Tag Archives: israel

THE CAR

25 Jan

So, my transformation, from American literary genius, to a real-life citizen of Israel, the King of All Jewish Baseball, is almost complete.  The ministry of absorption, of transportation, city inspectors, this tax, that parking app, paperwork.  But one piece was still missing, a car, our great symbol of stability, and mobility, at the same time.

After 6 months living in Israel – a nice, round number for review, I will note, leading THE MOST POWERFUL BASEBALL ORGANIZATION IN THE WORLD, I have had 6, or 7, cars, I can’t remember.  I am an expert, now, also, along with being a professional blogger and the most important artist of the century, a professional car renter, test driver, they know me at Hertz, laugh every time I walk in.

If I had known, I would have documented the whole thing better, as is my habit, let nothing slip by, write it down, make a list, photos, or it never happened.  But, regretfully, dear reader, I did not get it all, as well as I would have liked.  But I will, now, anyhow, using only the power of Mickey Sabbath, and my phone, of course, piece it all together for you.

It started with this modest little baby blue beast, a nice car, small, manageable, so long ago,I don’t remember if it was fast or slow.

Car 1.

Car 1. Blue Kia Picanto.

After just 1 week, I had had to turn the in for a van.  It was time for baseball camp, and I was the bus driver, so I exchanged Car 1, for Van 1.  I do not have a picture of the van.

After camp, I received as a gift from the Gods of Jewish Baseball, what came to be known as THE GREAT AND FAITHFUL MOBILE OF JEWISH BASEBALL, the car, thus far, I had the longest, a brown Suzuki Splash.

Car 3, the Splash.

Car 3, the Splash.

The Splash made it through the Succot Clinics and nearly 2 months on the Battlefield.  But then, the NUMERFUL AND WICKED ENEMIES OF JEWISH BASEBALL unleashed a plot to destroy the Splash.  Broken glass everywhere.

An attemped assisnation

Assassination attempt.

But we will not be stopped.  Like Malcolm, King, and Reagan, in the face of death threats, we picked ourselves up, and continued on…

No big deal.

No big deal.

But a King of Jewish Baseball can only drive a windowless Sukuzi full of Priceless Baseball Equipment for so long, so we exchanged the Splash.

The guy at Hertz said he had never seen a car returned in worse condition, covered in the dust of the Earth, and Bird Shit, missing a window, water bottles and crumpled flyers promoting the Plentiful Programs of Israel Baseball strewn about, phone chargers, coffee cups.  He looked around as is if, just by being in the presence of the car, he was somehow in danger.

Goodbye Grand Master Splash.

Goodbye Grand Master Splash.

But then, a new hope, a beautiful Nissan .

Car 4.

Car 4.

The next day, Hamid drove his van into us, another attempt to slow the proliferation of the Kingdom of Jewish Baseball.

Noooooooo. Hamid, you asshole!  The Nissan.  You didn't hear me honking???

Noooooooo. Hamid, you asshole! The Nissan. You didn’t hear me honking???

We continued on, the Hannukah Tournament, carting 4 coaches to Baptist Village every Wednesday for National Team Practice, remembering car start codes and license plate numbers.

One must not just test drive cars, but actual car rental companies.  My time with Hertz, after 6 months, had ended.  Time to create confusion somewhere else and start looking for a car not to rent, but to buy, to own, property, something to destroy that we can call our very own.

Cars in Israel are insanely expensive, exactly twice as much as in the US, because of a 100% car tax.  But I had always heard an Oleh Chadash like myself, as we’re called, those who have, for one reason or another, recently moved to Israel, were to be rewarded for our braveness with an exemption from the dreaded 100% car tax, so I went for the top, a deserving car, an honest new Honda, or Hyundai.   But being an Oleh Chadash isn’t what it used to be, the tax break has been reduced to nearly nothing!  The new cars were 130k Shekels.

So we took our love of cars to Avis where they sell used rental cars cheaply.

Arthur's desk.

Arthur’s desk.

I found a most Israeli model, a Mazda 3, nice car, they’re everywhere.  But who has 70 Thousand Shekels just laying around?  My collection of fake gold jewelry is worth only a combined 30k, I was 40k short.  So I went to a GREAT INSTITUTION OF PERFECTION AND FLOORS, the bank.  And in the meantime, was given this free loaner from Arthur at Avis.

