How tennis is bringing Jewish and Arab Israeli children together - opinion

The Arab community contributes to the well-being of Israel in numerous fields. Our health service, for example, might well collapse without the participation of Arab doctors, nurses, and pharmacists.

In 2000, then-president of the Israel Tennis Association, Freddie Krivine, decided the time had come to bring together young Jewish and Arab children through tennis.

To find out more about Krivine’s concept and how it evolved, the Magazine recently had the opportunity to see the project in action, as well as interview Krivine’s daughter, Jane Krivine.

Jane has inherited her father’s love for what became known as The Freddie Krivine Initiative (FKI) and remains deeply involved.

As a young man in England, my father was an ardent Zionist and played tennis every weekend. I am quite sure he never imagined that one day he would be living in Israel and be elected as president of the Israel Tennis Association.

It all started when, aged 15 in 1935 and not at all academic, Dad’s father packed him off to Israel, enlisting him at the agricultural school in Pardes Hanna. He returned to London three years later with a deep love for Israel and a yen to return.

My family was always closely linked to Israel. At the time, with a young family, Dad was making his way in business.

In 1971, I joined the World Union of Jewish Students’ program in Arad.

It was when my parents came to visit me that my father, by chance, met a doctor named Bill Lippy, originally from the United States, whose interest in promoting tennis in Israel changed Dad’s life.

He joined Bill by becoming one of the six founder trustees of the Israel Tennis Centers. After making aliyah, Dad’s involvement with tennis intensified.

In 1992, Dad was elected president of the Israel Tennis Association, and some years later, when presenting prizes to the winners of the annual Junior Tournament, he inquired how many Arab children had participated.

Out of 600 children, he was told, only two were from the Arab sector. Dad was shocked at this response, as he believed all Israeli children should have the opportunity to learn to play tennis.

It proved to be the catalyst, in 1999, for his forming a combined Jewish and Arab advisory committee, which led to a pilot program for 12 Jewish and 12 Arab children to commence the following year. Its inauguration proved to be far from smooth sailing.

The Second Intifada of 2000 was not an auspicious moment to start the pilot project, as friends repeatedly told my father.

"On the contrary," Dad said. "This is exactly the time!"

He quickly arranged an appointment with the mayor of Jisr e-Zarka, notably one of the poorest villages in Israel, situated just north of Caesarea. In a community beset with poverty and violence, another mayor might have thought this quintessential Englishman quite mad.

My father asked the mayor, Sheikh Murad, if he would contact one or two sports teachers, requesting they send 20 or 25 of their most athletic eight-year-olds to the Haifa Tennis Centre.

There, Shahar Perkiss, the former world-class professional Israeli tennis player, would assess which 12 children might benefit from a joint program with 12 Jewish children from Caesarea.

The day the children were expected to arrive for the selection process, Dad was at home awaiting a call from Shahar. He picked up the phone to hear Shahar’s very worried voice and anxiously asked, "Didn’t they come?"

Shahar responded, "They came all right, but there are 300 of them who arrived in six buses." The mayor had arranged for every eight-year-old in the village to try out for this new project.

It was a powerful, important message showing he believed in the concept and was determined that each child in the village would have the opportunity to participate.

While Dad’s friends and acquaintances were surprised to learn of this happening, the most common response was "Kol hakavod."

In 2000, tennis was almost unheard of in the Arab community apart from three derelict courts in Nazareth. These were constructed to facilitate officers in the British Army during the Mandate period.

In addition to the Caesarea project, my father initiated several new programs in the Arab sector – one at a home for at-risk youth, and several others in Arab villages.

Funds were also raised to resurface the Nazareth courts, making them suitable for use as a tennis school.

Prior to my aliyah in 2003, my profession for the past 30 years had been the management of classical concerts and music festivals – not exactly a preparation for my new task.

I had never played tennis, and my Hebrew was minimal. In truth, it took a certain amount of chutzpah to believe I could carry the project forward.

However, there were funds in the bank and a marvelous advisory committee – willing to continue serving – which was the impetus for me taking on the challenge of following in my father’s footsteps.

From the outset, I received numerous calls from Arab mayors who had heard about the venture, requesting me to start a program in their village. It was hard to say no, resulting in the project evolving into 15 programs.

Our Arab and Jewish coaches had to schlep rackets, balls, and portable nets from one village to another. The program had become worryingly costly and unwieldy.

A major strategic shift came in 2019, when Lee Wilson joined as director, and I moved into a more advisory role. Together, we saw an opportunity to make an impact beyond the ability to learn tennis.

We decided to offer a safe, structured afternoon environment where, in addition to tennis lessons, the children could share a snack, meet friends, enjoy games, and receive enrichment support.

