Based on a True Story

BASED ON A TRUE STORY PROLOGUE

A Name Is a Destiny

In Jewish tradition they say that the name you give a child is not just a word. It is a prophecy. The name shapes who the child will become, what kind of character they will have, and what kind of life is waiting for them down the road.

When I named this brand Babylon Survivor, I thought I was naming a clothing line. I thought Babylon was a place I had already left behind – the big city, the tall buildings, the noise, the system.

I had no idea that I was actually naming the next chapter of my life.

Because Babylon is not a city. Babylon is a system. And I was about to learn that in the quiet suburbs, far from the skyscrapers, Babylon can be even hungrier, even stronger, and even more ruthless than the one I ran away from.

This is the story of how I found that out. And how I survived it.

CHAPTER ONE

Leaving Babylon

I was born and raised in Ramat Gan, right in the heart of the big city. For most of my life, that was my whole world. My family, my friends, my streets.

But at some point, something inside me woke up. I started to realize that the media was lying to me – not in small ways, but from A to Z. Worse than that, I felt that it saw people like me as the enemy. So I started digging. I researched one theory after another, from one end to the other, and slowly I began to put the puzzle together. And the more pieces I connected, the more I felt that there was a truth here that most people around me simply could not see.

The problem was that when I wanted to talk about it, there was nobody left to talk to. Not my friends. Not even my family. One by one, I lost the people around me. I had seen something I could not unsee, and I was alone with it.

So in 2015, I did what every survivor eventually does. I left.

I moved to Pardes Hanna, a quiet place in the suburbs, full of houses with gardens and ground-floor apartments with a little piece of earth of their own. That was all I wanted. A garden. Some quiet. A place to make my art. A place where I could finally breathe.

I thought I had escaped Babylon.

I was wrong.

CHAPTER TWO

The Birthday Gift

To pay the rent, I started working as a delivery driver, delivering pet food all over the country.

I will never forget one particular day. It was my birthday. I had a delivery in Tel Aviv, and my car was so packed with sacks and boxes that I could not see anything through the mirrors or the windows. As I reversed out of a parking spot, I hit the car of a woman who was driving right behind me. I never saw her.

We exchanged details, and I called my boss. "Don't worry about it," he told me. "We have insurance. Keep going." So I did.

Three years went by.

By then, I was already living in my second rented apartment in Pardes Hanna. Three years, two apartments. Every single time, the same story: a house with a garden, a landlord promising me that this was for the long term, and then one day a contractor would show up and say, "I want to build apartment buildings here." And just like that, my "long term" was cancelled again.

I was exhausted from moving. And then, one day, my uncles came to see me.

"Listen," they said. "Your parents didn't want to upset you or stress you out. But we have very bad news, and you don't have much time left to defend yourself. They have been hiding this from you for two months."

"What is it?" I asked.

"You are being sued. Over the accident from three years ago. They are suing you for 15,000 shekels."

I couldn't believe it. Why would they hide this from me? It's not cancer. It's a problem, and problems have solutions. But I understood why they were afraid. My family didn't know any good lawyers. The ones they had used in the past had only made things worse and taken advantage of them. They simply didn't know who to trust.

But I knew someone.

A guy who had been with me in basic training in the army. We had not really been in touch over the years, but I always saw that he was brilliant, and something told me I could trust him. Maybe he would have the time. Maybe he would be kind enough to help someone he hadn't spoken to in years.

I reached out. And he helped me – completely pro bono. He didn't want anything in return.

At first, my boss tried to shake off any responsibility. But then he received one email from my friend. One email. He didn't argue for a single second. He sent the check, and I walked away from that lawsuit without paying a single shekel.

That was when I said to myself: wow. He was my birthday gift.

Because the accident happened on my birthday, and three years later it brought me back the one thing I had lost in Babylon: a true friend. The day he helped me with the case, we started talking, and we discovered that we saw the world in exactly the same way. All the things I couldn't share with anyone anymore – he understood them. From that day on, he became my best friend.

CHAPTER THREE

The Lesson

One day I told him how frustrating it was that I had to move again. I wanted him to come over and see my art, but I had nowhere to put it, because I was about to move once more. Every landlord had promised me the long term. Every landlord had broken that promise.

He looked at me and said something that changed my life.

"Idan, you don't know what the legal world is like. In court you can be the most right person in the world, but as long as you don't have proof, you're talking to a wall. Nobody will believe you, and you will lose."

"Until now you have lost money, a lot of money, a lot of time, and a lot of heartache," he continued. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you can't trust people anymore. Especially not people who want you for your money. If someone wants you for your money, you have to learn how to protect yourself. If your phone can record – start recording. Your home is your life. You can't take it lightly."

It went against everything I believed in. I had finally found what felt like good, legal apartments with good landlords, people I never had a problem with. Recording them felt wrong. But I had no choice. I did it just to be safe, just so I would never regret it later.

