Israel’s smash-hit decade

Once, Israeli films were rarely shown at international film festivals, now it’s rare when they don’t win a prize there.


It’s all in the eyebrows. When I used to tell people I wrote about Israeli movies, their eyebrows would furrow downward, into an unmistakable expression of pity. Now they raise their eyebrows, and they often murmur that, “Oh,” that shows they’re impressed. “Interesting job,” they’ll say.

The significance of cultural trends should not be measured in eyebrow shifts alone, but there’s no denying that both the reality and the perception of Israeli movies has improved immeasurably over the past decade. This has been the most significant decade for the movie industry in the country’s history. Let’s take a brief look at just how far they’ve come.

Ten years ago, Israeli movies were rarely, if ever, shown at international film festivals. Now, it’s unusual for a significant film festival to conclude without one winning a prize. It’s incredible that a small film industry, which produces about 20 features a year, has won more than 200 prizes at international festivals over the last decade. And, if you add in prizes for documentaries, shorts and student films, the total would come to well over 500.

While the Oscar has eluded us, the movies nominated in the past two years were considered serious contenders. Joseph Cedar’s Beaufort, a drama about the IDF withdrawal from Lebanon, was the 2007 Oscar nominee, and Ari Folman’s animated documentary about the First Lebanon War, Waltz with Bashir, was a nominee the next year (Waltz did win the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film). This year’s official selection for Oscar consideration, Yaron Shani’s and Scandar Copti’s Ajami, a gritty drama about crime in Jaffa, has a real shot at a nomination as well.

While a small, unreasonable minority has called for a boycott of Israeli films recently, the list of prestigious awards won at festivals during this decade is long and impressive – and growing. Shmuel Maoz’s Lebanon just won the Golden Lion, the top prize, at the Venice International Film Festival. Cannes is arguably the most prestigious festival of all, and Israeli films are regularly shown in the main competition there. Two, Keren Yedaya’s Or (2004) and Shira Geffen’s and Etgar Keret’s Jellyfish (2007), won the coveted Camera d’Or Prize for first-time filmmakers, while several others, including Ajami and Eran Kolirin’s The Band’s Visit (2007) won Special Jury prizes in this category. Tawfik Abu Wael’s Atash won the FIPRESCI (foreign film critics’ award) at Cannes in 2004.

Israeli films won the top prize at several other international film festivals, including The Band’s Visit (which won a phenomenal total of more than 35 international awards) and Broken Wings (2002) at the Tokyo International Film Festival, Dror Shaul’s Sweet Mud (2006) at Sundance, David Volach’s My Father My Lord (2007) at Tribeca and The Syrian Bride (2004) at the Montreal Film Festival. Joseph Cedar was awarded the Silver Bear for Best Director at the Berlin Film Festival in 2007, while his film Campfire (2004) won a Special Mention there.

Israeli actors were also recognized abroad for their work: Hanna Laszlo took Best Actress honors at Cannes for Free Zone in 2005 (a win that was considered a particular surprise since she faced stiff competition from actresses such as Juliette Binoche and Sharon Stone); Ohad Knoller won Best Actor for Yossi & Jagger at the Tribeca Film Festival in 2003; and Sasson Gabai won Best Actor for The Band’s Visit at the European Film Academy Awards in 2007.

Unheard of sums for low-budget movies

Nearly all of these films played abroad and several, notably Dover Koshashvilli’s A Late Wedding (2001) and Eytan Fox’s Walk on Water (2004), earned several million dollars overseas, unheard of sums for low-budget, subtitled Israeli films in the past. Their box-office earnings in the US are on a par with subtitled films from other countries with more established film industries, such as France and China.

In the documentary field, there are from 50 to 100 films made here each year, and many go on to international festivals. Lia van Leer, the founding director of the Jerusalem Cinematheque and the Jerusalem Film Festival, told me a couple of years ago that the toughest part of her job was choosing documentaries for the 10 to 15 slots in the Wolgin Competition for Israeli films – one year she received more than 70 entries. Short films, many made by students at local films schools, have been phenomenally successful, winning hundreds of prizes. And they compete at virtually every festival in the world.

