If you asked my son what was the most exciting thing he ever
did during his childhood, I should hope that he would have
more than one tale to tell. But if you asked me what was the
most exciting thing that I ever did during his childhood, I
would recall a certain Lag B'Omer afternoon, many years ago,
when an Egged bus driver gave us a ride to remember.
Those were the years when double-decker buses ran between a
few cities, and my son Yaakov really wanted to ride one
— from the front window at the top, of course. I did
some research and found out that a double-decker left Kiryat
Sefer for Yerushalayim at 4 p.m. every day. The timing was
perfect. We decided to visit my friend and her family in
Kiryat Sefer on Lag B'Omer, when Yaakov had a day off from
cheder, and planned to return on the 400 line.
My friend lives on the same street as the end of the line; in
fact, the last bus stop is located right in front of her
apartment and the first bus stop back to Yerushalayim sits
directly across the street. It couldn't have been better. My
fleet-footed second-grader would surely be the first one
aboard and occupy the front seat on the top for the whole
ride home!
It was a long, lazy Lag B'Omer afternoon. All the excitement
had taken place the night before, of course, at the huge
bonfires that had been reduced to blackened smudges on the
hillsides. While Yaakov played in the backyard with my
friend's six children, we adults sipped coffee and nibbled
snacks in the kitchen.
Around 3:00, we heard honking outside. To my astonishment,
everyone in the house — mother and children alike
— ran out the door. Curious, I tagged along.
Outside, dozens of women and children were milling around a
car that was piled inside and out (including the roof and
hood) with boxes and boxes of shoes! The shoe vendor, an
ordinary fellow turned superstar, presided over his "shop"
like an orchestra leader conducting the Philharmonic. Since
Kiryat Sefer is so spread-out, and the distance from one end
of a street to the next (not to mention the hills between
streets) is formidable, "traveling salesmen" hawking clothing
and shoes are a regular feature here. On a long, uneventful
"day off" like Lag B'Omer, the arrival of the shoe salesman
was the main attraction!
While my friend and her children eagerly inspected the shoes
on display, the bus from Yerushalayim rounded the corner and
let off its passengers at the stop in front of my friend's
apartment. To my chagrin, I saw that it was the double-
decker! Why was it an hour early? We weren't ready to
leave!
But instead of continuing down the street to the turnaround
circle at the far end, the bus driver shut off the motor and
disembarked. The shoe sale had caught his eye. He came over
to peruse the wares.
I was in a panic. How was Yaakov going to get his double-
decker bus ride if the bus left an hour early? Nervously, I
approached the driver and said, "Excuse me, but are you
pulling out again soon?"
"No," he replied. "I'm finished for the day."
My heart plummeted. "What? You mean there are no more double-
deckers? My son was looking forward to going on one," I
explained forlornly.
The driver — a young father, judging by the types of
shoes he was holding in his hands — smiled
benevolently. "Oh, he can go on now if he wants," he offered
magnanimously. "The door's open."
"Really?" I exclaimed. "Can his friends come, too?"
"Sure," the driver replied, returning to his shoe
shopping.
"Yaakov, Meir, everybody, hurry!" I shrieked. "Get on the
bus!"
"Yeah!" everyone squealed, and in a flash, fourteen little
feet were pattering up the steps of the big bus, racing down
the aisle, thumping upstairs and dashing toward the seats at
the very front. There they crowded in together and started
bouncing up and down and shouting as if they were really
riding the big bus on the highway.
I sat right behind them, keeping an eye on the shoe
transactions going on down below. "As soon as the driver
finishes his shopping," I told my charges, "I want each of
you to get off the bus and thank him as you go out the
door!"
A few minutes later, I gave the word: "Now!" With perfect
manners, seven little children hurried down the stairs and
scurried down the aisle. "Thank you!" "Thank you!" they
chirped.
"Wait a minute!" the driver exclaimed just as I brought up
the rear. "Would you like a ride?"
"Yeah!" the children responded gaily, and without thinking
twice about this unusual turn of events, they raced back into
the bus, barreled up the stairs and jumped back into their
places in the front seats at the top. Yours truly, slightly
the worse for wear, hobbled right behind.
The driver revved up the motor and pulled away from the curb.
Ahead of us lay a straight, downhill road with the turnaround
circle at the far end. Was it my imagination, or was the
driver driving faster than normal? We hit the first speed
bump at a clip and everyone bounced out of their seats with a
whoop. We hit the second speed bump even harder and everyone
went wild. "Whee! Hooray!" the children kept screaming.
The bus dove into the turnaround circle with more enthusiasm
than any bus before or since. It careened dizzily as it
negotiated the turn, sending the children into fits of glee.
I had had enough, but the children shouted at the top of
their lungs, "Do it again! Do it again!" To my utter
disbelief, the driver did it again! To my old bones it felt
like a roller coaster ride, but for the young children it was
a dream come true. They were so hoarse from screaming that
they forgot to ask for a third round. But the fun hadn't
stopped yet.
Now the driver gunned the engine and started back up the hill
at top speed. "One å two å THREE!" the children called in
that chant which is perfectly timed to coincide with the
moment the wheels of the bus hit the first speed bump. We
flew into the air again. "One å two å THREE!" they repeated,
right in time for the second speed bump. Finally the bus stop
across the street from their apartment materialized, and the
driver braked to a merciful halt.
Gasping for breath, I called after the children, "Say thank
you!" as they scampered downstairs. "Thank you! Thank you!"
seven little voices sang as they alighted from the bus-turned-
amusement-park-ride. "Thank you," I told the driver when I
finally wobbled down the aisle.
I looked at him again, just to be sure. Was he really an
Egged driver, or a malach sent to inject just a wee
bit of excitement into a long, lazy Lag B'Omer afternoon?
