How & Why

One year.  Really, at this point, I have fifty-one weeks left in my IDF service.  At times, it doesn't seem like a lot.  But then again, I've only done six months and have a lot more training and difficult experiences ahead.  What makes it also seem long is the fact that because six months/one year is a benchmark, it stays in my head and my friends and I talk about it more, which makes time go slower.  It's a terrible cycle.

Every country has its place it would like to hide from the world; a location it is either ashamed of or has recognized that location as the pit of all evil.  Chicago has 333 West 35th Street (US Cellular Field), the US has....New Jersey (?), the world has Afghanistan, Iran, Joseph Conrad thought the Congo, others?  And Israel has Machanah Natan, a place in Beer Sheva where the units that train in the south gather on Sundays before buses transport us to our respective bases.  In the holiest land, it is the unholiest place.  Nobody likes being there.  Sundays have become very hard; battling to wake up and find the will to put on your uniform to start a long week or two or three; impossible to find a seat on the train to Beer Sheva.  It's amazing: there are so many people (mainly soldiers) on that train, yet it is the quietest ride the entire week.

All of these things make Sunday mornings very difficult.  On the bus ride from Machanah Natan to my base, I sat next to my friend Adam, a lone soldier from New Jersey.  He's in 202 with me but in a different machlekah (platoon).  We've become very close as the two lone soldiers who speak the least amount of Hebrew and consequently are equally lost and utterly confused at times.

We sat next to each other on the bus ride from Machanah Natan to our base.  Our conversations of late have revolved a lot around the passage of time and how much we have left in our service.  The thirty minute ride got me pretty depressed as we talked about our hard week ahead, wanting to see home and family and friends, thinking about when we're going to take our month off, frustrated with the continued pettiness of the things we do in tironut, and everything else at once.  It was one of those times, even sitting comfortably on an air-conditioned bus, that I needed a little pick-me-up and remember why I'm here.

That week was "pakal" week.  A pakal is the soldier's assignment or specialty.  To this point, we've all trained with our M16s, but in combat, not everyone has the same role or responsibility.  For example, each citah (squad) needs to have unit commanders, sharpshooters, grenade launchers, light machine gun, anti-tank rockets, medic, communication, etc.  What assignment did I get?  מא''ג the MAG, a machine gun with some serious kick-ass power.

Developed by FN, a Belgian company, in the 1950s, it came to Israel in the 1970s and in 1994 Israel started to produce it's own design of the machine gun.  Each citah used to have a MAG, but in 1996, the Negev, a light machine gun, replaced it and now there is one MAG per machlekah.  Two people are assigned to the gun; the guy who shoots it and his partner who carries extra equipment, including a stand.

And this gun, for a mobile weapon, is powerful.  (A soldier on my kibbutz works on a tank and he says he fires this gun mounted on the tank.  I carry it around.)  It weighs 10.85kg and shoots a 7.62mm caliber bullet (compared to the 5.56mm of the M16 and the Negev).  In theory, it can rattle off between 600-1100 bullets/minute, but in reality you only shoot 60-120 bullets/minute.  In the prone position, I can accurately kill up to 600 meters away and hit a truck 800 meters away.  With the stand, the distances lengthen to 800 and 1200 meters, respectively.  And this gun has one firing setting: automatic.  Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm (toasty).  The first time I pulled back on the trigger, I was completely amazed by how relatively smooth the gun fires.  I expected a lot of recoil and to struggle to keep the barrel pointed at the target.  Instead, even shooting in bursts of three or four, with a little strength, it was pretty easy to shoot within a half meter of the target, even at distances of 100, 200 or 300 meters.  Of course, if you lost concentration, it was not uncommon for every few bursts to find a stray bullet or two land wildly past the target.  Some guys weren't strong enough to keep the gun steady and numerous rounds would hit halfway up the hill at the end of the range.  So long as you have your partner telling you to keep your barrel down or angle it up, you hold it steady, and shoot in bursts, then you have a powerful weapon in your hands.  As my friend in Golani wrote on his blog, "shooting a MAG is like nothing else: the sound, the power...this weapon  DESTROYS things.  DESTROYS.  People, tanks, hummers, puppies, rainbows, even God himself wouldn't $%#@ with a Magist."  Thanks Mike, I couldn't say it better myself.


So what did we do all week?  Carry weight and shoot.  Carried lots of weight and shot a lot.  The Magist has to be the guy in the machlekah that provides covering fire and destroys an area for the rest of the platoon to enter.  He carries a lot of bullets, there's two soldiers per gun, and the weapon itself is heavy.  So, to break us into this gun, the Mefaked (commander) who was in charge of the Magists all week had us carrying targets, equipment, bullets, everything to and from the shooting range, a distance of at least a kilometer and a half.  Monday was one of the hardest days of my life.  The night before, we were in class learning everything about the gun.  Monday was our first day actually using the weapon.  We sprinted with it, crawled with it, jumped over walls, held it over our heads, practiced the different firing positions, and more.  It was tough.