But probably the most important fact about the success of the film industry over the course of this decade is that local audiences now enjoy locally made films. I don’t believe a film industry can flourish in the long run if its films don’t resonate with its own citizens. If films are made primarily to please the juries of foreign film festivals, in the end, the movies will lose all sense of place and authenticity. But happily, that is not the case here. Although Israeli films will never outsell Spiderman 7, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that I’ve had a hard time getting a good seat at commercial showings.

And the major distribution chains show Israeli movies, even at multiplexes, for a single reason – they want to sell tickets. And they do sell tickets. In a good year, local films sell more than a million tickets locally. In 2007, the year The Band’s Visit and Beaufort were released, that figure was a million and a half. Avi Nesher’s Turn Left at the End of the World sold more than 600,000 tickets in 2004. New releases routinely break the 100,000 viewer mark. Ajami, which was released in September, is a case in point. Again, by Hollywood standards, these numbers are small. But in a country this size, where several million don’t speak Hebrew as their first language and several hundred thousand (at least) don’t see movies for religious reasons, these figures are phenomenal.

Of course, local audiences don’t always go for the same films as foreign audiences. For example, a movie like Lost Islands (2008), about two brothers’ coming-of-age in the early 1980s, is filled with jokes, music and nostalgia, and appealed (and was designed to appeal) much more to local audiences than foreign viewers.

These attendance figures may not sound so astounding, if you forget that before 2000, four or five feature films were made (in a good year) and would play to empty houses here for a few weeks before closing and vanishing without a trace. Their only shot at going abroad was Jewish and Israeli film festivals, where audiences went out of curiosity or to support Israel, not to see good films.

From silly comedies to Holocaust dramas

Up until about 2000, there were two basic streams of Israeli movies. One of these were the sirtei burekas (burekas movies), like the Eskimo Limon series, silly comedies aimed at high-school kids. Then there were the painfully earnest dramas that were about either Holocaust survivors, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or god-awful dysfunctional families. Few saw these films other than the cast, crew and their close relatives. Most of these were made with money from the Israel Film Fund, that, to be fair, probably weeded out scripts that were even worse than the ones that got made.

The awful domestic dramas continue to be made, and follow such a predictable formula that I have dubbed them TAMP films, an acronym for Tel Aviv’s Miserable People. But a few bad films are inevitable. Katriel Schory, the head of the Israel Film Fund, likes to say, “Quantity is quality,” meaning that there will only be good films if a critical mass of movies gets made.

There were a few good films made during the first five decades of the state, although not as many as some nostalgia addicts would have you believe. Israel had six nominations for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar prior to 2007, and several of them were excellent, particularly Sallah, the Ephraim Kishon satire starring Haim Topol as an innocent immigrant. The 1971 nominee, The Policeman starring Shaike Ophir (the actor for whom the Ophir Awards, Israel’s Oscars, get their name), may be the most beloved Israeli film of all time, but although Ophir shines in his role, it’s not a movie that holds up all that well. The same is true of I Love You, Rosa (1972) and The House on Chelouche Street (1973), both Oscar nominees. As for Operation Thunderbolt, the 1977 nominee tells of the heroic rescue at Entebbe, and its inclusion in this category is simply proof of the American Academy’s love for the Jewish state.

There were other films here and there that shone, among them Renen Schorr’s Late Summer Blues, about a group of high-school students during the last month before they are drafted. But Schorr then turned around and founded the Sam Spiegel Film School in Jerusalem and did not direct again until he made The Loners, which will be released next week. But the good films were few and far between. Very, very far between.

So what happened?

A few factors came together to bring hidden or slumbering cinematic talent to the surface. The first was the birth of commercial television in the early 1990s. It’s fashionable to denigrate television, but it nurtured a generation of directors, crew members and actors. By 2000, for the first time, a director who got behind the camera had a good chance of having had at least a couple of years’ experience, and the same can be said for actors, writers, etc. It made a huge difference.

No substitute for experience

Most actors and directors tend to go back and forth between the big and small screen even today. You can see Lior Ashkenazi on television soap operas or in some of the highest-profile local films, including A Late Wedding and Walk on Water. Ditto for virtually every other actor. There is no substitute for experience.

