Revved up on vintage

The country’s auto industry began with high hopes, but now all that remains are a few sets of wheels – and a group of men who regularly take their beloved Israeli-made cars out for a spin.

By ABRA COHEN
vintage cars 370 (photo credit: courtesy)
vintage cars 370
(photo credit: courtesy)
Late on Friday afternoon a large group of loyal classic car aficionados makes its way to a Ga’ash gas station between Tel Aviv and Netanya to show off their vintage beauties and talk shop for a couple of hours.
With a large selection of American-made automobiles, it’s the type of event you would imagine seeing in southern California or south Florida. But within this group of classic car lovers, a close-knit circle of over 30 members has created a smaller group called the Fiber Club, with a passion for Israeli-made vehicles – most of which are probably not familiar to the average classic car devotee.
They are not flashy or brightly colored and do not have much horsepower, but they are a part of Israeli history and of an industry that turned out vehicles both in Israel and overseas for over three decades.
“There wasn’t a lot of design put into the car,” says Moty Haimovitch, whose kids bought him a 1966 Sussita wagon, which goes by the nickname kubia (“cube”), after they saw his interest in classic cars while stationed in the United States for a number of years. Following a long Internet search, they were able to locate a model and surprised him with it back in October.
In the same way that nostalgia drives many car buffs to invest in classics they saw as children and young adults, a vast majority of Israeli car owners came of age when Israel was turning out these homegrown automobiles. Produced primarily from the mid-1950s to 1981, many of the cars – boxy in style and with a similar look to an American-made station wagon – were extremely simple. Haimovitch explains: “[They] are very easy to understand – no computers, no seat belt and no flashers.”
Cars with designated classic vehicle license plates are banned on Israeli roadways between 7 and 9 a.m.
to discourage people from using them as commuter vehicles. And since many of these Israeli-made models are made out of fiberglass, the cars cannot be retrofitted to hold a seatbelt.
Haimovitch, who says he only takes his car out for a spin a couple of times a week, explains that he feels safe because he drives slowly. “At the speed we are driving, it’s for entertainment purposes only.
People are waving, trying to follow us. I’m not going to work with it,” he says, adding that it only has 34 horsepower, about the same as a power scooter.
Most of the people who show up to the Friday night cruise are men, except for the occasional wife or daughter who comes along for the obligatory walk-through of the cars that are parked facing front (engines out), so that people can stop, inspect and congratulate each other on improvements or additions they have made to their vehicles.
One of the aspects that sets members of Fiber Club apart from the larger group of classic car lovers is their patriotism for this particular automobile industry, which while it did not succeed was still a part of the national fabric of the country.
“These were made in Israel,” many of the members say, explaining that these cars bear national significance for them and that restoring them is important because they are a part of history. The Israeli car industry, which is almost as old as Israel itself, began with high hopes – a factory around the Haifa Port was set up to employ new immigrants on car assembly lines. Not quite the Detroit of Israel, but with dreams of producing a sustainable line of locally sourced cars, prime minister David Ben-Gurion even showed up for the inauguration of the plant in 1951.
Yohay Shinar, a car historian who became interested in the subject at a young age, researched the local motor industry for years and has the goal of uncovering the chronicles of Israel’s unfortunate automobile factories. Very little is publicly known, which he believes is partly because Israel is a young country and some historical information has not yet been properly documented.
Shinar is also the first to admit that the Israeli car market did not go as planned. “The industry was a failure,” he says. But, while it lasted, it turned out a number of vehicles that would be used by many groups throughout the country – from the army to kibbutzim to families – and these boxy-looking automobiles make up a majority of the cars that the Fiber Club members bring out.
Manufacturers Autocars and Rom Carmel – the focal point of Fiber Club – produced cars named after Israeli mountain regions: the Sussita, Carmel and Gilboa, along with the Sabra, an export version for the American market in the 1960s.
With weekly Friday afternoon meetings and other events in which Fiber Club members work to restore a car, the group has created a great network for members to exchange parts and advice on restoration. On Jacobson, one of the founders of Fiber Club, says members donate money to a children’s cancer charity in Israel after using donated parts for their cars as a way of giving back. “Instead of putting money in the fuel tank, we give it to charity,” he says, which seems to encourage people to donate more rare parts for the cars they are restoring.
Combining a passion for the Israeli automobile industry, friendship and classic cars, the Fiber Club keeps a part of Israeli history moving forward on wheels. While the Sussita, Carmel and Gilboa may not have been known as fancy cars, but rather vehicles to get you from point A to point B, owners of these vintage rides are working diligently to ensure they are not just a simple relic of the past.