After that first day, I honestly thought it was going to be the longest week of my life.  Especially after Sunday, my mental fortitude wasn't so strong.  But the next few days weren't as bad.  There were certainly hard moments; like Tuesday evening when it took us two hours to clean up the shooting range and haul everything back to storage.  It would've been so simple to have a truck help us out, but no, we're Magists, we need to carry the weight.  It was, in short, a hellish time.

But there were definitely cool moments.  Shooting the gun is awesome.  Also, we had night firing exercises where the shooter wouldn't be able to see anything (because, obviously, it's dark out) but his partner had night vision goggles on and would turn on the laser attached to the gun to see the target downfield, then tell him to fire.  With the gun on the stand, it was easy to keep it steady.  The belt had about fifteen bullets, firing in bursts of two or three, with maybe one bullet reversed to create a problem that needs to be fixed.  The guy with the night vision could see the bullets hitting the target, the shooter would just see sparks fly 300 meters away.  Pretty awesome.

The whole week, we were looking forward (with dread, apprehension, excitement, a mix?) to the 300 meter crawl.  It's something the Magists and Negevists have to do.  Crawl 300 meters with their weapon.  Why?  Why not.  Seventeen minutes and thirty seconds later I was done.  How do you crawl with a nearly twenty-five pound weapon, who's bipod legs always get stuck on rocks or foliage?  You grab it by the barrel and throw it as far as you can (maybe ten feet) then crawl to it.  Fun.  My time almost beat the base's record of seventeen minutes.  But there were two other guys who were faster than me.  No big deal.

The best part of the week came right before the crawl.  The eight of us came out to the fifty meter line and were handed a belt of about fifty or sixty rounds.  The instructions?  "Don't let go of the trigger."  We didn't have enough working MAGs left so we shot in two rounds.  I was the last guy to shoot.  The MemMem (platoon commander) in charge of us waited until I had loaded the belt into the gun and stood up.  "MAG mayuchan!" (MAG ready)  "MAG mayuchan!" I shouted responsively.  "Aish!" (Fire)  I lined up the barrel with the 100 meter targets, steadied my arms, and "Aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssshhhhhh!"  Within ten seconds, the bullets had completely emptied out. I tore up that target, Rambo style.

At the end of the week, I was told that in the competition between me and three other guys in my machlekah, I was chosen to carry the MAG.  It's an honor of sorts.  It's a very important weapon, but also very difficult because of the weight that I'll be carrying on weeks in the field, masas (hikes) of thirty, forty, fifty kilometers, and it already puts stress and pressure on my back.  I'll either come out of this very strong or strong and a little injured.

I had requested a Yom Siddurim for that Thursday and got it.  I left in the morning, went to Tel Aviv to take care of some personal issues, get away from the rough week, and re-energize a bit before going back to close Shabbat.

----------

"Those who do not know the past are doomed to repeat it." -George Santayana

Isn't that a haunting quote?  It makes you realize how easy it is, as an individual and as a people, to become trapped in an endless cycle.  If you don't learn your history, you will take the same steps as before and stunt, if not completely nullify, any chance of progress.  Then what's the point?  Why is capitalism better than communism?  Because it creates the conditions for human progress.  Why is the United States, Israel and a few other Western, capitalistic, democratically-inclined countries better than every other nation?  Because they create the best environment for individual and social progress.

The IDF takes this idea to heart and has each soldier learn about Israel's history during tironut (basic training).  I've written before about visiting Ammunition Hill, the City of David, and retracing the retaking of Jerusalem during the Six Day War.  While at Mikveh, we went to Yad Vashem, Har Herzl and Gush Etzion.  This past week was another time for cultural education and understanding.  And it was a great week.  We left base Sunday morning and drove to a place just outside Jerusalem, where we stayed until Thursday.  We were dressed in our Aleph uniforms all week.  We learned in classes.  We had an hour of exercise each day.  Compared to the previous week, it was glorious.

So what did we discuss and learn?  A variety of topics about Israel's culture, social identity, and history.  What does it mean to be Israeli?  (I used to think that it'll take a long time for me to feel like an Israeli and really have a strong connection [aside from my Jewish identity] to the State of Israel.  Then this week I just wizened up and thought: I pledged to put myself in danger to protect this country.  How can I feel nothing but the strongest connection?)  How does Israel reconcile its Jewish identity with being a democratic state?  What is the Israeli narrative?

We also discussed ethics in combat.  We watched videos, some based on truth, some fabricated, on what would you do in different situations.  How would you respond?  A lot of this has to do with human rights.  The word for respect in Hebrew is כבוד kavod.  Our MemMem actually taught us that kavod has three different meanings in English: respect, honor and dignity.  I thought that that was really interesting, how he would use English to help explain the idea of human rights in Hebrew.  An intensive discussion followed this, as was the case most of the week, and, with the debates, I quickly became lost.  My Hebrew is improving, but certainly not enough to keep up with a bunch of energized, shouting Israelis.  As the "resident university grad" with a degree in history and political science, the commanders often asked me to expound on things they would say about the history of Israel or the Arab states.  This was in part to keep me involved in what was going on and also for more background information.  It was nice that my degree is recognized but also extremely frustrating that I can't explain things as well in Hebrew.  One day, we started off with what the word "democracy" means.  A commander who was helping translate for me told me to speak up because I studied this.  True, while I can give everyone hours long lesson on what democracy is, I was completely hopeless in this setting.  Frustrating.

