Meira’s world

18 August  2004

Hey there!

I can’t believe it’s almost time for me to be leaving Israel! Sunday night I will be getting on the plane having spent two-and-a-half months here in Israel. Quite a long holiday wouldn’t you say! I could get used to it… but unfortunately the bank account is starting to look a bit bare

Thought I’d share a few more memorable experiences of what it’s like just being in Israel, while I sit here slowly stewing in the humid summer night. This has turned out to be quite a long email, so take a bit of time out, grab some tea or coffee, and enjoy. You may want to print it out.

There is something very special about Israel and her people. I think it stems from their openness, directness and straightforwardness. You’re never really alone here. Granted, there’s this feeling of many people being packed into a smallish area (as in many cities). But more than that, people take an interest in you, for better or for worse. Your business is their business. For example, I have had many people from newly-met cousins to people traveling with me on the bus asking me why I wasn’t married, and often thinking of suitable people for me! 30, not married, what am I waiting for!

Things happen to me here that just don’t happen anywhere else. At least not with such frequency. Buses (waiting for, travelling on) are a prime target area. First, for those of you who haven’t yet been to Israel and had the experience of traveling on Israeli buses, let me enlighten you a bit. In the first few decades of the state of Israel (say 40-odd years ago), the occupation of a bus driver carried with it a lot of prestige. Becoming a bus driver was in some ways comparable to becoming a doctor or lawyer. While that respect may have waned, I still have immense respect for bus drivers, respect born (or should I say struck into me) more out of awe than anything else! If your day has been fairly quiet, no great tension or excitement, take a trip on a bus. And if you sit next to the window and look out at the traffic around you, be prepared for a “ride” (the emotional rollercoaster type!) as the bus weaves at high speeds from one lane to another, pulling in front of this car or the other, and breaking suddenly to avoid collisions with other vehicles. Not to mention, of course, Israeli drivers who take on buses ten times their size as two lanes converge into one while crossing an intersection. Omigoodness I shout to myself, my eyes wide open and my hands either literally or figuratively over my head. After the car driver sensibly, though at the last moment, pulls back, the bus driver turns his head upwards to the mirror above him, looks at me in the reflection and asks me Can you believe that? Still wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I shake my head.

Then there are the near-crash experiences. Well, actually, those constitute the majority of my experiences, that is of course when I’m masochistic enough to actually look OUT the window. And this is where my immense respect for the driving abilities of the bus drivers derives from. I really don’t know how they do it. It is normal driving practice (due I suppose to narrow streets) for two buses to pass within centimeters of each other, and at not too insignificant speeds either. As I said, if I’m feeling particularly brave (or stupid), I will watch this passing with first great apprehension and then relief and silent thanks. Where do they learn to manouevre like that? We should all have driving lessons like that! On the other hand, we should all have breaks like they do.

I have been (not this time, but a few years ago) on a bus in the Old City of Jerusalem which encountered another bus along the narrow streets, broken down and at an angle to the traffic. To my utter amazement I, along with the rest of the passengers, watched as the driver accomplished an unbelievable feat of inching the bus this way then that, forward and backward, until we were able to pass the other bus. A spontaneous round of loud applause for the bus driver ensued. That I can say was a major point on their scorecard.

But I digress a bit. I was intending to tell you of one evening in Jerusalem in particular in which a number of events occurred which illustrate the specialness of being here. And it started off with waiting for a bus. Of course. I asked the people sitting next to me on the bench which number bus to take to get into town. The man recognized my South African accent and so I got chatting to a very nice and friendly American couple. Later, while sitting at the front of the bus (I like to see where I’m going and observe the world around me), we had stopped at the red traffic lights at the major intersection of Jaffa and King George Streets (opposite the spot where the Sbarro pizzeria was blown up a few years back by a Palestinian suicide bomber. Incidently, they have just recently turned it into a very delicious bakery/café, the food being delicious that is. No, I am not scared or worried taking buses in Israel. My response to that question is always “I live in Johannesburg”. I think there’s way more to be scared of on a daily basis there than here. Moreover, there hasn’t been a successful suicide bombing here for over 4 months. I say successful, because there are over 10 would-be bombings a month which are intercepted or prevented, thanks in large part to the presence of the security fence. These numerous attempts plus the shooting of a few people now and again don’t get worldwide media coverage).