Car 5. Chevy Cruz.  Slow.  Handles poorly.  Bad Visibility.  Uncomfortable.  Shit on gas.  Rating: Shitty .

Car 5. Chevy Cruz. Slow. Handles poorly. Bad Visibility. Uncomfortable. Shit on gas. Rating: Shitty .

As you know from my brief experience trying to get my license, and as a professional Jury Dutyer, back in the New York Days, Bureaucracy is Kryptonite for the King of Jewish Baseball, if you will, takes my strength, gives me mall legs.

With an attitude like that, I was, after 1 full-day, well spent, I must say, sitting in the bank, fantasizing long winded inner monologues about bureaucrats, the world has become too complicated, too hard to navigate, the weak rule the banks, and the world, I was, ultimately rejected for a loan for the car.  You can’t trust an Oleh Chadash with history with cars like mine, he could leave, burn the car and leave, drive it into the ocean.  I called Arthur, deal’s off, Arthur, I am sorry, what should I do with the free car you gave me?  I will bring it back as soon as possible.

Let’s go check Auto Deal, they have deals, on autos.  A Volkswagen, multi media, sun roof, black, a remote control in the car, it smelled like cigarettes, had probably been driven by a Jewish Muslim Wizard Gangster, radio probably half blown out, remote control, though, sold.  Back to the bank.  They won’t give me a loan for a Mazda, but they will, it turns out, give me one for a pimped out black Jetta.  Stamped.  Approved.  Boom.

But no!  Not so fast. It’s only been 5 months, accidents, break-ins, love found, and lost, at Tel Aviv’s most forthright and spectacular car rental agencies, more coffee, the bank, insurance, taken full days of the present, and more off the back end, nothing can be this easy.  Let’s keep looking.  I hear there are deals on cars up North, let’s check it out.

Another Mazda 3.  Financing.  Mazda 3, “the most popular model in Israel”, along with the Hyundai I-30, which I also test drove.  I am transforming, becoming Israeli, might as well drive the most Israeli car.  Let’s do it.  And so, here it is, Car 6, or 7, MY car.  The one I will know better than all the others, though our love is still new.

The Mazda.

The Mazda.

I returned the car to Arthur.  The free loaner.  But no, not free, unfree, the opposite of free, money, 6,000 Shekels.  What the fuck, Arthur, bro?  You told me you used to want to be a Formula 1 driver, but now you’re renting cars at Avis. We got personal.  We are cool.

So, like all things, it is not done.  I may owe Avis 6k, or 2, or they may throw it all away, their mistake, they’ll let me know.  And there is more to be done, check the spare, owe more money for the new car, a lot, pick up the original copy of the registration, not get in an accident.

The race continues.

THE STORM

15 Dec

Is it safe to come out?  I have been inside for a week.  Everyone has. It’s been raining, hailing, and snowing, for 40 days and 40 nights.  The worst storm in the history of Israel.  Jerusalem got 24 inches of snow.  All baseball activities canceled.  Our fields are under water, or ice.

Hombo Field at Kibbutz Gezer

Hombo Field at Kibbutz Gezer

There is only one explanation for these extreme weather conditions.  No, dear reader, faithful peasant, it is not what you’re thinking, clearly, it is not god’s punishment for reality TV, or so called “global warming”, no no no, it was me moving to Israel.  Earth was not prepared for the energetic shift from West to East, and it threw our planet off its axis.  Wind patterns changed, oceanic currents reversed, flowers sprouted on moon glaciers, continental plates liquified, birds flew confused overhead, crashing into one another, falling into lakes of bubbling sulfur.

I am sorry.

But, now, finally, the miracle of the universe is alive around us, and in us.  The Earth rights itself.  The sun is out, burning our dilated eyes as we emerge like zombies from solitary confinement, tortured, crazed, skinny, hands outstretched, blocking the light, feeling for sharp objects, hiding our unshaven faces and sunken cheeks.

Jerusalem will thaw.  The fields will dry out.  And, soon, here, and all around the world, it will be time to play ball.  And we will be new again.

HANNUKAH TOURNAMENT

10 Dec

It is that time of year again, time for the most anticipated event of the combined worldwide baseball and popular science communities.  No, dearest, imbecilic reader, it is not what you are thinking, the so called “World Series”, or the World Baseball Classic, it is not even Haley’s Comet.  It’s the Israel Association of Baseball’s Annual Hannukah Tournament.  Boom!  29 teams in 3 age divisions playing games simultaneously at 7 venues across the country.  Over 350 participants – players, coaches, umps, parents, grandparents, drivers, and fans.