Then on Thursday we visited Kastel, an area outside Jerusalem that has a storied history with battles from before the War of Independence, Yad Vashem and Har Hertzl.  We were let go in the late afternoon for a chamshush (Yom Chamishi [Thursday] and Yom Shishi [Friday]), which is always great.  I went to the central bus station in Jerusalem to take a bus back to Tel Aviv, but was unable to because there was a suspicious package on the top level by the buses and everyone was evacuated.  While it turned out to be harmless, it's just another example of the reality of living here.  Last night, a soldier in my unit invited me to have dinner with him and his family.  It was really nice and I had a great meal with an Israeli family.  Went to the beach yesterday and today.  David, Amy and the kids left for a two month vacation in Europe and America so I will finally be without any family connections here.

----------

Despite the difficulty of each week, I always look forward to that train ride back home, but not for the same reasons from when I was at Mikveh Alon.  Instead, I look forward to looking clean and awesome in my Aleph uniform with my gun hanging over my shoulder, but feeling beat up, cut up and bruised.  A great sense of accomplishment comes over me as I play back through my head all that I had done that week.  My hands are different than what they looked like even three months ago.  I have several semi-permanent cuts and scars on them; they're calloused and sun-burnt.  Pain and discomfort is temporary.  A sense of pride and accomplishment is forever.

Back on the 'Post!

And I'm back up on the Jerusalem Post website as a blogger!  After a few months wait to get permission from Dover Tzahal, the spokesperson's unit of the IDF, my posts are back up for viewing.  I wrote three or four a few months ago and am now contributing again.  My writing is different than on this blog; the posts are certainly shorter and I discuss more about life as a lone soldier than my daily and weekly activities as a soldier.  I'm going to try to weave the two blogs together somehow; like take a bigger picture on the nuances I discuss on this site.

Anyway, here is the link.  Jump back and forth, stay here, stay there, whatever suits your fancy.  Thank you and enjoy!!

JPost Blog (click)

It's the Jews, stupid

Thank you to the Bill Clinton/James Carver 1992 presidential candidate/campaign strategist combo for helping me to quickly explain why there is no peace between Israel and the Palestinians, the Arabs...the world?  The phrase Clinton used to divert attention from George H.W. Bush's foreign policy successes and focus on the president's neglect of the economy is more than applicable when approaching the Arab-Israeli and Israeli-Palestinian conflicts.  What do I mean and why am I mentioning this here in my blog?

A few reasons.  One is that there has been a lot of political developments in Israel and between Israel and its Arab neighbors and Israel and the US over the past few weeks.  Obama gave a speech about his Middle East foreign policy at the State Department a few days before Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was to travel to Washington to speak before a joint session of Congress and then get some face time with the president.  The Nakba and Naksa day stints/invasions/attacks/protests, call 'em what you want, are something never seen before and potentially a major security concern.  Pressure to seek UN support for a Palestinian state in September is building.  And finally, as I type this, there is another flotilla en route to Gaza.

With all of these developments, a few friends from home have been asking me for what the climate is like in Israel.  What do Israelis think of the Obama/Netanyahu rift and the Congress/Netanyahu understanding? How has the political upheavals in the region affected Israel?  What does it mean for my military service?  And so on.

Also, this past week wasn't too exciting and I can explain it in full in a paragraph or two.  And without any further ado, here it is:

Arrived on base Sunday afternoon and immediately my machlekah (platoon) was assigned to do shmirah (guard) duty.  My assigned times?  9-11 at night, 3-5 in the morning, 9-11 in the morning, then once more 3-5 in the afternoon.  Four times in one day!  Bottom line: not much sleep.  That evening we rotated into kitchen duty.  And by "we" I really mean everyone but me.  I had developed a bad case of, to keep it kosher I'll say, "loose stool."  If that happens, you're not allowed in the kitchen.  Makes sense, right?

The next day was Tuesday and that evening was the holiday of Shavuot (literally "weeks"), which is seven weeks after Pesach.  This is the holiday when the Jews received the Torah at Mt. Sinai.  Anyway, it is common for Jews in the Diaspora (outside Israel) to observe two days of holiday instead of just one. This was the same for Pesach; all the Israelis got a one-day vacation whereas myself and other lone soldiers had a two-day break.  However, the same was not true here; for whatever reason, the MemPay (company commander) had decided to make all of the lone soldiers stay.  Tuesday evening to Wednesday evening was fine, we were with all the Israelis, the base had shut down for the holiday, nothing was out of the ordinary.  But when the Israelis went back to "work" on Wednesday evening, the five of us lone soldiers who observe two days were still in holiday mode.  The next day, we slept a lot and walked around in workout clothes while everyone else was laboring and running around in the hot sun.  It was certainly not the best thing for the Israelis to be seeing, and I think a real fault of the MemPay to keep us for that second day.  The five of us (three from Canada, two from the States) discussed this a lot and while our disgruntled frustration certainly came out at having to stay and scramble to find a minyan for prayer, I certainly think that Tzanchanim has not been the best friend to lone soldiers.

