Chicago: Home At Last

With my bro back at Wrigley Field.  Home at last!

My journey has come to an end.  I set out from my home on November 3rd, 2010 and returned July 15th, 2012.  My journey has come full circle; I am sitting at my desk chair just as I did nearly two years ago.  Most importantly, I can finally sleep in my own bed in the comfort of my own home.

On Sunday, I went to an FIDF fundraiser.  A few soldiers spoke at the event.  They were all in reserve duty at this point, and none were lone soldiers.  One was an American who made aliyah (immigrated) and his family soon followed.  He lost an arm during Operation Caste Lead in Gaza in 2008, yet he continued to serve and maintains his combat status.  Very impressive.  I also met another soldier from a Chicago suburb who was home on his meuchedet, his time off to see his family.  He was two draft cycles after me and has since returned for the final few months of his service.  It was weird to think how I would have viewed these soldiers two years ago when I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.  I hear their stories now and can easily relate.  I look at their uniforms and can identify which ones are combat soldiers, what units they are in, know their ranks, even guess their weapon assignments.

However, most importantly, I know what they are going through.  I know how they feel having to go back to base on Sunday morning.  I know how excited they are to wake up, no matter the hour, at the end of the week to go home.  I know how long the days and weeks can seem, how cold and lonely the nights, how joyous and heartbreaking the moments.  I know what it feels like to be on a march that will not end, a guard duty that takes forever, and kitchen duty that makes you want to be anywhere else in the world.  These are the important things about a soldier's service.  It doesn't matter how many times he jumped out of a plane, or how many kilometers he hiked, or how many months he has left; what matters are the emotions involved in every situation and every experience.

So where to go from here?  It wasn't easy getting back into normalcy.  For one thing, I seem to have too much time on my hands.  I'm spending most of my time looking for employment.  Not everyone goes to the IDF looking for it to be a part of a career, but that is the case with me.  From my college studies, I love politics, in particular foreign and international security policy, and want to continue to be an advocate for Israel.

The rest of my time has been spent enjoying life back in America.  My brother and I had a great outing to Wrigleyville to watch the Cubs, then had a few drinks at bars in the area, and met up with high school friends for dinner.  I've been to the city a few times to see friends, gone to the movies, everything I should be doing.  It's now incredibly easy to have a conversation with my sister in LA.  Instead of a ten hour difference, we're back to the normal two hours.  My parents, brother and I drove to Indiana when my parents rode their tandem bike across the state.  I've reconnected with Rabbi Alter (who just had a baby girl, mazel tov!) and we've resumed our weekly learning.

I still receive emails from prospective soldiers.  I try to help them out the best I can, even though I'm often thinking how could one go through all that?  But for me, I've done it and while it certainly was the best experience of my life, it is something you probably could not pay me enough to repeat.  Aside from the physical pain--the broken bones, bruised limbs, aching muscles--it is the emotional toll that military service takes on you that would steer me clear.  Yet, military service I have done.  And I do feel connected in a certain way to servicemen and women throughout history.  As Adam and I have discussed, before the army, we would watch Saving Private Ryan, Band of Brothers, or any military film, and be like, "wow, I can't imagine what it would be like to be in those situations.  I wonder how I would react.  How do those guys do it?"  Now, after jumping out of planes just like the guys on D-Day, after firing the same weapons, after being the same hummers and helicopters, after crawling through the same filth, I have a greater appreciation for what veterans have done and experienced, and I know how far from their grim and horrific reality my service really was.   We now know, more than any civilian, how much we don't know about war.

The army seems so far away at times.  But I look back at my pictures and video or read a blog post and am suddenly right back in that moment of excitement, fear, pain, joy, exhaustion, relief.  And of course I read the Facebook updates from the soldiers still in my company.  I am so thankful to be able to go to sleep knowing that no one will wake me up to guard in the middle of the night.  I like that the only dishes I have to clean will be the ones my family or I get dirty and it will take me minutes, not hours, to clean.  I am glad to have done my duty to be on guard for Israel and the Jewish people, I did my service, and passed the baton on to others.