But it’s a two-way street: Directors who have made films go back to television and the quality of the TV programming increases. Nir Bergman, who made the acclaimed 2002 drama Broken Wings and who was a star student at Sam Spiegel, went on to become one of the creators of Betipul, a series about a psychiatrist that had the nation glued to its screens. So brilliantly conceived was this show that it was actually adapted by HBO into the series In Treatment, which won two Emmy awards and a Golden Globe. Who could have imagined in 2000 that the network that brought the world The Sopranos and Sex and the City would take ideas from Israeli television?

To blur the lines even further, the cable companies invest heavily in the movie industry and some films originally meant for television, such Eytan Fox’s Yossi & Jagger, turned out to be so good they got a theatrical release.

The second significant change was the passage of the Cinema Law in 2001, which greatly increased the government budget for supporting the film industry. It has been cut several times, but in response to pressure from across the political spectrum, it was restored. I was skeptical at first that investing more money would help, but there is no question that it did. The film industry here is so small, taxes so high, red tape so cumbersome and private investors so unwilling to put their money into local product, that without this infusion of cash, the film industry would have not reached the heights it has.

The proof is that after the funding was cut, the industry output dropped from 24 of the best-reviewed films in the nation’s history in 2004, to a handful of mostly mediocre films the following year. Part of what this funding does is give filmmakers grants so they can spend a year or two rewriting scripts, and the difference shows up on the big screen. For example, Joseph Cedar spent a year and a half rewriting the screenplay of Beaufort along with Ron Leshem, the novelist on whose book the film was based. And that time costs money.

But it also generates money. When foreign investors saw how good Israeli films had gotten, they began investing heavily in this industry. The money comes mostly from France and Germany, but The Band’s Visit got some funding from Japan. There has been some controversy about this trend, with critics saying that films made with this coproduction money are more likely to be made with foreign audiences in mind. That danger is certainly there, but the reality is that local filmmakers are in no position to turn down money from any source. And the success of the industry is also a product of contributions from several privately held Israeli film funds.

Growth of the cinematheque

The third factor is the development of a sophisticated movie culture here, through the cinematheques and film schools. It was the cinematheques that came first, and the woman who started them, Lia van Leer, has done more to develop the local film industry than any other single person. A great movie lover, she started a cinema club with her late husband, Wim van Leer, in Haifa in the 1950s, which she developed into the Haifa Cinematheque. In 1973, she created a small-scale version of today’s Jerusalem Cinematheque, which was expanded in 1981.

The cinematheques show a mix of Hollywood classics from the huge archives she acquired and the best contemporary and classic art films. Van Leer made sure they provided a showcase for upcoming local directors. Both of these cinematheques began film festivals in the early 1980s, modeled after the large European festivals, with hundreds of films shown in 10 days or so.

Van Leer quickly succeeded in attracting the crème de la crème of international moviemaking to the Jerusalem Film Festival. The list of directors who have attended includes virtually every art film director you’ve ever heard of, and such actors as Robert De Niro, Jeanne Moreau, Warren Beatty and Lillian Gish. In recent years, Debra Winger and Jeff Goldblum have attended Jerusalem, while Elliott Gould, Harvey Keitel and Willem Dafoe have been at Haifa.

But more important than any other contribution, these festivals showcased and nurtured local directors through their high-profile Israeli film competitions. There are now cinematheques based on the model van Leer started in cities across the country, including Tel Aviv, Sderot, Rosh Pina, Holon and Herzliya. Before DVDs and the Internet, the cinematheques and festivals provided budding cineastes with their only exposure to classic film and helped develop a true film culture here.

Next, the young people who became movie lovers wanted to make their own movies, and so the film schools stepped in. The Sam Spiegel Film School in Jerusalem is celebrating its 20th anniversary this year. But it is by no means the only film school here. There are several others including one at Tel Aviv University, Camera Obscura and Sapir College. The Ma’aleh Film School in Jerusalem, which is also celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, is geared to religious students.

The advent of Ma’aleh is striking because in the past filmmaking was a strictly secular industry. It is still dominated by secular filmmakers, but that is changing. Joseph Cedar is modern Orthodox, and his first two films, Time of Favor and Campfire, dealt with issues in the modern Orthodox community in the West Bank and Jerusalem. Shuli Rand, who had had a career as a secular actor, became religious and made Ushpizin (which he scripted and acted in), a very effective drama set in the haredi community. And with more religious filmmakers completing the course at Ma’aleh every year, surely there are more such films on the way.

