But my favorite thing that's happened like this so far was this past spring, on a day trip to Haifa and Tel Aviv.

Let me first say something about bathrooms here that is pertinent to the rest of the story.  At least half or more of the public restrooms that I've been in here are co-ed.  I think this is a more European thing, but I'm not sure?  Basically it's one large bathroom, with sinks and mirrors in the common area that you first walk into, and then tiny individual rooms with full doors where the toilets are.  It has been a weird adjustment for me, it is disconcerting to walk into a restroom where men are standing at the sink washing their hands, but I'm getting more used to it.

So, back to our trip to Tel Aviv.

We spent the day on the coast with friends, exploring new areas, and as often happens on these excursions when relying on public transit, by the end of the day we were all exhausted and ready for our beds long before we would ever reach them.  It was almost 8PM before we reached the spot in TA where we planned to have dinner, and not surprisingly, all the children were at their wits end.  We quickly got a table and ordered, then Josh took Peter outside to walk around, while I took Amos to the bathroom (leaving our two oldest at the table with friends).  After rapidly winding my way through tables and around a few corners I spotted it, and as I quickly pushed through the door with a dancing little boy trailing behind me I once again thought to myself how weird it is to see a man in the bathroom.

A few minutes later I settled Amos into the booth and it was my turn to go to the bathroom.  While sitting on the toilet a minute later I was thinking about the whole "using the same bathroom as men" issue, when I remembered seeing the urinal when I walked in a minute ago.  "Weird", was my first thought, followed quickly by a burning horror.

I was in the mens restroom.  For the second time in 5 minutes or less. 

I was momentarily paralyzed (what if another man walked in and started using the urinal before I could get out?!) but snapped out of it and managed to sneak out in record time.  (I didn't wash my hands, it was an emergency, ok?  I used sanitizer back at the table.)

For the rest of the night I could not stop thinking about the man who was in the bathroom the first time I blew in and what he must have been thinking.  "Weird Americans." It's what I assume most people are thinking whenever I make a blunder here, and there is a strange comfort in feeling a sense of anonymity here. 

You have to flag down buses at the bus stop, did you know that?  I didn't 8 months ago, but I do now.  It took one or two times of buses blowing past us to understand that even if they're scheduled to stop at your stop they don't actually stop unless you stick your hand out to let them know you want on.  The same is true for getting off the bus.  Unless you push the button right before your get to your stop they will just keep on moving.  We learned all of these very basic things through some costly trial and error ;) So there you go, how to use the public bus system 101.

Not surprisingly, learning to use public transit as our only mode of transportation here with 4 kids in tow has been one of the more hectic parts of our life here.

I read a tweet not long ago from someone in Jerusalem that said "I've never ridden a mechanical bull but I did ride the 71 today so I think I have a pretty good idea of what it's like" and that about sums it up.  On the way to church one Saturday morning we accelerated sharply around a corner and in a flash our stroller--holding a buckled up Amos-- was laying on it's back.  My large yeti of ice water shot out of the cup holder and dumped water and ice everywhere and began rolling around. Josh and I scrambled to set everything right, while an entire bus of staring straight-faced people looked on.  "Crazy Americans" is always what I assume everyone is thinking about us every time something like this happens.  And these things do happen.

One of the first times the boys and I tried to use the bus without Josh I was loudly scolded by the driver (in Hebrew) as I tried to get our stroller and three other boys through the door.  I half ignored him, mostly concerned with not leaving any children behind, but I eventually asked him "be'anglit, bevahkuhshah?" ("In english, please?" -- the most helpful Hebrew phrase I've learned) and he threw up his hands and turned back to his driving.  I'm pretty sure from the context clues I was able to piece together he was upset that I entered through the front door instead of the back, where I now know strollers are supposed to enter.

We have ridden the train with very loud drunk teenage Jewish boys during Purim (I've been told it's the one time every year Jews are encouraged to drink to drunkeness), had to walk home when buses never show up, gotten temporarily separated from our two oldest boys on the train as crowds pressed in between us, and ridden the right bus going the wrong direction more times than I'd like to admit.

The first time we went to Tel Aviv we almost didn't even make it out of the train station in Tel Aviv because we had unwittingly thrown our tickets away after getting off the train, not knowing that you have to scan your ticket again at the end of your trip to be allowed out of the station.  One confusing conversation later they begrudgingly let us through without them.  Later that night after walking over 19K steps through the city we made it back to the train station for our hour+ trip home where we promptly got on the wrong train that dropped us off at Lod around 8PM.  So instead of going Tel Aviv --->Jerusalem and having everyone tucked in bed by by 9, we did a more interesting thing: Tel Aviv-->Lod-->Tel Aviv-->Jerusalem and everyone was in bed by midnight. 

Amos enters almost every bus with a "Shawom! Fank you sir!" to the bus driver and has no problem yelling "see-haw" (Slicha = excuse me) as he squishes his way on and through trains and buses.  What will he think of quiet rides buckled into a carseat when we return to the US next year?

On Saturdays we go to church.  Or as they call it here: "Kehila" (congregation).  Most messianic (though not all) congregations still meet on Saturday/Shabbat because most people work Sunday-Thursday, and kids go to school 6 days a week.  Because it's Shabbat the whole city shuts down, except for a few explicitly arab neighborhoods and shops.  There is no public transit except for the arab bus line and taxi's driven by arabs. 

When we first moved and were still figuring out life here, we had to take two taxi's to and from church, which was, as you might imagine, not cheap.  We have also been given a ride to and from church at times over the past 7 months, but for the most part these days, we ride the arab bus.

We only live about 4 miles from our church, and if it weren't for the steep up and down of the terrain here we could probably walk it faster than the bus.  But instead we buckle Amos into the stroller and strap Peter to one of our backs and walk about 5 minutes to a bus stop, ride the bus for 15-20 min, get off and walk another 5 min through an arab market where old men are sitting and smoking while drinking tiny cups of turkish coffee, people are unloading flats of fruit and vegetables into their shops, and taxi drivers are yelling "Tel-Aviv! Tel-Aviv!" to passerby's.  There are also usually flocks of pigeons everywhere scarfing whatever trash they can find.

We wait a few minutes for our next bus, which is another 10-15 minute ride, and it drops us at the neighborhood our church is in.  The last 10 minutes of our walk is through a more modern jewish neighborhood and takes us past a synagogue that is just letting out.  Men in kippa's and jeans, sometimes even shorts, (this is highly unusual for most Jewish men) are pushing strollers and women with their hair tied up in brightly colored turbans are corralling their children as they walk home.

We usually smile and say "Shabbat Shalom!" as we pass them, some respond in kind, some just nod and walk on quickly.  

We arrive at church about an hour after stepping out our front door.  I used to think our 23 minute drive home from church was too long.  That drive will feel tame and luxurious someday, and while I don't think I will ever miss not having a car, our life is definitely more interesting without one.