In place of fists and insults
By Jerrold Kessel and Pierre Klochendler
Haaretz, November 7, 2004
BEIT SHE'AN - The people of Sakhnin, accustomed to having had ground taken from under their feet, have reclaimed some ground. It's only temporary, it's only a small tract of land, 100m by 50m, but it is in an unexpected place, one not quite accustomed to being sensitive to Arab needs.
Deprived of its own ground, Hapoel Bnei Sakhnin has decided that Hapoel Beit She'an's soccer pitch will be its home away from home, an unlikely spirit of hospitality and of acceptance between two towns that used to reflect trenchant Israeli-Jewish and Israeli-Arab nationalism. "Five years ago, Sakhnin would have been greeted here with fists and insults. Now they are very welcome," says Yoram Karin, the general manager of the new Tnuva fresh meat processing plant, a NIS 100 million investment which helps, inter alia, to close gaps between the periphery and the center of the country. With 200 new jobs in the offing, it is understandably not being sneezed at in small town Beit She'an.
Clutching vain hopes of a sudden reversal in personal fortunes, young men and not-so-young are filling out their Sportoto forms, days in advance of the final whistle for turning in the forms for the NIS 25 million top prize. This is Bis lekol Kis, a Shwarma joint which doubles as a "winner" kiosk; there's another subject in the forum - the swinging fortunes of the team that's made it as a household word, not because of its politics, or uncompromising national stance, but because of its soccer prowess, of the weak standing up against the strong.
But now Bnei Sakhnin is not only winning, the team is losing, and fairly often. It is being battered on and off the field.
A few years ago Beit She'an (population 15,000, compared to 25,000 in Sakhnin) also had a brief run at soccer glory. Now the team languishes in the lower third of the third league. Out of the limelight, the players console themselves by identifying with other soccer underdogs in alliance with those who also feel discriminated against. Bringing them together more than anything is a shared feeling of belonging to that periphery, of being outside the winners' circle.
From the bottom up
"Like us they've got no real money," says "Dudu Surprise" an out-of-work graduate in "management engineering." Filling out his Sportoto form, he plays for broke: "They're soccer from the bottom up - like us they enjoy no protekzia (connections)."
What he admires in Sakhnin is the sense that it too is playing for broke. "They're providing the country with our drama. That's why we're attracted to them," says Dudu. "Once, this town used to be a Betar Jerusalem stronghold."
It's not only, it seems, that Betar is no longer that successful but also that Betar has moved on and up in the world, and no longer automatically seen by the frustrated as representing them.
In a curious way Sakhnin is coming gradually to fill that role, settling in the hearts of people all around the country. National identification and political differences have been relegated to a lower league of priorities, as soccer takes top spot as a driving force in assuaging feelings of being left on the sidelines.
Something even more surprising is going on. Hardened soccer fans are joining the forces that condemn the outbursts of racism that Sakhnin attracts like a lightning rod. "Not only do I hope they succeed," says Uri Suissa in his sports goods store, "I also hope that any club that attacks them simply because they are Arabs gets hammered. In soccer there are no Jews and Arabs. Soccer transforms you. It erases preconceptions."
And, it shifts identities. Uri has a personal bond and it extends from this small town to the Arab town, from communal affiliation to soccer affiliation.
"I want Bnei Sakhnin to win because of Bibo," says Uri. "Bibo" is Avi Danan, the Beit She'an man in Bnei Sakhnin, the center pole of their defense. Uri is the uncle of Linor, Bibo's wife. "Bibo would never have developed in Beit She'an as he has in Sakhnin."
Bibo Danan is an intrinsic local hero; double hero - here in his hometown and equally in his adopted town 50 km to the northwest.
Three seasons ago after Beit She'an's fortunes slumped, Danan, 29, made the move to the Arab club, even before Sakhnin had earned its new national status. No, he doesn't see himself as a pioneer. He simply grabbed the chance to make his mark in a team on the up. Upward social mobility through soccer. There he means to stay: "Without this club I would never be where I am. I am totally committed to them."
Representing Sakhnin, he sees no contradiction in playing another position, defender of the interests of Beit She'an and Sakhnin as local promoter. "See that fellow over there, you'd never know he's an Arab, would you?" says the dark-haired scion of a Moroccan immigrant family indicating a blond, blue-eyed young man. Maher, it turns out, is a Jordanian Palestinian married to the daughter of a collaborator from Jenin. He and his wife found refuge in Shikun Tet.
"Tell them," says Bibo, "how you feel at home here, don't' you?
"Well," Maher hems and haws, "sometimes there's unpleasantness, there's occasionally racism, but we've lived here for more than two years and now we're okay," he says in fluent Hebrew. He works as the handyman at the Binyamin mall and is an equipment handler for Hapoel Beit She'an.
A strong dose of the anti-romantic, well-timed to stop one going overboard on an all-too-romantic story about people getting on together, of social majorities and national minorities making up lost ground.
Inflexible Charlton
Flying in to the rosy picture, boots and all, comes the broadcasting company Charlton, which oversees the timetable for televised weekend matches. This weekend, the company determined, Bnei Sakhnin should play its home fixture yesterday afternoon precisely at Iftar, the time when Moslems break their daily Ramadan fast.
Bnei Sakhnin pleads for understanding: we do not mind playing during the fast, or after. To no avail. "I can't imagine a similar situation with regard to another sector of the population," notes sadly Mazen Ghanaim, the club chairman.
Back in September when the country was up in arms about Maccabi Tel Aviv being compelled to play a European Champions League match on Rosh Hashanah eve, Sakhnin, as a team with Jews along with its Moslems and Christians, faced a similar predicament. Avi Danan was reluctant to leave his religious family to play the European match in Newcastle. He was eased through his dilemma by the club management, which arranged a special Rosh Hashanah blessing of the wine with the team, "the family" they call it.
Now, with the boot on the other foot, some in Sakhnin believe their chairman should have been less conciliatory, more forceful, in insisting that the Israel Football Association protect the interests and the sensitivities of one of its members.
"We are left with the feeling that we are not really in," says another top member of the Sakhnin management team."
The commonly held view in Sakhnin is that there are two different understandings of what "being accepted by the majority" means from the Jewish majority's point of view: be like us, play like us and get full acceptance. Or, retain your identity, choose not be part of us and remain offside.
Sakhnin offers a third alternative: We very much want to be part of you, they say to the majority, accepted by you, but we want also to be able to maintain our specific identity. A local test of 19th-century American philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson's dictum: that the quality of a society is best judged by how it relates to the minorities within its midst.
But this is not America. Herzl speaks here: In a mural at the local community center, minorities figure prominently within an emblematic array of drawings done for the state's birthday. The first panel carries the Herzlian motto: "If you will it, it's no dream." Adjacent are symbols of the three religions, the fruits of the earth and the Tree of Life. The next panel has a hamsa, a menorah, a Magen David and the Western Wall and a graphic representation of the Israel Defense Forces, and the panel culminates with the peace dove above intertwined hands.
To their own sons, Bnei Sakhnin players are posing the challenge of how to fit into this cluster of symbols. At the same time, they are challenging the Jewish majority: Find ways to allow us to fit in.
There are also those in Sakhnin who keep telling both sides: "Im tirtzu ein zo agada." (If you will, it is no dream).