An event of this magnitude, surely, was no easy administrative task, it required the considerable force of 3 of this Earth’s most powerful Jewish Baseball Geniuses, Neon Leon Klarfeld aka The Overlord of All Jewish Safety, Wellbeing, and Barbecues aka Jewish Santa Clause aka Jewish Wizard of Oz, Margo Sugarman, the Queen of Jewish Emails Pertaining to Israel Baseball and All Other Divine Communications, and, of course, me, the One, The King of All Jewish Baseball.

It began with a simple meeting over pizza with Neon Leon.  A great idea.  A Hannukah Tournament.  It happens every year like the changing of the seasons.  What could go wrong with something so natural, so perfect?  Weeks later, 40 different versions of the schedule taped the the wall at international HQ of Israel Baseball, an unsolvable puzzle, a broken man, phone calls at all hours from coaches, travel conflicts, venue changes, there’s no home plate at Baptist Village, Raanana needs baseballs, only half of Jerusalem’s uniforms were delivered, the sun is going down and Shabbat starts early this time of year, forecast says rain in Bet Shemesh, there’s only one ump scheduled for Modiin, can Dan ump, Misgav thinks their playing at 10am in Tel Mond, call them, they’re playing at noon at Gezer, I am getting a call on the other line, write up another schedule, Ginot Shomron has a Bar Mitvah in the morning, 3 of their players can’t make the early game, Rehovot and Tel Aviv have to combine to get to a total of 9 players, write up another schedule, e-mail it to me, we’ll send it out to everyone, hold on, I am getting another call, wait, which copy are we sending out?

It was like the control room at Cape Canaveral, Apollo 13, a rescue mission, Houston, we have a Hannukah Tournament, we ate dehydrated food for a week, didn’t sleep, and when we did, fitfully, awoken by a buzzing phone under our pillow, worried for our Jewish Baseball Brothers lost out in space, or on Route 431, The Hashmonaim Flames have a flat tire.

In the end, it worked, sort of.  The teams got to the fields.  Umps were there.  Pitches were thrown.  Outs were recorded.  Actual baseball games were played.  Scores were even reported.  More schedules.  Day 2.  Week 2.  Still no sleep.  A winners bracket.  A losers bracket.  We’re getting close to the end, the Spacecraft of Jewish Baseball is nearing safe re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere.  Write it up and get it out.  Confirm the umps.

Then… it rained.  Even now, a week later, as I sit here, literary genius, Ulpan dropout, typing, it rains still.  And day 2 of the tournament was eventually canceled due to weather.  It was, even with the rain, the largest Hannukah Tournament in nearly 5,000 years.

I can, as you know, faithful reader, continue on like this for some time, with these words, peeling back the layers of time and thought, lingering, going deeper, to a place where there is nothing, to the center, but I will spare you the full power of my descriptiveness…ness, for now, instead electing to show you this new piece of technology, by Queen Margo, a collage slide show music video mixed media installation.  We are, after all, inside of a blog, if you have forgotten, a forum for this kind of thing.  I warn you only, before you begin, do not stand and punch something due to the rush of adrenaline you will surely receive from the song alone, at least not with your throwing hand.  Here it is…

But we did not stop there.  No, the insanity of the tournament was not enough.  So between rounds of the Hannukah Tournament, we had Israel Baseball All Star Day.  West Coast scouting supervisor from the Cincinnati Reds Rex De La Nuez came to see 20 of our best 14-18 year olds, there were skills competitions for younger players, a free barbecue, we lit the Hannukah Candles outside the 1st base dugout, and then the grande finale, the Greatest Jewish Baseball Show on Earth, the 1st ever Premier League All-Star game, under the lights, in front of the ever-growing IAB extended family.  Hundreds of friends, family, and kids in their uniforms stayed to watch 2 teams, 24 players in total, battle for the right to call themselves the best, in Israel, that night.

And then, it was over.  The phone calls stopped.  The inbox returned into a manageable flow.  The schedule stopped changing.  And I can now say, Ladies and Geetles, without further frothing and rambling, using only the power of my technicolor coat, and 2 modern day royals, we did it.  And we continue to do it.  We may have been rained out, but we will not be rained on.  Israel Baseball, lift off.

