I Opinion

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THE BANK
FORECLOSING
OUR FARM.

Editorial

The Maccabi Experience

H

arold Friedman likes to com-
pare the JCC Maccabi Games
to the pill wrapped in peanut
butter that you give the family pet. The
exterior wrapping is tasty, and sports
will always draw a crowd of vigorous
teenagers. But the real benefit comes
within, giving these kids a taste of the
astonishing variety of the Jewish cul-
tural and religious experience.
Friedman had his own unique per-
spective on that over the last two sum-
mers.
Last year, he was chairman of the
Detroit Jewish Community Center's
Games, as Maccabi came calling our
way. The international teen games were
unanimously praised by participants for
their high degree of organization.
But this summer, he had an even larg-
er horizon. He was associate manager of
the vIaccabi USA Team for the interna-
tional Maccabiah Games for adults and
teens in Israel.
"There may be a few kids who go
through the Maccabiah Games and don't
regard it as a life-changing experience:'

he says. "A few, but not many.
"It's not the medals and not even the
competition. It's the realization that
there are so many Jewish people in the
world who share a bond with you."
Most people are not so naive as to
believe that Jews from Australia are
going to be pretty much the same
as Jews from Latin America. \\That
amazes them is that Jewish people from
Hispanic Argentina are so different in
their customs and demeanor than those
from Hispanic Mexico.
Maccabi was established as a way
to present an image of a strong, vigor-
ous, young Jewish community. Over the
years, it has overturned dozens of old
stereotypes.
At the same time, participants in the
Maccabiah in July were required to show
up a week early for training camp and
tours of Israel. The real bottom line was
to expose them to all Israel had to offer.
Many of them came from countries
in which the news media is not espe-
cially friendly towards Israel, and they
were astonished at the technologically

advanced, progres-
sive community they
found.
Not that there aren't
always some bugs in
putting on an event
of this size. More
than 9,000 athletes
from 60 countries,
including 1,000 from
the U.S.A. alone, had
to be moved from
athlete housing to
events. The Israelis
had their own take
on how it should be
done — which didn't
always coincide with
American efficiency.
Many times, coaches
were mystified about
when the buses were supposed to arrive
and where.
Eventually, it all was straightened out
and an astonishing total of 30,000 pay-
ing fans poured into the soccer stadium
at Ramat Gan to attend opening and

THEY'RE
FORECLOSING
THE SAW!

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closing ceremonies. This month, teenage
Detroiters participated in similar games
at four sites around the U.S.
Events such as these have planted the
concept of Maccabi in the conscious-
ness of Jewish young people around the
world. May it grow ever stronger. 71

Reality Check

Circus Days

F

iffy years ago this month, I walked
into a crumbling mansion that had
been converted into office space
for the journalism department at Wayne
State University in Detroit and changed my
major.
I had laid out a pretty solid career path
previously in wanting to become a shep-
herd. After all, the world will always want
wool and lamb chops. Newspapers, as it
turned out, not so much.
Still, I loved being a newspaperman. It
was more fun that anyone should have on
the job, like having free tickets to the front
row of the circus.
I realize now I was lucky. I landed in a
golden era. Newspapers mirrored their
communities and readers felt a special
bond with them. Good writers were
rewarded well.
The days when the sprightly Free Press
Was nicknamed "The Friendly" and the
sober News was "The Gray Lady" are long
gone. The distinct personalities that drew
hundreds of thousands of readers to each
of them have been sublimated to a dull
corporate sameness.

They continue to publish,
and that is good because it
gives some talented journalists
a chance to work, albeit under
maddening conditions. None of
this catastrophe was their fault,
but they must bear the conse-
quences of decisions made by
people who were not nearly as
smart as they thought they were.
It's a natural impulse to look
back upon a career and hope
you made a significant contri-
bution along the way. That you
accomplished more than writ-
ing your name on water. But I'm
not so sure about that anymore.
Oddly enough, I've rediscovered a sense
of purpose in writing this column for the
Jewish News. I hope this doesn't come
off as self-serving because that's not my
intent. But this is a paper that still fills the
traditional role of connecting a commu-
nity. In this case, it is a community under
stress, declining in numbers, with many
of its most talented young people leaving.
One member of the local clergy described

the JN to me as part of the
cement that keeps us bonded.
When I spoke at a Detroit
reunion in Scottsdale last year,
I was struck at the number of
people who keep up their sub-
scriptions despite having left
home long ago. I occasionally
get e-mails from high school
friends who haven't lived here
since college but are able to
keep up with me in this paper
more than they ever did when I
wrote for the Detroit dailies.
The IN also gets passed
around more than any other
local publication. That's a fairly decent
measure of interest in what is printed
here, although it doesn't do much for the
bottom line.
But I'll leave those concerns to the pub-
, Horwitz. I'm just grateful to
lisher„krthur
have an outlet for my writing.
Readers ask me how long it takes to
write one of these columns. My stock
answer is 68 years, the distilled experience
of a lifetime.

Newspapers took me to Israel on assign-
ment three times and into the spurting
champagne of the victorious Detroit
Tigers clubhouse in St. Louis in 1968. I've
seen Bachelor Days in New Salem, N.D.,
and danced (sort of) at an Arab wedding
in Nazareth.
I got to interview Edward G. Robinson,
Ron Silver and Simon Wiesenthal.
Annoyed the daylights out of any number
of politicians. Made friendships that I
treasure. Danced (sort of) in Paris with
the love of my life.
Covered fires in the freezing rain, inter-
viewed a man who had invented the kiss-
o-meter and went hunting for turquoise
with a miner in the vast empty center of
Nevada.
That and so much more, and all because
I walked into that old house on the Wayne
campus in 1959 and told Bill Holden that I
wanted to become a journalist.
I wouldn't have missed that circus for
the world.

George Cantor's e-mail address is

gcantor614aol.com .

August 20 • 2009

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