Minority voices

But it wasn’t only that religious filmmakers got in on the act. Many other groups whose voices hadn’t been heard in the past, when most filmmakers were Ashkenazim from established families, began making films. The year after Cedar’s Time of Favor won the Ophir Award, the 2001 prize went to Georgian immigrant Dover Koshashvilli for A Late Wedding, a jaundiced look at the Georgian community here. In 2002, Eytan Fox, a gay filmmaker, triumphed with Yossi & Jagger, a love story about two male soldiers. Interestingly, both Fox and Cedar are the children of American immigrants.

While many films had dealt with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, there had been few films by Arab filmmakers here. But in 2004, Tawfik Abu Wael, an Israeli Arab, made Atash, a look at the tyranny of an isolated Arab family that may or may not be read as an allegory against patriarchal tyranny. Suha Arraf, an Israeli-Arab screenwriter, cowrote (with Eran Riklis) The Syrian Bride in 2004 and Lemon Tree in 2008, bringing her point of view front and center. There are several other Israeli-Arab filmmakers, most notably Hany Abu Assad (who made Paradise Now, about two suicide bombers) and Elia Suleiman (Divine Intervention), who live abroad, don’t take money from Israeli sources and prefer not to be known as Israeli-Arabs. But they were born and raised here.

This year, a new trend may be on the horizon with the directing team of Scandar Copti, a Christian Arab from Jaffa, and Yaron Shani, an Israeli Jew, who made Ajami, a film in Arabic and Hebrew, with both Jewish and Palestinian characters.

Women filmmakers are out there, but it’s still a male-dominated industry. Keren Yedaya, the director of Or, and Shira Geffen have had the highest profile successes in the feature film category. Ronit Elkabetz, a critically acclaimed actress, turned her hand to writing and directing and has made two films (with her brother, Shlomi), based on her Moroccan family, To Take a Wife (2004) and Shiva (2007). More women, such as Anat Zaria, a modern Orthodox director, are making their marks in the documentary field.

So the film industry has become far more representative of the population, is enjoyed by millions of Israelis and is winning an unprecedented number of awards worldwide. Where’s the downside? Well, when there’s a party, there are always party poopers. Many on the Right tend to dismiss Israeli film as a bastion of knee-jerk leftist politicking. While it is true that most directors are on the Left, this kind of blanket condemnation inevitably reveals more about the complainer’s own ignorance than the true state of film in this country.

I’ve had arguments with otherwise serious people who told me they didn’t need to see local films to know they were bastions of self-hatred. But is it an expression of self-hatred when directors who served in Lebanon, such as Shmuel Maoz, Ari Folman and Joseph Cedar, make films from the soldiers’ point of view, showing how emotionally wrenching their experience was? If you accept that young people in this country need to serve in the army, it would seem to be a given that some filmmakers will make movies about their experience there. Many movies made here do celebrate Israeli life, and anyone who has actually bothered to see these films won’t need to argue the point.

Where is the film industry going and where will it be in 10 years? Opinions vary widely. At a recent seminar to mark Sam Spiegel’s 20th anniversary at the Jerusalem Cinematheque, Tawfik Abu Wael, who has made one feature, argued for more grant money going to first-time filmmakers. Three-time director Joseph Cedar said the film industry won’t develop unless an investment is made in more experienced directors. Who’s right? Along with large numbers of filmgoers, I look forward to finding out. And I look forward to seeing people’s eyebrows rise even higher when Israeli films are mentioned.

Hannah Brown is a reporter for the Jerusalem Post.

Printed by courtesy of The Jerusalem Post.

A real miracle, or the doing of extraordinary people?

One year on, a grief-stricken mother who lost her son in Gaza finds her life unexpectedly linked to another boy called Dvir.

It’s been almost a year since St.-Sgt. Dvir Emanuelof became the first casualty of Operation Cast Lead, losing his life to Hamas mortar fire just as he entered Gaza early in the offensive. But sitting with his mother, Dalia, in her living room last week, I was struck not by loss, but by life. And not by grief, but by fervent belief. And by a more recent story about Dvir that simply needs to be told.

