When cage fighting falls flat

Rumours that I sustained an injury while cage fighting might be greatly exaggerated. By me. The truth is worse. Because it could be argued that the whole episode might have occurred purely as a direct result of antisemitism. That and peer pressure. But that’s neither here nor there.

Since 7 October, Hamas’s attack on Israel, and Israel’s subsequent invasion of Gaza, I’ve found myself on the front lines in the social media and mainstream media battle. I’ve always been a big “pen is mightier than the sword” kind of a guy, which is why “armed” with my words and information, I entered the fray.

It came at a cost. The threats, bullying, and what appeared to be a campaign to silence me became intense at times, though truthfully didn’t really bother me. Being called a racist doesn’t make me one. Being told that I support genocide doesn’t make it true, nor does the allegation that I’m paid by the Israeli government or any organisation doing its bidding – though it would be nice if it were true.

But it has made those around me a bit nervous. Which is why, for no good reason at all, I decided to take up Krav Maga. To be clear, I’ve never been worried about my safety in South Africa, and although I’ve been called a litany of names; had my face Photoshopped into gas chambers; and been insulted for the baldness and “eggheadness” of my head and the size of my nose, I remain convinced that South Africans, for the most part, aren’t committed enough to their own Jew hatred to get them out of bed in the morning.

I’m also no athlete. I’ve never been an athlete, and probably will never, ever become one so long as I live. When parents tell their children that they can be whoever they choose to be, they clearly haven’t considered the reality of being a short, overweight Jewish guy with two flat feet and childhood asthma. I could have been many things, but an athlete isn’t one of them. Even my late mother, who thought I could walk on water – maybe because of my flat feet – would have agreed.

Which is why I should never, at 56 years old and afflicted with the above, have found myself in a Krav Maga class. If you haven’t heard of it, Krav Maga is an Israeli self-defence system. Developed for the Israel Defense Forces, it uses techniques derived from Aikido, boxing, judo, karate and wrestling. It’s known for its focus on real-world situations. It was originally developed by Hungarian-born Israeli martial artist Imi Lichtenfeld.

Although I would love to have everyone believe that it was in a particularly aggressive sparring session when an opponent rushed at me with a knife that I fell in my attempt to disarm him, the real story is a lot less exciting.

Truthfully, I tripped over my shoelaces during the warm-up run. I fell ungraciously over my own two feet, and hit my knee on the yoga mat. And so, x-rays, an MRI, and a leg brace later, I’ve had to make peace with the fact that my “cage fighting” days are over.

Pretty much even before they began.

Which is why it’s not inaccurate to say that it was antisemitism that got me into the situation.

I learned a lot this week. I learned to stick to my knitting, so to speak; that I’m not born to run; and that sometimes our anxiety about something can result in more harm that the “something” itself. I also learned that our private medical care is superb and that modern-day pain medicines are a gift.

Which is why, should an inspired antisemite ever come for me in a dark alley, not only will I spray them with my Ventolin and flat foot it out of there, I’ll write a sharply worded missive that will hurt them more than my cage fighting skills ever would.