Before I drag on too much.  I want to thank you for reading.  If you've stuck with me from my first post on October 29th, 2010, or read just a couple, I thank you.  This blog was meant originally as a way for family and friends to keep track of my journey.  Then it was a way for me to record everything that happened.  And finally, perhaps most importantly, it became a medium to teach and inform others about the IDF and Israel.  This is the last post of this blog...yes, I may try to start another personal blog or a different one with the Jerusalem Post (negotiations are ongoing).  I meant for it to come a few weeks ago, but I pushed it off.  I plan to write a book about my experience, drawing largely from this blog.  (If anyone has any suggestions or helpful advice, that would be most appreciated!)

If I didn't persuade you to suddenly become a supporter of Israel, or to pick up a pen and donate money, or to fly over to Israel and join the army, that's fine, it wasn't my intent.  My aim was to inform: I simply wrote what I saw, what I read, what I experienced, and what I felt.  Whether you support the IDF and Israel or not, I hope you can understand why I did what I did.  I hope you can respect what I and thousands of others have done in the pursuit of our beliefs and our passions.

And, although my story as a lone soldier in the IDF story is over, there are still hundreds of others still serving Israel away from their families.  Continue to pray for their well-being and their safety.  If you want to get involved, look to the FIDF, Lone Soldier Center, or Lone Soldier Project as ways to contribute money, time, or simply well wishes.  I have links on the right for many of these outlets.

If you want to get in touch with questions or advice about joining, I am more than happy to help.  I will continue to respond to any comments.

Again, I thank you.

Aleichem shalom! !עליכם שלום

from the IDF to the USA

I smiled.  It wasn't the biggest smile ever; my cheek muscles weren't burning, but my lips were still stretched back to my ears, revealing two rows of teeth.  The smile wasn't as big as the one I displayed in December. That one I could not shake for days.  From the moment I left the base until I stepped onto my flight, the smile never left my face.

My recent July smile, however, was a more somber one.  The last couple weeks in Israel dragged on like an overstayed vacation.  When I bought my plane ticket back in February, I thought I would want to spend a few extra weeks in Israel to relax and finally enjoy the country.  By the time July 1st arrived, I was more than ready to go home.  In all honesty, my last few days in Israel dragged on.  My mind was already out of the country, it was just the clock that needed to catch up.

When I landed at JFK in New York, Adam was waiting to pick me up.  It was the start of a two-week layover on the East Coast.  On the drive to New Jersey, we stopped at a Wendy's.  American fast food!  Oh man was it good!  I was definitely missing the ability to order a meal at a drive-thru.  So American, so wonderful!

Over those two weeks, I soaked up everything that means to be American.  I relished every opportunity to do something I hadn't done in a while.  Even the most basic things seemed more incredible than usual, even more so than my time home in the winter.  Now let's see here, what did I do...

-Played catch with Adam, probably the most American thing possible
-Turned right at red lights
-Ordered food in English
-Went to an Iron Maiden concert with David and Lena, my first hard rock/metal concert
-Watched fireworks on the Fourth of July
-Went rafting on the Delaware River
-Went to a Yankees game
-Traveled the New York subway
-Went out partying in NYC
-Never had to speak a word of Hebrew

I stayed in Brooklyn for a few days with a friend from high school.  One day, we took the subway to southern Manhattan to see the progress on the World Trade Center site.  I was last in New York in 2008 when I was still in college.  At that time, the site was still completely under construction, with a lot of noticeable wreckage covering the entire construction area  Now, however, an incredible amount of progress has been made.  The site is turning into both a place of sacred remembrance of the nearly 3,000 innocent lives murdered by terrorists, and a testament to the American resolve to remain greater than our enemies.

                   

A main feature of the new grounds are two bottomless square pools of water at the exact location of each of the two towers.  The names of the victims are etched on the granite on each side of the pools.  Water flows from these ground-level walls down about thirty feet to another level, continues toward the center of the square, and drops off into the bottomless chasm.  It's a senseless waste of water, much like the senseless waste of lives.  They are forever drawn down into the depths of destruction so long as terrorism is allowed to thrive.