 

SCIENCE FRICTION

20 Nov

We started our Strength and Conditioning Program this week.  I am in pain.  Every day at 7am, THE GREAT AND NUMEROUS MEMBERS OF THE ISRAEL NATIONAL TEAM unite at CrossFit Tel Aviv (http://crossfittelaviv.com/) and become one unstoppable and exhausted force of supernature.  CrossFit is the Scientology of exercise, it is its own world, with its own language.  This week alone, we have done 1.3 million neuro quad boosters, 400,000 lateral quazi skeletal laser thrusts, 4 galactic squat break downs in dual orbital sets, a one legged space-time hold, and infinite explosive negative zero cleans.  My time on the 93 million mile velocity techno moonbeam circuit is already down to .00000066565655522111 nano light years.   And so we have officially begun, the Israel Senior National Team, between our regular practices and training, our collective push to win the European Championships this summer, to ultimate victory, to once and for all extinguish the flame of desire that burns in each of us.

Orr Gottlieb, aka Israeli Babe Ruth, demonstrates perfect form on his poly quasar squats.

Orr Gottlieb, Israeli Babe Ruth, demonstrates perfect form on his poly quasar squat thruster dianetic boosters.

When you think of me, dear reader, which is often, I know, late at night, sleepless, looking into the darkness, you think of of me as a genius warrior-poet, the greatest exaggerator of all time, perhaps, or the most important conceptual artist/novelist/dancer of the 21st century, or, maybe now, as the Cross Fit Middle East Regional Champion, but forget not, I am also a REAL BASEBALL PLAYER.  So, to prove it, I leave you with this piece of moving picture and sound from THE VERY FANTASTIC ISRAEL BASEBALL INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO SERIES OF THE NEW ISRAEL BASEBALL YOUTUBE CHANNEL, magically created using only a single white dove, and a video camera, of course, and a lifetime of carefully crafted knowledge, with the overall production quality of a local access cooking show.

Here it is…

—-

Oh, almost forgot, the GREATEST HOUR OF RADIO EVER RECORDED…

http://tlv1.fm/episodes/2013/11/17/rogel-alpher-with-nate-fish-journeys/

THE TEAMS OF THE IAB

2 Nov

Shabbat Shalom.

There is a lot going on.  We had a meeting of QUITE POWERFUL JEWISH AND NON-JEWISH WIZARDS at Leich Cream’s.  Leich, naturally, was there, Miri, wife of Leich, was there as well, Jewish Jackie Robinson, as she is known (http://www.timesofisrael.com/a-landmark-baby-step-to-religious-pluralism/), Destroyer of the Rabbinical Gender Barrier and All That Is Unjust.  And a smattering of other friends and family– Oh, and Ron Cey.

Ron Cey

Ron Cey

For those of you who are very, very dumb, which is ALL of you, I will tell you, here and now, using only the power of lasers and magnets, and and my computer, Ron played 3rd base for the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1971-1984, The King of All Los Angeles Dodgers 3rd Baseman, if you will.   He hit 316 career home runs.  He was the MVP of the 1981 World Series.

What, I assume you are wondering, considering how little you know, was Ron Cey doing at Kibbutz Gezer?  To which I answer… and allow me to take a moment to acknowledge this rare unnatural phenomenon, I do not know.  All I know is when someone calls and says Ron Cey is at their house, you go there.  When Shlo called and said he was with Prince, I simply grabbed whatever gold jewelry and brimless leopard print hats were in arms reach, got on my Segway, and floated down the street like I was on a conveyer belt screaming, “Get the fuck out of my way, I am going to find Prince.”  I realize, as King of Jewish Baseball, Things of Such Magnificence happen to me OFTEN, and happen to you NEVER, so I will tell you, it is just how these things work.

