When you come upon Beit Hayeladim, a small, gated school on a seemingly unnoticeable street so much like many others in Tel-Aviv, it’s hard to imagine Lionel Messi, Yossi Benayoun, or even a local football prodigy competing here. In fact, the concrete court where the students did drills and ran sprints with their friends on a warm October night is better suited for a pick-up basketball game. Basketball hoops hang over the tiny, steel goals and trapezoidal lanes act as the 18-yard box. Despite the surroundings, the students competed with so much fervor that it felt as though we were at Bloomfield surrounded by thousands of fans, rather than a few gawking classmates.
The first thing asked of me, fittingly, was “mi atah?” (who are you?). “Shmi Jesse,” I responded, “Mi atah?”. Once I had introduced myself to the ten students in this manner or something similar, it was time to start our session. Amazed by my overall American-ness, the students were distracted as their coach, Rafi, explained to them that they needed to work hard and be on time. “Ezeh na’alayim!” (loosely meaning “look at those shoes!”) proclaimed one youngster while another, upon hearing my attempt at Hebrew (and my American accent), shouted “Cowboy!” and was joined by his classmates.
The drills we did, who won each contest, and which student got to be the coveted “coach’s helper” was far less important than what I learned about football and what it means to this group of children at Beit Hayeladim. They see this concrete basketball court every day and imagine it as Old Trafford, their shirts magically bear names and numbers, and every touch is do-or-die. Despite their surroundings, they care about the beautiful game more than any group of children I’ve ever encountered. As I walked up the street and toward my bus stop, I grew excited for another chance to work with this group. You never know, maybe my shirt will have “Cowboy” on the back by the time I’m done.
This post was written by Jesse Schneiderman, an International Intern for Mifalot.
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