The US "war on terror" of the past decade is only one part of a larger struggle.  Unfortunately, in our uber-hysterical need to be political correct, we attach a misnomer to a very serious and real threat.  The struggle we face is against radical and militant Islam.  Our war on terror is really a war on the growing radicalism and ever-violent segment of Islam that wish harm on the West, the United States, and Israel.

I tried, but could not find, who first said the famous (or infamous) quote: "Not all Muslims are terrorists, but unfortunately all terrorists are Muslims."  While it is not completely accurate, it encompasses the gist of worldwide terrorist attacks of the past couple decades.  Israel knows this all too well.  The US has been engaged in deadly wars in Iraq and Afghanistan after being attacked in New York.  The World Trade Center site is becoming an incredible memorial to the lives lost on September 11th.  It is a hallow place.

I felt my journey came full circle and then some.  In Israel, I was trained to fight an enemy that more-often-than-not resorts to terrorist tactics; they want to instill fear and change people's actions and mentality through violence.  I return to America and see the consequences of their actions.  I return and remember that we must always be vigilant.  I remember that we must always fight for what is right.  If not through guns and force, then through words and speech.

So what does a lone soldier do when he returns home?  He may move on to other ventures like many of my friends.  Or he continues to defend what he fought for.  He continues to defend his people and his nation, both in the US and Israel.  He continues the fight.

Ending an Era

There was a scaled map in Yafo on the ground outside
a cafe; here is the distance to Gibraltar from that location

Of all my time in Israel, starting with my Birthright trip over two and a half years ago, I have never been farther south than Beersheva.  That means, I am yet to see even half of this tiny country.  Truth be told, however, that half is virtually all desert with nothing to see or do.  About a half hour bus ride south east of Beersheva is a tiny town called Dimona.  It's an open secret that Israel's nuclear facilities are located on the outskirts of this desert dwelling.  Southwest of Dimona, and an hour's drive due south of Beersheva, is Mitzpe Ramon.  It's a tourist attraction, a place for Israelis and foreigners alike to start off on desert hikes, enjoy the flora and fauna of the Negev, or gaze in amazement at an enormous crater.  And then finally, a few hours drive further south, is Eilat, Israel's port city on the Red Sea and the number one tourist destination.  In a country full of religious and historical sites, Eilat is neither.  In a beach country, with dozens of great spots to lay out on sand, frolic in the warm Mediterranean waters, and ogle at the beautiful, gun-totin' Israeli babes, Eilat is still above and beyond a choice getaway spot for anyone with a little extra time on their hands and a few extra shekels in their pocket.

For me, Eilat has been that one elusive place in a country with few locations that can be called difficult to access.  Granted, in the army I've been to some pretty remote locations, but on the whole, every town is simply a couple hours drive form virtually anywhere else.  Except for Eilat.  From Tel Aviv, it's a forty minute flight on a jet plane, an hour on a propellor plane.  A bus ride is five and a half hours.  That's actually about the same distance to Kiryat Shemonah in the north.  However, instead of making multiple stops in densely populated cities along the way, the bus ride to Eilat traveled to Beersheva, through Dimona, then hugged the Jordanian border the entire way south, with only a few random structures along the way for company.  The two lane highway added to the feeling of isolation in a foreign world.  The beautiful lush green of the northern half of Israel begot the incredibly dull, brown sand and rock of the Negev.  But it was a beautiful ride.

Amy and I, on our bike ride

This trip had been built up for quite a long time.  After initially wanting to travel to Eilat after finishing my first three months in the army at Mikveh Alon, then attempting to go with a group of guys during my week break last year in July, then planning to go during a long weekend in November when I moved to my apartment in Jerusalem, and finally deciding on the second to last weekend in Israel.  The imperative to visit Eilat became even greater after my best Israeli friend Sam moved down a year ago for a job.  I had been to his home in Petach Tikvah virtually every Friday evening for dinner with his family since moving out here.  Since he moved to Eilat, I had barely seen the guy.  Now I could kill two birds with one stone.  The only question was which weekend would work for both of us.

