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Apparently, there was a soccer game.
My son and I were on our way back from Tel Aviv the other day, a common occurrence for him and a big anomaly for me. We sat down on the train, tired, hoping for a pleasant and quiet ride as we came back home.
We were very unpleasantly surprised.
After The Soccer Game
Our entire car was filled with young folk singing, screaming, and chanting, with zero regard for anyone on the train. There had been a soccer game. Someone apparently won said game. And scores of youth then thought it was appropriate to ruin the ride home for dozens of other people, without a care in the world for how it affected anyone else around them.
And I spent over thirty minutes of my life stewing in anger, wondering how anyone of any age could be this inconsiderate. Hoping and begging that at some point they would just stop (they didn’t). Beyond curious if there were parents out there actually proud of their vulgar, loud, obnoxious, and rude children, who had zero regard for any other person on that train.
And odd visions passed through my head.
My Unfortunate Mind
Suddenly I was a samurai warrior. I took at my katana blade, and sliced my way through the train car, to the adoring adulation of everyone on the train who had just worked a full day and just wanted to come home with some peace and quiet.
My violent visions were not specific to any particular annoying adolescent… but they certainly didn’t exclude the kid who elbowed me in the head. As I angrily pushed his arm away from me, he had a look of shock on his face. He wondered what he could possibly have done and expressed those thoughts. When I explained that he hit me in the head, he said my head shouldn’t have been there.
And the katana blade just kept on slicing and slicing.
Nor did the vision exclude the bouncing moron standing next to me whose scrawny chest bones kept banging into my face, and whose spittle was getting on my arm. And it didn’t exclude the kids who were spattering sunflower seed shells all over the floor of what otherwise would have been a pretty clean train car.
Slice slice slice.
But there was no sword. No aggressive reaction. Just me sitting there, hoping and praying for them to stop, or for the train to get to its destination quicker.
And a lot of wondering how I got to this low moment in my life.
The Good Samaritan
I’d like to think I was not alone. That the other non-psychotic passengers were just as annoyed, but also just as passive to get this madness to stop. Or, of course, just as afraid.
But eventually, after maybe fifteen minutes of this nonsense, one brave woman stood up and told them they needed to stop. And it worked… for maybe around 10 to 15 seconds. And the chants grew even louder, more aggressive, and more repulsive as these dreadful twats felt empowered. They sensed weakness on the part of anyone who wanted them to stop. As far as they were concerned, they had every right to do whatever they wanted. And be loud as they wanted to. And nothing in the world could stop them.
That is, until some random man stood up and shouted them down. Demanded they stop immediately.
And this time, they did!
It was not graceful. They certainly stopped begrudgingly. I heard them angrily murmuring behind me about their distaste for this superhero. Nevertheless, the insanity had finally come to its conclusion.
But I sat there scratching my head. Why did the first attempt to shut them up fail, and the second worked perfectly?
Why This Not That?
I had two possible conclusions:
First, just straight up sexism. These kids, implicitly or explicitly, were brought up without the faintest respect for women. So if they were told what to do by a measly young lady, this was not something they needed to take seriously.
Second, they all collectively feared getting punched in the face.
It is undeniable that this one man was weaker than their collective group. If they all wanted to pounce upon him at once and reclaim their gloriously infuriating chants, they could do so with ease.
But they were not united. Nor were they brave. They were not bold or strong. It was a bunch of scared little brats, each one individually afraid of getting slugged by this angry passenger. They not only didn’t have respect for the female who spoke up, they didn’t have fear of retribution. The weight of one man’s might was enough to crush a room of arrogant kids into submission.
And it almost made the whole thing worth it.
I mean, not really. But it was fun watching them wilt.
I wish it had happened sooner, much sooner. I wish I had had the courage and the confidence in my Hebrew to be that person. But sadly, I just mostly suffered in silence.
Why Was I On The Train From Hell?
I try to live my life looking back and wondering why things happened, big or small, positive or negative. This one so far eludes me.
Perhaps the universe was trying to send me a sign that commuting between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv was not something I would enjoy, or at least not something I was yet ready for. Perhaps after a very positive day in Tel Aviv, I needed a reminder of where I was and the things about Israel that frustrate me.
But maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I’m supposed to just look at my own children and smile.
Raising kids is hard, and despite all your efforts, the results can be all over the place.
But there was no nuance here. There was no grey area.
These kids were awful. All of them. The level of disrespect and vulgarity was off the charts. I’m not going to go so far as to blame their parents. Or their schools. But someone dropped the ball here, and ought to recognize that the results were not impressive.
I am proud of all my children, and so happy none of these were my own. They were gross. Yes, a soccer game happened. You have the right to be happy about that. But never at the expense of dozens of other people. Or even one other person!
You will very likely never see this post. And if you did, you’re probably too far gone to care. But seriously, check yourself. If you were my child, I would be embarrassed and ashamed of your behavior.
This is not OK. You are a poor representation of yourself and your nation. You could do better.