So I recorded. Every conversation in person. Every phone call. It was hard. Some days I didn't even understand why I was doing it.

I was about to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR

Babylon of the Suburbs

For a whole year in the third apartment, everything was fine.

Then the tenants in the apartment next to me changed. Both apartments belonged to the same landlord. And the new neighbors started making my life hell.

They tried to run over my cats. They broke into my home – something I only discovered later. They hung ugly laundry for weeks right in front of my window, on purpose, so that I wouldn't even want to open it anymore. Everything they did was so illogical, so deliberate, that there was only one logical explanation left: they wanted me out. Eventually, after they didn't see any signs from me that I was looking for a new place, because this process was too hard to go through again, this new tenant who lived next door tried purposely to have a fight with me and record me hitting him so I would break my contract and get kicked out, but I didn't, so he threatened to murder me. I didn't stay still and called the landlord to finally expose their conspiracy against me.

And only thanks to the recordings, right before I left that house, did I discover the truth.

It was the landlord himself who was behind all of it. He wanted me gone before I could stay another four or five years. Because, as it turned out, the house had a demolition order on it from 2009. And a colorful artist like me, living there and bringing the place to life, was a risk to him. Someone like me might expose the fact that the house was never supposed to be lived in at all.

Without the recordings, I would have walked away thinking I just had bad luck with my neighbors. With them, I knew exactly who had done this to me, and why.

That was the moment I understood the name I had given my brand. In the city, Babylon is made of concrete and glass. In the suburbs, the buildings are lower, but the system is the same. Maybe even stronger. Maybe even hungrier.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Search

I moved to my fourth apartment, and I kept recording.

At first it was to document the suffering the third house had caused me. Searching for a home as an artist with a lot of equipment and two cats is hard. Every viewing, every phone call, every potential landlord – I recorded all of it, to show what that previous landlord had really cost me, right up to that moment.

And finally, I found her. A new landlady, a new apartment, a new beginning.

I kept recording her too – at first only to show how much the landlord before her had cost me.

But very quickly, I discovered that she was no small liar herself.

CHAPTER SIX

The Matrix

From that point on, I had to record every single phone call and every single conversation with her in person.

It was exactly like Neo in The Matrix. Sometimes he has to stop the bullets with the palm of his hand. And sometimes he has to dodge them by bending backwards.

Her surprise visits were the bullets I had to dodge.

The recorded phone calls were the hand that stopped them in mid-air.

Every lie she told, every promise she broke, every word that didn't match the one before it – it was all there, saved, clear, impossible to deny.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The House of Cards

I thought I was fighting one dishonest landlady. I was wrong. She was only the first card.

The recordings led me from her to a cooperative agricultural association. From there, the trail climbed up to the local council of Pardes Hanna-Karkur. And from there, all the way up to the Israel Land Authority.

Everything they had built stood on one thing: that nobody would ever be able to prove it. And I could.

Behind them stand more than six powerful lawyers, and some very, very powerful bodies. People who are used to winning. People who are used to the little guy giving up long before the courtroom. But against clear, recorded proof, there is no clever argument and no expensive defense. Their own words are on the tape.

The landlady was only the first soldier. The first domino. And when the first domino falls, the rest have no choice but to follow.

Like every house of cards, it looked untouchable from the outside. Strong, tall, protected. But a house of cards doesn't need a storm to collapse. It only needs one card to be pulled out.

The recordings were that card.

Today, the cases are heading into the courtroom, and more lawsuits against the ones standing behind her are on their way. The hearings are only just beginning. When the judges have spoken, I will tell the rest of this chapter – with the proof.

Babylon is falling again. And this time, I'm the one holding the tape.

CHAPTER EIGHT

From Tragedy to Victory

This story could have ended very differently. A lonely artist, cut off from his friends, moving from house to house, broken down by people with more money and more power than him. I have thought about how it could have ended many times. It could have ended in tragedy.

Instead, it turned into the greatest victory of my life.

Not because I was stronger than them. Not because I had more money. But because of two gifts I received along the way: a friend who believed me, and a simple method he taught me.

The truth is not enough. You need proof.

That is the real meaning of Babylon Survivor. Not someone who never meets Babylon – but someone who meets it head on, stays standing, and walks out the other side with the truth in his hand.

EPILOGUE

The Survivor's Method

If there is one thing I want you to take from my story, it is this: your home is your life. Don't take it lightly.

When someone wants something from you – your money, your home, your peace – don't rely on promises. Rely on proof. Record your conversations where the law allows it, keep everything in writing, and save every message. You may never need it. But if the day comes, it will be the difference between talking to a wall and walking out free.

That is why I created Urban Survival Gear – the tools I wish I had from day one, including the AI recorder that attaches to your phone. Because survival in Babylon is not about running away. It is about being ready.

Recording laws are different in every country and state. Please check your local laws before recording any conversation.