We introduce volunteers, primarily my personal friends to whom I am very grateful, as well as teen counselors, native Hebrew and English speakers. Together, they offer arts and crafts activities and teach language through song and educational games, resulting in the children’s pleasure of learning something new.

The target was, and remains, to give the children the confidence to aim high.

It is a shocking reality that fewer than 22% of the children in Jisr e-Zarka complete high school. The satisfaction today is in the knowledge that the children who return to the program year after year are the most likely to stay in school and choose a secondary education.

Dad’s pilot program of 2000 contributed, in no small way, toward six of the Arab tennis pupils electing to study medicine, with five qualifying as doctors and one as a vet.

Among the doctors was Sirin Muhsen, who currently is a member of our board. Another graduate from that inaugural plan is Mohammed Rashwan, who loved and excelled at tennis and today is our head coach.

Our forthcoming target is to have many more Jewish children on the courts, aiming to achieve the same 50:50 balance that Dad had within the original Jisr e-Zarka and Caesarea pilot project.

With the support of the Clore Foundation, we were able to fully redevelop the site at Beit Hanania, opening Israel’s first Jewish-Arab Tennis and Community Club in 2024.

Today, approximately 150 children between ages four to 17 come twice a week, and we are preparing to open our second club in Baqa al-Gharbiyye.

The days and weeks that followed resulted in complete inactivity. Schools were closed, and the courts were empty. The shock was palpable. It took many months before all the children returned.

Everyone, Jewish and Arab, suffered broken nights during the missile attacks. And when the children did return, it was necessary for the coaches to prepare the children to run to the shelters, which were just within reach.

During and following the difficult period of the past two years, Jewish parents were hesitant to send their children to the program. Too frequently, we hear “Not now – it’s too soon.”

We understand their concerns, but we are not stepping back.

Communication, trust, and collaboration are vital for our shared future in Israel. I am deeply encouraged by the Jewish parents whose children are on the program and say what Dad said 26 years ago: “This is exactly the time.”

We are twinned with junior tennis clubs in the Jewish districts of Binyamina, Ein Carmel, and Gan Shmuel, where these children and those from Arab areas meet throughout the year for joint tennis sessions and tournaments.

The annual Jewish-Arab summer tennis camps have proven to be an excellent way to bring these children together. Two years ago, we organized a teen girls’ summer camp; it’s not easy to engage 20 teenage girls who have never met and don’t share a language.

On the first day, the madricha [counselor] committed the cardinal error of proposing a camp song. Her suggestions fell flat until one of the Arab girls asked if she could suggest a song she had on her phone.

It was the summer of Korean boy bands, and within seconds, all 20 girls were on their feet dancing and singing. They knew all the words (in Korean, no less) and knew all the dance moves. Who would have thought it?

The innovation of summer camps has become a major pillar of the program. We are now entering our sixth year. Before and after each camp, we conduct surveys; the results are always striking.

The children initially are often nervous and apprehensive; however, by the end of the camp, the overwhelming feedback is that they discovered that the other children are just like them – fun, friendly, and easy to connect with.

While the children come from different backgrounds, traditions, and socioeconomic levels, we find the biggest divide is due to language.

The language of communication on the project is Hebrew. Many think we should speak Hebrew and Arabic; however, it is far more important for Arab children to have a complete command of Hebrew.

Arab children learn Hebrew at school, but in the homogeneous villages where they live, they rarely hear or have the opportunity to speak the language.

The Arab parents I meet speak colloquial Hebrew but are keen that their children learn to speak Hebrew fluently, recognizing its significance for their offspring to make their way in the wider society.

Within our program, Hebrew is heard constantly in a natural, supportive environment. Over time, the children gain confidence and practical language skills. Watching the Arab and Jewish coaches and staff interact in Hebrew is the catalyst.

The children witness the chatting and sharing of ideas, which continue as they return home; the court lights go on as the coaches play matches with each other. The message is clear – Hebrew is the language of communication.

Many do not fully realize the extent to which Arab citizens are deeply embedded in the fabric of Israeli society.

On Oct. 7, which fell on Simchat Torah, the vast majority of Jewish Israelis were either celebrating the festival or simply enjoying a day off from work.

In those critical first hours and the long months that followed, the reality was that a high proportion of the first responders – ambulance crews, police officers, hospital staff, firefighters, and rehabilitation teams – included large numbers of Arab professionals who were already on duty and who continued serving throughout the war.

The vast majority of Arab families we have met over the past 25 years are deeply committed to being part of Israeli society and contributing positively to the state. The bottom line is that no one is going anywhere.

Last month, I joined our two Arab coaches and 10 youngsters who were competing in the junior regional tennis tournament. I was told that in all, 300 children, aged six and upward, had taken part.

Just as Dad did nearly 30 years ago, I asked how many of the children were Arab.

This time, the answer was "About 80." Dad must be beaming.