tobealonesoldier II

It's good to be in Tzanchanim (for glossary of Israeli military jargon, click here).  Apparently, the city of Ramat Gan has adopted us and is more than willing to shower us with gifts and goodies.  For all of Tzanchanim, they gave us two workout shirts and a pair of shorts, complete with the Tzanchanim logo and the phrase "!אחרי לצנחנים"/"After the Paratroopers!"  Now, when we go for a run, everyone sports the red shirt and black shorts.  Unit pride and cohesion or effective uniformity and conformity?  For the lone soldiers, we got a little bit more.  There was a special lunch held for the lone soldiers with all of the top officers on base in attendance.  The food and decor was appropriate of a meal for the bigwigs, and not simple soldiers.  At the conclusion, the generous group from Ramat Gan gave us more presents.  We got a nice analog watch, a wallet, a thermos, a pocket knife set, all with the Tzanchanim logo, and a fleece.  The items are all fine and good, but what really matters to me, us, to the lone soldiers is that they show that there are people, Israelis, entire cities who care about the lone soldiers of the IDF.

A few days later, again the lone soldiers had another event.  This time, the head of the New Jersey chapter of Friends of the IDF came to visit his Tzanchanim brethren.  He read a letter from a former lone soldier on the difficulties of being a lone soldier compared to an Israeli soldier.  He told us that there are people all over the world thinking and praying for us.  "Even when you are by yourself, doing guard duty in the middle of the night, know that you are never alone.  We are always with you."

We also celebrated four soldiers' birthdays with cake and drink.  A few of us spoke before the group on how and why we came to be in the IDF.  A little while later, all of the lone soldiers on the base gathered in the auditorium to hear from the head of the base, the FIDF guys again, and were given a comforter and bed sheets.  One of my friends commented that we should quietly put our gifts into our lockers and not tell the other soldiers in our units about them because they may get jealous.  I think he's right in a way, but "jealous?  Do you think they think to take their conversations with their mothers, their families, their friends outside of the room so I don't hear because I may get jealous or upset that I can't do that because my life lives 6,000 miles away?"  But still, I put my presents away without fanfare.

The New Jersey man asked me at one point where I live: קיבוץ המעפיל Kibbutz HaMa'pil.  "You're a lucky soldier."  And he's right.  At this kibbutz, where I am right now, in the clubhouse, sitting in a comfortable sofa, my feet up on the coffee table and my computer in my lap, the lone soldiers are provided with so much.  We each get a large room with a double bed, table, television, large closet, mini kitchen station with utensils, cooking ware, refrigerator, microwave, and a bathroom.  It's essentially a fully furnished studio apartment.  Lunch is provided for us every Friday afternoon and we have time before Shabbat to take whatever food we need from a collection the kibbutz provides from a grocery store.  We do our own laundry.  And every Sunday morning at 6:30, a man drives us from the kibbutz to the Hadera train station.  As with most kibbutzim, it is difficult to get to places; there are few buses, and no direct line from here to the train.  The best way is by car, and usually that means "tramping" or hitch-hiking.  My commanders tell us every Friday not to tramp while in uniform, that it is very dangerous and could land us in a world of trouble.  (And they're not without reasons.  It's not safe to get into a car with a stranger while in uniform because in the past, terrorists, posing as peaceful Israelis, have captured soldiers who hitch-hike.)  But when leaving from inside the kibbutz, its ok to catch a tramp.

Which is what I did on Sunday.  Because of Pesach, we're given a lot of time off from the army, and I wanted to take the opportunity to see friends who I haven't seen in a while.  A lot of my friends from Mikveh Alon have moved to kibbutzes, and myself being at a kibbutz now, I don't see my friends who live in and around Tel Aviv so much anymore.  But like last week when I went back and forth between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, this time it was good to know people in the area to have rides and a place to stay.

First thing that happened Sunday morning, was my MemMem (platoon commander) came to my kibbutz to look into my living situation.  It's something that every soldier is subject to: either the Mefaked (commander) or the MemMem comes to make sure his soldier has proper living conditions.  I showed him my room and the clubhouse.  We sat down and had a nice conversation; I explained to him how I started to learn Hebrew, and even showed him the book I had dug out of my basement this past summer; it's from my Hebrew school I attended when I was ten or eleven and first starting to learn the Aleph-Bet.  Our conversation was, surprisingly, pleasant and casual and we even shook hands at the end of it.  As we walked back to his car, he even joked with me about how my childish Hebrew level is comparable to his childish English level when he went to the States to work for a year.  It still amazes me how different the "real" army is compared to Mikveh Alon; as Ben, my Israeli friend, commented, "in kravi, it's family."  In the combat units, there isn't the kind of distance between commanders and soldiers as there was at Mikveh, which is essentially a jobnik base.

After the meeting, I caught a tramp from inside the kibbutz to the train.  The man who drove me was real nice and talked about wanting to bring his kids one day to see the great wheat silo of the world: America's Midwest.  It was great to speak of home.  I took the train to Tel Aviv and went straight to David and Amy's apartment.  They were on vacation in London and I have a key to their place and am able to stay there whenever I need it.  It's another place I can always go if I can't make it back to my kibbutz or want to be able to sleep later and catch a train from Tel Aviv south to my base as opposed to Hedera, which is a good forty-five minutes north.

