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In Ashdod, a third of whose residents are immigrants from the former Soviet Union, the gap between Netanyahu and Barak is narrowing. Ehud Barak's record as a military hero impresses Russian-speaking immigrants less than the fact that he plays the piano, says Marina Solodkin. "Not just the piano," she adds, "but Prokofiev, who is very difficult to play. There is a deeply rooted dislike among Russian immigrants of generals - but not a general who plays the piano and holds a master's degree from Stanford." The Yisrael Ba'aliya Knesset member was analyzing the distinctive mindset of hundreds of thousands of immigrant voters - 15 percent of the electorate - who, between scrambling to learn the language, find a job, and figure out where exactly they are, will determine the near-term fate of the Middle East on election day. "Neither Likud nor Labor understands the Russian mentality," says Solodkin. Recent visits to Ashdod, which has the highest concentration of Russian-speaking immigrants of any Israeli city, confirm that the historical, cultural and social prisms through which Russian-speaking immigrants view the political scene here were shaped on the banks of the Dnieper, not the Jordan. The starting point is identification with persons perceived as educated, intelligent, cultured and "European." The character and credibility of Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, a major issue among Israelis debating the candidates, does not appear to figure high in the consciousness of the Russian immigrants. The preset parameters of their worldview help explain why Barak, despite his skills at the keyboard, had been lagging well behind Netanyahu among the Russian-speakers as the election campaign entered its home stretch. Polls and local political leaders, however, indicated this week that the gap was narrowing, and might even have closed, as the made-in-the-Soviet Union mindset was supplemented with new made-in-Israel information. As the largest bloc of floating voters, the Russian immigrants may well be the decisive element in the coming elections. Perspectives imprinted on them during the Soviet regime lead Russian immigrants to oppose territorial concessions, says Ashdod Deputy Mayor Shimon Katzenelson, who immigrated from the Soviet Union in 1973. "They have memories of a strong regime," he says, "and they understand that if you're not strong, everything will be taken from you. They saw this time and again. "They feel that giving up territory and getting a piece of paper in return is worth nothing. They remember the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact [between the foreign ministers of the Soviet Union and Germany in 1939] and the war that broke out shortly afterwards." In addition, Russian immigrants lean to the Right because they've already lived in a country that was leftist "and not much good came of it," says Katzenelson. "It's as simple as that." It is, however, not quite so simple. While opposing "socialism," which they equate by definition with the Labor Party despite its free-economy platform, the Russian immigrants demand a social safety net that will ensure them housing and other basic needs. The situation is becoming even less simple as Barak's One Israel, after a late start, begins to penetrate the Russian sector in Ashdod, heretofore even more heavily pro-Netanyahu than Russian communities in the country at large. FOR THE first time, the almost totally pro-Netanyahu Russian-language press, which the immigrant community depends on for most of its information, has begun to be offset by pro-Barak advertising supplements inserted in these newspapers by One Israel. "We knew almost nothing about Barak before," says Sabina Weisman, a teacher who arrived in Israel nine years ago. "Now we are getting well-written articles which tell us for the first time about his background. And it's very impressive. "We are also getting from him, through these articles, informed criticism of the government, together with his own proposed solutions. We haven't seen this kind of material before." She held up as an example a page from a pro-Barak supplement showing a graph of rising unemployment and Barak's proposed program for reversing the trend. Party workers in Ashdod have been going from door to door to distribute free of charge to every Russian-speaking household in the city a copy of a Russian-translation of a biography of Barak called No. 1 Soldier. The title refers to his status as Israel's most decorated soldier and his past position as chief of general staff. The biography became a national issue this week when Netanyahu quoted a passage from it implying, according to Likud, that Barak was prepared to redivide Jerusalem. It quickly transpired that the original Hebrew biography had contained no such passage. While random interviews found some support for Solodkin's theory about the disparaging attitude of Russians toward generals - "I don't want a military man as prime minister," says municipal employee Olga Shumsky - many say they are indeed impressed by his military record. This is particularly true of Red Army veterans, but it can be found among younger people as well. "As Jews who experienced the Holocaust," says Samuel Weissman (no relation to Sabina), "every example of Jewish heroism is important to us. Barak not only held high rank but personally performed many acts of bravery." WEISSMAN heads the Yisrael Ba'aliya branch in Ashdod and was until recently a firm supporter of Netanyahu, perceiving him as a hard-nosed defender of the country's security interests. He has not shifted to the Barak camp but is hung up now, he says, midway between the two candidates. The pro-Barak material he has begun reading was a factor in this shift. Even more of a factor was the Ya'acov Kedmi affair which broke last week. Kedmi, who headed the quasi-secret Nativ organization, which worked for Jewish emigration from the former Soviet Union, issued a blistering condemnation of Netanyahu. Although an entrenched figure on the Right, Kedmi said he would vote for Barak, who was his commander in the Yom Kippur War. "One can't compare between the two men," Kedmi said. "One can't compare substance with emptiness. One can't compare credibility with lies and deceit. One can't compare intellectual curiosity and a human heart with cynical alienation." Weissman, who