The King of All Jewish Baseball and Ron Cey

The King of All Jewish Baseball and Ron Cey, King of All Dodgers 3rd Baseman

But I, as is my habit, have been distracted, for I did not come down from the Heavens to tell you about Big Leaguers, I came to tell you about Little Leaguers.  That’s right, Ladies and Geetles, our season has begun.  Each week, across the country, coaches and players unite– nay, teams unite, soccer fields become baseball fields, carpools form, and for 2 hours each Friday, the Eternal Flame of Jewish Baseball burns bright.  Without further ado, I now, belatedly, using only a serpent, and my camera, of course, proudly present, THE TEAMS OF THE IAB…

The Tel Aviv Comrades, The Raanana Raiders, The Lev Hasharon Nationals, The Zofit Warriors, The Ginot Shomron Hawks, The Bet Shemesh Comets, Blue Sox, and Mavericks, The Modiin Miracles, The Hashmonaim Atzec Flames, The Jerusalem Lions, The Gezer Bats, Team Misgav, and The Rehovot Raptors.

But, as we’ve discussed so many times, there is no need, considering I am a professional blogger, to bore you any longer with old fashioned “words”, I will show you with the new and exciting technology of photography.  It rained this Friday, but some of our teams still practiced.  I went to Modiin and Tel Aviv.  Meet them now, for the first time, your favorite new baseball teams…

Modiin Miracles, 8-10 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 8-10 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 10-12 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

A Miracles pitcher throws in the "bullpen'

A Miracles pitcher throws in the “bullpen”

The Tel Aviv Comrades, 8-10 years old

The Tel Aviv Comrades, 8-10 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades 10-12 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades 10-12 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades, 14-16 years old

Tel Aviv Comrades, 14-16 year olds

 

HOME

13 Oct

I am in the air, in a plane, somewhere high above the Atlantic Ocean, between New York and Rome, where I switch planes, back to Tel Aviv.

I like being on the plane.  There’s nothing to do but sit here, and fly the plane, of course.  Faithful reader, you must know, being a King of Jewish Baseball can be busy, but, briefly, here and now, I sit alone.

I left Israel a week ago, left my new home for my old home.  What, I am sure you are wondering, was the occasion that could pull me away from the glorious ranks of Elementary-Level Hebrew Speaker?  My niece and nephew were born, two future geniuses, the Duke and Dutchess of Jewish Baseball…

The Duke and Dutchess of Future Jewish Baseball

The Future Duke and Dutchess of Jewish Baseball

So just three months after saying goodbye to everyone and everything in New York, forever, I was back.  New York, surprisingly, still stands, sturdy, wide roads, comparatively high sidewalks, steel, brick, a mountain.  I drove past the Baseball Academy where I used to work, I ate salad, listened to the new Drake record on 97.1, picked up baseball gear to bring back to the kids here, I used a flip phone, I was jet-lagged, I slept on different couches and beds each night, I was tired.  I am not used to Israel yet, but, I know, too, I am not a New Yorker anymore.  I am between worlds, ghostly, in the world, but not of it, a King without a Land, exile.

Jewish Baseball Santa Clause

Jewish Santa Clause is coming

And then, suddenly, it was today, time to leave.  I have 10 hours until we land in Israel, and it’s back to Raziel 11, to life as leader of the Free Jewish Baseball World.  I will get back to the Raze and go through e-mails.  I tried to keep up, but failed.

This morning, be fore I left, Danny and Callie gave me something, a well-timed gift to remind me who I am.

IMG_3767

I have a job to do, for everyone back in New York, for everyone in Israel, for Luca and Leo.  I may just be a poor Jewish kid from Cleveland, and you are almost certainly just an unwashed mental patient, reading a blog in your underpants at 2 in the morning, but we are somebody!

It’s time to hit the ground, and hit the grind.  There is work to be done.

—-

http://www.haaretz.com/news/sports/.premium-1.550355

ULPAN

30 Aug

Shalom.  Ani Fish Natan Israel.  Ani mi America.  Ani gar bi Yafo bi Rehov Raziel akshav.  Ani oved bi baseball.  Any lomed evrit bi Ulpan Gordon bi Rehov Lassalle bi Tel Aviv bi Israel.  Ani telmid tov meod.  Ani lo tayar.  Ani oleh chadash.

No, faithful follower, lady, geetle, that is not your glass eye playing tricks on you, nor has your computer screen been possessed by Jewish goblins again, it is ME, speaking hebrew.  That’s right, my metamorphosis in nearly complete.  I have changed from an english master, an AMERICAN LITERARY GENIUS, to a pre-school level Hebrew speaker in only 2 days.

