The Maccabiah Experience

I earned a place on the Israeli Triathlon team in the 17th Maccabiah Games, aka "The Jewish Olympics."

The Starting Gate

My first experience with the Maccabiah was a shopping disaster. I, like all the other Israeli athletes, was asked to order and pay for a uniform. I don’t know why I was surprised by this request, as there are no freebies in this country given the state of the Israeli economy. And I guess I should also not have been surprised when I, like all the other Israeli athletes, was given a men’s small rather than the size that I ordered. So, after having paid too much for the wrong size uniform, I embarked on my next Maccabiah experience.

I had to travel to Kfar HaMaccabiah to pick up my security pass. Anyone who has driven on a hot summer day to the center of the country, which is crowded with thousands of high-strung Israeli drivers all listening to nerve-racking debates about Gaza Disengagement on their car radios, knows that traveling to Kfar HaMaccabiah could not have been a very pleasurable experience. Of course, after arriving, finding a parking space and walking to the office, I was told that my security pass had been misplaced and I would have to come back to Kfar HaMaccabiah a second time.

So far, not so good. But fortunately, the day of the Maccabiah Opening Ceremony finally arrived. Armed with my precious security pass and wearing my oversized uniform, I felt hopeful that the tide would soon turn.

The Start Gun

For the Opening Ceremony, I, as a participating athlete, had to go to one parking lot to take a bus to the stadium, while my family and friends had to go to a different parking lot to catch a different shuttle to the stadium. Thank goodness for supportive family and friends who are not put off by inconveniences.

After getting off the bus, I crossed a new bridge over the Hayarkon river. As I crossed over this bridge, I looked at a replica memorial bridge in memory of the four Australian athletes who died in the 1997 Maccabiah Bridge Disaster. The memorial made me sad for the loss of those innocent athletes and angry over the crime of negligence committed.

After my, thankfully safe, bridge crossing, I spent a long ten minutes squashed in too close quarters with too many smelly-sweaty athletes, as we all jostled to get through security. When I finally squeezed through to the other side, I was happily greeted by a large grassy area, covered with tents, for all the athletes from all the delegations.

The First Leg

The time I spent in that grassy area, meeting delegates and Jewish athletes from all over the world, was one of the highlights of my Maccabiah experience. We wandered around, talking with each other and taking photos. Many delegations had given their athletes small mementoes, and the athletes exchanged these with each other. The sandwiches, fruit and drinks that were served added to the festive spirit. There was a general feeling of comradeship as a result of our Jewish identities, athletic interests, and participation in this special event. Unfortunately, the July Israeli heat was tremendous and the humidity worse. After three hours of socializing, most of us simply sat or lied down on the grass to wait for our turn to be called into the Opening Ceremony.