I met up with one of my best friends from Mikveh who I don't see anymore because he moved from Tel Aviv to a kibbutz and is Nahal, another infantry unit.  We ate, drank, and caught up on each other's lives. On Monday, I hung around the apartment and Sam, an Israeli friend, picked me up and we went to Netanya for dinner.  Then we went to Ben's family's place in Renanah for a Moroccan feast to end Pesach.  I slept in Ben's place in Herzliya and he drove me back to my kibbutz, where I am now.

My point with all of this is that life is certainly difficult, foreign and full of uncertainty as a lone soldier.  But when you have places around the country where you know people, living becomes easier.  I can always crash at David and Amy's in Tel Aviv.  I have a friend in Jerusalem where I can stay if need be.  Sam and Ben have been the greatest help in the world to me; whenever I meet their friends or family, they explain how we knew each other from Birthright, and since I've come to join the army.  Their proud to have me as their friend and I am more than thankful to know them and have them in my life.  From driving me places to giving me tips and equipment for the army, they have been the best.  Not to lessen the sophistication of this writing and my blog, but to quote Wedding Crashers, "people helping people.  It's power stuff."  I'll add, "it's a beautiful thing."

And now I am going to have a relaxing day before tomorrow.  I return in the morning to base and am there until the following weekend.  We are closing this Shabbat ('closing': we're on base, we don't go home) and then we spend the entire next week in the shetach (field).  Living, eating, sleeping, operating, learning, everything.  In the field.  It'll be hard, very hard, but I'm looking forward to it; it's like legit soldier stuff.  Living in a building with a locker and bed is great and all, well, really great, but, as I alluded to in my very first post a lifetime ago, it's not how soldiers throughout history have lived.  I am going to learn what they all know.  The military isn't supposed to be a place of comfort and ease because war never is.  My base is one of the nicest in the country.  But now we go forth into the wild, into the field, to learn how to be soldiers.

Be back in two weeks!

THIS year in Jerusalem!

פסח.  Pesach.  Passover.  The Exodus.  Call it as you will, it is one of the most important holidays in Judaism.  Indeed, it is what first made Jews Jews; before leaving Egypt and receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai, the people were known as Israelites.  God's revelation to the three million people in the desert made them Jews.  And every year, at the sedar, we say "!לשנה הבאה בירושלים/Next year in Jerusalem!"  It is a line, a call, a prayer, a song of hope and desire: to be back in our Land; to be back in our city; to be back with our people.  Well, finally, this year I WAS in Jerusalem!

Pesach in Israel is very much like Spring Break back home, even for adults; students aren't in school, people don't go to work, and soldiers get off from the army.  While the Pesach break started for many on Friday of last week, I left base on Thursday for Yom Siddurim, a day to get take of personal issues.  The army gives kravi (combat) soldiers a voucher to purchase shoes at certain stores, and I was not about to pass up the opportunity to pay only sixty shekels for a 650 shekel pair of shoes!  I stopped in Tel Aviv to run some errands and it felt good to be in my Aleph uniform.  Every new soldier's uniform is completely bare of any sort of regalia: no pins, no tags, no nothin'.  And we all have the same olive-colored green kumta (beret).  However, as I talk about in a previous post, Tzanchanim's Aleph uniform is noticeably different than the standard Aleph, which makes us stand out from every other soldier in the entire IDF.  I wear the uniform--in public, on the streets of Tel Aviv, on the train to and from base, on the bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and back--with a sense of accomplishment already, despite my lack of 'bling.'  Getting into Tzanchanim was no easy feat, and besides, wearing a uniform certainly infuses within the wearer a sense of pride and honor in being a part of a unit.  I would certainly experience that sensation wearing the standard Aleph, but now I have a certain heightened awareness of it with my Tzanchanim Aleph.

I spent the rest of the weekend at my kibbutz and on Sunday, instead of returning to base near Beersheva, my plugah (battalion) was to report to Givat Hatachmoshet/Ammunition Hill in Jerusalem.  Why there?  For starters, that is where we will end our masa kumta (beret hike), the final, long, arduous seventy plus kilometer hike at the end of my training to receive the red Tzanchanim beret.  But why Ammunition Hill and not some other location in Israel?  In 1967, Israel recaptured Jerusalem from Jordanian control in the Six-Day War.  Ammunition Hill was the site of a fierce, night battle fought by Tzanchanim against the Jordanian legionnaires.  At the end, the Israeli soldiers succeeded in pushing the Jordanians from their entrenched location and solidified control of the land surrounding Jerusalem and the Old City.  It is from this location that the Tzanchanim soldiers then made their attack on the Old City and finally took possession of the Western Wall, the first official Jewish presence in nearly 2,000 years.  If you want to know more about the battle, do some research.  But I want to quickly mention one thing, something that does not seem to ever happen again between Israel and her enemies.  On the battle site,  Israel erected a monument for the Jordanian defenders to honor their valiant effort in battle.  Today, Israel's enemies elect to terrorize with suicide bombers, human shields, and rockets fired from hospitals; not one of them is worthy of such respect and honor.