I started hebrew class this week and can already say the 9 sentences above that I will be expected to perform in front of the class at our next session.  For Philistines who, unlike me, embarrassingly, DO NOT speak the ancient mystical tongue of the Sun God Ra, it says, “Hi.  My name is Fish Natan Israel (my name here).  I am from America. I live in Jaffa on Raziel street now.  I work in baseball.  I learn hebrew at Ulpan Gordon on Lassalle street in Tel Aviv in Israel.  I am a very good student.  I am not a tourist.  I am a new immigrant.”

the tower of Babel

ulpan

There are 25 of us in class.  We represent 15 countries; America, England, France, England, Brasil, the Ukraine, kazakhstan, Russia, South Africa, Italy, and countries I cannot name here because the student’s whereabouts are unknown.  It’s like the tower of babel, but under florescent light.  Not sure why, but I thought ulpan was going to be like an opium den, beautiful people laying around on couches and rugs, legs draped over one another, smoking cigarettes and sipping coffee, casually learning Hebrew, maybe watching movies in Hebrew, picking up a new word or a phrase here or there.  But alas, in two days, our lovely mora has not spoken a word of English.  There is no common language between us anyways, so she just speaks hebrew.  There are no questions. If I lose focus for even a minute, I am lost.  Class is from 8am-1pm, Sunday through Thursday.  So we will be together 5 days a week, 5 hours a day, for the next 5 months.  Each day we will be expected to learn at least 25 new words after which we will be released to the unforgiving streets of Tel Aviv to read signs and speak in full sentences all on our own.

Of the 25 students in class, I learned, I am the only one who has a job, not to mention a full-time job, not to mention a full-time job that is also A DIRECT MISSION FROM THE DIVINE SPIRIT, and, I believe, though it’s not yet confirmed, who lives in an art cave and maintains a blog of such magnificence as to blind ALL of its readers.

This is my destiny.  And somewhere far, far away, Janet Jackson plays a saxophone solo in my honor.  I am almost sure of it.

THE CUBANS

26 Aug

I got this e-mail a few weeks ago…

Hey guys,
So I went to see the cubans yesterday, and I got to say I was amazed. 
There were about 30 people there, some had shoes but most played bare foot, they had a bat, about 5-6 gloves, and one ball. 
They used rocks as bases, and each time the ball got hit out of the fences the game had to stop till they find the ball, oh and also when they hit the ball out of the ball park ( A soccer field!). These guys can play baseball that’s for sure!
We got to get these guys some equipment, the most important thing is catchers equipment and batting helmets, so they can start playing seriously and not lob the ball in.. they said they had some real good pitchers but until they get equipment they can’t really practice. 
Today I am going to get these guys a couple of gloves, bats, balls and bases from what Peter sent out to me and from my kids team , but it certainly is not enough.  
See what you can do about the catchers equipment, helmets, and more balls can also be great, they also need a lefty glove.
It would be a shame to miss these guys, they are really good and really wan’t to take part in the league. 
—–
What is this I am seeing?  Bare foot?  Rocks for bases? One ball?  Sharing gloves? Cubans?
There is only one man qualified to handle this, that’s right, Ladies and Geetles, it is I, the King of All Jewish Baseball.  So I packed my things, that is to say, 6 life-sized gold statues of myself, and ascended on my Hertz Rental Chariot of Fire deep into the desert, to Be’er Sheva, where the Cubans play, to see for myself these bare footed men.
Be’er Sheva is in the south of Israel, about an hour from Tel Aviv.  Half-way there, the landscape changes from Earthly to Martian, small trees become no trees, many roads become one road.  It is not a place you would expect to find baseball, or Cubans.  But, alas, like the One Eyed Horse Lion, it exists, and it is beautiful.

Mars

Mars

Despite your mind being much weaker than mine, you may be asking yourself the same thing as me.  What are a bunch of Cubans doing playing baseball in the middle of the desert in Israel?  The answer… they had no choice.

The Cubans have been relocated to Be’ersheva by the Jewish Agency, an organization that specializes in moving Jews to Israel, me included.  The Jewish Agency owns housing complex in Be’er Sheva where the Cuban players live.

I had been in touch with Marcos, the only one in the group who speaks English.

I met Marco in the parking lot of the Supermarket in Be’er Sheva.  Players started arriving.  All had shoes, so far.  We took ground balls in the parking lot for a half-hour, then got in cars to go to the field.  We threw down bases on the soccer field, actual bases, sort of, orange rubber bases, better than rocks at least.  We did what can be done anywhere, easily, we made a baseball field, something from nothing, structure in all that open space, and we played baseball.

