hours before the seder, due to a bad case of mononucleosis. Yet after a day of rest, I was back on my feet and ready to adventure (actually, when am I not?). An acquaintance, known for organizing reggae parties, invited me to the Batz Festival, named after Batz, a popular character from a television show (actually an palindrome of himself, he's a turtle). Featuring of course, reggae (and Balkan) music.

R happily joined the fun, even though we weren't sure about holiday arrangements (or rather, were pretty sure that they were non-existent). Plenty of noteworthy things happened: My bus almost broke down en route; I cut my toe pretty badly, and we resorted to arak as a disinfectant; we were tentless when it began raining, and more.

The reggae-loving, pita-eating crowd started heading out in the mid afternoon, and R and I decided to go with the flow. We hitched a ride towards Tiberias, and spent the holiday afternoon at the beautiful Kinneret. It was getting late, and there wasn't a proper bus stop, so we decided to get going before dark. We'd barely gotten our bearings, and a large white car pulled over. Where to? Jerusalem. Perfect-o.

The couple in the car was a few years younger than us, and involved in a pre-military program. Actually, they were heading past Jerusalem, towards Beit Shemesh, but they had to pass through the city. We humbly offered them some of our food, and they made sure it wasn't chametz (of course not!). We shared some awful Passover version of cake and dried fruit that, in comparison, tasted like a million dollars.

The years pass. CG has gone to the US and returned with an MA, both she and R have changed jobs numerous times, CG is now a science teacher at an awesome elementary school. R has studied a few different things, and we've both hitched dozens of other rides, together and alone. But some experiences, well, they stick in your mind.

Hannuka 2013. The principal at CG's school invites the staff and their families to light the first candle together. It's a last minute event, and everyone arrives in a festive mood. The toddlers are running around, the food is delicious, and in walks N, the former science teacher who now teaches 1st grade. Alongside him, his wife and toddler. Bingo. My mind races back to Passover, the Kinneret, the dried fruit. Within a split second my mind is absolutely consumed, and I cannot help but approach N and his wife, and ask if, by any chance, they'd given me a ride, five years ago, from the Kinneret..... "on Passover," N completes my question. Double bingo. "You were with a friend," N continues, "she was really tall." His wife adds, "we ate dried fruit, right?" Triple bingo.

Turns out, N hadn't recognized me - nor I him. But rather his wife had triggered my memory. Later in the evening, he told me that they'd met someone a few years ago who resembles me, and he'd actually asked that person if they'd hitched a ride with them on Passover a few years back.

Now that's Car-ma.

Backseat Correspondant - Elsa and me

3/24/2009

My time with Elsa was very special. We became very close in a very short time. I can still feel her head on my shoulder, her fragrant breath, I even had one of her hairs on my jacket until recently (when I decided it was kind of gross). You were quiet most of the time, and only made a sound when strangers entered the car. Elsa. I can still feel your slobber on my neck, can hear your bark when we met. I'm so happy Devora doesn't like dogs...

Friday Morning, 8 am

Place: road from Mt. Herzl to Ein Karem

Time: 8:00 am

Time awaited: 0 min

Sometimes things just happen. The bus is late, someone on the street asks me for directions, a sign catches my eye, the phone rings. Things happen that I don't plan, nor think about but since they are mundane and fit into the natural flow of my day that they don't get a blog post.

And sometimes, things happen, fitting naturally into the flow but deserve some special attention.

It was 8 am and I was starting to worry I would be late. Technically, it wouldn't start before 8:15 and I should be able to make it just in time, but although Dafna knew I was coming, I was a little stressed. The morning started at 5:45 in Be'er Sheva, following a spontaneous decision to end the Independence Day celebrations there rather than return to sleep in Jerusalem. So, from one bus to another and one light rail too, only 1 hour and 45 minutes later I found myself at Mt. Herzl making my way down to Ein Karem for a dance class in nature (Hey, I hear you whispering Hippie. And proud of it!) There was a bus stop, but it seemed the bus had just passed and I had no patience to wait and figured I could walk it.