Another great perk of wearing a uniform in public--the first being I look friggin' awesome--is that public transportation is free.  Soldiers can ride on trains and buses at no charge if they are in uniform.  Whenever I travel now, I am sure to have my uniform on; why would I want to pay?  Simply put, it makes thinking about getting around in this country a lot less stressful; I don't need to factor the cost-benefit of taking a faster route at more cost versus a route that costs less but takes longer.  This past week in particular was a great personal experiment in utilizing Israel's public transportation.

Here's how.  After we were released from Ammunition Hill early Sunday afternoon, I met up with a friend at a yeshivah around the corner from the battlefield.  It was the same yeshivah I was at for a three-week program this past summer and where I was going to spend the first day of Pesach.  We had a wonderful schwarma and then a friend from Tel Aviv called me to go out that night.  He's in Golani and don't see much of him anymore.  I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through the hassle of going there and back, but then reminded myself of how I got here: just do it.  I took the bus from the yeshivah to Jerusalem's Central Bus Station (no bomb this time) and hopped on the #480 bus to Tel Aviv, which drops off at the bus/train station that I walk to after every weekend to return to the army.  Fifty minutes later and I was there and then (lazily) hopped on a bus instead of walking for twenty minutes to David and Amy's apartment.  All said, from yeshivah to apartment: about two hours.  And I had a great night out with some great friends.

The next morning I got up, took a shower and had a cup of coffee, wished David, Amy and the girls a great time on their trip to Europe, and took the bus to the station, #480 back to Jerusalem, bus to yeshivah and into my friend's apartment.  No cost to me.  Thank you uniform.

That night was the Pesach sedar and the next day was a lazy day.  But that evening (Tuesday), I again took the trip back to David and Amy's.  The next day I hopped on the train to go to my kibbutz to pick up a few things.  Getting from transportation hubs to the kibbutz and back is difficult.  Generally a nice man from the kibbutz picks soldiers up from the train and drops them off, but he was AWOL with his family.  Being new to this whole kibbutz thing, I decided against trying my luck and figuring out which buses went were, and elected to save a lot of time and hassle, but not money, and hired a cab.  The up thing: I spoke a helluva lot of Hebrew and the entire enterprise took about two hours.  The down side: it cost me 120 shekels, but down from 150 because I'm a soldier, and a lone one at that.  Then again train to Tel Aviv, bus to apartment, and back in apartment.  I probably would have spent close to 100 shekels the whole week if I didn't wear my uniform at all.

Then I returned to base on Thursday morning.  I arrived around 11:30 and left the next morning at 7:30.  Why did I have to return for less than twenty-four hours?  In part, because that's the army and I was supposed to be back anyway.  In larger part, because we learned how to throw grenades.  Well, let me clarify: everyone threw grenades except those who came back, we missed the boat.  But on Thursday I had a test on everything we had learned so far in tironut (basic training).  Literally, it was a multiple-choice test on the computer.  Kind of an odd thing, if you think about it: gauging how much soldiers know about the weapons, instruments, rules and ethics of war in the same manner as a school.  But I passed my test, and by that I really mean my Mefaked and Sammal passed me.  The Hebrew was way above and beyond my capabilities.  So I passed purely because of my commanders.  I also found it a funny thing to be tested on things that you really learn purely by muscle memory and repetition.  The exact order to load your gun and get into a firing position; how to check the radio for power; the spirit of the IDF; etc.  But it's all a part of the training.

Earlier that day, my machlekah (company) went through the obstacle course.  It's five levels of things to jump, climb and crawl over, through and under.  And it was fun.  We had full combat gear on: vests, helmets, guns.  In total, probably about an extra twenty-five pounds of weight on our bodies.  A soldier needs to be able to fun 600 meters, do the course, then another 500 meters in less than ten minutes.  I did just the course in three and a half minutes, right on the suggested pace.  This was one of those things you see in any movie that features a military segment.  Soldiers always have some sort of physical obstacles to navigate as a part of training.  This made my often mundane daily life schedule somewhat more exciting and real.  Then that evening, around 11:00 pm, after everyone had wanted to go to bed for hours, we went on a 3k jog.  Fun week in the army.

But this was a great week.  Perhaps the hardest part was doing my first orthodox sedar.  We started at after evening prayer, around 9:30pm.  We started eating around 11:30 and finished at 2:00am.  It was a marathon, and made even worse by my constant back and forth that cut into the sleep I desperately needed to catch up on from the previous marathon week in the army.  In addition, most religious Jews don't shave from Pesach to Lag B'Omer, thirty-days later.  Because I wear a kippah and pray three times a day on base, they consider me dati (religious).  This is great because I was able to score an extra day off last week and am returning to base a day later this week (in the Diaspora, Jews maintain a two-day holiday observance at the beginning and end of Pesach week).  Also, although I do shave every morning in the army, because of this temporary restriction on cutting hair, I am allowed to forego shaving.

And this reminds me how crazy of a military the IDF is.  It is truly beholden to religion.  For better or worse, the IDF bends and breaks rules to accommodate observance.  Sounds tolerant enough, right?  But I wonder if I were in the American military (as I originally intended) and wanted to observe Shabbat or wear a kippah how they would react.  The IDF operates around Judaism.  If a soldier missed or didn't have enough free time for any of his three prayer per day, he is given the necessary time to make it up.  As I spoke briefly about in my last post, there are plenty of commanders who wear kippahs.  But this doesn't mean that they are sympathetic to or take it easy on religious soldiers.  In fact, when I see or experience commanders yelling at us unnecessarily or about something insignificant, I often find myself wondering with alarm how Jews could act so rude to each other.  That is the military.