The e-mail was not all accurate, and not all inaccurate.  Most of the guys had shoes, though some did not.  I had brought 3 baseballs, so we had more than 1.  We shared gloves.  There was a version of catchers equipment though no one used it.  There were no walks.  There were strikeouts.  The pitcher threw from varying distances.  Like I had been warned, when a ball was hit foul over the fence, the game stopped, and one guy, the designated retriever, who was pissed off but still proud of his job, went to find it, and the game resumed.  We played 3 innings before I had to go.  I said I would return with more baseballs and more bats and more gloves.

They were not very good.  But who cared?  They did not.  They– nay, we were just playing ball, In Havanna, or Be’er Sheva, or Mars, or wherever we were.

My reply to the e-mail…

Awesome.  I want to go.

The Cubans, and me.

The Cubans, and me.

—–

http://www.ctvnews.ca/sports/king-of-jewish-baseball-aims-to-take-baseball-to-the-big-leagues-in-israel-1.1426121

 
 

THE RAZE

9 Aug

Hello, faithful reader, Lady, or Geetle.  As promised, I, in the name of duty and virtue, kindly welcome you to 11 Raziel St., or as they would say here in the land of Israel, Raziel 11– storefront, gallery, office, studio, International Head Quarters of the Israel Association of Baseball… my home.

11 Raziel St., Jaffa, Israel

11 Raziel St., Jaffa, Israel

But before the tour begins, let us, as is our habit, review 3 new things I’ve learned about Israel, bringing the grand total of things I know to 9.

1) Israelis stare.

In Israel, things that may be considered rude in America, or anywhere, for that, things like cutting in line, or staring, are normal.  It may be the crown and cape, or the jewels, but people here act like they’ve never seen a superhero magician baseball genius before.  According Shlomo Lipetz, GREAT BLACK BASEBALL WITCH OF TEL AVIV AND NEW YORK CITY, my cultural guide on this adventure, they mean no harm.  Despite locking eyes on anyone they do not know from birth, apparently with a burning hatred, they are not thinking anything in particular or judging, they’re just looking.

2) Things are closed at weird times.

Banks open at 8, close at 11, reopen at 2, close again at 6.  Sunday is a work day.  Tuesday and Friday are half-days at school.  For example, today is the holiest of holies, Shabbat, so everything nation-wide will close at sundown, except some will close much earlier, and some will not close at all and will instead stay open all night.

3) Everything has multiple spellings.

Signs here are in three languages; Hebrew, Arabic, and English, unless, of course, they’re not.  Partly because there are 3 national languages, and because hebrew is being spoken again for the first time in 3,000 years, nothing really has an official spelling.  As long as it’s close, it’s good enough.  My full name, in the western world, is Nathan Israel Bloomberg Fish.  Here, on some documents my name is Nate Fish, on others it’s Fish Natan, or Fish Israel, Israel Natan, or Natan Israel.  I, technically, do not know my own name.  I live at Raziel 11.  But on my checkbook it’s spelled, “11 Razieli”.  Like a lot of places, there is a certain fluidity to language, and reality, here.

Which brings us to 11 Raziel, the Razor, the Razor’s Edge, the Raze, Razor Studios, 11 Razieli, The Raz, The Little Razcle, Razor Ramon’s house, the Razzle.  Along with attempting to FORCE EVERY ISRAELI TO LOVE BASEBALL, I have adopted an abandoned storefront in Jaffa, one of Israel’s only mixed Arab and Jewish neighborhoods, and am attempting, while living here, to make it livable.  When it’s complete, it will be a shiny palace sitting atop a mountain of the sculls of the defeated.  For now, it’s a hot, dirty, cavern.  Let me, King of All Jewish Baseball, take you on a tour, using only the divine powers handed down to me through a long generational line of Jewish Baseball Wizards, and digital photography, of course, Ladies and Geetles, my palace, 11 Raziel…

the only working light in the apartment.

the only working light in the apartment.

paint, light bulbs, a fan, and my extensive collection of patio furniture.

paint, light bulbs, a fan, and my extensive collection of patio furniture.

my ladder and cleaning supplies.

my ladder and cleaning supplies.

the kitchen.

the kitchen… and half of the bathroom

upstairs.  where i sleep.  it is very nice.

upstairs. where i sleep. it is very nice.

the King of Jewish Baseball, in his home, hard at work.

the King of Jewish Baseball, in his home, hard at work.