That's a strong statement.  I've talked with buddies in other Tzanchanim units (101 and 890) and in other infantry units (Golani, Nachal, etc.), and despite the gifts we get (which really isn't from Tzanchanim), Tzanchanim doesn't treat its lone soldiers as well as other units.  Leaving early on Friday to take care of issues before Shabbat, getting Yom Siddurims, trying to see family...all of these issues are dealt with with relative easy in other units but in Tzanchanim they always seem to give us trouble.  My friend Gidon was told after our 9-11 shmirah shift on Monday night that he had a Yom Siddurim the next day.  Seriously?!  First off, we generally request a Yom Siddurim because we have personal issues to take care of.  Consequently, it takes time to plan your day, maybe you need to make an appointment with someone...bottom line, and especially since my friend lives in the north in Akko, it is not right to spring a Yom Siddurim on him mere hours before he was to leave.

Anyway, the chag (holiday) ended for us on Thursday evening and immediately after I was to go on a masa.  Right after I broke my nose, everyone had a 10+2 masa.  It's ten kilometers hiking/marching then two more carrying the stretcher.  The "makeup" masa on Thursday evening was for the guys who missed it a few weeks ago.  This masa was not fun.  We didn't go into the shetach (field); instead, we walked around the road that circles the base.  Half of it climbs uphill and then the second half is downhill.  The guy who carried the water pack was struggling the entire time, which made it harder on us because we had to push him and he wouldn't go faster.  We went at a much faster pace than usual.  Not fun.  But it ended, we went to sleep, woke up, and now I'm back at my kibbutz.

So that was my army life this week.  But there has been so much more happening outside my base than in it.  The past few weeks have been very tumultuous within the country and at its borders.  So, what's been going on?  I don't have the time or inclination right now to do the necessary research to provide you with an accurate timeline and explain the cause and effect of each incident.  However, what I can do is give you the major highlights and explain how they fit into each other and relate to the persistent problem of the Jews living in their homeland.

Let me start with something that got America all abuzz: Netanyahu's trip to Congress.  This trip had been planned months in advance; it was the prime minister's second time addressing a joint session of Congress, something that few foreign leaders have ever done.  Days before his address, Obama delivered a foundational foreign policy speech at the State Department.  It discussed many things, but focused on Israel and the Palestinians.  It was essentially a sucker punch to Netanyahu as our president outlined a plan for two states based on the 1967 borders.  Doesn't sound too radical, right?  In reality, it's not.  But the kicker is two-fold: first, although this negotiation point has often been the starter for peace talks, it has never before been publicly endorsed by an American president; second, the time is nothing short of impeccable.  A few days later, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu stood before the House and Senate and gave one of the best speeches of his career, of a foreign dignitary addressing the American government, as the leader of a nation.  It was truly inspirational for Israelis across this country to see their leader travel to America and make the greatest case for their country to their greatest ally.  And I don't mean the American government; I think at this point, it's pretty clear that the Executive Branch's ties to Israel, while never exuberant, have certainly cooled as of late.

If you want to see the speech, I highly recommend it.  Netanyahu speaks perfect English, is engaging, humorous, insightful and strong:

Israelis really wonder what has happened to their ally across the world.  The past few weeks highlighted for them the close ties they have with the Legislative Branch and the fraying ties with the Oval Office.  The sheer number of times that both sides of the aisle stood to applaud Netanyahu is remarkable.  There is even one time a woman heckled the prime minister from the balcony.  He paused to let her finish her rant and, amid a chorus of boos directed at the woman, actually enthusiastically added that the house and the country should be grateful that dissent such as that woman's can take place.  That it is only in Israel that similar sentiment can be displayed.  If you travel outside the region's only democracy, you know how they handle dissent?  The governments call in the soldiers, the tear gas, the bullets, the tanks.

Now, why is it that the Jews, and not simply Israel, is the problem in the Middle East?  And before you scoff and exclaim that if I were to just read the news I would know that Israel is the issue and not the Jews, I challenge you to look past the headlines and understand the meaning behind the rhetoric and actions.

What would compel hundreds of Syrians to try and physically cross into Israel?  Is it because they are truly at odds with a democratic state?  I think not, considering thousands are protesting and dozens dying in Damascus against authoritarian rule.  Then it must be something that goes much deeper, that is much more engrained in their psyche that there is something fundamentally wrong about Israel's existence.  What's wrong, I believe, is that Israel is a country for Jews.