I have an easy time this week; I don't return to base until Wednesday.  But we close another Shabbat next weekend and then spend the next five or six days in the shetach (field), living and training completely outside.  Until then....tell Obama to wizen up to Assad in Syria, who is now killing people at funerals!

My first two-week block

"Daniel, come here."  I stop my conversation with another soldier to see a Mefaked (commander) summoning me to join him on the kitchen’s loading dock.  "Go down there."  I walk down the stairs and stand by a dumpster.  "Do you know why I called you here?"  I look around and notice that in a day spent doing nothing but cleaning, there is a conspicuous lack of uncleanliness on the ground around me.  "Yes, I know," and before the Mefaked could order me to do so, I get down on my hands in a pushup position.  “Echad/One!”  I lower my chest to an inch off the ground and wait.  For the next ten seconds, I hold this position as the Mefaked calmly explains to me why I am being punished.  “Shteim/Two!”  I extend my arms to push my body back up.  After about seven minutes, “Koom/Stand.  Speak Hebrew.  Goodbye.”  Supposedly, I’ve learned my lesson.  It’s a new thing that two of the three Mefakeds in my machlekah (company) have taken to doing every time they hear me speak English.  If anyone in my machlekah sees me on the ground with either of these Mefakeds standing next to me, ordering me up and down, they know, “Daniel spoke English.” 

I woke up Sunday morning at 5:30 to catch the 6:30 ride from my kibbutz to the train station in Hedera and arrive at Beersheva around 10.  Thus started the first of my many weeks in the army when I will “close Shabbat.”  What that means is you have to be on base for the entire weekend, you are not given time off to go home.  Even though the weekend breaks are really about 36 hours, it is so good to put on the Aleph uniform and get away from the military.  These past two weeks for me was a good introduction, I feel, into what the army will be like during my training.

That week was devoted to shooting our M16s.  We fired from the schiva (prone) position the entire week.  The commanders taught us how to hold the gun correctly, how to make sure you have five contact points between your body and the rifle, the importance of proper breathing techniques, and so on.  We would fire five bullets at a time, looking to create tight circles with our shots.  Even from twenty-five meters, it’s difficult to tell where exactly your shots hit.  After a round, we would run to our targets downrange, tally our bullet holes, and take the proper measurements to know how to realign our sights.  Most people had their sights aligned after about three or four sets of firing.  It took me more, not because I was firing wildly or missing the target; actually, I would consistently create a cluster of three, four or five bullets within three or four centimeters, but they would always be a few centimeters left of center.  I would realign my sights and fire again.  This time, my shots were clumped right of center.  I would undo the realignment.  This went on for seven or eight sessions of five bullet sets.  Finally, I had my sights aligned and then graduated to the Mefrolight, a holographic dot-sight on the top of the gun that makes shooting more accurate during the day and, quite frankly, possible at night.

You can check out my post ("שטח Shetach: the End of the Beginning") about shooting at Mikveh Alon to know what it felt like to shoot an M16.  I certainly experienced the same sensations.  However, this time, I not only felt my own emotions, but I felt my fellow soldiers’ guns as well.  What do I mean?  In the firing line, we lay on our stomachs in schiva position, with as little as a meter or two distance between soldiers, put in our earplugs, lay our barrels on sandbags for stability, and then, upon the commander’s command, fire at will.  While the recoil on the short M16s is minimal, you feel its force and power with every inch of your body.  And you feel the soldier on your left and the soldier on your right’s rifles.  The bullet travels 920 meters/second.  It can travel relatively straight for 200 meters before gravity and other forces pull it to the ground.  The bullet comes out of the gun with such force that it actually rises.  But learning about all the ballistics in the world will not teach you that when you are next to these rifles, they create a mini-shockwave with such a punch that even after days of firing, it is still difficult to not react with a flinch or bat of the eyes when the guy next to you lets off a few rounds.

Also that week, we filled the six magazines we carry around with the designated twenty-nine rounds.  We learned to insert a nylon string into the base of the mags to make them easy to pull out of our combat vests, and wrap the bottom in tape to prevent dirt from jamming the spring.  Whenever we have our guns on base (which is almost all the time, to be explained later), we need to have a magazine on our person as well.  Every few nights, before our free hour, the commanders will give us seven or eight minutes to spring to our rooms, get into full combat gear and report back outside in a chet.  Full combat gear is six full magazines, two filled canteens, combat vest, helmet on your head, and knee-pads on your knees.  If you drop a magazine, even accidentally, you have to shout “Aza!/Gaza!” and sprint away from your dropped item, jump to the ground and count “twenty-one! twenty-two! twenty-three!” to mimic a grenade being tossed at you.

On Wednesday night, we went on our first masa (hike).  It wasn’t very long, only four kilometers, but it was fun and challenging in its own way.  Tzanchanim is known for its masas, the longest and last one being the masa koompta (beret hike) to culminate advanced training, when we hike 74 kilometers in eighteen hours to Jerusalem.  This first masa was the first step towards that final one.

