Presently the war with Gaza is already in the past. I feel like a hamster, going round and round on its wheel. The same thing, for years now. Rockets over the border, retaliations, 'targeted' killings, 'collateral damage, " (the killing of civilians and children) - a ceasefire, again and again and again. What is the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over expecting some kind of result?
So, war over, inflation, money going to the Haredi community, fighting in the coalition.
Anyway, having said all that, I took the train the other day to Binyamina. A friend from Zichron Yaakov was to pick me up.
At the railway station my ticket didn't work - the gates did not open, no matter which way I swiped. Some passersby also tried - nothing, no open sesame. The young guard looking through peoples' luggage and handbags let me in. To my surprise, it worked when I exited the station in Binyamina. My friend suggested we go to the transport office anyway, and I agreed. First we had coffee in their lovely apartment with windows overlooking the fields and valleys going down to the sea. If it hadn't been so hot and dusty and hazy we would have seen the Mediterranean, but I did see it in my imagination, sparkling lapis blue and turquoise. Off to the transport office. A young woman with long painted nails, and puffed out lips took my card and tapped some keys on a computer.
"ID card" she said. I asked if something is wrong with my card. Brusquely she said, 'it is not working" and without any further explanation she made a new card and handed it to me.We strolled around the shops and galleries of Zichron and went to have lunch in Ramat HaNadiv - the gorgeous, well maintained gardens established by Baron Rothschild.
Then it was time to return by train. My ticket worked. There was actually someone at the information window - the first time I have seen an official. I asked her which train to take to Beit Yehoshua and she told me platform 3. When I got there I realised she hadn't seen which number train to take and what its final destination was. I looked at the notice board - names in Hebrew, Arabic, English repeated - somewhere I once saw Beit Yehoshua, but then didn't see it again. A train pulled in - I had no idea if this is the train I should board. The doors closed - some religious men ran toward it and got on, couldn't ask them. Along ambled someone who vaguely looked like he might be a conductor - I asked him.He looked at me as if to say "what a nuisance you are" and pointed to the train with closed doors. "How do I get on?" I asked - rudely he said, find a green button. I lost my composure - I said "I am new and I don't know how things work, would it hurt you to not be rude?"
I got to Beit Yehoshua and had to find a bus. The guard letting people in sat at his post biting the nail on his forefinger, he proceed to bit the nail on his middle finger. I asked him where the buses are - "I don't know," he said chewing on his nail, "ask the person at information" he said, waving his hand in the direction of an empty office.
"There is no one to ask" I told him. He shrugged and continued to his next nail.
Eventually a passenger told me where to go.
It takes a lot of patience, living in Israel, and some days I just don't have it.
I took a taxi home.
