2/3/98

Ra'anana's mayor from heaven

    Pinch me -- is this guy for real?
    A mayor who visits kindergartens to talk about the importance of keeping their city clean.
    A mayor who personally keeps tabs on his city's 106 garbage bins, parlaying his observations into a savings of NIS 600,000.
    A politician who refuses to indulge in cronyism. Who would rather sit in his predecessor's chair than spend municipal funds to buy a new one. Who doesn't make campaign promises he can't keep.
    Ze'ev Bielski's delightful style of civic management won Ra'anana the Interior Ministry's prize as best-run municipality. So naturally, he took a big chunk of the NIS 1.118 million booty and gave it to his workers as a bonus "because their work got us this prize." He spent some of it on computers for underprivileged children.
    Zevik, as he is known around town, runs the city of Ra'anana like a family business, sensible but visionary, humble yet dynamic. And he says he loves being the mayor because he can really, really do good for his 65,000 neighbors.
    Yeah, I know -- he sounds like a politician. And the last thing I want to do is say nice things about a public official.
    Thing is, Zevik is just a regular fellow who somehow found himself the most powerful man in the city, but never stopped being just a regular fellow. He's a buoyant, energetic 49-year-old economist oozing enthusiasm. He discovered The Right Way Of Doing Things during a two-year stint as an emissary in South Africa.
    "I'm not a politician, actually. When it all started, I didn't want to be mayor -- I just wanted to get my street paved. My neighbors went to the mayor to complain, and he said, listen, I can't do it this year, maybe next year. So we went back to our street, and somebody said, listen, one of us should be the mayor, and then we can get our street paved. And everybody looked at me.
    "I went out and met people. The best thing I did was not to make any promises -- except that I would work hard, and listen, and do my best. This is an intelligent community, and they understand that before an election everybody promises the sky and the earth, but if somebody says he'll work hard, they like that."
    So, Zevik, did you fix your street upon becoming mayor? He laughs. "Yeah, that was one of the first things I did."
    But you can't even accuse him of protektzia. "In Ra'anana, within 24 hours of a complaint, it's dealt with. I get a written report every month about how fast complaints were fixed -- and there are about 6,000 to 7,000 a month. Things that are behind schedule, I deal with personally."
    With municipal elections coming up in November, it would seem that he's just trying to score points in a popularity contest. Except that he's been like this throughout his nine years as mayor, and frankly, he could spend the rest of the year vacationing in the Bahamas and still win in a landslide: polls shows him leading his nearest competitor 70 percent to 4. He doesn't have to impress anyone.
    While others are out shmoozing voters, Zevik will talk to people who can't even vote. "Every week I visit three or four schools and kindergartens. I sit with the children, we sing holiday songs together, I tell them  how important it is that they help the mayor keep the town clean and nice. I keep in touch with the city's children on a daily basis."
    His mayoral style is simple: work hard, listen to people, be modest, set a personal example, dedicate yourself to sound economic administration. Sounds corny, eh?
    It works:
    Last year, Ra'anana was proclaimed the best-run municipality. The city actually met its budget for 1996, a rarity in this country.
    Ra'anana has the highest quality of life in the country's center, according to a poll by Geocartographia.
    Zevik was named Israel's most popular mayor.
    The city won a prestigious international citation for excellence in civic management. The only other Israeli city so graced was Karmiel.
    The cynically inclined (and who's to blame us?) would guess that City Hall is milking taxpayers to beef up the treasury.
    But Ra'ananans pay the lowest Arnona rates in the Sharon region -- and the rates haven't risen for three years straight.
    Then how does he do it?
    "We don't raise rates and taxes beyond the index -- instead, we bring in money from more industry, more shops. And we cut expenses all the time.
    "I'll give you an example. One day I was walking in the street, and I saw a "frog" (garbage dumpster) in a neglected place, and I wondered how much it costs to empty them, and I asked for a report. We have 106 frogs around town. I get the report and I say to myself, 'Zevik! Jesus Christ! Three times a day somebody is emptying this frog, but even once a week is too much!' I didn't like it." He overhauled the system, called for a new tender, and halved the cost to NIS 600,000 yearly.
    He applied his passion for efficiency throughout his empire. It used to cost NIS 450,000 a year to clean out empty lots; it's now done for NIS 150,000; he cut the cost of managing city finances from NIS 2 million  a year, to NIS 600,000.
    Zevik's eyes gleam with delight. "Y'see, I don't have to work for this money. I don't have to raise taxes. 
    "My greatest pleasure is when somebody comes up with a plan to save money. Our policy is that if a department saves money, it stays there, and they can do more with it the following year. It's a great incentive."
    Other mayors sometimes come to Zevik for advice. "A lot of them send staff to our various departments, like our Moked (dispatch) system, and tax collection, to see how it works."
    He denies that corruption is much of a problem in Israel. "What there is, is a lot of waste. If it's public money, you know, they don't look at it the same way they look at their own money in the bank. So it becomes very easy to say 'I'll give a hundred thousand to this one, or that one.' Hundreds of millions are being wasted every year only because of coalition agreements -- the cost of politics, nothing to do with reality."
    Coming from a public official, this is all a bit hard to believe. Querying people in the street didn't make it easier.
    One woman related that her daughter was in a traffic accident -- and Zevik called her, in hospital in Ashkelon, to see how she was doing.
    Another resident, Varda Aloni, recalled that "I complained about something, they came immediately, fixed it -- and the workers thanked me for bringing it to their attention. And then I got a letter from City Hall thanking me again!"
    Zevik strolls around town looking for problems to fix. If he misses something, he has a Motorola in his car. "I encourage the municipal workers to inform the Moked about broken signs and lights. I get about 100 to 200 alerts a month. My child is nine years old, he knows already, he'll hear a call and say, 'Abba, listen, a light's not working!' "
    He publicizes his e-mail address around town -- zeevik@raanana.org.il -- and responds personally, promptly.
    And then there's his deputy, a true-blue Zevik man. Uzi Cohen is not a slick politico: he's graceless, thick-tongued, hard of hearing. He never had much of a chance: he's one of 14 children, and his father died when Uzi was six. But his enthusiasm and dedication endear him to Zevik. "He's a hard worker -- he goes from 6 a.m. to midnight. Is Ra'anana a clean town? A green town? That's Uzi. You can phone him at 2 a.m., 'Uzi, there's a flood in my house, help me,' and he says he'll be there in two minutes, and he will." Zevik shakes his head in awe.
    His workers know there are no fringe benefits, no protektzia, no unnecessary free trips, no chauffeurs, no inflated salaries. No one gets a job unless they're qualified, unless they really want to work hard to serve the city. "That's why we get the best people. They know they got the job because they're the best, and they know they have to justify themselves every day."
    I egged him for something negative, to give the story some credibility. He thought for a moment, shrugged and giggled. "I don't know. Maybe I could do more."