After dinner, we were ordered back to our plugah (battalion), the buildings where we sleep. Just like at the gibbush, we had to fill up our canteens and drink the entirety.  We did this three times to make sure everyone was hydrated.  We were also told to wear nothing but our Bet uniforms, no undershirts.  The night was getting chilly as we strapped on our combat vests and other equipment.  The Mefaked went around the unit, applying camouflage face paint to every soldier.  Finally, we were ready to move out.  We walked around the base to the gate that led outside to nearby hills.  There were a half dozen other kitahs (squads) there, some coming and some leaving.  To every kitah, there had to be someone who carried extra water, one with the stretcher, and a soldier with the radio.  They all, so far, have the hardest jobs, especially the water-guy.  Whatever you do, I would suggest trying not to be him.

As we waited for our turn to start the masa, all twenty of us walked to a ditch along the side of the road and relieved ourselves of most of the water we had just drank.  We were set to go.

If this masa is indicative of how future masas are at Tzanchanim, then let me just say how ridiculous Mikveh Alon really is.  As you can read in my previous posts ("from beneath the cows to above the clouds"), on the few masas I had there, every so often we had to jump to the ground, or assume a firing position, or begin crawling.  For the Tzanchanim masa, we did nothing but speed walk the entire time.  The Mefaked started off on a fast pace and didn’t let up.  I found the pace to be quick but not overly difficult.  As a tall guy, I was able to keep up without any issue.  There were two things that made this masa somewhat difficult.  First, every so often the Mefaked tells us to push the vest of the guy in front of us to help him out.  Well, I’m pretty sure the guy behind me was pulling on mine.  I would try to tell him to let go as we climbed the hills, but I always felt like I was pulling for two.  The second difficult was that the guy in front of me couldn’t keep pace with the Mefaked, so he would have to run every few seconds to catch up, which required me to run as well.  Next time, I’m definitely going to try to get near the front of the column.

The masa took us a half hour to walk four kilometers.  When we got back to our plugah, we ran to our rooms, quickly ripped off our vests, placed them on our beds, and ran back outside to stretch.  Over the next half hour, the entire plugah gathered in the center courtyard.  As we waited, the Mefakeds of my machlekah would make all of us, them included, do pushups.  As we would take a break, another machlekah would begin pushups.  Seeing their display, we decided to do some more.  Then they would do some.  Then us.  Even with guys sweating and barely being able to keep their knees off the ground, we did more and more pushups, proving that Machlekah 3 is superior to Machlekah 1.  Enjoy:

That ended our combat-related activities for the week.  And the next thirty-six hours were to be some of the worst of my life.

Ok, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but not exactly far off.  Me and two other soldiers awoke the next morning to begin work with the Rassar, a kind of non-commissioned officer who’s job is to do all the maintenance work on base.  Well, for this particular job, we were to leave base for the night and pack accordingly.  We got in a truck and left…to the Dead Sea!  That was awesome for the two hour ride.  But then we turned inland and ended up at some random spot in the desert.  Evidently, there was to be a mini party for all the battalion commanders in Tzanchanim that evening and we were to build a camp.  “Clear this entire area of rocks.”  Excuse me, sir, but this is the f***ing desert!  You pull up one rock and three more pop up!  Didn’t matter, we had to do what we were told to do.  We worked all day and into the night, even doing guard duty on the jeeps when the commanders pulled up.  Slept outside, not even in a tent, woke up four hours later to help serve breakfast, clean up and drive back to base.  Didn’t need anything I brought with me.  Wonderful.

The next day was Friday.  That evening was Shabbat.  For dinner, everyone has to be in their Aleph uniform.  At service, the synagogue was packed, which made the experience even better.  It didn’t seem like we were in the military; everyone greeted each other as if we were just at any other synagogue in Israel or America, except that we were all strapped with our M16s and fifty-eight bulletes in two magazines on our belts.  After services, we lined up outside the dining hall and as we waited for our commanders to send us into dinner, one of the machlekahs in my plugah started singing songs and dancing around.  And they’re one of the reasons Shabbats on base will be fun: they guys in this machlekah are all religious; they split time between the army and yeshivah.  After dinner and meals the next day, they would automatically begin to sing prayers or songs.  As we sang and danced before dinner, I looked around and say a group of Mefakeds standing there, watching us.  A few of them wear kippahs, but most don’t.  Either way, they know what it’s like to be in the group, joyously celebrating the coming of Shabbat and I could tell that a few wanted to join in.  It was the first time I felt happier to be a soldier than a commander.

Right before sundown on Saturday, as we were finishing dinner, the religious guys formed a big circle in the middle of the dining hall and sang prayers.  As people finished eating, we would move our chairs to accommodate the newcomers.  And this scene, I have to say, was what it is all about for me.  This was the reason I am here: a group of Jews, singing about Judaism, in this particular place to fight for Jews.  I’ve always said that the one thing that really helped me reconnect with my Jewish identity was just the unconditional love we can display for our fellow Jews.  This is no truer than on Shabbat.  Singing songs and prayers, dancing in circles, not caring who’s on your left or your right, a friend or a stranger is a loved one because we’re all Jews.  And then here we are, in Tzanchanim training base, learning how to fight, to become soldiers to protect what we cherish most.