I was walking casually down the road wondering if people usually hitchhike down this way as the bus I needed zoomed by. Oh well, I thought, at least I'm getting a good morning walk. A few minutes later a scooter passes me and the guy on it seems to ask me something which I don't quite understand. The next thing I know, he stops on the side of the rode, takes out a helmet and we are on our way to Ein Karem (not before I am prompted on where to put my hands and legs...). A few minutes later he let me off at the bottom of the hill, at the designated meeting point, I thanked him and he was gone, me hardly getting a glimpse of his face.

And thus, I made it on time to an amazing class I had my first experience on the back of scooter AND there is finally material for this blog.

On Hitchiking and Faith (and Games)

Route: from Tzemach jct to Jerusalem
Distance: 149 km / 92.5 miles

Time waited: 1:15 hours

The story: Often, we are asked why we hitchhike. Don't you have money? Aren't you scared? The bus is much more convenient. You are a parasite... etc.

What these people don't fully understand is that we hitchhike to have an adventure, an experience. To allow for something unexpected to happen in the midst of our scheduled lives. (And to get from one place to another. On a budget.)

We met up in Tiberias for a wonderful, refreshing dip in the Kinneret, followed by a quick stop at the Kinneret cemetary. After paying respect to some of Israel's greatest leaders, singers, and devil worshipers, we headed back to Jerusalem. It was getting late and we had a long ride ahead of us.

Pretty quickly a young Kibbutznik in a dusty jeep stopped, and took us down to Tzemach, where the trempiada to Jerusalem is located. We stuck out our hand, and waited. And waited. And waited. The few cars that stopped weren't going far enough, and so we waited some more. Birds circled overhead, the sun began setting. And we waited. And waited.

Next, we opted for the power of positive thinking: if we imagine the person who we'd like to stop, they will eventually materialize. The person will be interesting, possibly someone whom we'd like to invite to picnics, they will play good CDs, have snacks in the car, be heading towards our neighborhood in Jerusalem, and possibly understand economics, so that we could deepen our understanding of the current socioeconomic protests. After running through the litany of demands in English and Hebrew (just to cover our bases), we moved to meditation. Rona meditated up towards the sky, down to the earth, out to the road, invoking good ride Carma.

When that didn't work (and we were already mildly loopy), Cookie Goddess decided that fun should replace despair, and began playing aleph-bet hitchhiking. In this game you pick a letter, and then find as many things that start with that letter under the given category. Kids, try this at home. Adults, try this at picnics. Cookie Goddess began, "aleph...." and silently began running through the alphabet. "Stop!" Rona cried. Tet. Trempim! (rides). Just then, a large car pulled up, and two strapping young men offered us a ride to Jerusalem.

They were soldiers stationed in the Golan, and they were heading home for a 2-day vacation. They played fun Shlomo Artzi CDs the entire way. They were not economists, not picnic material and we ended up sharing our snacks with them but they got major bonus points for dropping us off VERY close to home, basically door-to-door service.

Talk to Me, Please

Route: from Golani jct to Mitspe (Tiberias)

Distance: 10.6 km / 6.5 miles

Time waited: 10 minutes

The story: I was heading up north to meet my co-pilot for a day of fun (and the 1990s) in Tiberias. I'd been longing for the Kinneret all year, and was looking forward to swimming in the lake. The direct bus to Tiberias was full, so I had to take a bus to Golani junction, where I could easily hitch the rest of the way.

After lathering up with sunscreen, I stuck out my hand and waited. Eventually, a middle-aged gentleman picked me up, and offered to take me to Mitspe, which is upper Tiberias. Perfecto.

As we drove, he started asking me what I do, where I live, where I'm going... the type of questions I usually ask! I told him I was in a Museum Studies program he immediately told me about his experiences with museums. He'd gone with his family to a large children's museum in Europe, and had had a blast. Things to touch, see, manipulate and experiences. Never a dull moment. Then, they went to an "adult" museum, and everyone was falling asleep. His conclusion: museums need to be made more interactive, audience-friendly, and fun, including for adults.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Stop, You're Killing Me

Route: from Beit HaArava jct to Tiberias

Distance: 132 km / 82 miles

Time waited: 6 minutes

The story: Heading up to hike near the Hermon for the weekend, we anticipated (and received!) many exciting rides. Who is "we" you ask? The next post will tell; be patient. We were picked up by a man (and dog) driving to Metula. No way. But stopping for a dip in the freezing Kinneret took priority.