There are still many more who make vicious and slanderous claims against Israel.  Even Mahmoud Abbas claimed earlier this year that there is no Jewish connection to Israel, Jerusalem and the Western Wall.  For years, critics and opponents of Israel have waged a campaign to delegitimize the state.  That begins with calling into question its history, its place as the homeland for the Jewish people and the only safe place in the world for Jews, and its continued existence as a legitimate country.  The terrorists/fanatics, both Muslims and non-Muslims, who were on the flotilla last year shouted for the Jews to go back to Auschwitz.  Helen Thomas demanded the Jews "get the hell out of Palestine" and go back to Poland and Germany.

There are many more examples and I could easily write dozens of pages about this, but that is not my purpose or intent here.  Instead, I'll just end with a positive thought.  Read the book "Start-Up Nation".  Watch some videos on YouTube or some of the links I have posted on the right hand side.  If you do a little research, you'll realize that there are whole classes of people out there who support Israel.  I'm not just talking about people crazy enough to leave their family and their country, travel halfway around the world and join Israel's army.  Nor am I talking about Jews, Zionists, or other affiliates.  I'm talking about the people who give others an opportunity to improve their lives.  I'm talking about businesses and entrepreneurs.  The people who create jobs, ideas, and technologies.  The ones who are beholden to nothing but their innovation--and maybe shareholders.  Politicians are always at the whim of their constituents, their voters, special interests.  Somehow Abbas is considered a moderate in the West; I think his actions (forming an agreement with Hamas, which has as its sworn purpose the destruction of Israel) and words (in addition to denying the Jewish connection to Israel, he wrote a thesis denying the Holocaust) speak otherwise.  But that isn't the point.  There are thousands of people across the world who continue to invest in Israel, despite the anti-Semitism, the anti-Israel, and the wars. People like the employers who provide jobs for you to put food on your table see the merits of Israel and don't care if its a Jewish, Muslim or Zoroastrianism state.  They see a successful product when they see it.  Why can't the rest of the world?  Perhaps because there is something that is festering beneath the surface of newspaper headlines.  Perhaps people don't want to accept Israel because that would mean accepting the Jews.  Perhaps.

Like I said: "it's the Jews, stupid!"

----
I planned this past week on writing a lot more and making a stronger case.  However, right now, I don't have the will to do so.  I need to get things in order for spending the next two weeks on base.  If you have any comments, questions or other arguments, please continue this in the comment box below and I'll do my best to respond.

Back and Forth: pain to frustration

So I finally did it. That large, stereotypical Jewish thing that sits between my eyes in the middle of my face, well, I broke it. Twenty years of playing physical sports and activities couldn't do the trick; all the army needed was just a few months.  I was probably bound to eventually have an accident-- there have been so many times in the army when my inner balancing capabilities fail me and I trip over a step, a root, or my own boots which always feel a size too large but necessary for when my feet swell on long hikes. In the civilian world one might call it 'clumsiness' at times. In the military world we call it...well, I suppose clumsiness as well. (Although at Mikveh I was often prone to stumbling in front of my friend Mike, who soon called any sort of non-graceful movement, 'pulling a 'Flesch'.)

I would like to say, 'you should see the other guy,' but the reality is that in my case, the 'other guy' is the butt of my gun (yes, yes, get all the laughs out now). And this whole experience highlights just exactly how the IDF works. Enjoy...

Two weeks ago Sunday was the beginning of our second week in the field, called 'shavuah tzemed' or partner week. Essentially, we learned how to operate as a unit of two. From now, every subsequent week in the field will build on the previous; the next field week will be about working in a squad of four, then our class of fourteen, then our machlekah of thirty plus, then the plugah, etc., until one of the last and absolutely hardest week of training, Shavuah Milchemah, War Week.

I was paired up with one my best friends in my unit, a kid from Tel Aviv named Michael.  (Which reminds me: a few weeks ago, I mentioned that when a commander throws a grenade, he shouts "'Aza," as in "Gaza."  Michael said that's not true.  It's actually "azar!" which is a Hebrew acronym of "enemy throws a grenade."  My apologies.)  He speaks very good English, which is one of the main reasons we're good friends. He often helps translate for me and we switch between Hebrew and English when we talk with each each other. But I didn't know he was my partner until minutes before I went to sleep beside him (but in my own sleeping bag!) in the field. Why? Because that entire afternoon I was assigned to work for the guys who do logistics for the plugah. And on that Sunday, that meant packing up an army truck with dozens and dozens of supplies, driving out to a location near where we would be setting up camp, and erecting tents and a mini camp for some of the higher commanders. We finished well into the evening and I was driven back to the base with a couple of the other unlucky workers, given fifteen minutes to pack whatever I need for the field, then we headed out again. I found my machlekah, found my partner and sleeping bag, and went to sleep.

