YOU ARE THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION

Friday nights the buses aren't running, and so I take a taxi home.

I speak English at work all week, so the 40 minutes I am in the cab, is an excellent chance to practice my Hebrew.

In New York, you can always find an audience in the form of cab-drivers and bar-tenders. Either one will chat-it-up with you as long as you want, assuming the meter is still running, and you got money for another beer. Its no coincidence, that both professions rely on a salary paid in tips.

Well, tipping isn't exactly the national past time in Israel, and getting billed from a taxi meter, is money lost due to pure laziness. I find that every Friday, I am able to get a taxi home, at a negotiated price of 50 sheks, even though the meter would be closer to 60.

So, after arguing money out of my driver, and in so doing, making it pretty clear that my Hebrew is, lets say "limited", it isn't always so easy to strike up a conversation.

"So, what time are you working till?" I ask in Hebrew.
"All night", they usually answer in English.
"I prefer to speak in Hebrew, if that's all right", I say, in Hebrew, of course.
"O.K. If that's what you want", they say in English.

But eventually, the same question is asked.

"Why would you move from America to Israel?"

It is always asked sincerely. As if to say, "I was born here. I have no other home, but you... what? You don't like money?"

-Should I be offended? What are they saying, that Israel isn't as much my home as theirs?
-Should I be sympathetic? A taxi driver in Israel is working six days a week, to make the same money I made in High School, working part time.
-Should I be angry? They think life in America is so easy, and the life in Israel is filled with some sort of righteous struggle. Ask a taxi driver in New York how easy his day-to-day is.
-Should I be confused? After all, I don't know the answer to that question either. That's one reason I started to write this blog in the first place.

Usually I am just bored.

"Ca-cha", I say, shrugging my shoulders. It literally translates as, "like this", but what it really means is, "there is no good answer to your question." People say it all the time here. So many conversations end exactly like this, "lama? (why?)", "Ca-cha".

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. But it does give me a chance to look out the window.
I take in the end of a hard week of work, as the lights pass, and blurr the scenes of Tel-Aviv at night. The sun is down, it is Shabbat, and I will share it with 6 million Jews, living free, in their land.

Ca-cha! Like this!