When Kiryat Shmona owner Izzy Sheratzky whipped out his checkbook prior to this season to sign veteran Shavit Elimelech, he shared his vision with coach Ran Ben Shimon: "It's important the young players enter the locker room and see before them a figure like Elimelech." After all, the man symbolizes professionalism. Yet, when his teammates now look at the goalie, they see in his eyes how lost he is. The difficulty his wife Anat had finding work, the distance from the center of the country, the birth of his daughter and the return of his wife and child to Tel Aviv haunt every step he takes.
"The hardest thing for me was when my girl was born," Elimelech recalls. "In the first months it was really cold and she and Anat stayed in the center of the country. It's not easy when you have a little girl, and you aren't with her or your wife."
Is this the whining of a primadonna? Hardly. Elimelech is not the only one in Kiryat Shmona having a hard time with the isolation and excessive pastoralism of this northern town. There are no few Israeli players and even foreigners who arrived from godforsaken places who weren't exactly crazy about the idea of living in Kiryat Shmona.
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One of them, Guy Tzarfati, has already decided to leave after this season for exactly the same reasons. Other players, like Yaniv Lavi and Maor Peretz, deal with this conflict daily, despite the lavish conditions their owner provides. Sheratzky pays well - his payroll ranks fourth in the league - and deep tax breaks extended to the city's residents make the salaries even more attractive. He offers them lodging in fabulous houses overlooking breathtaking views. He also infuses a touch of Zionism, emphasizing the need to have a strong team in the north, so he doesn't budge from his red line - every player must live within city limits.
As a result, top Israelis don't really want to come, and once they've agreed they don't want to stay. "No doubt the best players go to Kiryat Shmona only as a last resort," says Shimon Hadari, who coached the team two years ago.
When Maor Peretz checked out Kiryat Shmona in the offseason, he found it hard not to notice the quiet and serene atmosphere. After a tense season in the pressure cooker known as Hapoel Tel Aviv, Peretz felt it was exactly the right time to get a little fresh air.
Just before shaking hands with the owner, he took his wife on a road trip to an enchanting bungalow. After waking up the next morning to the crows of roosters, Peretz took her on a romantic hike by the Hermon and popped the question: Would she live in the north? She couldn't refuse him, and Peretz closed the deal. However, the Peretz family bored of paradise after a few months.
"Players often think after three days in a bungalow in the north how amazing it'd be to live here," explains Peretz. "But it can also be really hard. People think we hike every day in the fields, but it's not so. I have the option of staying with the club, but the truth is it's very tough, particularly because of my wife's situation. I really want to try and go back to playing in the center of the country."
Like Peretz, the hardships faced by Elimelech's wife have posed the greatest dilemma. "She has a job in Tel Aviv with her BA in Communications. Here in the north it's very hard to find attractive positions."
Naama Ben Ami, whose husband Eyal was on the team during the 2004-05 season, concurs that employment is the toughest nut to crack. "I sold clothes in the city center because I felt I should do something," she recalls. "A woman who doesn't find herself there can have it really hard, and it can impact the marriage."
Some of the wives end up returning to the center while their husbands keep the gas stations between Kiryat Shmona and Tel Aviv in business. "I found time to be in the center," explains Elimelech. "When we played at home I'd go back Saturday night and stay until the first practice Tuesday morning. For away games, we'd get a hotel room in the center Thursday night, sometimes to see the family." As a result, he believes that "as long as the big teams want a player he'll stay in the center of the country, but Kiryat Shmona is a good option for any young person who wants to get ahead in the Premier League."
Tzarfati's wife decided from the start not to join her husband, so the two see each other on weekends, alternating between their two abodes. His teammates attest to his share of crises. "I'm tearing apart my family for this club," he reportedly shared with them once.
A teammate related that back when the team was in the Second Division, Tzarfati committed to Sheratzky that he'd stay until the team made it to the Premier League. "He's reached a point now where he owes it to his wife to go back or at least to play somewhere within an hour's drive from home," the teammate said.
Sheratzky's recruitment troubles don't stop with the Israelis. Rwandan Said Makasi was about to sign with Kiryat Shmona this past offseason when his wife caught wind of just where he was going. Learning about the dangers of the north, she nixed the deal. "I tried to convince her but in vain," Makasi recalls. "She was simply afraid." The striker signed with Maccabi Netanya instead.
Coach Ben Shimon is not deterred by these and other setbacks. "On the road to the Premier League, we had to pass up on two types of players - partiers and those controlled by their wives," he explains. "Now everybody understands what kind of club Kiryat Shmona is. If there's a player whose wife specializes in fiberoptics, then there's really nothing for her to do here. If someone doesn't want his wife to lose out on a career, then neither do we."
Sheratzky denies there's an issue. "I don't understand all this talk about players not wanting to be here," he insists. "All players want to sign with Kiryat Shmona. You know how many players tell me they want to join us? Even Tzarfati spoke with me, and I believe he'll stay with us too, in the end. No one wants to leave. It's all gibberish."
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