After I was officially released from the army on June 14th, a few of us lone soldiers met up Thursday evening in Tel Aviv for one last night out.  It was a great plan in theory, but the execution didn't turn out so well.  Not everyone could make it because a couple guys were actually leaving the country within the next twenty-four hours and needed to pack or get to the airport.  The few of us who did make it out were split up, and more enjoyed seeing each other for a last time than actually being out in Tel Aviv for the evening.  Either way, it was one of my last nights out.
I stayed the rest of the weekend in Tel Aviv, went to the beach with David, Amy and the girls in Herziliya on Friday, then with my friend Tomer on Saturday in Tel Aviv.  On Monday, Amy and I took a nice bike ride from their apartment to the Mediterranean, then south along a bike route to Yafo/Jaffa, then back, stopping for lunch and a quick dip in the sea.  That evening, I made it back to my apartment in Jerusalem for a couple evenings to organize my things.  Quick story: since being released, I am no longer able to ride public transportation for free.  My teudat lochem (fighter ID) expired, however, because the bus drivers to and from Jerusalem simply glanced at the card in my wallet and didn't check for a second ID or the expiration, I got two rides free of charge!

Finally, I was in touch with Sam about visiting him in Eilat and bought tickets for Thursday morning to travel south.  Regardless if one is in the military or not, no bus ride to Eilat is free.  Roundtrip from Tel Aviv cost about 130 shekels.  I have a friend who traveled to Dimona via train (he was still in the army so it was free) and then bought a bus ticket from there to minimize the cost.  Anyway, long story short, the bus is pulling out of the central station in Tel Aviv when Sam calls me and tells me to get off the bus because he is on his way home to Petach Tikvah for his mom's birthday on Friday.  He thought I was planning on coming down the following week!

I continued to Eilat and finally arrived at the last major destination I was yet to visit in Israel.

And Eilat is hot!  But it's a semi-enjoyable heat because it's dry.  Tel Aviv and the rest of israel is very humid.  Eilat, at the far end of the desert and at the tip of the Red Sea, is very hot but very dry.  Temperatures often exceed 100 degrees, but the sun feels good and it's easy to breathe.  The city itself is very small; everything is concentrated along the beach front and does not extend into the desert.  It reminds me at the same time of Las Vegas and Venice Beach.  Enormous, luxurious hotels are sprouting up everywhere, yet with the heat and Israeli small-town feel to every city, it feels very much like Los Angeles.

Eilat is situated in a very interesting and precarious position.  Less than a kilometer to its east is Jordan and the resort of Aqaba.  A few kilometers to its west and south is Egypt and the city of Taba.  Sam told me that on a clear night, it is possible to see lights from Saudi Arabia.  A large Jordanian flag towers over its waters.  It's interesting to note the juxtaposition of these three nations, both of whom have peace treaties with Israel, yet which are hardly friendly.

One unfortunate thing about Eilat is that I heard more Russian and Arabic than English.  I was really looking forward to running into some American tourists, but evidently, as Sam explained to me, they generally come in the fall when the weather cools down slightly.

On Sunday, we went to the bus station and I extended my ticket for an extra day so we could go snorkeling.  A major attraction of Eilat is its water sports.  Sam owns all the equipment, so it was free, and a lot of fun.  It was my first time snorkeling and I had a blast.  Eilat boasts the only coral reef in the northern hemisphere, and we swam out to see parts of it.

And as a last parting moment, we went up into the mountains overlooking the city, Jordan, and Egypt, and shared a celebratory cigar and beer, saying farewell to each other for a long time.

I came back to Tel Aviv on Monday, and on Tuesday went with my cousins to Lena and Kaya's end of the school year party in Herziliya.  I was saying goodbye to them the next day and wanted to spend as much time with them as possible.  I was also able to have a few beers with Shmaya that evening.

And the next day, David, Amy and the girls flew to Madrid.  It was weird saying goodbye to them.  It was just as if they were leaving for the army instead of me.  It also helps to know that I'm going to see them in a few days when David, Lena and I go to an Iron Maiden concert in New Jersey!