This past summer, Dalia and some friends planned to go to Hutzot Hayotzer, the artists’ colony constructed each summer outside Jerusalem’s Old City walls. But Dalia’s young daughter objected; she wanted to go a week later, so she could hear Meir Banai in concert.

Dalia consented. And so, a week later, she found herself in the bleachers, waiting with her daughter for the performance to begin. Suddenly, Dalia felt someone touch her shoulder. When she turned around, she saw a little boy, handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes. A kindergarten teacher by profession, Dalia was immediately drawn to the boy, and as they began to speak, she asked him if he’d like to sit next to her.

By now, though, the boy’s father had seen what was unfolding, and called over to him, “Eshel, why don’t you come back and sit next to me and Dvir?” Stunned, Dalia turned around and saw the father holding a baby. “What did you say his name is?” she asked the father.

“Dvir,” responded Benny.

“How old is he?” Dalia asked.

“Six months,” was the reply.

“Forgive my asking,” she continued, “was he born after Cast Lead, or before?”


Whereupon Dalia continued, “Please forgive my pressing, but can I ask why you named him Dvir?”

“Because,” Benny explained to her, “the first soldier killed in Cast Lead was named Dvir. His story touched us, and we decided to name our son after him.”

Almost unable to speak, Dalia paused, and said, “I’m that Dvir’s mother.”

Shiri, the baby’s mother, had overheard the conversation, and wasn’t certain that she believed her ears. “That can’t be.”

“It’s true.”

“What’s your last name?”


“Where do you live?”

“Givat Ze’ev.”

“It is you,” Shiri said. “We meant to invite you to the brit, but we couldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dalia assured her – “You see, I came anyway.”

And then, Dalia told me, Shiri said something to her that she’ll never forget – “Dvir is sending you a hug, through us.”

At that point in our conversation, Shiri told me her story. She’d been pregnant, she said, in her 33rd or 34th week, and during an ultrasound test, a potentially serious problem with the baby was discovered. After consultations with medical experts, she was told that there was nothing to do. The baby would have to be born, and then the doctors would see what they could do.

A day or two later, she was at home, alone, anxious and worried. She lit Hanukkah candles, and turned on the news. The story was about Dvir Emanuelof, the first soldier killed in the operation. She saw, she said, the extraordinarily handsome young man, with his now famous smile, and she felt as though she were looking at an angel.

A short while later, Benny came home, and Shiri said to him, “Come sit next to me.” When he’d seated himself down next to her, Shiri said to Benny, “A soldier was killed today.”

“I heard,” he said. “What do you say we name our baby after him?” Shiri asked.

“Okay,” was Benny’s reply.

They told no one about the name, and had planned to call Dalia once the baby was born, to invite her to the brit. But when Dvir was born, Shiri and Benny were busy with medical appointments, and it wasn’t even clear when they would be able to have the brit.

By the time the doctor gave them the okay to have the brit, it was no longer respectful to invite Dalia on such short notice, Shiri told me. So they didn’t call her. Not then, and not the day after. Life took its course and they told no one about the origin of Dvir’s name, for they hadn’t yet asked Dalia’s permission.

So no one knew, until that moment when a little blond-haired, blue-eyed boy – whom Dalia now calls “the messenger” – decided to tap Dalia on the shoulder. “Someone’s looking out for us up there,” Shiri said quietly, wiping a tear from her eye, “and this no doubt brings Him joy.”

It was now quiet in Dalia’s living room, the three of us pondering this extraordinary sequence of events, wondering what to make of it. I was struck by the extraordinary bond between these two women, one religious and one traditional but not religious in the classic sense, one who’s now lost a husband and a son and one who’s busy raising two sons.

Unconnected in any way just a year ago, their lives are now inextricably interwoven. And I said to them both, “This is an Israeli story, par excellence.”

As if they’d rehearsed the response, they responded in virtual unison, “No, it’s a Jewish story.”

They’re right, of course. It is the quintessential Jewish story. It is a story of unspoken and inexplicable bonds. It is a story of shared destinies.