Earlier in the week, we finally had our first flag-raising ceremony.  It was similar to the ones we had a Mikveh Alon, but this, for many reasons, I’m sure you can understand, was much more significant.  Yes all the necessary commanders would say a few words.  But what moved me the most was that when the Israeli flag was hoisted to the top of the flagpole, and we started singing the national anthem, Hatikvah (the Hope), it wasn’t a quite, shy, embarrassed hum like at Mikveh.  Instead, a hundred guys belted out the words.  Even though my Hebrew is progressing rapidly, I still cannot always hold in my mind the idea behind the meaning of each word.  But here, this time, I truly started to understand that “להיות עם חופשי” were not just foreign-sounding noises that I took to mean to be words that translate into “to be a free people.”  Instead, I looked around and understood that I am fighting the same war that Jews have been subjected to for 2,000 years.  And now to be in the land for sixty years, I am in the next generation of Israeli defenders.  What a feeling.

But that feeling was almost lost when the new week started.  We put away our guns (not literally) and started a five day stretch of long days with little sleep.  From Saturday night to Tuesday night, my machlekah was in charge of guard duty for the entire base.  The shifts were for two hours, just like at Mikveh, but unlike my previous base, you couldn’t sit down after fifty minutes.  Perhaps surprisingly, standing for two straight hours isn’t as difficult as it at first seemed.  The difficult part was waking up at 3:30am for a 4:00 shift, and finding something to occupy your time.  The day shifts aren’t so bad; you get to watch and observe the daily activities of the base, get some comments by passing soldiers, seeing a few of your friends, etc.  But at night, you can’t tell passage of time by the sun, can’t gauge how long it’s been by seeing a unit of soldiers leave the firing ranges for dinner and then return, can’t hear the sound of rifle fire and trying to guess which gun it is, and can’t enjoy the warmth of the sun after so many days of cold. 

In addition, while your machlekah is charged with guard duty, there also has to be a crew of five guys plus a Mefaked who are on automatic emergency response.  Day or night, and much to my chagrin I do mean all hours of the night, if someone starts shouting in the plugah, it is your responsibility to be in full gear, with your assigned equipment (radio, fire extinguisher, stretcher, etc), ready to go within minutes.  What this means is essentially you sleep in your uniform with your shoes and knee pads on.  You go to sleep and forty-five minutes later hear the emergency call.  You race downstairs and strap on your vest while the commander counts down your time.  It’s not good enough, he says.  So you return back to your bed, knowing that sleep is impossible with a second call imminent.  And the call comes, ten minutes later.  This time your more prepared and your reactions are quicker and actions more fluid.  Everyone is synchronized, ready to go in half the time.  The commander is pleased and lets you go.  You retire to bed, your training shift ending in an hour, but knowing you have just three hours to sleep until you have guard duty.  But you wake up and press on, knowing that you are the army’s property, and you will do with your body whatever it is they want you to do.  Wake up, run, respond, fire, stand, pushups, sit, shekit!

On Tuesday and Wednesday, my machlekah had kitchen duty.  Never again will I complain about cleaning up after a meal.  On Tuesday, me and two other soldiers were assigned to the Container Room, a place where we washed every single container that was used for all three meals.  I had to have washed a hundred containers alone.  We woke up at 5:00am to be in the kitchen by 6:00 and left around 10:00 at night.  Hour break, then go to sleep, then wake up and do it all again.  From Saturday night to Wednesday night, I think I got about twenty hours of sleep, and no more than three uninterrupted hours.  On Wednesday, I can say that I was one of about fifty soldiers who made the entire kitchen for the Tzanchanim base kosher for Pesach/Passover.  That required scrubbing and cleaning every inch of the kitchen.  It was one of those few days where I really put my Bachelor’s Degree to good use.

The week ended really well though because I was able to get a Yom Siddurim on Thursday.  Yom Siddurim is a day soldiers have once a month to take off from the army resolve any personal issues, such as bank problems, apartment contracts, etc.  After two weeks on base, I wanted the extra day to accomplish some things.  I bought new running shoes with a voucher that every soldier gets from the army.  What should have cost me about $185 dollars, I paid less than $20.  Pretty awesome.

These next two weeks are going to relatively easy.  Pesach starts on Monday night and continues for eight days.  We get a few days off this week and the beginning of next week.  Look out for a new post in the middle of this week!

A few quick notes: as always, thank you for reading (and making it this far!).  In addition, I have received Facebook messages and emails from people interested in joining the IDF.  Please, keep them coming!  I try to respond as best I can but especially being at base (for two straight weeks, nonetheless!) it isn’t always the easiest.  Also, I am going to try to supplement the link of military terms with my own page.  It’s a project that will be ongoing.  Finally, if you’ve searched for me on the Jerusalem Post and haven’t found my blog there, you aren’t mistaken.  I, along with another soldier, was temporarily removed pending the approval of the army, which I got and should be back on the blog page this week!