Our driver's family had been in Israel for over 500 years, and in fact he planned to visit some of the oldest graves in Tiberias on his way back. He was also a descendent of the Rambam. Somehow my living on his ancestor's namesake street didn't impress him. When he heard our final destination, he asked to send his regards to the Hermon. He'd fought there in 1973, and was wounded twice: stabbed with a bayonnet in the ribs and a bomb hit his back. To this day, schrappnel remains in his body. After being injured, he wasn't afraid to die - he felt very peaceful. Today, he appreciates his senses and life much, much more.

Driving through a small community in the Jordan Valley, he casually mentioned his wife the mother of his son. Hebrew offers no distinction between friend and boy/girlfriend, true for either gender. Context and intonation make all the difference. Turns out, his ex didn't just have a friend there - she had a girlfriend: a "dry" Brit. He shared how his 17 1/2 year old son awkwardly tried to break the news to his father, who claims he'd known she was a lesbian even before she did.

Besides his pistol (which he's never had to use in civilian situations), he also has a black belt in karate. He was among the first to bring this martial art to Israel.

Please Don't Seduce My Husband

Route: From Jerusalem to Meiron jct

Distance: 207 km / 128.5 miles

Pushed: 6 people

The Story: Today a story about the bus. To understand this story, a few key points need to be clarified:

• While the central bus station is, logically, the point of departure for nearly every inter-city bus line, the 982 begins in Sanhedria, an ultra-orthodox neighborhood. The central bus station is the 10th stop.
• The ultra orthodox, generally, don't participate in civil life, yet often expect demand the rest of the country cater to their needs
• Had Rosa Parks been an ultra orthodox woman, she would have shut up and put up with riding in the back of the bus.
• Fridays are short and there are limited buses. All the while, there seem to be an infinite number of people traveling to wherever you happen to be going.

After sleeping for less than 5 hours the previous night, I decided to catch a nap for the price of the bus ticket (subsidised at 41 shekels, guess why). But upon reaching the central bus station, I was horrified to discover that two out of every three Jerusalemites had decided to head up to Tzfat for the weekend. After being passed by the first bus, I resolved to push my way on board the next one. I managed to be the 8th person out of 10 who the driver agreed to take standing. Or rather, sprawled in the aisle.

If you've ever been crammed between 2 soldiers and an American yeshiva boy, all with functioning cell phones, you know exactly how quickly you can kiss your nap plans lehitraot (I've had excellent naps on the front steps by the driver). I spent the ride listening to NPR podcasts, alternating between sitting and standing.

At one point, I stood and leaned against the chair next to me, in which an elderly ultra orthodox man sat. Next to him sat (gasp!) his wife. They were both reading little books: parsha and psalms, the usual pre-Shabbat fare. At one point the wife, who was sitting by the window, reached around her husband to lower his arm rest. I didn't think much of it. A few minutes later, my eyes caught the wife's, and our conversation went something like this. (I've included staging directions, in case any political party out there wants to use my script, free of charge, for a campaign ad)

Wife: (to me) would you please move to the girls section of the bus?

Me: this is the girl's section (true) and there isn't any room (pointing at aisle full of bags). Plus, this is my bus too.

Wife: (whispering to husband) that's a girl (her eyes dart in my direction)

Husband: (doesn't give a gefilte fish's tushy) ok, so?

Wife: don't you want to switch places with me?

Husband: no, it's ok (goes back to reading parsha book)

So, a few possible conclusions arise:

• The husband didn't believe I was actually female
• The husband had on his special "you can't seduce me" glasses
• I was planted on the bus by the tzniyus guard, causing the man to utterly fail the test

From now on, I hitch.