Woke up the next morning and was given a laminated half sheet of paper with the terms needed to know when conquering a hill.  Essentially, we would mimic being fired upon during a patrol, the commander of the two would shout out that we're being hit, call to act as a pair, yell where the enemy is, how many, and how we're going to advance.  Then one guy would advance a few meters, keeping his head low, sprinting to find some cover and then drop into the prone position.  His partner, meanwhile, would provide covering fire.  Then we would switch.  We leapfrogged up the hill in this manner, eventually getting close enough to the "enemy" (cardboard targets), where we would (pretend to) toss a grenade, and then sprint at them, ending behind the last terrorist.

Michael and I switched off being the commander and the partner.  This was perhaps the biggest test of my Hebrew abilities.  Most of the words were completely foreign to me and it was necessary to memorize the entire script; you couldn't exactly stop, pull out the sheet and scan it to remember what to do next when you're "taking fire" from the enemy.  And, I'm proud to say, I nailed it.

It took me a while, there were certainly groups of words that never ceased to trip me up.  Michael and I would rehearse and if I got stuck on a line, he would make me repeat it, and then repeat it, and then repeat it, over and over again until I got it.  He was a big help.  While I also began to learn what some of the words meant, most of them were just sounds to me.  I honestly can't even imagine how infinitely easier this entire exercise would have been if it was in a military that spoke English!  I'm at the point in my Hebrew where I don't need to translate words in my head because I know what they mean.  But this week brought me back to square one where I had no clue what most of the words meant so they were just still foreign sounding noises, which made memorization even harder.

Each time Michael and I ran through this exercise with the Mem-Mem (company commander), we would do a dry run where we would shout "aish" ("fire") without actually pulling the trigger.  Then our commander would give us some pointers, we would go back down the hill, put our earplugs in, and then do the rest with live ammunition.  We would tell each other, "make sure you shoot far enough ahead, I don't want to be shot!"  We also did this at night, which made it just that much more....exciting.

When we weren't doing this exercise (and that meant most people) we were either practicing or being punished.  Well, not exactly punishment, but rather physical exercise designed to hurt us and get us tired and worn-out.  Is that punishment?  In many ways, this week was harder than our first week in the field. We crawled and crawled and crawled.  And we did it through the thorniest bushes imaginable.  And we carried people up and down mountains.  One mountain was so steep, that when I carried Michael on my back, I swear I thought I would fall backwards.  The ground was mainly loose dirt and rocks, so nothing gave a firm foothold.  He would be laughing on my back, trying to offer encouragement in English, that I eventually started shouting and swearing in English, yelling at him, at my commander at the top of the hill, at being in the army, at the extreme discomfort in my back, at my ankle every time it twisted on loose footing, at everything.  And eventually, it got me up the mountain.

We also practiced quickly assuming the prone, kneeling or standing positions.  Our commander would shout out the position or the distance of the terrorist and we would jump into place.  If we were on the ground, we often rolled over, which is near impossible and literally back breaking if you still have your helmet attached to your combat vest instead of on your head.  We also practiced what to do if we our gun jams.  The first kind of jam is where you need to pull back again on the charging handle and it pulls out the damaged round and reloads another.  The second kind of jam is if there are multiple bullets stuck in the chamber.  For this you need to drop to kneeling if you're in standing or prone if you're in kneeling, pull out the magazine, pull the charging handle a few times and then reload and fire.  Finally, the last is if you need a new mag.  While fun at times, it is definitely hard work, especially since you need to do it fast, without looking, and if you're in prone position, you have to roll over when performing the last two fixes.

But it comes in handy.  My gun jammed often when doing the exercise with my partner and while I froze the first time, not realizing what exactly needed to be done, I was quick to execute the proper steps to fix the jam and fire the next time it happened, much to the approval of my company commander.

This week was also much easier than our first week in the field because we were allowed to sleep in sleeping bags as opposed to digging ditches.  And we were given ample time to eat.  They broke us into the field our first week; they didn't need to do it again.

Tuesday evening, the Sammal (sergeant) decided to have one of his fun session with us when we know at the end we're going to be tired, exhausted and in pain.  This time, it was with the stretcher.  He had one guy get strapped in as if he were injured and then four people always carry the stretcher on their shoulders.  If one guy raises his hand, that means he needs to be switched out and someone comes up behind him, and taps him on the shoulder indicating that he's ready to take over.

This time, our Sammal had the three citahs (squads) race each other up the mountain and down.  Then we had to cross a hundred meter field three times.  And this was uneven terrain, strewn with boulders, rocks, and even barbed wire.  And day was turning to dusk.  We started off and when we reached the turnaround point, I switched with one of the guys in the front.  We raced back to the start and then turned around for the third and final leg of the trip.  I raised my hand, knowing that with the bar pulling down hard on my shoulder from being a taller guy, I couldn't make it the last hundred meters.  After a few steps, I didn't feel any tap on my shoulder.  I turned my head to yell that I needed to be switched and then BAM!  My legs get caught on rocks or barbed wire, the barrel my gun got jammed into the ground and the קת ("kaht" stock) of the gun broke my fall with my nose.