headed a Jewish organization before his immigration from Moldova four years ago, says he personally knew and admired Kedmi and could not help but be influenced by his remarks. Although Netanyahu had enjoyed a 25% advantage over Barak among Russian-speakers in Ashdod, Weissman says he believes the gap has narrowed in the past two weeks to 20% and continues to narrow as pro-Barak information and the Kedmi episode percolate through the population. Katzenelson, who not only favors Netanyahu but is a prime backer of hardliner Avigdor Lieberman, likewise senses a narrowing of the gap. "The unemployment issue is working against Netanyahu," he says. "The Russians also want better answers from him about support for the weak in society, like the elderly and single mothers. "BARAK HAS begun to work hard on the Russian sector and he's succeeding. Yes, people are really reading his biography and being influenced by it. The Russians read everything. "If Netanyahu is leaving the Russian sector for Lieberman to work on, it's a mistake. Lieberman can provide support, but Netanyahu has to speak in his own name." Katzenelson himself represents the powerful, and still emerging, impact on politics of the Russian immigration. Although 55,000 Russian-speaking immigrants in Ashdod now constitute a third of the city's population, Katzenelson was until last year the only "Russian" on the 25-member city council. Arriving from Kiev in 1973, he spent 20 years as an electronics-engineering officer in the air force before serving as a Likud councilman for two terms. For the municipal elections last year he organized his own immigrant-based party, Ashdod Beiteinu (Ashdod, Our Home), which won a stunning victory, taking nine seats on the 25-member City Council, making it the largest faction. Half the faction members immigrated in the 1970s or earlier and half are recent immigrants. The party that came in behind the Russians, Shas, won only four seats. Likud, long dominant in Ashdod, won two, and Labor none. Lieberman, with whom Katzenelson has been close for a decade, was heavily involved in the Ashdod Beiteinu campaign (as was Natan Sharansky's Yisrael Ba'aliya Party) and went on to adapt its name in forming his Yisrael Beiteinu Party for the national elections. While polls show Sharansky's party supported by 31% of Russian immigrants nationwide for the Knesset compared to 11% for Lieberman's party, Lieberman is ahead of Sharansky in Ashdod, a phenomenon attributed to his support by Katzenelson, the dominant local political figure. Katzenelson, a pragmatic politician seeking consensus, shies away from hard-line pronouncements by Lieberman, particularly about a police state, suggesting that they have been misunderstood. THE CITY in which this political drama is being played out is rapidly becoming one of the most attractive and dynamic in Israel - to some tastes, the most attractive. Founded in the 1950s as a port to take some of the burden off Haifa, Ashdod was for long a sleepy, gray-collar town inhabited mostly by immigrants from Morocco. The construction that followed the onset of mass immigration from the Soviet Union a decade ago shifted Ashdod into a new gear. Well-planned new neighborhoods with handsome architecture were built. Much of the Russian-speaking population is concentrated in three new neighborhoods, where they constitute close to 90% of the residents. Many of the store signs there are in Russian, as well as much of the conversation on the streets. There is now a chamber orchestra and even a local opera group which has performed around the country. In the community center in the Yod neighborhood, some 500 people participate each week in ballroom dancing introduced by the new immigrants. THE INTENSITY with which immigrant students approach their studies - and the insistence of their parents on extracurricular activities like music and dance classes - has introduced a new dynamic into the local education system. Some 120 immigrant scientists living in Ashdod have been organized into a not-for-profit association, where public lectures are periodically given. Immigrants have become dominant in many of the sports activities in the city. Thanks to the immigration, women are now seen not only in traditional occupations like teaching but working as engineers in the municipal building department and elsewhere. The cultural shock of migration has been eased, particularly for the elderly, by cable television - which brings programs from Russia into virtually every home - and by the critical mass of Russian-speaking immigrants which has permitted a vibrant local culture to spring up. For the most part, the Russians and the veteran, largely Moroccan population live separate lives in different parts of the city. There is, however, increasing overlap. About 15% of the participants in the ballroom-dancing activities are now non-Russian. Many of the Russian immigrants take part in Mimouna festivities to which they are invited by Moroccan acquaintances from work. The highly acclaimed Andalusian Orchestra in Ashdod, an emblem of Sephardi culture, includes more than a score of Russian musicians. THE MOST extensive and significant contact is in the schools. "My two children have Moroccan friends over to the house regularly and go to theirs," says Masha Lackman, a journalist. "They don't talk about 'us' and 'them.' " "Intermarriages" have also begun to occur. But old stereotypes have not disappeared. "The Russians have whores and gambling dens," says Mike, who runs a small kiosk off Rogosin Street and declined to give his last name. Ashdod-born, Mike admits he has virtually no contact with the Russians and says he has no strong feelings about them one way or the other. What bothers him, he says, is the high unemployment, which means that business for downtown merchants like himself is substantially down. The government, he says, is responsible. How is he going to vote? "This used to be a Likud town. It isn't anymore. I'm not concerned about a Palestinian state or about the peace process. What I care about is the economic situation. "How am I going to vote? I haven't decided." Moroccans dancing the waltz and tango with Russians, Russians playing Sephardi music, "whores and mafia," Mimouna and chamber music, 1999 national elections, Prokofiev. Ashdod. An unfinished story.
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