I’m often asked why I chose to be a bus driver. It’s long hours with little pay, and the frequent strikes are an added benefit. The passengers can be hit or miss in terms of politeness, but they’re more often a miss. They’ll shout at me when I’m late, and it’s rare that I get a “Shalom, Eitan. How’s it going?” If I’m lucky, I’ll receive a grunt of acknowledgement as my passengers disembark. Gotta love Israelis. I started driving after retiring from my job in manufacturing because I needed something to do. Also, my wife Shoshanah was sick of seeing me so much.
So why choose bus driving over a job easier for seniors? I loved getting to experience Tel Aviv in a myriad of different ways, observing the people, absorbing the sounds and smells. Challah baking on Friday mornings, the scent wafting down from high-rises; eavesdropping on conversations between enemies and friends; kids arguing on their way to school — a beautiful cacophony of Hebrew and other languages. I drove the same route, #4, through Tel Aviv every day except Shabbat, but every day was never the same. Sure, the buildings didn’t change because it took them so long to build anything here, but the people were always different. I could experience change without changing a thing. As a bus driver I got to listen in, learn about their unique lives—where they were going and where they had been.
I wished I knew where my life was going. I loved Shoshanah when I married her forty-three years before, and I still loved her just as much, if not more, but after over five decades of waking up to the same face every day, life starts to feel monotonous. At least, that’s what Shoshanah said to me this morning over shakshuka when she asked how I felt about opening our marriage. Usually I couldn’t eat enough of Shoshanah’s shakshuka, but that day I felt my appetite disappear...
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