And as is true of this little country we call home, it’s often impossible to know which part of the story is the real miracle, and which is the doing of extraordinary people. In the end, though, that doesn’t really matter. When I lit Hanukka candles this year, I was thinking of Dalia. Of Shiri. Of Dvir. And of Dvir.

I thought of their sacrifice. Of their persistent belief. Of their extraordinary decency and goodness.

And as I moved that shamash from one candle to the next, I knew that Shiri was right. These are not easy times. These are days when we really could use a miracle or two. So perhaps it really is no accident that now, when we need it most, Dvir is sending us all a hug from heaven above.

Dr. Daniel Gordis is senior vice president of the Shalem Center, where he is also a Senior Fellow.


This article was printed courtesy of The Jerusalem Post.

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United Nations honors Jerusalem children’s center

For Irishman Captain Gerry Casey, now serving with the UN, a year of service in Israel proved a lifesaver for his Down syndrome child.

Earlier this month Jerusalem’s quiet, Orthodox neighborhood of Har Nof became the center of international attention as representatives of UNTSO (United Nations Truce Supervision Organization) and members of the diplomatic corps representing the United States, Finland, Venezuela, Uganda and more, came to the headquarters of Shalva, the Association for Mentally and Physically Challenged Children to honor its service to the international community.

Over 100 distinguished guests, together with their spouses and their children enjoyed a tour of Shalva and a casual buffet lunch while being entertained by the Shalva band. Honored guests included James Carroll, special representative (Ireland) to Palestinian Authority and Colonel Timo Rotonen (Finland), deputy chief of staff – UNTSO.

The tribute was arranged by Captain Gerry Casey (Irish Defense Forces working with UNTSO) and his wife Theresa, who hosted their friends and colleagues at Shalva for a celebration of the wonderful year their daughter, Rachel, spent with us. Rachel, now two and a half, spent this past year in Shalva’s Me & My Mommy Program and both she and her parents made friendships that will last a lifetime. The family is scheduled to return to Dublin, Ireland, this coming January and a most fitting ‘send-off’ is planned.


Photo courtesy of Yair Hovav
Captain Gerry Casey of the Irish Defense Forces with his daughter, Rachel.

The story of Rachel’s journey to Shalva began in August 2008, when Andrea Simantov, then director of communications, was giving a tour of Shalva to a large group from the US and at the end of the visit – as per standard practice – the group posed for a photograph outside the center. Andrea handed the camera to a man she presumed was the bus driver and asked him to take a few photos. Happily he complied and the group went on its way.

Imagine her surprise when she saw someone else driving the bus and the fellow that she had presumed was the driver still sitting in the entrance plaza. “Can I help you?” she asked. He replied in a very strong Irish accent, “My name is Captain Gerry Casey and I’m with the UN Peacekeeping Division from Ireland.” He proceeded to tell her that he was scheduled to begin a year’s rotation in Israel, primarily because the youngest of his four children – 16-month-old Rachel – was born with Down syndrome and a severe heart defect. The doctor in Ireland strongly urged Gerry and his wife Theresa to take her to a warm climate in order to heal.

Pulling up in a Hummer jeep

Knowing that Israel was a medically advanced country, he came on an exploratory visit and on a sunny Friday morning, he went directly to Hadassah in Mount Scopus where he was told by a visiting patient that he was in the wrong place. “You want to go to Shalva. They are the specialists.” Gerry resolved to go there the next day.

His arrival, with his wife, Theresa, and daughter, Rachel, caused quite the stir. Pulling up in front of Shalva, Gerry emerged from a huge Hummer jeep that was adorned with the UN insignia. And he was wearing full military regalia, i.e., camouflage fatigues, high laced leather boots, medals and other decorative pins, and dark green beret.

Yet, from the moment they entered the program, they became part of the Shalva family. In Ireland, little Rachel was entitled to three hours of speech therapy per month but at Shalva she received three hours of therapy per day. Hydrotherapy, massage therapy, speech training, physiotherapy, and multi-sensory work were only some of the disciplines that were part of Rachel’s standard treatment. And because the Me & My Mommy curriculum relies on parental partnership, Theresa was enthralled with her newfound skills. Envisioning their eventual return to Ireland, she felt better equipped and greatly inspired by her Israel experience.

