I got scammed this week. Cheated. They took my money and sold me a pig in a poke, or more precisely, a receiver in a plastic bag.
Now you might ask: a receiver? Yes, a receiver, that thing that connects the speakers to the set-top box and the turntable, the device nobody ever thinks about. Nobody even says the word “receiver” anymore, although once people talked about receivers as if they were a legitimate topic of conversation. But that was before Netflix was invented. In short, I needed a receiver.
It happens, once every 15 or 20 years, that a person needs a receiver. The old one was gone. You press “on,” it lights up but does not actually turn on. In short, the receiver reached a ripe old age, frailty, the dementia stage of electrical appliances, and the time came to replace it with another old one.
The thing is, money is a bit tight right now, and it seemed a shame to spend thousands of shekels on something like that. So I went on Facebook Marketplace, the place where you can buy anything cheaply, and found a receiver in like-new condition, “works great, sounds amazing,” according to the seller, a man named Itzik, not his real name, for 1,000 shekels.
He set a meeting point in Herzliya, gave me an address. I arrived, parked, got out, texted him that I was there. He replied, “I’m coming to you now,” and then appeared, for some reason, not from the building itself but from some street corner, holding a large Yohananof shopping bag with the receiver inside.
“Does it work?” I asked. Itzik, a bit thuggish in appearance, it must be said, answered, “Of course, great. Look, there’s even a remote.” He pulled the remote control out of the bag, which finally convinced me everything was fine. I mean, everyone knows a remote control is a guarantee of electrical quality.
I paid him in cash, as he requested, put the bag in the car, went home, unpacked it, connected everything to the system and the power with meticulous care, pressed the button and nothing.
But really, absolutely nothing.
This receiver was deader than dead. I pressed again. And again. I pressed hard. I pressed gently. I pressed with the remote. I pressed with emotion. I pressed with threats. “Turn on, damn it, if you don’t turn on I don’t know what I’ll do to you.” Nothing.
That Itzik, if that is even his name, may his name be erased, sold me a piece of metal for 1,000 shekels. He scammed me. I called him immediately. Then immediately again. And again. And again. After a few hours, again. From another number. Then in the evening. And at night. Zero. The number was dead, and the man too, I hope, will soon die by being run over.
I was left with two dead receivers and 1,000 shekels less.
The money hurt only in the first few minutes. I had already started planning how to get it back through a gradual reduction in the children’s food portions. After that, what remained was raw anger. First of all, at myself. How did I not suspect anything? All the warning signs were there. The man did not have WhatsApp. His Facebook profile barely existed. On his list of items for sale, besides the receiver, were dozens of other things, ranging from a chest of drawers to old collars belonging to his imaginary dog.
“Does it work?” I asked. Itzik, a bit thuggish in appearance, it must be said, answered, “Of course, great. Look, there’s even a remote.” He pulled the remote control out of the bag, which finally convinced me everything was fine. I mean, everyone knows a remote control is a guarantee of electrical quality
For a moment, I considered contacting him about another item, arranging a meeting, showing up to collect it, and then saying, “Remember me? The one you sold a dead receiver to? Give me my money back. You don’t agree? Oh, by the way, I happen to have here, look, he’s just getting out of the car, a senior member of the Abu Latif clan. You’ve heard of them, right? Come, come, Jamil, meet Itzik.” But then I realized I do not actually know anyone from the Abu Latif clan, and that at most I could do an Adva Dadon routine, show up with a camera crew and chase Itzik down the street in high heels.
I gave up.
But the disgusting feeling followed me, a bit like the time my rented apartment was broken into. The feeling that filthy hands of strangers had reached into my life and managed, easily, to defile it and take what was mine. That feeling leaves a kind of burn that does not fade quickly, mainly a rage with nowhere to go. How, for God’s sake, can a regular guy from Herzliya take 1,000 shekels from another person in broad daylight, knowingly and deliberately hand him a completely broken device, then cut off contact and disappear? How much of a piece of human garbage do you have to be?
A small piece of garbage, of course.
This is not some sophisticated criminal operation or Qatari money for connections in the Prime Minister’s Office. No, this is just a petty crook who makes a living scamming suckers like me, who foolishly trust people and think that if someone writes that he is selling a receiver in excellent condition, that is presumably exactly what it is. And I think that is what really drives me crazy. Not the money that is gone, and not even the fact that scumbags like Itzik exist, but the fact that I am this naive. Innocent. Gullible.
These are slightly old-fashioned words, I know, mainly because it seems that no one thinks they apply to them anymore. No, we are all, in our own eyes, savvy Israelis, street-smart, not suckers, able to doubt, identify a bad deal, flip tables when necessary. We do not have the screen of decency, good intentions, smiles and numbing small talk that characterize Americans. We are in the Middle East. We are sharper, rougher. Nobody is going to screw us.
And then they sell me a dead receiver and vanish. Easily.
And I understand what I always really knew. That there is in me some kind of innocence, an almost blind, or at least deaf-mute, belief in what people tell me, what they write, promise, commit to. I am an innocent man in the stupid sense of the word. I take things at face value. I never see the twist in the movie coming. I never suspect smoke screens, lies, spins. I trust by nature, and worse than that, I trust people.
In Israel of 2025, that apparently makes me an easy and expected victim, someone who could never engage in anything that requires cunning, like politics. But when I think about it a bit more, I realize the problem is not necessarily me.
I am an innocent man in the stupid sense of the word. I take things at face value. I never see the twist in the movie coming. I never suspect smoke screens, lies, spins. I trust by nature, and worse than that, I trust people.
If I am naive, what do you say about a million Israelis, 25 Knesset seats, who genuinely believe right now that those responsible for October 7 are the protest movement, the left, Shikma Bressler, “Brothers in Arms,” the military advocate general, Aharon Barak, and Aharon Haliva sleeping a little too well at night? What are we supposed to think about a million Israelis who truly believe their prime minister has nothing to do with it at all, is not driven by any foreign consideration when he appoints himself to appoint a commission of inquiry, and simply had no faint idea that his three closest aides were working for an enemy state?
Why would Itzik not sell his broken receivers to these people? They already buy much more than a broken receiver. They buy, with their tax money, security, transportation, education and health care, and receive, in practice, an old Yohananof bag with all of those things in terrible condition. And if they have any complaint at all, they are immediately told “Iran” or “the left,” they calm down and keep voting Netanyahu.
So who is the sucker here? Maybe all of us. But me more than most, because I am still naive enough to believe that one day these people will wake up, finally see through the completely absurd web of lies poured over them, and Israel will get a chance to restart. That, of course, is far from happening.
So yes, I am probably the bigger fool. And I still need a receiver in good condition. Apparently, I am willing to buy one even in bad condition. Even completely dead.