Saturday night I had to take my son to the doctor in an Arab village close to our home in the Galilee. When we arrived, the medical secretary adorned in a Muslim hijab head-dress was intently watching a soccer game on her tablet. Surprised that she would be watching soccer, I asked her in Hebrew how she likes it so much. I guess in my mind spectator sports are mainly a masculine addiction, but I figured maybe she was a tomboy – hijab notwithstanding, and thought no more of it.
Within minutes we went in to see the kind, elderly, Muslim family doctor.
But he too was glued to his computer screen watching the World Cup match. And through an open doorway I saw the clinic’s male nurse ALSO watching.
It was the very last few minutes of a World Cup quarterfinal, but even though soccer is the world’s favorite sport, that still did not explain it.
Who was playing?
Morocco and Portugal.
And who was winning?
Morocco was leading 1 to 0!
We stayed another minute in the doc’s office until the final whistle.
The village came alive with fireworks and cars honking.
This was the first time ever that a team from the Muslim-Arab world had made it to the semi-finals and been counted among the world’s four best national teams.
My son and I were totally surprised by the eruption of joy in this Israeli-Arab village neighboring Cana of New Testament fame.
Excited fans promptly got in their cars creating an impromptu traffic jam as people went out to celebrate in the streets corporately, a common identity transcending local issues.
I too was happy for Morocco as the underdog defeating a European powerhouse soccer team. It felt exciting. But it also felt a bit dangerous. Between starbursts of fireworks launched from homes, we also heard celebratory gunshots. Instead of buying pizza, we decided it would be the better part of wisdom to discretely find our way out of the village.
When a smallish remnant can suddenly feel swept up in victory with a much larger world-wide body and identity, it’s exciting.
Have any of you felt like that recently?