The Casey’s were so overwhelmed by their new friendships and eye-opening experiences that they vowed to invite their friends in the international and diplomatic communities to share a glimpse of the Israeli world that they had discovered. As Gerry readily admits that, were it not for his sick little girl, he most probably would never have had the opportunity to cross paths with regular Jerusalemites and other Israelis outside of the United Nations and east Jerusalem communities.

In the words of Irish ambassador to Israel, Breifne O’Reilly: “If I had to bring one message to the world after visiting with the impressive people at Shalva, I’d say that this is a magical world of hope.”

Sid Slivko is the director of Communications at Shalva, the Association for Mentally & Physically Challenged Children in Israel.

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Let’s hear it for high-tech Israel

Israel isn’t a tragic nation, it’s one of the most highly educated and technologically advanced nations on Earth.

Over the weekend I read Start-Up Nation, the new book about why Israel has emerged as a global leader in high-tech. Even if its authors Dan Senor and Saul Singer were not my friends, I would still say this book is the best ad for Israel in recent memory. Sidestepping the usual discussion of Israel as an embattled nation, it focuses instead on the invincible ingenuity of the Israeli people, and their vast technological contribution to the global economy. Where the Israeli army is discussed, the focus is not on soldiers chasing down terrorists but on how the Israeli military serves as a commercial networking tool for soldiers. So the book both informs and inspires.

Am I the only one tired of hearing only bad news about Jews and Israel? Remember the old joke about the Jew who loves reading anti-Semitic magazines? When asked why he says, “When I read Jewish newspapers, all I hear is that we’re hated. When I read the anti-Semitic alternatives, they tell me we run the world!”

Israel is not a victim. Less so is it a tragic nation. Rather, as Start-Up Nation makes clear, Israel today is one of the most highly educated and technologically advanced nations on Earth, with one of the planet’s fastest-growing economies. It’s time that Jewish papers and periodicals stop with the tired, worn stories predicting Israel’s imminent demise.

True, Israel has implacable, terrorist enemies, and yes, Iran is building a bomb which is an existential threat. That’s all mighty serious stuff.

But is that all there is to the modern Jewish story? Is there not also a story of breathtaking success? If only the world could hear about Israeli universities ranking in the top 10, of its growing number of Nobel Prize winners, of Andy Grove, Warren Buffet and Bill Gates rushing to invest in Israel and how a crazy percentage of the world’s computer chips are manufactured in the Jewish state.

Revealing Israel’s potential

The time has come for world Jewry to see Israel as the place where the limitless potential of the Jewish people is finally being made manifest. All we needed was for people to get out of our way, and just look at how we thrive. And we prosper not as a self-absorbed nation but as a people who make vast contributions to all of mankind.

In light of this, it is time for Israel to consider forgoing American economic aid. I understand the military aid; the country has an insane number of crazies who wish to destroy it. But the economic aid creates an unnecessary dependency, undermines the perception of Israel as a prosperous country and gives the US undue influence over Israeli policy. Surely we all believe that decisions governing Israel’s right to defend itself should be taken by the Israeli prime minister rather than the American president.

There is more.

Many a Jew has wondered aloud why the Arabs got all the oil and Israel got none. What could God have been thinking in making despots and dictators like the Saudis and Libya’s Muammar Gaddafi so insanely rich, while Israel has to struggle for every shekel it earns?

Only now to do we see the truth. Oil is the greatest curse ever to befall the Arabs.

A constant struggle

By simply digging a hole and having money flow from the ground, the Arab states had little incentive to build universities or a high-tech industry. And when the day comes – and it will – when the world finally finds an alternative energy source, these despotic regimes will collapse, returning to the sand from which they arose.

This isn’t rocket science. All of us know at least one rich friend whose kids don’t have to work, and who consequently became indolent. Israel has had to struggle for everything it has. No country has ever been more unjustly reviled or more continuously attacked.

Conversely, no country better inspires the world to ponder the infinite capacity of humans to rise from the ashes of despair and build a shining state on a hill.

Israel still has a lot of problems and a lot of enemies; it must remain hyper vigilant.

But it is time for the other side of the story to be told as well.

It is time that more books like Start-Up Nation begin to focus on Israel’s colossal achievements.

