The move here was difficult. It’s been one of the more trying times in the army. It has had nothing to do with the rigors of daily life in the army, the physical and mental strains of being a soldier. Instead, what gave me such a hard time was that I am a lone soldier. How do I mean? I’ll start at the beginning.
On October 27th, I left the Shchem (Nablus) to come back to Tel Aviv because I was to sign my apartment contract the following day, Friday. I had to virtually fight with my platoon commander to take the days off to take care of the contract. It would not have been a big deal except that we were supposed to close Shabbat, stay at base for the weekend. In the end, everything turned out alright. I was home for the weekend.
Sunday started two weeks of ulpan at my training base. It was something the lone soldiers had been looking forward to for some time. We knew that after our masa kumtah, when our training ended, the lone soldiers in Tzanchanim would be given two weeks of Hebrew classes back at the base. As it turned out, we spent the first week after training in Shchem, followed by a fortnight of Hebrew.
Life there was “tash”, a military term that when used in slang refers to something relaxed or chilled. There were about twenty of us. Not all lone soldiers went; if they’re Hebrew is sufficient, they didn’t need it. But for those of us there, we had a great time. We’re not training anymore, so even though we had commanders with us, we definitely had freedom and leeway with our time. We would be in class most of the day, with a few breaks for snacks and lunch. We would learn from after breakfast up until dinner. In the evening, we would do different things: exercise with our commander, we watched a couple Israeli films, and one evening the soldiers who were teaching us threw us a little Halloween party. We generally had a couple hours free before we went to bed, and most of us chose to workout.
We had a blast that week. Most of us were English speakers. We got along great and messed with each at every available opportunity. If a guy left his gun in the room and went to the bathroom, for example, within seconds, two or three guys would be taking it apart. They would take off the strap, sight, disassemble the firing pin and equipment, the stock, everything. The unfortunate guy would come back to see his gun in thirty pieces. Thank you, Sean from South Africa.
The first Wednesday I had requested off to move from my kibbutz to my new apartment. My plan was to take off Wednesday and Thursday and then go to Eilat to visit Sam from Thursday to Sunday. On my way to Jerusalem from my base, I get a call from my commander who tells me that the Mem Mem (platoon commander) had said for me to come back to Shchem for the weekend. I called him to talk about it because I knew my unit was off for the weekend, so why did I have to come back? Basically, he said that because I left the weekend before, I had to make it up this weekend. “We talked about it last week, Daniel.” Excuse me, but we spoke in English about my time to sign the contract so I would understand everything and you did not mention me closing this weekend. I’m going to Eilat. “I’m sorry but you’re not. You are going to be in the army this weekend.” And that was that. He lied to me. I could have fought it more, but didn’t want to, I had already gotten off the weekend before.
I went to Tel Aviv in the afternoon because David was going to help me move. We drove to my kibbutz and packed all my things in the car. I returned my key and said goodbye to Hama’pil. On the way to Jerusalem, Amy called and said I had left my kumtah (beret) in their apartment. “I’ll get it tomorrow.” We continued to Jerusalem and I was officially moved in.
But my headache would continue. It turns out that my commander of the past eight months has gone on to become an officer. So the next day, I receive a phone call from my new commander (who also happens to be Druze, just like my last one), and he tells me that I need to get back to base that night. I tell him that it's not possible, that I'm at the shuk (market) buying things for my apartment and there's a lot of cleaning and work to be done. Also, my Mem Mem had given me the time off. He said he'll get back to me. Later that afternoon, I'm on a bus back to Tel Aviv when it begins to rain. My commander calls and texts me to get back to him. We proceed to have a long argument about how there's no way I can make it back to base that night. We settle that I need to be on the first bus out of Jerusalem at 5:30 the next morning. The bus arrives and I go to David and Amy's apartment. I'm soaking wet. A car runs through a huge puddle and water sprays halfway up my body. I was cold, wet, tired, frustrated, and felt so alone. I wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment.
I returned to my apartment, three hours of my life wasted. The next morning I wake up before dawn. I go outside and see no buses to take me to the bus station. I go back to sleep and take the 8:30 bus. I arrive at Shchem, my commander isn't there, and no one cares that I arrived in the early afternoon.
But you live and learn. It was truly a time I felt like a lone soldier. The kids that are my commanders do not understand what it means to move to an apartment. They live with their parents, understandably. They have no idea how to sign a contract, shlep all your belongings from place to place, make sure everything is ok with the new place, account for all of the minor problems that become apparent once you move in...and do it all in a foreign language and foreign country. I was pretty depressed for a while there. But I knew things would turn around, that in a few days I would be fine, and I was.
I returned to Shchem to do three shifts of guard duty. Six total hours! Instead of Eilat! Life sucked a bit. But then I went back for another week of Hebrew, with Thursday spent in Yafo/Jaffa on a little trip. A few of us chilled at a friend's apartment for the afternoon and returned on a bus to Shchem that evening.
