When you live in Israel...what was I talking about again?
Man, when you live here, and specifically in some out of the way city that just doesn't make sense, you get to thinking. As hard as you might try not to get to thinking, and as much as the people around you (read: locals) don't do it, there just isn’t much choice, like a pregnant Catholic teen.
Walking to the bank today was a nice little adventure, for example. I have a car but am hoping to sell it so I'm getting myself into practice for life on two feet. Here in Beer Sheva there're buses. The catch is every bus needs a bus driver and they are on strike about half the year. Anyway, the walk is short enough, about fifteen minutes.
Crossing the main street, and waiting for the red guy to turn green, the blaring sirens of an ambulance resonated. Just a couple minutes down the road from Soroka Hospital, the emergency vehicle was stuck behind too many cars whose drivers all seemed to be on strike, perhaps in sympathy with their public transport counterparts. I finally got my taste of the beloved Doppler effect once the light turned green, only then, when the cars went on their way as normal, was there room enough for the ambulance to pass.
Once on the other side, I walked past the spot where two buses were blown up, the end of this past summer, by an impatient terrorist. You know where it is because of all the foil wrappers of the memorial candles still embedded in mounds of wax on the sidewalk. Impatient? Well, the two events may be connected.
It seems that it would make more sense for the terrorists to abandon their violent ways, taking their fight for freedom to the streets, doors, minds and hearts of the world. Peaceful protest and peaceful resistance is certainly an easier sell, the fucking PR material could write itself, or I'll do it. I need a job.
But, I digress, hang up the ole' suicide belts in the closet - not the one in the bedroom but the one deep in the basement. Then let us kill ourselves. We might not let your ambulances through checkpoints, leaving your sick and enfeebled to die in transit, but don't take it personally, we do the same to ourselves. With the total amount of people killed on our roads since the establishment of the state than from terror and war combined, technically I should fear my fellow Israeli, behind the wheel, more than my sworn enemy, every Palestinian.
Never mind. I got to the bank all right though. It was open, which could have gone either way, having little to do with the hours posted on the door. And that means I walked home with a smile. Hopefully, the person in the ambulance did as well.