I was stunned, down on the ground, knowing that I had hit my nose real bad, but not having any sense of the damage.  My commander pulled me up to my feet, looked at me funny for a second because of the fading light, then realized that what he saw on my face was blood.  He quickly pulled out some tissues and put it to my nose.  I looked at my hands and my uniform and realized that the dark stains and lines were blood.  I had broken my nose.

The commanders called for the medic to come, but as we were in the field, and the medic in my plugah is really a guy who doesn't seem to care too much about his job, it took nearly an hour for him to make it out to see me.  "Does it hurt?  Let me take a look.  Do you think you can go on?  Are you sure it hurts?" Not exactly the warmest bedside manner.  He even wanted me to do the partner exercise one more time before going back to base to have a doctor check me out.  Finally, the Mem-Pay came by, asked if I had done the exercise already at night (I did, last night), and sent me back to base.  I took off my vest and waited by my room for someone to walk me the two blocks to the doctor's office.  Waited some more then a soldier took me into a room and started to take my information: name, plugah, what happened, what time..."Listen buddy.  I know for this sort of a thing, I definitely need some ice.  And it's been over an hour and a half.  Can I just get some freakin' ice?!"  "Sorry man, it's the army, I need to do this first."  Twenty minutes later, I had my ice.  Then the doctor saw me and decided that I could go to the hospital. Oh really?  You noticed that my nose is busted?  Wonderful, how insightful of you!

Half hour later and I was off to Beer Sheva hospital with a driver, a commander, and another soldier who had a spent bullet casing hit his eye.  Half hour later, over two hours after I fell, I finally was seen by a doctor, got an X-Ray, and my nose was officially fractured.  Congratulations, job well done Mr. Holmes!  Now I just had to wait for the other soldier to finish with his doctors.

At 1:30 in the morning, we left the hospital.  Now, I guess it is a rule or law in the army that no military vehicles can be driven between 1:30 and 6 in the morning.  Perfect.  We had to sleep in the car in the parking lot of the hospital for four hours.  Well, if you can call it sleep.  I guess the half hour drive along open, traffic-free roads is too much of a risk, especially with two injured soldiers, one of whom can be picked up by his father from base.  But such is this army.

Now it's my fault that I never got a clear answer as to what to or not to do from the doctor.  I got back to base around 6 and passed out.  Was woken up a few hours later by a soldier entering the room and I followed him out to the firing range to meet up with the rest of my unit.  I even went out to the range itself and popped off a few shots before telling my commanders that my nose was killing me and I couldn't breathe.  My Sammal sent me back to the room to rest.

And that's what I did until the evening when I went back to the doctor on my own initiative to get some answers.  I told her how I was in a lot of pain (obviously) and I couldn't breathe.  She told me that she would give me gimmelim (medical leave) until Sunday.  Wonderful!  She wrote some words on a sheet of paper and sent me on my way.  I told my Mefaked (commander) what the doctor said, that after the events of the next day, I would be going home.  All good, right?  Or so I thought.

The next day was Yom Horim (Parents' Day) for all of the soldiers.  Well, as lone soldiers we don't have any parents in the country so Tzanchanim sent us on a Yom Keff (Fun Day).  We went hiking near the Dead Sea, rode camels, talked with a Bedouin, had a barbecue and ended the day with a few hours at the beaches of Ashdod, just north of Gaza.  I showed the medic on the trip the note from the doctor and went home.  The rest of the soldiers in my plugah had to return to base.  Evidently when they got there, the other Mefakeds were like, "where's Daniel?"  And thus begins another chapter of IDF frustration.

I talked to David after the weekend and he said he was actually surprised it took this long for something like what I'm about to relate to you to happen to me.  The army can frustrate and anger, and this certainly succeeded in both.

I got a call Thursday evening from my Mefaked asking where I was.  "In Tel-Aviv with my family."  "Ok, bye."  I thought that was the end of it.  A half hour later: "You might need to return to base.  I'll call back to let you know.  Don't go to sleep."  But I'm on medical leave.  The doctor wrote me a note.  "Read me the note."  I read it.  "Ok, I'll let you know.  Call you back in fifteen."  In the meantime, I called my friend Sam to get his input.  It was close to midnight but he answered and helped me through the entire thing.  I read the doctor's note to him and he said that I might be shit out of luck, that the note makes no explicit reference to gimmelim and simply says that "Daniel Flesch has permission to go home after Yom Keff if he isn't feeling well."  That's all.  I called my commander back after a half hour and told him that I still can't breathe, I'm in pain, if I go back I still won't be able to perform my full duties, etc.  "Wake up at 5am and I'll give you my response."  Wonderful.

Another half hour later: "Flesch, you're coming to Hebron with us.  Wake up at 5, be in Jerusalem by 7, you'll go to Kiryat Arba and we'll pick you up there."  Bada bing bada boom.  Back in (semi) action.