Pesach sameach! פסח שמח

צנחנים, גדוד 202, פלוגה ב, מחלקה 3, כיתה ג

I have a new home: Tzanchanim, 202^nd Gdud/Battalion, 3^rd Machlekah/Platoon, 3^rd Kitah/Squad.  There are fourteen of us in my squad, and we will be together for the next seven months, or even after training.  This was my first complete, legitimate, and official week in Tzanchanim, and really in the IDF.  Finally, everything I do on a daily basis is workings toward a goal and a destination.  At Mikveh Alon (my previous base where I learned Hebrew), the daily routine really was a grind because I knew that what I was doing wasn’t necessarily furthering the IDF or Israel’s security.  Of course, I really have to have a pretty big head to think that the stuff I’m doing right now is making Israel safer, haha.  But the point is that I’m now with Israelis and everything feels much more real.

One of the first things we did this week was receive and learn about our guns: the M16 A1, short barrel rifle.  Compared to the long barreled ones we had at Mikveh, these short ones are a blessing.  We start shooting them tomorrow or Monday, too.  As we received our guns and learned how to take them apart and started practicing the different shooting positions, it really hit me that this is a completely normal thing.  Although I’ve always had an interest in weapons, I’ve never been around them in my life.  At Mikveh, we didn’t receive our guns until a few weeks in.  Here, we got them right away.  And that’s necessary for a soldier.  His gun is a vital component of who he is and what he does.  This quasi-realization was a little off-putting at first, but also gave me pleasure because it emphasized for me the reality of my position, a soldier.

Indeed, the commander of my battalion spoke to us one evening to introduce himself and say a few words about 202.  He said that they were heavily involved in Operation Cast Lead and was one of the best performing units in Gaza.  He said that victory is only complete when the enemy is dead or has run away.  By the end of my training, I will receive four things: a Tzanchanim beret, paratroopers’ wings, a fighter’s pin, and enough training to be a top soldier for the IDF.

Each night, 202 gathered in an auditorium to hear from a different officer in the battalion.  Another night was the commander in charge of discipline and conduct.  He spoke about all the requirements, restrictions and regulations about our uniforms; how to wear our pants, our beret, what color socks and shirts, etc.  It is all in Hebrew and very difficult to understand or keep up with.  I always sit with two of my friends, one who speaks perfect Hebrew.  He translates everything for us in the back of the room.  Oftentimes, commanders will see him whispering to us and hastily walk over to silence us.  But then my friend explains that he’s just translating.

I require a lot of translation.  But I can actually say ‘thank you’ to Mikveh Alon now: when we learned about the M16, I already knew a lot of its specifications, its history, how to dismantle, etc., because of Mikveh.  So I was a few steps ahead of the Israelis and even though I didn’t understand most of the Hebrew, I already what was being said.  But then, one day during a little lesson with just my squad, my commander told us a biography about a soldier from Tzanchanim who then became what is essentially the head of the IDF.  At the end of the lesson, I looked down at my notes and all I had written down were years that he mentioned.  Didn’t quite get the rest!

At the beginning of the week, it was difficult to gel with my Israeli squad mates.  While they do speak English, some better than others, why should they have to resort to speaking in a foreign tongue when I’m the one who’s here in Israel?  But this week got better as the days went by.  I’ll explain how.

Passover/Pesach is coming up in a few weeks and I heard about an opportunity for lone soldiers to have the sedar meal with Benny Gantz, the new head of the IDF.  I spoke with my MIshakit Tash (social worker for soldiers) about my interest in going.  Well, those who are going would leave Thursday morning this past week to go to a place in Tel Aviv for more information about the event.  After breakfast, I asked my Mefaked/commander if I should change into my Aleph uniform.  “You’re not going,” he replied.  What are you talking about, I’m not going?!  “The Mishakit Tash said you’re not going.”  Bull.  Let me get her on the phone.

I called her and essentially she said that because I had mentioned that I have friends in Israel, she took it to mean that I didn’t want to go to the sedar.  Oh, and this despite the fact that I clearly told her, on multiple occasions, in English and Hebrew, that I want to go to the sedar with the head of the IDF!  “I’ll call you back in an hour.”  I am still yet to hear from her.  Before dinner, my Mefaked came to me and said that I’m not going to the sedar and that’s that.  He said how he’ll try to get me in first at any future lone soldier event. 

That whole day I felt like crap.  I just had a terrible feeling when my commander said in the morning, “they left.”  I felt truly alone and wanted to get off base.  I was honestly looking to go to the sedar also for the informational session in Tel Aviv on Thursday; I could get off base early, dress in my Aleph uniform for the day, and get a decent night’s sleep at my cousin’s apartment.  But instead, I was at base.  But I was definitely bummed out.

But HaShem (God) and the universe have a way about balancing things out.  While I wasn’t able to leave, in the long run, Thursday turned out to be a great day because I really started to connect and gel with my Israeli mates.  For example, we were in our room with our commander, introducing ourselves and when it came my time to speak I said, in Hebrew, among other things: "I don't have a girlfriend, so tell your sisters that I'm available and give me their numbers."  They all laughed, probably in part because here I am, twenty-three years old, asking in broken and completely unpolished Hebrew, for the phone numbers of their sisters, who could easily be half my age.  I continued to talk about myself, where I'm from, how long I've been in the army, what I studied in college, etc.  And they asked me a lot of questions as well; I was talking for a good ten minutes, and it was fun.

