By Jason Erickson
When you first meet
Joul Karram, you notice the height. That comes with the territory when you stand 6 feet 11. But it does not take long before the height fades into the background and you start noticing something else entirely. He is open. He is thoughtful. And he carries a story that reaches far beyond basketball.
He grew up in Nazareth, Israel, a city people read about in scripture or visit on tours of the Holy Land, but for him it was simply home. He went to a small Christian school where everything was in Arabic. Family, church, school, friends. It was all close. Then, at 14, he left it behind to chase a game he did not even love first.
"I actually loved soccer more. I still do," he said with a smile. "But I was tall as a kid and I went to one of my cousin's basketball games and told my mom I wanted to try it." She signed him up for a twice-a-week program, and Joul never looked back.
Everything changed when he moved to Tel Aviv to join a basketball academy two hours away from home. It was a different world. His school switched to Hebrew. His neighborhood changed too, and so did his comfort zone. He already knew the language but speaking it every day taught him a new level of fluency. That unfamiliar place quickly became the home where his closest friendships formed.
Life in Tel Aviv meant boarding school, long days, and nights spent rotating between friends' apartments when he was too busy or too tired to take the train back north. It also meant playing for Hapoel Tel Aviv, one of the biggest clubs in the country, and practicing alongside professionals. From there came spots on Israel's U16, U18, and eventually U19 national teams. European Championships. A World Cup. Games against the United States, Canada, and some of the best young players in the world.
But behind the rise was a moment that changed him more than any basketball achievement.
The summer he arrived at the academy, before his first season even started, he broke his femur and dislocated his kneecap. Two surgeries. A year away from the game. A 14-year-old kid alone in a city not his own.
"It was a slap to the face," he said. "You grow up fast when something like that happens."
He never forgot it. And it gave him a grit that shows up in everything he does.
Years later, something else shook him. On October 7, 2023, he was in Tel Aviv when the sirens started. A close friend from his academy, a younger player he had practiced with for two years, lived near the Gaza border. That friend and his entire family were killed that morning.
"It was rough," he said quietly. "Especially losing a friend like that."
Basketball shut down in Israel for nearly two months. His hometown of Nazareth, far in the north, stayed quiet and safe, but he spent that time bouncing between home and Tel Aviv, trying to stay active, trying to feel normal.
Through all of it, basketball stayed steady. It brought him to the United States. Because he is an Arab Christian, he did not have to serve mandatory military time in Israel, which gave him the chance to go to college. Utah recruited him late. Two weeks later, he was on a flight.
After a coaching change, he looked for a better fit. He planned to head to Northeastern in Boston. Then Utah Valley called. He visited Orem almost as a courtesy, expecting it to be a quick stop before he flew home.
Instead, he fell in love with the program.
UVU's track record developing big men only helped.
"They showed me how they've developed players like me. I looked into all of it and I liked the process here," he said.
Now a sophomore for the Wolverines, he brings more than size. He brings volume. A lot of it.
"I am loud on the court," he said, laughing. "If I am quiet, I get zoned out. So I talk constantly. Call things out. Keep guys engaged. It keeps me engaged too."
He rebounds. He protects the rim. He brings energy. And he brings the kind of perspective you only get by living a life stretched between continents.
He misses Israel. The food. The beaches. His parents and his younger brother, who stands 6 feet 9 but prefers computers to basketball. Mostly, he misses the pace of life. The constant activity. The friends who turn every night into something to do. But technology helps. FaceTime calls that last eight hours. Group chats with teammates from Israel who now play all over the United States. It keeps him connected to home while he builds a new home here.
He has already learned that American basketball is faster and more athletic, but European basketball is more controlled. He has learned that crowds in the United States feel more "family friendly" compared to the fire and chaos of European arenas. And he has learned that being a college athlete so far from home takes patience, adjustment, and resilience.
But he has also learned something about who he is.
"People look at tall guys and get intimidated," he said. "But that's not me. There's more to who I am."
The kid who left home at 14 grew into a young man who carries his culture, his languages, his losses, his pride, and his ambition everywhere he goes. His journey from Nazareth to Tel Aviv to Utah is filled with moments that could have stopped him, yet each one pushed him forward instead.
Now he wants to help Utah Valley win a WAC championship, reach the NCAA Tournament, and enjoy every mile along the way.
A long way from home,
Joul Karram is finding his place. And he is doing it with a voice that never goes quiet.
Â
Â