On Thursday, family friends of theirs drove me to Jerusalem to pack up the rest of my things.  I said goodbye to my roommates, and returned to Tel Aviv.  I enjoyed the last few days in the city, walking around, eating a shwarma.  At this point, on Saturday evening, I'm already packed and ready to go.  It doesn't feel real.  Maybe that's just because I'm pretty apathetic to being here.  I've been bored beyond belief, ready to be home and start the next stage of my life.  I want to that to happen already.

Of the lone soldiers I drafted with way back at Mikveh Alon, I've kept in touch with a handful.  Most of those guys have gone back to their home countries by now.  A couple left a few days after they were released.  Adam left a few days ago.  Still others will leave by the end of the summer.  Some guys will stay in Israel.  Even of those who became Israeli citizens, not everyone will stay.  More will come on all that later.

For all of us, however, it's the end of an era.  It's the end of a time we came, enlisted and served in the military for the State of Israel.  This story is still not over.  All of us carry something with us to the end of our lives of a time we were soldiers in an army that served a cause greater than ourselves.  That story will continue.

For now, this is my last post in Israel.  This lone soldier flies to America at 10:15 am, Sunday morning.

Shia, Kaya, and Lena: gonna miss you guys!!!

"Ad Mati!?: the Israelis' IDF"

אד מתי Ad mati?! Until when?

כמה עוד Cama ode?! How much more?

איפה כולם Eifo kulam?! Where is everyone?

You read these phrases, in Hebrew, transliterated English, or English?  Good.  You are now unofficially an IDF soldier.  These three phrases, for better or worse, encapsulate the psyche of the Israeli soldier.  It is forbidden for new recruits to say these words.  I'm serious; the ability to shout them becomes a rite of passage. Whether unfortunate or not, the teenagers who grow to be young adults in the service of their country are obsessed with something known as פז''מ pazam or the time a soldier has to serve in the army (surprising kudos to Urban Dictionary).  A soldier with more "pazam" has more experience.

Time becomes the best friend and the worst enemy of each soldier.  It walks with him on long nighttime marches.  Sleeps with him in foxholes dug in the middle of the night during a shetach week.  Stays by his side during eight hours of guarding in Hebron.  And finds his way onto his iPhone to become an ever-constant presence.

This post is about the Israelis' service in defense of their country.  You've read, and I hope, learned about the IDF through my perspective.  The army is much more diverse and complex than what I have experienced during my year and a half.  I hope to educate you more about the IDF as a whole, its relationship with Israel, and the Israelis relationship with it.

Enjoy...

In case this is news to you, Israel is a small country.  7.6 million people live in an area roughly the same geographical size as New Jersey.  Of these people, about 75% (5.8 million) are Jewish, 20% (1.6 million) are Arabs, and 4% are undefined specific social groups (such as non-Arab Christian, residents without religious classification, etc.).

The IDF's strength is numbered at about 175,000 active troops.  Only 20%, or about 35,000, are in a kravi (combat) role.  The main strength of the IDF is its reserve soldiers.  Soldiers in the IDF reserves serve a month every year until their early 50s.  They were the main force in Israel's wars in 2006 in Lebanon and 2008-09 in Gaza.

Israel has compulsory military service: boys are required to serve for three years and girls for two.  The IDF is not made up of grizzly mid-twenty or thirty-year olds.  Instead, Israel's children serve in her armed forces.  Instead of studying for the ACTs or SATs during their junior year in high school, Israeli boys and girls receive a notice in the mail informing them of their "tzav rishon."  This is the first time they have a formal relationship with the military.  At the tzav rishon, they are given a health profile and can narrow down which units, combat or jobnik, they will enter.

During their senior year in high school, instead of visiting colleges, Israelis attend gibbushim.  These are physical tryouts, often lasting days, for a spot in special units (such as Sayeret Matkal, Shayetet, Shaldag, Tzanchanim, etc.).  By the end of their senior year, Israelis will attend their prom knowing where and when they will draft into the military.