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Entering the West Bank is like traveling to a different world. It truly is a world apart from the rest of Israel. The first world gives way to the third world once you pass through the checkpoints. The purpose of the Oslo Accords in 1993 was to have the PLO build a state within the West Bank. I swear, the Arab towns are just ramshackle buildings thrown together. The streets are dirty and there's trash everywhere. Within the West Bank are also Jewish towns and cities. These present a stark contrast to the Arab villages. The buildings are nice and ordered. The streets are wide and clean. You wouldn't know if you were in the West Bank or Israel proper if you stood in the middle of these towns.
The Jewish villages in Samaria (northern West Bank), or at least on the way to base at Shchem, are permanent structures. Compared to the yishuvim (settlements) I guarded during Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish presence in Samaria is much more pronounced, much more permanent. The population of these towns cannot be counted on a few hands, the town is not comprised of a single road, some trailers for a house, a synagogue, and a park for children. Rather, Ariel, for example, boasts a university, is a central hub of traffic, and can be found on virtually every map that lists simply the major cities in Israel and the West Bank.
However, walking around a settlement of twenty-five families or driving through villages of thousands, the same strange and unfortunate feeling fills up inside of me: that I'm entering an 'outpost' in a 'frontier'; that these are colonists in an alien land. All of the Jewish towns and cities are surrounded by barbed-wire and motion sensor fencing, in addition to a heavy yellow gate that's guarded at all hours. The term 'colony' conjures up images of the movie "Aliens," that they live in a hostile world. It saddens me that I must think this, because it certainly is true that the Jews in the West Bank do live in an insecure and dangerous place. On a small scale, as an example, an Arab isn't afraid to walk around the Jewish section of the Old City in Jerusalem. Unfortunately, a Jew is fearful of walking through the Arab quarter. It's not Jews stealing into Arab towns and murdering families, like an Arab did last year to a family in Itamar. This is sad because the Jews live here because they, rightly, believe that this is our land.
For someone who comes from the sometimes-depressing and often-convenient flat lands of Chicago and the Midwest, the ruggedness of the Shamron (Samaria) is like entering a foreign land. As I took the bus with Adam from Tel Aviv to Ariel, en route back to base, and maybe it was because I was talking with him about going home, but I happened to glance out the window, and from my vantage point standing in the aisle, looking downwards at the highway's second lane, passing cars, white striped lane markers and barrier, I could have sworn I was on the Edens expressway in Chicago. But that fleeting sense of familiarity ended abruptly as the bus traversed the steep grades of the winding road through the hills.
Entering the West Bank is like a world apart.
And life at Shchem is different indeed. Most of our time has been spent guarding the base. When not guarding, we either have down time to relax, we organize our equipment, or again do a lot of things that just make the day go by. We walk around the base with our magazines in our guns. There is constant guarding and always a response unit in case of an emergency. I've started to work out again, using the tiny trailer that houses some weights, thereby becoming the workout room. I've done a lot of reading the past few weeks. I picked up from Amy "Water for Elephants," and from David "Game Change." Then I stopped in a second hand bookstore on Thursday in Jerusalem and came out a few books richer. I feel like I'm starting to enjoy my life again.
After guarding from ten to midnight one evening, I slept for a few hours and then got up for a patrol at five. Me, another soldier, our commander and a driver spent the next five hours driving up and down the road to Shchem. That quickly turned into us parking at this intersection and watching the newest Fast and Furious movie on the driver's iPhone. That evening we were supposed to go on a patrol in a nearby Arab village, but the ShinBet (Shabak, like the FBI) canceled it. We were all dressed up with nowhere to go.
We were in the middle of a briefing the other day when my commander pulled me outside. Then he asked me the oddest question: "you're a lone soldier, right?" Haha, what?! Really, what gave it away? Yes I am. I really didn't understand the connection, because he then asked me something incredible: "are you interested in going to course tzelaphim?" Course tzelaphim?! I definitely am! Of course I would be. How awesome would it be to go to Sniper's Course and become a sniper in Tzanchanim! But there are complications. I've heard that I would probably have to sign more time, probably six months. In addition, I heard that Mahal soldiers need to make aliyah if they sign more time. I held off an answer until I know more information. And then there's the issue with my eyesight...
But I also received the best news of all two weeks ago. I'm coming home, I'm coming home, tell the world I'm coming home!! December 8th to January 8th! It'll be my first time home in over a year. I am so excited to get back home and see my family and friends. To finally sleep in my bed. To wake up in my room. To be in my hometown. To drive my car again! (I hope I still remember how to drive stick!) And, best of all, my brother and sister planned an incredible trip for me and Eric to visit her in Los Angeles over Christmas, and the the three of us drive to Las Vegas for New Years! December 8th cannot come soon enough.
