Thirteenth in an ongoing series
RISHON LEZION, Israel — Here are some more anecdotes that I thought people might find interesting.
—
The Sporting Life
In the United States, people generally support sports teams that are closest geographically. Bostonians root for the Red Sox, and people near St. Louis like the Cardinals. In Israel, however, people choose their favorite teams based on different criteria.
Since Israel is roughly the size of New Jersey, everyone is close to every potential team that he might like. Moreover, Israeli society is fractured along numerous political, ethnic, and religious lines — and this is where team loyalties come into play.
Secular left-wingers support Hapoel Tel Aviv in soccer and basketball. The name for its community of fans is the Red Devils because the fan base has historically consisted of blue-collar socialists and communists. (The name “HaPoel” means “The worker” in Hebrew.) Conservative Israelis hate the team, especially because one of its soccer players is an Arab. (He also plays on Israel’s national team, leaving right-wing Israelis confused as to whether they should cheer when he scores a goal against another country’s team.)
Conservative Israelis (and those who also want to support the winners) like Maccabi Tel Aviv. This is Israel’s most famous team because, until the last two years, they had been one of the top basketball and soccer teams in Israel and Europe for decades. They are the equivalent of the New York Yankees of Israel. The name “Maccabi” refers to the band of warriors who defeated the invading ancient Greeks in the Chanukah story. Maccabi Tel Aviv and HaPoel Tel Aviv have a rivalry that is just as intense as the Red Sox and Yankees.
Beitar Jerusalem, the new, number-one soccer team in Israel, was recently purchased by Arcadi Gaydamak, a Russian billionare who reportedly emigrated to Israel to avoid an French indictment on weapons trafficking charges in Angola. Gaydamak ran to become mayor of Jerusalem in the recent election, but his candidacy was a joke because he cannot speak a word of Hebrew. Still, he is seen as a populist hero because he spent a lot of money relocating northern residents to safety when Hizbollah rockets were raining down on them from Lebanon in 2006. At the time, the Israeli government was doing nothing, so the team is very popular among poor, working-class Israelis and the so-called “arsim” who I described in my prior letter. Beitar fans are the ones most like to act like British hooligans and assault fans of other teams.
There are many other teams in Israel — like those from smaller towns whose fans are primarily local people — but these are the three that are most popular nationwide.
On a related note, all Israeli sports teams play in European leagues like the European version of the NBA. Israel used to play in the Asian league (which includes the Middle East) in soccer, but Israel left the confederation in 1974 because many other countries refused to play against the team as a result of anti-Israel sentiment. Sports, it seems, can involve politics as well.
—
A Jerusalem Minute
I lived at a Hebrew-language school in Jerusalem for four months after first moving to Israel. Some friends and I were sitting at our living-room table, chatting, doing homework, and playing games like chess and backgammon. It was a typical late afternoon since it was still too chilly in February to spend much time outside.
And then — BOOM!
We froze. There was a loud noise somewhere in the neighborhood close to the school, but we could not tell what it was. No one talked. No one made a noise. “I hope that was a car backfiring,” I said with a nervous laugh. Everyone was still silent. No one moved. Each second lasted forever.
“Let’s hear if there’s a siren,” someone said. We had heard that whenever there is a terrorist incident, emergency crews respond almost instantly. So we waited. One second — nothing. Two seconds — nothing. Three seconds — nothing. Four seconds — nothing. Five seconds — nothing.
After about half a minute, each of us returned to what we were doing as if nothing had happened. No one spoke of it again. There has not been a suicide bombing in Jerusalem since 2002, but everyone worries subconciously whether there will be another.
The noise of car backfirings always startles Israelis for a second — even in the relatively tame, southern, Tel Aviv suburb of Rishon Lezion, where I live now. Israelis tend to drive old cars for a long time because new ones are very expensive. When Israelis purchase a new car from a dealer, they pay an 88-percent tax in addition to the sticker price. (I do not know why the government has such an absurd policy.) Since most cars on the road are in bad shape, I hear backfirings at least twice a day. When it is a loud one, I cannot help but think of a bomb.
Oh, and if Americans think gas prices are high there: In Israel, people pay the equivalent of $7 a gallon. It is no wonder that so many people here — even businessmen in their thirties — do not own cars.
–
Tourette’s in Arabic
I was sitting at home in Rishon Lezion one morning, watching TV and eating breakfast. (The day before, I had lost my first full-time job as an English-language marketing writer. Long story.) Then, I heard someone yelling in strange Hebrew. I looked out my window, and a fortysomething guy was walking down my street yelling strange words at the top of his lungs. I ignored it. After all, strange things can happen here.
Then, an hour later, it happened again. And again another hour later. I was so angry that I was about to yell at him to be quiet from my fourth-story window. (People can be, well, colorful here.) Then, I realized that he might have Tourette’s Syndrome. After all, he was yelling in such a strange way. So I felt bad and did nothing. Every day, he did the same thing once an hour for a few hours.
A few weeks later, I told a friend who lives nearby what had been happening. She laughed and said that he did not have Tourette’s. The man was an Arab — hence his strange Hebrew to me — and he was yelling the names of various appliances that he wants. His job, my friend said, is to walk down streets and yell to see if anyone wants to come down and sell him anything that they do not need. Then his business would resell the used item later.
Although his sales tactic is annoying, I do have to give him points for originality. But I would never sell him anything — I could never beat an Israeli Arab at haggling.
—
A Bad Way to Start the Day
I was riding a Jerusalem bus to work one afternoon, and at the second-last stop to mine, three young men tried to get on the bus. It is hard to distinguish Jews from Arabs in this city, but they looked like they may have been Arabs.
The men were in their twenties, they were carrying large bags, and at least one was acting suspiciously. This man wore large sunglasses that blocked his eyes entirely, and as he approached the bus, he kept looking straight down. He never looked up. It seemed weird.
Since the second intifada’s suicide bombings of the early 2000s, bus drivers have been trained to spot suspicious behavior. They will sometimes not let people on the bus if they do not present identification when asked, and they can refuse to allow people to board whenever they see fit. (Of course, this can lead to discrimination against innocent Arabs as well.) Well, this driver
seemed to see fit.
After asking the first man a question that I could not understand, the driver and the men had a conversation. (I wish I had known more Hebrew.) At first I thought I was being paranoid, but then every passenger in the front of the bus rose and moved to the back of the bus once the driver started asking questions. Out of pure instinct, I joined them.
The driver did not let them through the protective turnstile (with a bomb detector) in the doorway. He closed the doors and drove on. Of course, I still do not know what happened. I never will. Perhaps they were asking for directions. Perhaps they did not know which bus to take. Perhaps they were Israeli Arabs who had forgotten their IDs at home. Perhaps they were not even Arabs.
But the other Israelis on the bus had lived in Jerusalem for much longer than I had. If they move to the back of the bus, then so will I. Perhaps I was being paranoid. Perhaps I was being discriminatory against an ethnic group. But I did not feel guilty. In the Middle East, lofty ideals usually yield to blunt realism.
Prior letter: Stories from the Desert I
[digg=http://digg.com/world_news/Letter_from_Israel_Stories_from_the_Desert_II]
