Hate Crossed on a Red Light. Dignity Had Right of Way.

One father’s racist outburst showed his children how to hate. One bus driver showed the rest of us how to rise above it.

Stuck in traffic on Jabotinsky Road, our bus wasn’t going anywhere — until our Arab driver performed a 20-point turn that would make any politician jealous. And then, just as hope returned, a furious father tried to turn the ride into a lesson in hate. What followed was a masterclass in dignity, patience, and quiet defiance.

My fabulous Arab bus driver.

Why do I point out he is Arab? Because some racist POS did.

The other day, our bus — along with every other vehicle on Jabotinsky Road in Bnei Brak — was completely stuck. Protesters had blocked every major road, and it was painfully clear we weren’t going anywhere.

But our driver had other ideas. What he did next was nothing short of genius: a twenty-point turn with a full-size bus, over the island in the middle of a major road, and onto an alternative route. All the while, he was smiling. Suddenly, the strangers on the bus were no longer strangers — there was camaraderie, laughter, and relief buzzing through the air.

And then some racist man, with his two children in tow, had to break the spell.

Crossing on a red light — almost getting himself and his kids run over — he turned his own mistake into an excuse to spew hatred. He started yelling racial slurs at our driver, cursing him for being “Aravi.” The fury, the resentment, the pure vitriol were there for all of us to see. This wasn’t about the perceived danger to his kids; this was about unloading his bile onto someone he saw as the enemy.

I’m not fluent, far from it, but even I could understand the tone and venom of his rampage. His children stood there, watching, listening, learning. No guessing which way they’ll lean when it’s their turn to vote.

And our driver? He yelled back that the man had crossed on a red light. But then… he apologized. He apologized. Even though he had the right of way. Because in Israel, we shout; we don’t quietly discuss.

We, the passengers, were embarrassed. One after another, people assured our driver we did not share that man’s sentiments.

An ultra-Orthodox man in the seat across from me leaned forward and told the driver, “In my family, we have stringent rules about how we treat people. And that” — nodding toward the racist — “is not how we do it.”

The driver went on to tell us that he hears things like that all day — “Aravi this, Aravi that” — and that it doesn’t bother him. But it would bother me. It bothers me on his behalf. It would be like someone suggesting that because I am a Jewess, I have no sense of direction, no willpower to diet, or no filters to my speech. (Okay, maybe some of those come with the genes…) But seriously — to be judged and insulted because of your race, religion, or nationality? That is blatant bigotry. That is abhorrent.

Moments like this strengthen my love for Israel. They make me acutely aware of the coexistence possible between all Israelis — Jews, Arabs, secular, ultra-Orthodox — when dignity, decency, and humanity are allowed to prevail.

That’s what I’ll remember: the ingenuity of a driver, the camaraderie of strangers, and the dignity of refusing to let hate define the ride. If only dignity were contagious — but racism seems to spread faster.