The zen of the siren: Richard Priestman and the architecture of Israeli archery stillness

Before diving into Priestman’s impact, it is essential to define what modern Olympic archery actually is – and why it is so difficult to master in a country as “loud” as Israel. Archery is a sport of “closed skills,” meaning the environment is theoretically stable, and the outcome is entirely dependent on the repetition of an internal process. The archer stands 70 meters from a target that is 122 centimeters in diameter. At that distance, the “gold” (the 10-point ring) looks no larger than a thumbtack held at arm’s length.

MIKAELA MOSHER from Israel and coach Richard John Priestman during Archery - Women's Recurve Individual at day eight of the European Games 2023 at Plaszowianka Archery Park on June 27, 2023 in Krakow, Poland. (credit: Sebastian Frej/MB Media/Getty Images)

The bow itself is a marvel of engineering. In the recurve category, the Olympic standard, the bow is designed to store immense energy. As Priestman notes in our conversation, a competitive bow for a man requires a “draw weight” of approximately 22 kilograms (48 lbs), while women pull around 18–19 kilograms. Imagine picking up a heavy suitcase with just three fingers and holding it perfectly still while your heart beats at 140 beats per minute. That is the physical reality of every shot.

It is a sport that demands a lower heart rate, a “zen state” where the pulse is suppressed to prevent the slight tremor of a heartbeat from throwing the arrow centimeters off course. It is a paradox: you must have the strength of a weightlifter but the nervous system of a diamond cutter.

When Priestman arrived in early 2022, he found “raw material” that was high in intelligence but lacked the structural scaffolding of a world-class program.

“I’ve worked in a few countries… everywhere you go there is talent for archery,” Priestman reflected with the understated confidence of a master craftsman.

For him, archery is the great equalizer. It doesn’t require the Achilles tendon of an African runner or the specific torso of a swimmer; it requires a “mental click” and a “hardworking ethic.”

The vision was sold to him by Guy Matchkin, the man Priestman identifies as the catalyst for the project. The success of Shani Itzhaki in Tokyo had provided a flicker of interest and, crucially, a modest injection of funding. Priestman saw a “good young bunch” of archers who were ready to move from being hobbyists to professionals. He brought with him a methodology honed over decades: a focus on the “closed skill” process – beginning, middle, and end.

Perhaps the most fascinating chapter of Priestman’s Israeli tenure is the “talent transfer” program. In a stroke of administrative genius, the Olympic Committee of Israel began funneling former rhythmic gymnasts – athletes whose careers often peak in their teens – into archery.

Enter Michaela Moshe.

A former gymnast who reached the end of her first sporting life at 17, Moshe came to Priestman as an “absolute beginner.” For a coach who hadn’t taught the basics in years, it was a revelation.

“She had these 15 years of incredible coordination… physical presence, hardworking ethic,” Priestman said.

The result was nothing short of miraculous: Moshe was competing in the Paris Olympics within two years of picking up a bow. This “gymnastics-to-archery” pipeline has become the envy of the sporting world. Gymnasts already possess the core strength, posture, and – most importantly – the psychological ability to perform repetitive drills under extreme scrutiny. Under Priestman, Moshe didn’t just learn to shoot; she learned to translate her existing athletic excellence into a new language.

Then there is Roy Dror, the former swimmer whom Priestman spotted at a cadet event in Slovenia. Even then, when Dror’s technique was “not particularly great,” Priestman saw the mindset of a winner. Under Priestman’s tutelage, Dror and Moshe stopped being mere participants in international events; they became contenders, picking up medals in youth and adult competitions across the globe.

The numbers tell a story of rapid, vertical growth that Israel has never seen before. Under Priestman’s leadership, the Israeli national team reached unprecedented heights that were previously deemed “romantic dreams.”

The crowning achievement was the qualification of two archers, Roy Dror and Michaela Moshe, for the Paris 2024 Olympic Games – a feat that signaled Israel’s arrival as a serious contender in the recurve division.

But the success was not limited to the Olympic stage. Shamai Yamrom, competing in the compound division, made history with his participation in the World Games, achieving a peak world ranking never before seen for an Israeli archer. The trophy cabinet also grew heavy during this four-year span: the team secured five medals at the European Indoor Championships, and for the first time, Israel’s men’s recurve team broke into the world’s top 20 rankings. From senior podiums to youth World Cup circuits, the Israeli flag became a common sight at medal ceremonies.

These weren’t isolated flukes; they were the direct result of Priestman’s systematic overhaul of the training regimen.

Lack of archery infrastructure leads to sport stagnation in Israel

However, the story is not one of unmitigated triumph. Despite the medals and Olympic appearances, a shadow of systemic regression loomed over the field. Priestman is candid about the “stagnation” that threatened the momentum he built. In Israel, the transition from a “niche hobby” to a “national priority” has been painfully slow. One of the primary points of friction is the lack of basic infrastructure.

“It lacks shade in the summer,” Priestman noted, referring to the training facilities at Wingate. In a country where the sun is a literal physical adversary for nine months of the year, the national archery team was often left to bake in extreme heat.

Archery does not stop for weather, but extreme heat degrades equipment and exhausts the mind. Furthermore, the lack of a dedicated indoor facility meant that during winter storms, training was interrupted – a fatal blow to a sport that requires daily, rhythmic repetition. While Priestman pushed the athletes forward, the facilities seemed stuck in the past. This physical regression often leads to a psychological one: it is difficult to maintain the mindset of an elite athlete when the environment suggests otherwise.

