Sahar Haba doesn’t lock his archive in glass cases. He wears it. He sweats in it. He cries in it.
Haba, 32, was born in Jerusalem and now lives in Tel Aviv’s Florentin neighborhood. He collects soccer and basketball jerseys, primarily from Hapoel Jerusalem and FC Barcelona, and he runs a sneaker redesign studio called Docor, where he “rebuilds” existing shoes instead of creating new ones from scratch.
He calls it “Michdush” – a fusion of renewal and recycling. Take something headed for the trash and give it a second life. The concept defines both his art and his fandom.
In many cases, collecting often begins with family. In Haba’s case, it began with divorce. His biological father, a Beitar Jerusalem supporter, once brought home a Barcelona scarf from the 1999 Champions League final at Camp Nou. That small piece of fabric quietly shaped a European loyalty.
But locally, the turning point came when his mother remarried a devoted Hapoel Jerusalem fan. At 12, Haba made a decision: he would choose the red side of the city.
Hapoel Jerusalem is not the most decorated club in Israel. In soccer, it has lived through long droughts. In basketball, it exists under the shadow of Maccabi’s dominance.
That, he says, is exactly the point. “There’s a phrase we live by,” he explains. Always optimistic.
To support Hapoel is to understand defeat without abandoning hope. To show up when you’re losing by 40 points. To sing louder when things fall apart.
Community over trophies
For Haba, the club is larger than the scoreboard. He describes pre-game rituals, sharing drinks outside the stadium, coordinated away-game trips and the unspoken brotherhood of standing shoulder to shoulder in the stands. Many of his closest friendships were formed through the club.
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Sahar Haba sits in his studio in Tel Aviv’s Florentin neighborhood, surrounded by jerseys and memorabilia tied to his life as a Hapoel Jerusalem supporter and sneaker artist
(Photo: Bar Gindy)
For Haba, collecting is not merely about the objects themselves. It is about belonging — Haba owns between 70 and 80 jerseys, 99 percent original. Unlike investors who seal rare shirts in plastic for resale value, he wears every one of them. “If you put energy into something,” he says, “use it.”
One of his earliest surviving pieces is a replica of Hapoel Jerusalem’s 2003/04 ULEB Cup championship shirt. His original childhood version was cut and altered beyond recognition. Recently, the club released a remake. He bought it immediately. Not as a financial asset. As a memory.
One shirt in his collection, however, will never be worn casually. It is a special match-worn jersey honoring Hersh Goldberg-Polin, a Hapoel Jerusalem supporter murdered in Hamas captivity after the October 7 attacks. Hersh was a familiar face in the stands.
The club played with a tribute portrait and the words: “May his memory be a revolution, a child of light, love and peace.”
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A customized pair of Adidas Gazelle sneakers painted by Sahar Haba in tribute to Hersh Goldberg-Polin is displayed at the entrance to his studio in Tel Aviv
(Photo: Bar Gindy)
Haba painted a pair of Adidas Gazelle sneakers with Hersh’s image and the lyrics of Yehuda Poliker’s song There Are Things I Wanted to Say, a song often sung by the Hapoel crowd. The team lost that tribute match 4–0. “It made sense,” Haba says. “It felt like one big loss.”
The sneakers now stand at the entrance to his studio. Visitors ask about them. He tells the story again. Collecting, in this case, becomes testimony.
Art in the arena
Haba’s sneaker work blurs fandom and craft. After Hapoel player Ofek Biton scored a last-minute derby equalizer against Beitar, Haba messaged him: “Let me paint your match shoes. I don’t want anything in return.”
The next day, Biton arrived at his apartment in Florentin with grass-stained Puma boots. Haba restored them, painted them red and black, and infused them with Hapoel symbolism. The player later scored again wearing them.
Custom pairs range from 750 to 2,500 shekels, depending on complexity. Some buyers resell them. Haba doesn’t mind. To him, once art enters the world, it lives its own life.
He has painted for executives, artists and corporate clients, including workshops at Microsoft. Yet he insists that the small local craftsperson matters more than the global brand. “Use the neighborhood tailor,” he says. “Go to the watchmaker. Don’t only run to the monopolies.”
Unlike collectors who treat their archive as static, Haba’s collection is kinetic. It travels with him. It absorbs sweat, rain and cigarette smoke outside stadium gates.
His partner jokes that Barcelona shirts all look the same. He responds by pointing out stitching differences, collar changes and micro-variations invisible to outsiders.
For him, each shirt marks a chapter: family fractures, new fathers, derby heartbreak, European dreams.
Choosing a club, Haba says, is less about statistics and more about resonance. If you pick the underdog, be ready to work harder. If you choose Hapoel Jerusalem, remember the phrase: “Through hard labor.”
In the end, his advice to young fans is simple: Enjoy it. Feel it. Jump when the goal comes. Hug someone. And above all, stay optimistic.
- For more stories from Sahar and other collectors, check out the People and Collectors podcast. The full interview is available with subtitles in English and 50 other languages.