And I'm certainly also starting to make an impression on my machlekah/platoon.  Just like at Mikveh, every Thursday the MemMem (platoon commander), Sammel (commander in charge of discipline), and the three Mefakeds sit us down and ask us about our week.  Well, before all the commanders were there, we were all sitting quietly with only one Mefaked watching us.  Someone joked with me about what I said earlier that day and the Mefaked caught me talking and, knowing that I don't speak much Hebrew, ordered me to the front of the room to make an example out of me.  "What were you saying?"  You want me to tell you what I said?  "Yes, tell everyone."  Ok....then I said my line about the soldiers' sisters.  At the end, the Mefaked had his head in his hands, shaking it and laughing hysterical.  The whole room really appreciated my one-upmanship, and my joke.  "Just sit."

Thursday was a roller coaster ride of emotions for me.  At the beginning, I was stoked to leave base.  Then I was really down in the dumps at being told I wasn't leaving.  I felt lost most of the afternoon, wondering why the Mishakit Tash blatantly failed to tell me that I wasn't going, and why no one could get in touch with her.  Then we went for a short jog, did some pushups and pull-ups, walked through the obstacle course that we will be required to do many times during training, and I started to feel a lot better.  Also, during meals, instead of silently eating my food, trying to understand snippets of my friends' conversations, the Israelis began to openly speak to me, in English, in Hebrew, and things looked a lot better.  Then at night, during our one hour break, is probably the best indicator of what the IDF is like.  For two straight weeks I had been asking for a haircut because I knew I needed one.  I had gone to the barber once a month, almost to the day, of my enlistment.  (It also turned out to be a good tracker for my service time!)  I knew the first week was a little bit of a crapshoot; we weren't in set units, and our commanders were just temporary.  But when I was placed in my new squad, I told my commander that I needed a haircut.  That was Monday.  Thursday evening we have our break and after the long day (in which we woke up at 4:40) I took a shower.  I get back into the room, with twenty minutes left before lights out, and another soldier is putting his Bet uniform back on and tells me that I need to do the same.  Evidently, it was at that time that I was to get a haircut.  You gotta be kidding me!  I had asked for two weeks and right after I shower on Thursday night before going home you tell me to get back into my dirty uniform for a haircut?  Thanks a lot.

This past week was easy, that's for sure.  But I know it's going to be hard.  B"H, I'm with a bunch of good guys.  That's what makes it or breaks it in the army.  It was funny also on Thursday when we were standing in three lines before lunch, waiting for the entire brigade to gather to be let into the cafeteria.  My Mefaked was writing down our birth dates.  I heard a lot of '91, '92, or '93.  "Flesch?" '87.  Made me smile.

Also big news for me this week.  Right now, I am sitting in Kibbut HaMa'apil, my new home!  No longer will I be living in Tel Aviv with David and Amy and the kids.  I am living on a kibbutz.  And this one is great.  They provide each lone soldier with his own apartment, completely furnished with a double bed, TV, table, huge closet, bathroom and mini kitchen and fridge.  There are about sixteen lone soldiers who currently live here.  Sam, a buddy of mine from Mikveh (who is also in Tzanchanim, but he passed the gibbush/tryout last week and is now in a sayeret/elite unit: Palsar/Reconnaisance!), has lived here for a few months and recommended it to me.  I put in a request with my Mishakit Tash at Mikveh and was finally told to come here this past Sunday for a visit.  Everything looked great and now here I am, in the clubhouse, writing this post.

I moved from Tel Aviv for a number of reasons.  I wanted to have my own place; whenever I came back on weekends, I would basically kick one of the girls out of her room and put all my stuff and sleep there for the weekend.  Now, I am able to lay out my things and let them be, waiting for me when I get back.  Also, I needed some privacy; living with David and Amy was great, absolutely amazing, but it's going to be really nice to come back to a quiet place and sleep on my own schedule, which is erratic to begin with.  No longer will I be awoken at 8am or earlier by the three-year old!

This kibbutz is really great.  But, as with most kibbutzim, it's hard to get to and from.  But I'll make it work.  Often I'll just want to come back on the weekend and veg (as in be a vegetable, chill, you get the idea).  Also, there is no contract with the kibbutz.  The army arranged it for me (but you can obviously put in a request for a certain place, as I did) and if I ever decide to not stay here anymore, then I just have to let the army and the kibbutz know, and I'm done then.  I'll definitely want to get back to a city later in my service, probably after my training.

And I know when my training ends!  They have the entire schedule of Tzanchanim posted on the walls of our buildings.  My masa kumpta (the final hike to conclude advanced training, where at the end of my 74km journey we receive our red berets) is October 10-11!  Just seven more months to go!

With being in a gdud/battalion comes certain responsibilities, such as shmirah/guard duty.  Next weekend I stay on base for this.  It's called "closing Shabbat," meaning we have a closed base through Shabbat and will be standing guard at certain designated points throughout the base, just like at Mikveh.  The gduds rotate when they do shmirah.  In two weekends it will be a different gdud and so on.  Check out the Tzanchanim website link on the right.  (Also, I put up a new link under the "Makes You Think Twice" about the Arab-Israeli conflict.  It's short and worth checking out.)

As a gift to myself for getting into Tzanchanim, I bought a G-Shock watch.  It's badass, as if you couldn't already tell from the picture.

Peace!