Another 'I Love Israel' Story

As the world keeps it's sinister eyeball hovering closely to our little country, and the powers that be exercise their powerful hijack, regular life keeps on keeping on in Israel. No crappy dictator, no caravan of UN "peacekeepers", can keep Israel from being the best darn country in the world.

Here is one such account:

I was on the bus a week ago, a typical Sunday busride in which a 50 person bus seats 62. As miracles would have it, I had a seat - the best seat on the bus, the one in the front, on the right, where you can watch our beautiful mountains roll by without any impediments.

Approximately 12 minutes into an hour long busride, a soldier with the classic Israeli hair spikage and (to my horror) waxed eyebrows staggers up to the front of the bus. "Driver, can you pull over for a second?" The soldier isn't looking good, and I'm not just talking about the eyebrows. He's breathing heavily and his eyes are glazed over. The driver asks if he wants to get off - no. So we keep going. The solider stands in front of my picture window, head on his arm, no doubt begging for the strength to complete a ride. The previously chatter-filled bus goes silent. Everyone is feeling this guy's pain. Questions start floating to the front :"Are you alright?" "Did you eat anything today?" Someone passes a bottle of water, then a plastic bag for the inevitable fruits of this lone soldier's bad ride. I offer him my prized seat, which he declines.

Even before we left the Central Bus Station on this ill-fated journey, our bus driver, a man in his 30's, was in a bad mood. Incorrect change, an over-filled bus, and moody passengers had gotten him off to a bad start. Now, 25 minutes into our ride, he was transformed. He stopped the bus anytime a side glance at our sick friend showed a turn for the worse. Corners were taken widely, almost apologetically. At some point, when the soldier finished the remnants of a small bottle of water that he was given, our soldier asked the driver if he had any more water. He didn't. So he pulled the bus over, hit the 5 shekel coin button on the change machine, and exited the bus at a sprint. Five minutes later, he returns, our hero, with an icy cold bottle of water for our soldier. I'll bet that 5 shekel came out of his own pocket at the end of the shift.

Two sips later, and 35 minutes into a valiant effort, our soldier lost his battle. Sounds of wretching and spitting filled our packed bus, as the front stairs saw the contents of our soldier's stomach. In America, I would have expected faces of disgust, a few distasteful snickers, and a lot of cursing from the driver. Our bus was frozen in time. Everyone's eyes were on their laps, as waves of sympathy rolled forward. Our driver had his eyes on the road, still driving carefully, without a hint of anger or frustration. The soldier looks up at the bus, embarrassed. A few people smile at him "hey, everyone's gotten sick in the car some time." "Keep drinking that water" "you should just be healthy."

We arrive at our poor friend's stop. He is relieved to be off the bus, but already looking decidedly better. The driver moves on to Beit El. I throw "Kol HaKavod" over my shoulder. And in the decidedly modest manner of Israelis, he shrugs.

Israel, I take my scarf off to you. You're not always the easiest to understand, but you're the best.