Beyond the physical, there is financial regression. While world powers like Korea, Turkey, and France invest millions in coaching networks and multi-team training camps, the Israeli system remains perilously thin.

“With better funding, they could have an assistant coach,” Priestman noted.

Currently, the burden of excellence rests on a tiny handful of people. This structural fragility creates a “burnout” effect, not just for the athletes, but for leadership. Priestman hinted that in his final year, he felt himself becoming “less effective,” a casualty of a system that asks for world-class results on a shoestring budget.

Archery is a sport defined by absolute focus – a “zen state” that seems incompatible with a country where sirens often replace the silence of the range. Yet Priestman argues that the volatility of Israeli life provided his athletes with “mental toughness” for free.

“They’ve come through Covid, this constant war, missiles, and disturbed sleep,” he observes. While coaches in the UK or Germany struggle to simulate pressure, Israeli archers live it. Priestman taught them to stay in the present, to treat the archery range as a sanctuary where “English calm” was the law of the land.

The Israeli Archery Association frequently praised this “English calm,” a stoicism that Priestman maintained even when the British Embassy was offering him flights out of the country.

“I never felt under threat or scared… I guess I trust the Iron Dome as well,” he said with dry wit.

To him, the sirens were a “nuisance” and a “disturbance to sleep,” but he felt a moral obligation to stay.

“If I go home and do Zoom calls, well, that’s not the way I work. I need to be hands-on.”

Despite his professional success, the daily reality of living in Israel as a foreign consultant was a different kind of battle. For a man who could hit a bullseye from 70 meters, navigating Israeli bureaucracy was a task of impossible geometry. Priestman speaks with a touch of weary humor about the difficulties of “national IDs,” phone packages, TV subscriptions, and the simple act of buying a car.

“They don’t make it easy for a foreigner to live in Israel,” he admitted, having spent much of his time relying on taxis and the goodwill of the federation.

This friction, combined with the exhaustion of 12-hour days on the training field, eventually took its toll. At 71, Priestman realized he was becoming less effective.

“I’m just basically tired,” he said with characteristic honesty. He also touches on the generational divide, working with Gen Z “screen-agers” in a sport that requires prehistoric levels of patience.

“As you get older, you get less patient… the generation now is totally different.”

This emotional fatigue, coupled with a sense that the Israeli system was beginning to hit a ceiling of its own making, led to his decision to step down.

There is a prevalent, almost mourning-like sense within the Israeli archery community that Priestman’s departure was an avoidable tragedy. Many insiders believe that if the Association or the Ministry of Sport had made a greater effort – perhaps by professionalizing the coaching staff or fixing the “third-world” training conditions – he could have been persuaded to stay through the Los Angeles 2028 cycle. When asked about this, he didn’t point fingers, but his silence on certain administrative “nuisances” spoke volumes.

Amit Steiner-Dandeker, chairperson of the Israeli Archery Association, spoke of the departure with deep respect and a touch of regret.

“Richard made a significant contribution to the development of archery in Israel and to the excellent achievements of the national team on the international stage,” Steiner-Dandeker stated. “We thank him for his great contribution and for remaining in Israel throughout the war over the last two and a half years, something that is not taken for granted and which we deeply appreciate. Richard leaves a significant mark on Israeli archery, and we wish him great success in his future endeavors.”

Israel is notorious for letting its “greatest professional assets” walk away when the demands for structural change become too loud. In Priestman’s case, the regression isn’t in the talent, which is burgeoning, but in the support.

“Archery is not a sport where you’re going to make a big living… you’re relying on family support and credit cards,” he pointed out.

When a nation allows its Olympic hopefuls to train via “scratch money” from grandfathers and credit cards, it is a sign of a system that has yet to mature. Priestman’s departure serves as a wake-up call: you cannot keep a world-class architect if you refuse to buy the bricks.

Priestman leaves behind a legacy that is visible in ranking points and the “Golden Age” of Israeli archery documented in the national press. He leaves a program that has learned how to win, a pipeline of talent from gymnastics that he believes could lead to a permanent spot on the Olympic podium within ten years. Names like Itay Frankel and Harel Moore are now “bubbling in the background,” ready to take the mantle from Dror and Moshe.

But more than medals, he leaves behind a philosophy of resilience. He taught Israeli athletes that silence is not just the absence of noise, but a deliberate choice of the mind. He showed that an Englishman from Scunthorpe could find a home in Netanya, staring at the Mediterranean, and find common ground with soldiers-turned-archers.

For now, the bow is put away. Priestman is back in Burscough, doing “normal domestic things” like fixing and cleaning. But the competitive fire hasn’t quite been extinguished. When asked if a call for the LA 2028 cycle might tempt him back, his eyes light up.

“LA is very special for me because I was a competitor there in 1984. It was one of my dreams to take a team there as a coach.”

Whether that dream manifests in Israeli blue or another nation’s colors remains to be seen. But as Israeli archers look toward 2028, they will do so with the “English calm” and millimetric precision that only Priestman could have taught them. The tragedy would be if the system he built is allowed to regress into the amateurism that preceded him.

As Priestman concluded: “Change has to happen. It’s inevitable. But I’m always here at the other end of a WhatsApp message.”

For Israeli archery, the arrow has been loosed (the archery term for being released from the bow). Whether it hits the gold in 2028 depends on whether the nation can provide the shade and structure to match the stillness Priestman worked so hard to build.