January 30, 2004

Alison on Aliyah:  Another pigua

            I started a new ulpan a few weeks ago, one that is not as close to my house as the others I have tried.  So I am now taking the bus twice a day.. and as much as I have gotten used to it, I can’t help but feel sometimes that with every successive bus ride, I’m “upping the odds” of being in a pigua, or bombing.  I feel it especially in the afternoons, when the buses are packed with people, all of us shoulder to shoulder, reminiscent of cattle cars.  I wonder if the others are thinking about it like I am.  Last week, a young boy popped a balloon, making a startlingly loud noise towards the front of the bus.  I jumped, as did most of the people around me.  I saw a woman clutch her chest and breathe a sigh of relief when she realized it wasn’t what we were all imagining.  I think the fear invades us all in different ways and to different degrees.. but it’s always there, in some form or another.

            When I was a kid in Seattle, taking the bus meant I was too young to drive and too uncool to have parents to chauffeur me around everywhere.  It was a status symbol – or rather, a sign of my lack of status.  Here, it is a way of life.. and it’s actually viewed as an easier mode of transportation than owning a car, especially in the center of Jerusalem.  Car insurance here is astronomical, and it takes no less than $50 to fill up an average tank with gas.  And in spite of it all, there is something about taking the bus here that makes me feel more adult, more in tune with the city, more Israeli, and yes, a bit more daring.  It’s not that I enjoy being a risk-taker, or putting my life in imminent danger, as many have warned me that I am undoubtedly doing.  I can’t put my finger on what I feel when I’m on the bus.. but it’s something about showing the world that I’m not afraid, that I won’t stay shut in my house, that I won’t allow anyone to take away my independence and my sense of security.  I guess it’s that defiance that puts me back on the bus, day after day, empty or packed to the gills, in the city center or between cities.  I guess I’m willing to take the consequences in order to feel, on a daily basis, that I’m in control of my life and that I refuse to be affected by terrorism.  Of course, the reality is quite the opposite.. but we don’t think about that.

            And then yesterday, we were all brought back abruptly to the realities of living in Israel.  There was a pigua at 9:00am in the neighborhood adjacent to my own, on a bus line that I ride frequently.  I was walking past the central police station at the time, and stood stock still on a busy street corner as I watched what appeared to be every police car and van in the city scream past me.  Once again my rationalizations were shattered.  I always worry more in the afternoons, but this happened in the morning.  I think more about it when the bus is crowded, but this one wasn’t.  I have friends who will only sit in the front of buses, because they figure that if it happens, they want to die immediately rather than be wounded.  Generally, suicide bombers don’t make it very far onto the bus before they either lose their nerve or are spotted as suspicious – so most of the bombs are detonated soon after the bomber boards the bus.  I tend to sit towards the front both because I, also, would prefer to go quickly, and because I like to be near the door in case something doesn’t feel right and I want to get off the bus.  This guy was apparently sitting in the back of the bus from the first stop on the route, and waited until the maximum amount of people embarked before he detonated the bomb.  This attack defied all logic I thought I was creating for myself.  This one hit close to home.

But I guess that’s my new reality.  They’re all close to home.  And I am home.  And this is one of the things we have to deal with here – it’s a package deal.  I suppose it’s only ironically logical that a city this beautiful, and this spiritual, and this full of life, must be plagued with such fear, and pain, and death.  It’s because we all love Jerusalem so much, that no one can allow any of us to truly own it, and to live here in peace.  It hurts me to see the city, my city, flooded with security officers; filled with traffic because the police stops every other car to check for anything suspicious; bereft of tourists because most people are still too afraid to be here.  But I’m learning that this all “comes with the territory” – we take the good with the bad and the amazing with the unspeakable.  We do it because we can’t think of living anywhere else, and we know that we depend on the life that this city breathes into us.  We also know that even more of our spirit and soul would die if we left than if we stayed.  At least, that’s what we hope.