From soccer fields to battlefields: Why Israeli adults allow kids to be kids

Maybe it’s me, but I think Israeli kids are really noisy, and the adults don’t rein them in. And there’s something about the way the kids look at you–if they bother to notice you at all. Right in the eye. No smile. A fearlessness. Sizing you up.

It’s clear that the best you can hope for from these kids is cooperation, not obedience.

Since moving to Israel, I historicize everything, trying to figure out why things are the way they are. So, I remember that it’s likely these kids are descendants of people from Displaced Persons camps, who landed in Israel after every other country wouldn’t let them in. Or they are from one of the Arab countries that expelled all their Jews in response to Israel’s founding.

And probably these kids come from families who have slogged through a parade of wars, who were not surprised (like I was) when the whole world erupted with Jew hatred. Been there, survived that. 

No wonder these kids take their time before warming up. Maybe caution has evolved into a genetically conveyed trait.

So, listen to this.

I was sitting in the upper tier of the train between Herzliya and Tel Aviv when some kids boarded. I couldn’t see them but BOY! Could I hear them! Running. Shouting so loudly!

And I, without thinking, shouted, “STOP!” (I don’t know why. Just some grandma reflex when I think things are getting out of hand.) And I heard one of the kids’ voices downstairs shout back, “STOP!” Making fun of me. And then the pack ran off down the lower level of train, noisy as hell.

A while later, one of the kids came pounding up the stairs and stood right next to me. About 12 years old. Mouth full of braces. And, looking down the stairs as if talking to his colleagues, he starts to mimic someone (me) putting a finger to his lips, saying Shhhhhh! and gesturing with his hands for them to tamp down the volume.

I don’t know why, but this tickled me. You’d think it would make me angry—his mocking me. And all of them being so inconsiderate. But no. I was charmed –amused that he had the chutzpah to tease me.

I laughed and said, dripping with sarcasm, “What a goooood boy you are!” and then I added—not sure why— “and you’re very cute!” which was honestly how I felt.

It was strange how warmly I felt toward this naughty little guy. Is it possible I’ve become more Israeli than I realize?

Then he shouted downstairs to his buddies “Hey! She thinks I’m cute!” And suddenly, I’m surrounded by 6 or 7 sweaty 12-year-olds (they’ve been at soccer camp, all day playing in 100-degree weather—and still they’re full of energy!)

The first Cutie Pie points to a pal and asks me, “Do you think he’s cute?” And then points to another and says, “How about him—Or only me?” I tried to change the subject to soccer, but all he wanted was for me to judge everyone’s cuteness. And he was definitely in charge of this conversation.

After I told them that every single one of them was very cute, they swarmed off, thundering down the stairs and back to marauding on the lower level.

In 6 or so years –years that will zip by–these kids will be in IDF uniforms. Today a soccer field; tomorrow, who knows where. It makes me sad. And, at the same time, I’m glad for their courage, chutzpah and camaraderie– because they’ll need it.

Maybe this is why Israeli adults are more relaxed about their kids’ exuberance. Maybe knowing the likelihood of danger in the future, Israeli adults know to indulge and cherish the days of innocent high spirits—even if the noise does make your ears ring.