Shmuley Boteach, founder of This World: The Values Network, has just published The Blessing of Enough and The Michael Jackson Tapes.

Published courtesy of The Jerusalem Post.

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Public singalongs – food for the soul

Italians do it operatically. The French do it romantically. And Israelis do it in public.

Singing, that is.

Israeli entertainment without what is known as shira be tzibur – public sing-alongs – is like Israeli food without falafel. Just as you can put anything into a pita, smother it with tehina, and then enjoy eating it even though everyone can see the sauce dripping down your chin, a sing-along evening comprises a strange but healthy combination of the schmaltzy, the piquant and a measure of public embarrassment – food for the soul.

Legend has it that the Greeks dance no matter what. This side of the Mediterranean, we sing. We sing to remember, we sing to forget; we sing when we’re happy and we sing so much when we’re sad that a whole genre has developed called shirei piguim – terror attack songs.

Waiting for the Messiah

One of the best things about living in Israel is how in-tune it is with the times. You can forget about a “White Christmas,” but at Succot, “Shlomit Bona Succa” (Shlomit Builds a Succa of Peace) and Gali Atari’s “Stav Yisraeli” (An Israeli Autumn) are high on the Israel Radio playlist.

For the New Year, Yediot Aharonot’s entertainment supplement drew up a list it tagged as “The Country’s Hit Parade: the top 500 songs of Israeli music.” The list held some surprises – the No. 1 of which was the choice for the top spot. Whereas I had expected that the genius of Arik Einstein would beat all others – Einstein, celebrating his 70th birthday, is the ultimate timeless Israeli entertainer – it was sometime-rocker Shalom Hanoch who led the list with his mega-hit of the 1980s, “Mehakim Lamashiah” (Waiting for the Messiah). As the paper summed up, “Sometimes it all comes together – the words, the music, the composition, a few minutes of inspiration and the perfect song.”

The paper attributed the song’s success to its continued (or, perhaps, renewed) relevance: Not only are we still waiting for the messiah – “Mashiah lo ba, mashiah gam lo metalfen” (The messiah doesn’t come, neither does he phone), as Hanoch put it – but even a generation born after the double whammy of the First Lebanon War and the Israeli market crash of the early ’80s can still identify with the lyrics.

The Yediot list makes fascinating reading, partly because of its very unpredictability. In an unscientific but fun survey of sabra friends, I found that without exception they all expected Einstein to lead the chart and Shlomo Artzi to follow, with something either written by Ehud Manor or sung by Kaveret (a group too good to last) in the third spot.

A song to end the heatwave

Instead, Hanoch’s raw rock was followed by former Kaveret member Gidi Gov’s “Shlal Sharav,” verbally painting the picture of the end of the great heat wave, “as the sun sets in the blue sea and a silent wind calms face, neck, nostrils and blood.” If you’ve never suffered an Israeli hamsin, or more specifically the swelter of Tel Aviv, you might not appreciate how much there is to sing about when it finally breaks. The combination of Gov’s rasping tones, Meir Ariel’s lyrics and Yehuda Poliker’s music definitely created a hit, although one wonders if the voting wasn’t influenced by meteorological conditions and location as much by musical tastes.

Third place went to Yehudit Ravitz’s “Viduy,” a poem by Alexander Penn set to music by Sasha Argov. Not my favorite Ravitz number, it nonetheless has the immortal line: “Haya ra letiferet” – it was wonderfully bad.

It is, also, wonderfully Israeli to take classic poems and give them a musical life. This summer, for example, singer Etti Ankri is making a comeback and giving Yehuda Halevy’s words significant public exposure after almost 1,000 years. It’s hard to imagine Israeli music without the touch of poets Rachel (like Shakespeare, she needs but one name), Yona Wallach, Natan Yonatan, Natan Alterman, Bialik and so many others that Yediot could probably have drawn up a top-500 list of just those works.

Incidentally, Einstein only finally appeared in the Yediot chart (with Hanoch again) in the No. 4 slot, with a message we might all ponder now and again: “Lama li lakahat lalev?” – Why should I take it to heart?

Liat Collins is the editor of the International Edition of the Jerusalem Post.

Printed by courtesy of The Jerusalem Post.

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