Nothing is more effective for getting an Israeli to talk than asking "Mah Yihiyeh?" ("What will be?").  Ironically, given the loquacity that results, "Mah Yihiyeh?" is in fact a rhetorical question that means, more or less, "How is this all going to end?!"  Mah Yihiyeh? is the key that unlocks an Israeli's pent-up traumas, hopes, fears, dreams, expectations and disappointments. The protest movement that swept Israel during the summer of 2011 merely added certain piquancy to that question.

After a business meeting at the Hebrew University's Givat Ram campus, I waited for an Egged bus to take me to the campus's entrance.  It was a clear day, and the air was heady with the scent of pine resin coming from the trees that shaded the pathways of the campus and gave it a pastoral atmosphere.  For a few moments I could forget the great burden of expectations that always seem to be in the air of the Holy City of Jerusalem.

When the green Egged bus pulled up, I saw it had no other passengers. I got on and asked the driver the cost of the ticket.  When he heard that I was only going the short distance to the campus entrance, he made a friendly gesture and told me there was no need to pay.  "It's on the house!" he smiled.

I was pleasantly surprised by the driver's flexible and generous approach.  Israeli buses may not be as reliable as Swiss buses, where one can set one's watch by the bus's arrival, but such an irregular act by a Swiss bus driver would never have been countenanced.

The friendly driver was 30 years old, heavy-set, and wearing the regulation blue Egged shirt.  I realized he wanted some conversation, so I smiled and asked him the question that makes every Israeli a current affairs analyst: "Mah Yihiyeh?" That was all the driver needed - he opened his mouth and out spilled his frustration and bitterness.

"The situation in Israel is lousy!  Everything's screwed up.  If I didn't have young children I'd be out of here tomorrow.  There's nothing we can do to fix it.  I was in the army for three years.  True, not in a combat unit, but still, that should count for something.  My wife works for the government.  We both have relatively good jobs, I work extra shifts, but we still can't get by.  Why should I have to pay 35% income tax on the money I get for the extra shift?  How come you can't earn a decent living here?  What kind of a country is this?!"

The generous driver's face was angry and bitter as he continued his frustrated and angry monologue.  I was overwhelmed with guilt, thinking I had ruined his day, and I was sorry I had asked the question.

I decided to try to make things better. When we got to the campus gates and I was about to get off, I said, "A society like ours, here in Israel, you won't find anywhere else.  At least here the problems are OUR problems.  At least here we can complain in Hebrew - and sometimes someone will even listen in Hebrew!"

His face softened into agreement as his perspective changed.  He smiled and waved me goodbye, his mood instantly sunnier.  My feeling of guilt evaporated.

So... "Mah Yihiyeh?"

September 2011