Follow your dreams.

THE MACCABIAH

3 Aug

And so, The Maccabiah, The Maccabi Games, The Big Mac, The Jewish Olympics, the 3rd largest international sporting event behind the non-Jewish Olympics and the Pan-Am Games, THE GREAT CELEBRATION OF JEWISH SPORTSMANSHIP AND PAGEANTRY TO BE CELEBRATED IN ISRAEL ON THE 3RD MOON OF JULY EVERY 4TH YEAR– whatever you want to call it, is over.  That’s right, Ladies and Goose Bumps, it’s really over.  We did what we said we’d do, we, Team Jew.S.A., won gold, and are, for now, the Supreme Rulers of Jewish Baseball.  And as proof, we were awarded the Tiny Golden Engraving of Ultimate Beauty and Greatness.

our reward

our reward

But before we end, let me take you back, back to the beginning, OPENING CEREMONIES, where no civilian hath ever been before, in the tunnel with Team USA just moments before we proudly marched into the stadium.

The Maccabi Games are, after all, where the best mediocre Jewish athletes from around the world to come together to compete and compare the strength of their particular brand of Jewish Magic.  Whether it’s judo, futsol, underwater cup stacking, or coloring, it is, no doubt, a marvelous utopia of Jewish Excellence and Togetherness!  Children arrive, fresh faced, after months of training, eager to compete. This is  their chance!  The Maccabi Games.  The Olympics, kind of, it feels like the Olympics, at least, sometimes.  A once in a lifetime chance to be treated like a World Class Athlete.

But I will have you know, faithful reader, in reality, more than the perfect, sporty Jewish world of your imagining, the Games resemble a civil-war ravaged refugee camp, Jew fighting Jew, warring militias battling for control of the schedule, the laundry, the busses, the flow, or lack of, information.  At one point, I stopped speaking, stopped answering questions, PTSD, the thousand question stare.  I did not have the answers anyways.  Are there towels?  Why have we been sleeping on the side of the road waiting for a bus for 2 hours?

Each day, the guards woke us up at 5:30am, fed us fake muffins, and put us on busses to go battle in the heat of the day, hundreds at a time, to practice, Masada, more muffins, sleep when you can, but don’t let them see you, they yell.  We’d return at midnight, 1am, 2:30 am, together, if we were lucky, count the men.  Did everyone make it?  Before bed, on a good night, we’d split an extra tuna sandwich 16-ways Holtzy smuggled in his underwear off the bus.  3 hours later, awake again, a game, a movie about Israeli Military Technology, a surprise coaches meeting, another orientation, wait, change everything, the projector isn’t working, we’re going to Egypt, no busses for 45 minutes, get the team together, we need a trainer! –  Leo fell down the well.  Cohen lost his credentials.  The baseballs are gone.  What time are closing ceremonies over?  Laundry will be ready at 3am, team meeting at 3:30 to review what color socks we’re wearing tomorrow.  Where’s Biller?  Oh yeah, Biller is in surgery.   Volleyball is stuck in Tel Aviv.  Where the hell is Clayton?

A team that sleeps together...  Wake up! They're coming.

A team that sleeps together… Wake up! They’re coming.

But, naturally, we, the GREATEST ALL JEWISH 18-AND-UNDER BASEBALL TEAM OF ALL TIME, overcame.  For if the Maccabi Games teach young athletes anything, it is how to overcome adversity, and how to control the mind with confusion, of course.  And, in the end, like all situations of a particular intensity, it brought us closer together.  We lived together.  Slept together, on one another at times.  We won.  We lost.  We bounced back.  We loved each other, hated each other, however briefly, and now, we are one, forever, united, one team, under god, or Harold, or whoever is in charge that day, indivisible– nay, invincible, with gold!

Number 1...

Team Jew.S.A. Number 1…

—-

I officially began my job.  Everyone left for airport to fly home, and I took a taxi to my new apartment in Jaffa which, as you should by now know, I will tell you all about, when the time is right.  My new life as an israeli, as National Director of the IAB, with an inbox to prove it, and, of course, dutifully, continually, eternally, for there is no other, as King of All Jewish Baseball….

http://www.baseball.org.il/news/front-page-news/276-introducing-nate-fish.html