That morning was not fun.  I got to Hebron by a military jeep and walked into an auditorium where my entire plugah was gathered to hear from an officer about guarding in the city.  I could feel everyone's eyes looking at me as I walked in in my Aleph uniform with my bag slung over my shoulder.  My Mem-Mem gave me a sincere look of displeasure.

The meeting lasted a few hours.  We learned that guarding in Hebron can be anything but a cakewalk.  We were told what to look for in crowds of Arabs, how they can quickly pull out a knife and then disappear into a mass of people, how bunches can appear out of nowhere and threaten any guard post.

I then took a bus with my citah to a base within Hebron for the weekend.  First off, the buses to Hebron are always bullet proof; they aren't the standard coach buses you see traversing Israel.  On my trip last summer, we went to Hebron in such a bus.  Now, almost exactly a year later, I was returning, this time as a part of the military.

We arrived at the Givati base.  When I say "base," it's more like an area where Givati soldiers live and operate.  Someone said that the reason every "building" on this base is a shipping container is because Israel can't have permanent bases in the West Bank.  That is unconfirmed.  Still, we slept on beds like at Mikveh in these shipping containers in a base that is probably no bigger than fifty meters by fifty meters. It was also right by an excavation from King David's time that I remember visiting twelve months ago.  This weekend was full of deja vu.

And it was completely void of guard duty.  The most interesting time I had was when a Givati officer walked us around to the different guard positions, explaining what the area is like, what to do, etc.  "There's a Palestinian house here, a Jewish family there, that building is all Jews, this one is Palestinian..."  Our guard posts were right in the middle between Jews and Palestinians.  You couldn't be closer to a place where tensions run high.  But for me, I would have no experience with that.

I told my Mem-Mem and Mefaked that regardless of any miscommunication that had occurred, I was still in pain and had difficulty breathing.  "Fine, you're going to guard our equipment all weekend."  What?!  The very purpose that you dragged me back here, to guard the city of Hevron, I can't do?  That's total crap!  I was in Hebron but barely left the Givati base.  I'm getting upset all over again right now as I think about my Mefaked telling me that and reliving those emotions.

The one time I left the base was on Saturday when the Mem-Mem, another soldier and myself walked the mile to the Tomb of the Patriarchs, the second holiest site in Judaism, where Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and their wives are buried.  Now I returned in uniform.

We went back to base that evening and the next day went out to the firing range, where we were to be all week.  That one day I did the most firing in my entire life, which really isn't saying much.  We would fire from fifty meters, 100 meters; standing, sitting; five bullets in ten seconds; two bullets, fix the jam intentionally caused by a reversed cartridge, then fire the last three; fire five bullets, switch cartridges then fire the rest; fire standing up, then go to the ground; at night, fire two shots to the body, then four as if the terrorist had fallen to the ground; and more and more and more.  It was hard but certainly fun.

The next day I had a doctor's appointment at a base near Rishon Leziyyon, the same place I went a few months ago for an eye exam.  I left in the morning (any day in Aleph, especially if it's the middle of the week, is a great day) and somehow found my way to the base after some difficulty.  A great moment was when I asked another Tzanchanim for directions and after talking for a few minutes I started to lose understanding and asked him to slow down because my Hebrew isn't very good.  "Are you not Israeli?" No man, I'm from America.  Did you think I was from here?  "Yeah."  Point for Daniel.

I saw the doctor just before his lunch break.  "So, are you on break right now?"  No, I've been at base since I fell.  "What, seriously?  You need to be on break.  I'm giving you two days medical leave.  Also, in four months we'll contact you in case you need plastic surgery."  Another point for Daniel.

I returned to Tel Aviv, had a wonderful lunch with Amy and the girls, then went back to base to grab some things.  On the way back that evening, I happened to be on the same bus out of base as the Mefaked who loves punishing me for speaking English.  This time, however, we spent the next three to four hours traveling to Tel Aviv and had quite the conversation.  It started off in Hebrew but as I explained more about myself, my experiences in college defending Israel, politics, Israel Apartheid Week, and other issues, we shifted to mainly English.  I mention this for a few reasons.  It showed me that he was interested in learning from me, in understanding my experiences and as I did not have the Hebrew to keep up the conversation, English was kosher, too.  Also, life will be different soon as basic training ends and advanced training begins in mid-July.  More to come about that later.  But finally, unlike some of my eighteen and nineteen year old fellow soldiers, I don't exactly worship the ground that the Mefakeds walk on.  They are certainly my commanders with an extensive amount of military experience more than me; however, they too can learn from me.  I'm twenty-three, a college graduate, and American.  Myself and other lone soldiers, without a doubt, interest them.  At the end of the trip back, I received a handshake from the Mefaked.  It was a great day.

I spent those couple days in Tel Aviv with my cousins and went back to base on Thursday morning for the day.  Now I'm finally back at my kibbutz for the first time in nearly a month.  We're starting to count down the weeks and days until basic training ends and we have a week off.  Until then, it's back to work on Sunday.