Buses

There is a wrong reason and a right reason not to ride the buses in Jerusalem. The most compelling reason, which is also the wrong one, is fear of suicide bombers. Many tourists, understandably, avoid the bus system because they are afraid of being blown up. This is understandable but also irrational. The idea of anonymous, explosive death is scary, but even at the height of the intifada it was not a huge risk. There are so many buses in Jerusalem that even when they were blown up weekly, one's odds of being killed were still relatively low. Now, with the relative peace and security brought by the wall, those odds are effectively nil. There hasn't been a suicide bombing in Jerusalem in months, if not longer. You should not, I repeat should not, avoid the bus system for fear of suicide bombers.

No, if you avoid it, do so for fear of the bus drivers.

On the one hand, the Jerusalem bus driver is one of the most skilled professionals I have ever seen. He has no choice. Jerusalem, to the extent that it is designed at all, is not a well designed city. Its neighborhoods perch on the tops of the high Judean Hills, linked together by a network of narrow mountain roads. This would work, I suppose, in a smaller city. But a million people live in the greater Jerusalem area, and a sizable percentage must commute into the city. This all combines to produce terrible, terrible traffic. If you know Austin, imagine rush-hour on FM 2222. Then imagine that 2222 was the main city road, onto which all other roads fed. And that all of those other roads were two lanes, and packed with irate Israeli drivers. That's more or less what Jerusalem traffic it's like. At rush-hour, which takes up most of the day, it all combines to a recipe for going nowhere.

But the bus driver is a man with a calling. He knows that the citizenry of Jerusalem depends on him to make its livelihood. He knows that their lives call for prompt, efficient service. And so he looks down on the traffic with a sneer, hurling his iron steed into any opening that presents itself. He maneuvers a multi-ton bus with the deft touch of a Formula One racer, dodging pedestrians, backing cars, and stray cats in their headlong rush toward the next stop. When he gets there, he stops for seconds. People push frantically to get on. And then, almost before the bus has finished braking, he takes off again.

Riding a public bus as it surges through traffic on a Friday afternoon, looking out over oddly low railings at disturbingly deep ravines, is an experience much akin to terror. You hold on to the railing, wedged tight into your seat if you are lucky, standing if you are not, as you are thrown from side by the violent swerving of the bus.
Like a sailor on a ship rounding Cape Horn, you sit tight and pray. It is all you can do.

And when you reach your destination, if you are, like me, a Jerusalem bus virgin, you begin to stand. You think to yourself, 'I am in a residential neighborhood. Around the corner is my stop. He will slow down.'

You are wrong. As you rise, the driver sees you. He appreciates that, even now, nearing home, you need the seconds of extra time his speed can buy you. He smiles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, and he takes the turn at forty miles an hour. If you are holding onto the support, as I was in this instance, your body becomes the outer edge of a large centrifuge, and you spin around in a beautiful circle into the next seat. If you are not, you hit the opposite side, and whatever unfortunate is sitting there. Then the bus slams to a halt, and you have ten seconds to get off. The driver knows that you appreciate his promptness and dedication.

I have heard that Egged, the national bus company, requires new drivers to spend two years driving in Jerusalem before they go anywhere else. The idea being that, if they survive Jerusalem traffic, they can drive anywhere. I don't know if that's true, but I can believe it. There is a story told in Jerusalem about a bus driver who dies and goes to heaven at the same time as a great rabbi. The rabbi finds himself stuck in a long line outside the gates, while the bus driver is admitted immediately.

When he reaches the front, the rabbi asks the Angel Gabriel angrily, “Why was that bus driver let in before me?”

Gabe says: “Because when you prayed, everybody slept. But when he drove, everybody
prayed.”

From Jerusalem, this is Saul Elbein.