"You have to want something badly - and everything will work out"

A little about the past

From 1993 (the year I arrived in Israel) until 1999 I lived in the south of the country - in the town of Kiryat Gat, 50 km from Beer Sheva, the capital of the Negev.

The town is not bad in principle, even you could say good… Only for pensioners and pioneers. For young people this town promised no happy future and no confidence in tomorrow.

I worked mostly with people like me - immigrants from the CIS who, like me, could not speak Hebrew (the job was of the kind: pass it, bring it or carry it). My last job in Kiryat Gat was a factory making metal doors. After a year and a half, one day I injured my back (diagnosis - slipped discs in four places).

The last straw

That, of course, was the last straw of my patience. After the treatment I realised things could not go on like this. And at 25 I did not want to remain an invalid.

And in 1999 I decided to move to the centre of the country - to Tel Aviv, hoping to find something suitable in terms of work.

I could not even dream of studying, because I had to support myself and my sick parents, who stayed in Kiryat Gat and were waiting for my help.

The man who forever remained my idol

In February 2000, shortly after my engagement, I suffered a heavy loss. My father passed away suddenly - David Yakovlevich Mataev (may his memory be blessed). Born in the city of Grozny (Chechnya), he had an enormous heart and helped many people get on their feet. From the 1970s until 1993 my father was a very well-known and respected man in Odessa and the Odessa Region, one of the leading figures in the fur industry. Among his relatives and loved ones he always held great authority.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union my father's empire began to crumble like a house of cards, and in the end this forced my family to move to Israel. My father's sudden death threw me off track completely. My life, which had already lost its stability because of emigration, was simply turned upside down. I fell into a deep depression; back then I did not want to work, eat, drink or even live.

But this man forever remained for me the main compass in life, a leader and an idol. All the trials I went through thanks to his strict and wise upbringing shaped my character. As his son, I simply had no right to show weakness. This inner responsibility and the memory of my father helped me overcome the depression; they tempered me and made me move only forward.

The hardest and most decisive year of my life

A week before my father's death I got engaged to my future bride. Because of the mourning for my father I postponed the wedding for a year. That year was the hardest and most decisive of my life.

I was obliged to keep living. For the sake of my future family. What saved me were my future marriage and my mother. And the responsibility for my beloved.

The most sacred thing we have

Until 2003 I changed many jobs in Tel Aviv. The reason for the dismissals was, as always, not knowing the language and my back problems.

That same year my mother died of cancer. She could not bear my father's death. Even with medicine as professional as Israel's, they could not save my mother.

Blessed memory of my parents. And a huge thank you to them for everything they did for me.

The computer turned out not so scary

In December 2003 I did find a way to take a level-3 Hebrew course and a basic computer course. To be honest, before that I looked at the computer as an enemy of the people. And it turned out not to be as scary as I had assumed.

And so to the main thing, my dear friends. In 2004 my best friend helped me get a job at a company selling restaurant and garden furniture. Of course not as a sales manager, as you might have thought, but as an ordinary warehouse worker with quite a decent salary for that time.

How I turned to the "professionals" of the trade

So in 2006 I decided to take a mortgage (a bank loan - a mashkanta) and buy an apartment. And as a busy man who disappears for 10 hours at work, I naturally had neither the time nor the desire to look for an apartment on my own. Actually, I did view a couple. After which even that urge disappeared. And I decided to turn to the "professionals" of the trade.

Why in quotes - I will explain now. At that time I could afford to buy an apartment in Rishon LeZion for about $130,000. That was in 2006.

I was interested only in the town centre, and up to the 2nd floor without a lift. So I started calling the local ads hoping to find something suitable. The offers in the newspapers were each better than the last. But unfortunately, as it turned out, it was only advertising.

When I met the realtors (that's what they called themselves), they showed me apartments either in other areas or on higher floors, which accordingly did not suit me. And much more expensive than what I was looking for. And what especially infuriated me was that every apartment they pushed on me, literally almost by force, they urged me to buy. Saying the price was only for today. Tomorrow such an apartment at such a price would no longer exist.

The advert that never existed

I remember the most interesting moment in the apartment search. I simply must tell you, my dear friends.

One day I'm sitting at work in my beloved makhsan (warehouse in Russian) looking for the apartment of my dreams. And then I came across an interesting advert.

I remember it as if it were now:

Well, you understand. My joy knew no bounds. I called and arranged a meeting. I drop work and rush to the office of the realtor I had arranged to meet. Without seeing the apartment, I was ready to buy it that very day.

I came at the appointed time to the office (I don't want to name the company, it is not ethical). But it is located on Herzl Street. There are many such little offices there that call themselves professionals.

So I came to him, and he at once seemed not to understand what I was there about. He did not even remember that he had made an appointment with me. After I explained everything to him, he started calling the "seller". And on the other end of the line he was told that the apartment had been sold literally 30 minutes ago. You could see he had not called anyone.

After he put down the phone, the broker said the following to me:

That, of course, was the limit of my patience. I wanted to explain to this broker everything I thought of him, in the language of a man-to-man talk. But I did not do it. I did not want to sit in prison for that nobody.

After 2 months of such searching I was completely disappointed in the brokers. When my calls were answered saying I had reached a broker agency, I hung up at once.

I was rude to a realtor - and he called back

A month later I called about one advert. Finding out I had reached yet another broker agency, I used all the Russian slang I had brought with me from the Soviet Union, and then hung up.

After a while my phone rang. It was the realtor I had been rude to a minute earlier. He asked what had made me speak to him in such a tone, without knowing him.

Well, I explained what was what and what I thought of them. He asked me to meet with him. In the conversation with him I felt a professional approach and knowledge of the trade. An hour later I met him.

After the first meeting I realised I had found the man I needed. A pro, and that says it all. His appearance said a lot. Trim, in an expensive suit, with a smart tie, in an expensive car. In a word - a distinguished look.

The next day I came to him for a consultation, to find out how to take a mortgage (mashkanta) correctly and advantageously. Using his connections at the banks, I took the most advantageous mortgage of that day. Well, to make it clear to you, at the bank they calculated a payment of 2,800 over 30 years. And he made it 28 years at 2,400 a month for me. How? I think only he knows.

A month before getting the keys my back seized up again, but this time more seriously. I was fired from work for being unfit. I was bedridden at home. It was hard for me to move. The realtor took all the apartment paperwork upon himself. During the time the documents for the apartment were being processed, we became very good friends.

Before meeting this man, I honestly admit, I had come to hate brokers for their attitude to work.

Not everyone has the right to call themselves a realtor

Not everyone has the right to call themselves a realtor. But after meeting the broker Slava - that is this man's name - my opinion of this profession changed radically. He is one of the founders of the company.

Before getting the keys to my apartment, I asked Slava to take me on as an employee. To which he replied, as I remember it now:

I tried to convince Slava of the opposite - that knowing the language is not as important as wanting to succeed and to achieve what a person wants. If a person wants to achieve something, they will certainly achieve it.

The main thing is the desire to learn and to succeed in what you strongly want. And there was nothing left to lose anyway: I was fired from the old job and the path to physical work was closed. I bought an apartment, or rather took out a mortgage to buy an apartment, and that, as you rightly understood, has to be repaid.

Two weeks - and a record for all of Rishon

I remember it as if it were now: in early February 2006 I was hired by the company. For the first time I joined a serious company. I'll be brief. It was not easy. But you won't believe it!

The sellers and buyers were Russian-speaking. You cannot imagine how much joy I had. And with what pride I came home.