PART IIThe Circle ClosesClick to read

CHAPTER ONE

My Father's Dream

My father came to Israel from Iran in 1979. Since the day he arrived, he has been a true master of Persian cooking. The rice, the stews, the spices, the smells that fill the whole house – that is his art, the same way designing is mine.

For years he had one dream: to open a small restaurant of his own. Nothing too big, nothing that would break his back. Just a concept that works only on Fridays, so he could do what he loves without working too hard.

And he knew from me that Pardes Hanna is the place for food. People come from all over the country for its culinary scene, and someone with real talent can do very well selling food from there.

So when I moved to my fourth home, I wasn't only looking for myself anymore. That is why the fourth home was much bigger and much more expensive than anything I had rented before. It was two separate buildings. The smaller one was for me. The bigger one I gave to my father, so he could finally make his dream come true and sell his food from there.

For the first time, it felt like Babylon was behind us. Like something good was finally being built.

CHAPTER TWO

The Law of the Farmland

But as we already know, that house was hiding a lie too.

This time there was no demolition order. This time the problem was the land itself. The property was a nachala – agricultural farmland – and farmland in Israel has its own law. A very simple one.

Under the settlement rules, only the owner – whether registered in the land registry or the leaseholder without it – must live there. If anyone else lives there instead, it is a violation of the law against the Israel Land Authority.

We didn't know any of this. It turned out that we had been rented a house we were never allowed to live in at all. Only the landlady was supposed to live there.

CHAPTER THREE

War

When the story exploded, my best friend – the same lawyer from the birthday gift – came to sit with them and look for a fair solution. A way for everyone to come out of it in peace.

Instead, they realized how much trouble they were in. And they declared war on us.

My father didn't want a war. He told them clearly: if this can't be made legal, I'm leaving. And he left.

But even after he left, they sent him an eviction order. An eviction from a house he had already walked out of. It was their alibi – a way to look like the victims on paper.

The case reached the court and ended with a demand that my father pay the landlady 3,000 shekels for her lawyer's fees.

My father wanted to pay right away, so it would never reach the Execution Office (Hotza'a LaPoal), the authority that collects debts in Israel. But they wouldn't give him their bank account details. Days passed. Then weeks. Two whole months.

It smelled like a trap. As if they were waiting for the debt to grow, so they could take even more money from him through the Execution Office.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Search That Changed Everything

So I asked my lawyer, my best friend, to log in to the Execution Office website and check whether they had already opened a case against my father.

We were looking for a file where my father was the debtor.

What we found instead stopped us both cold.

There were many files – dozens of them – where my father was not the debtor at all. He was the creditor. The one who was owed the money.

Slowly, the picture came together. In 1992, when I was a baby, a lawyer came to my father's business. He collected dozens of bounced checks that customers had given my father, and promised him that there was no need to pay any fee upfront. He would simply take a percentage of whatever he managed to collect.

Then he took the checks and disappeared.

And only 33 years later did we find out the truth: right up until the day we discovered it, that lawyer had kept collecting my father's money and depositing it into his own private bank account.

For 33 years.

CHAPTER FIVE

New York, New York

All my adult life, I asked my parents the same question, with anger and with blame: why was I the only one of all my friends whose parents lived in a rented home?

Their answer was always the same. My father once had a clothing store called New York New York. It did really well. But so many customers paid him with checks that bounced that the business went bankrupt, fast.

And the house we were living in – the house my parents were just about to buy for only 24,000 dollars – slipped through their fingers because of those same checks.

I grew up believing it was just bad luck. Customers who didn't pay. A business that failed.

Now I know that part of that money was never lost at all. Someone took it. And for 33 years, he kept taking it.

CHAPTER SIX

Divine Guidance

In 2015, when I left Ramat Gan, I cried over my fate and over the fate of my family. And deep inside, I imagined that there was one specific person somewhere, someone I would one day settle the account with, for all the suffering he caused my parents and me.

But I never really believed that this is how I would find him.

Think about it. If the last landlady hadn't tried her dirty trick – refusing to take my father's money so she could squeeze more out of him through the Execution Office – we would never have searched that website. And we would never have found out that my father is owed much more, by a much older enemy.

Today, thanks to the recordings and thanks to that landlady's dirty trick, this circle is finally closing. My father is suing the man who had long forgotten his name and his details, and who stole so much money from him for 33 years. Because the theft was discovered only recently, the case can move forward, and it is already underway – just like the case against the landlady. And in both of them, we have the upper hand.

That is why this is not only a survival story.

It is a story of divine guidance. Every trap they set for us became a door. Every Babylon that rose against us led us one step closer to the truth.

A name is a destiny. I named this brand Babylon Survivor before I knew what it meant. Now I know: a survivor doesn't only get out of Babylon alive. A survivor walks out with what was taken from his family.

To be continued...