Voices From the Middle East:
Liat Margalit
Liat Margalit talks about the dangers of riding the bus.
By Liat Margalit
 In
Israel, the only public transportation we have are public buses.
There are no trams or city trains. And unless you have a car, the
only way to get to one place from another is by bus.
I ride bus number 25 every day from my home in north Jerusalem
to my high school in the center of the city. The bus is always loaded
with people.
An easy target.
It's so crowded that when the bus arrives at my stop, I always
stay standing, in the front. When the bus is half empty, it's more
complicated. I always think about where I should sit down. Should
I sit in front? In the middle? At the end? My life's depending on
it.
Since the Intifada began, the 25 bus has been shot, exploded by
a suicide bomber, and on a regular basis, Palestinians throw stones
at the bus. It takes me 45 minutes to get to school every morning,
and to get back every afternoon.
The bus drives through the main road of my neighborhood, passing
a Palestinian refugee camp called Shuafat along the way. The road
is the only thing that separates both neighborhoods. So close and
yet so far, I always think to myself. We're so alike and yet so
different.
Sometimes the bus is packed and loud, sometimes it's quiet. When
we hear the news on the bus radio, everyone listens. If there has
been an attack, people get quiet and from time to time when people
get mad at all the killings, they get excited and loud.
It was only by mere luck that I wasn't on the 25 bus when it was
shot, or when it was attacked by suicide bombers in the past. No
one can promise I won't be there if the next attack happens. Ever
since Israeli troops went into Palestinian cities, I feel we did
touch the core of terror there, but I can't say I feel absolutely
safe. I know that as much as our security forces work for terror
prevention, but they can't stop EVERY terrorist.
— Liat Margalit is 17 years old and lives in Jerusalem.
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