Anyway, to get back to the story, as I sat watching the world go by, who do I see waiting to cross the street but a friend of mine Yoav from Johannesburg. I look to see who’s with him and I recognize Terry. How random! I rush to the front, plaster myself against the glass and wave wildly. I’m sure those of you who know me reasonably well can imagine this! I catch their attention as they cross. Amazement from both sides, we make incomprehensible mouth and hand movements to each other (comprehensible to ourselves naturally, not a clue what the other is saying). And then the bus is off. Once again the wonder of being here strikes me. I arrive just in time to hear a fabulous lecture by the immensely entertaining Dr Gerald Schroeder, author of Genesis and the Big Bang (in which he argues that science and the Bible are not at odds concerning the origin of the universe). His topic was “The Scientific Evidence for Death being the Start of a New Phase of Life” or something like that. Not only was his talk very interesting (he discussed a lot of current theories in physics and biology) but so were the people in the audience who asked him questions to do with aliens or just plain stated their own views on reincarnation. I must give him a lot of credit for handling such questions/statements smoothly if not a bit curtly.

Afterwards I visited a friend of mine, Yael, whom I had met in London 2 years back. It was about 12:30am when I returned to the building where I was staying while studying at the Shearim Seminary in Har Nof. On my way up the stairs from the ground floor, I passed some people and asked them a question about the lift. The man could hear from my accent that I was South African and as it turns so is he. As happens on numerous occasions we got talking. His teenage daughter was with him. She was busy making brownies for her friend’s engagement party (yes, they are religious. The friend is 17 years old.) She asked me if I would like a brownie. Never one to turn down sugar in any form, I happily agreed. The brownies were fresh out the oven and delicious. There was another daughter aged about 14 and between the father and 2 daughters asking questions, my eating, and looking around their apartment, an hour went by. And yes, I was asked if I was looking to get married. And yes, a possible match was suggested with the young man in the flat opposite theirs, based if I recall correctly on the fact that I, too, have red hair. Yes, I did mention that I wasn’t a natural redhead, though I don’t think that that fact should make any difference. I mean, I can think of a few other, possibly more important, characteristics or qualities that usually come into play when someone is suggested to me.

That night I returned to my apartment with a plate of brownies for my flatmates and feeling of deep joy pondering events which unfold from just being in Israel.

Another random but special event happened on a train ride up to Haifa with my sister, Tehilah. During our hour-long trip, while I was gaily chatting with Tehilah, I noticed that the soldier across the aisle for us was writing something in English. As we arrived in Haifa and we got up to exit the train, the young soldier stops me and gives me the folded up yellow writing paper. I thank him and once we’re on the platform, my sister says Nu, open it up! I wait till the train passes and then read the note. Well, this must be the first love note I’ve ever received! It’s written in English and is very beautiful. Well, of course, it’s beautiful – he’s talking about me! My eyes are “deep like two oceans” which he felt himself “drowning in them”, my “dark red hair like calm dissolving fire”, my face “like a rare beautiful flower which most people spend a lifetime searching for”. As I’m admiring the work of the obviously gifted and insightful poet, my sister points out that he’s probably 19 years old at most. Stop the dreaming! Well Shay, wherever you are, thank you most kindly for flattering an “oldie” like me, who wishes she was still as young as you obviously took me to be.

From my previous email you may recall my great interest in genealogy (family tree research). On the one branch of my family I can go back to about 1800. On this trip I have been very fortunate to have met many “new” cousins, all very warm and friendly. From Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) Brazilian cousins on my grandmother’s side now living in Ra’anana (who have baby pictures of me!), to 7th cousins (or is that 3rd cousins 3 times removed? Just joking – I don’t know what that means) living in Tel Aviv/Ramat Gan (their great-grandfather and my grandfather’s grandfather were brothers way back in the town of Szydlowiec in Poland in the 1800s). Anyway, I can draw you the tree on a piece of paper. I also thought I had some yichus what with an astrophysicist in the family, but turns out that he’s not really family but related through his grandfather’s brother marrying into my family. Of course, what’s always sad with Jewish genealogy is looking at old pictures and being told that all the people (except sometimes one or two) were murdered in the Holocaust. Whole generations wiped out by the Nazis and their allies. I think a part of this awareness of history and loss is what drives my passion to trace my roots.

I also had the most wonderful opportunity to spend a lot of time with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Galia, who was visiting her parents for 2 weeks. And can you believe it but they live just 2 streets away from where I’ve been staying at my Aunt and Uncle in Ramat Gan! Galia and I became friends in Standard 5 in Durban where I grew up. She taught me so much of what friendship is about. And just like old times, we sat on her bed and talked and talked till early in the morning. We still feel like teenagers. Then I walked home along the quiet streets feeling completely safe. That’s Israel for you.

Anyway, I think that’s probably enough for one email. You’ll soon enough be hearing me yak away in person, and you’ll then wish you could just scroll down to the end and switch me off

Shalom
Meira