Combat soldiers draft in March, August and November.  Some want to draft early in August so they can start and end their service.  Others try for an exemption to work for a year and draft in March.  Regardless, before they draft, most Israelis take a short pre-army trip to somewhere in south or southeastern Europe with their high school buddies.  It is likely the last time they will leave the country for at least the next three years.

When these kids finally make it into their units, they will be serving with people from all over the country, much like in the US military.  It surprised me how Israelis from different parts of this tiny place could be so diverse.  These kids seemingly know every city, town, kibbutz or moshav in this country, yet they haven't always met many people outside of their own area.  It at times is a shock as much for them as it is for me.

In addition, these guys will be led by other kids barely a year older than them.  What do I mean?  Take my draft into Tzanchanim, in March '11.  My commander drafted into Tzanchanim in March '10.  He had his masa kumtah in October 2010 and then went to commanders course in October or November.  He was there for four months and was assigned to be a commander of basic training for my draft in March '11.  My commander could have been at the same school of his soldiers.  As it turned out, a commander in Adam's machlekah (platoon) played soccer and was great friends with a kid in my kitah (squad).  Within weeks, every Israeli soldier will know the first and last name, where he lives and his phone number of every commander and officer in his company.  What is more, every soldiers' mother will know as well.  This army, for better or for worse, is one big family.

Israelis in combat units have a lot of enthusiasm and energy their first few months in the army.  Unfortunately, this dwindles quite rapidly.  Tzanchanim requires soldiers to voluntarily submit to a gibbush.  In addition, once in Tzanchanim, there is the opportunity to take another gibbush that lead to some of the IDF's most elite special forces units (Maglan, Duvdevan).  Some of my friends explained it to me in the following way: "we all were here because we wanted to get into a sayeret (special forces).  We come to Tzanchanim not necessarily for Tzanchanim itself, but because of where it can lead.  And since we did the second gibbush and were not accepted, its like the army saying 'thanks but no thanks, you're not good enough, you're gonna' stay in the gdud (battalions).'"  This contrasts to the other four infantry units (Nahal, Golani, Kfir, and Givati) which do not require a gibbush.  True this train of thought is a bit defeatist, but that's the way many of them view their service...as discarded soldiers.  It's unfortunate because for most of its history, Tzanchanim was very much an elite unit.  When talking with other friends in different units, I still believe we do train harder and more is asked of us, yet that is often lost on the Israelis.

Thus, Israelis ask "ad mati?"

Whether I've painted a clear picture for you or not in my previous posts, I want to describe a soldier's tour after his masa kumtah.  (Don't be nervous that I'm spilling classified military secrets.  Because, well...I'm not.)  After leaving the training base, the soldier and his company go up to the gdud.  They are now a fighter ready for combat.  The chativah (brigade; Tzanchanim, Nahal, Golani, Kfir and Givati) cycle through segments of kav or imun (combat ready or training).  When I finished my masa kumtah, Tzanchanim was in Kav Shechem.  We joined in the middle of the six month tour.  In January, we cycled into imun in the Golan Heights, and Golani took Tzanchanim's place in the West Bank.  We trained for three months, Nahal, previously in Gaza, replaced us, and we moved to Kav Lebanon, where we replaced Givati.  Six months kav, three months imun.

And that is the service of soldiers who choose to be "chapash," chayal pashute, simple soldier.  These are guys who do not go to commanders course or officers course, they do not go to course chovshim to be a medic, they may learn a special weapon, but largely add nothing to their military resumes.  Guys who become chapashim do so because they want to.  It is their choice.  They are not necessarily poor soldiers (although certainly most of them are lazy, unmotivated and often problems), but simply want to do their three years without anything extraordinary asked of them.   Israel asks for three years of their life, and they will oblige, but nothing more.

(There's a saying in English: One life, To live, Three years, For what?)

The IDF, on the other hand, wants every soldier to become a commander.  After the masa kumtah, a soldier has five opportunities to go to commanders course.  After the course, these new commanders are assigned to basic or advanced training, maslul (the company after masa kumtah) or vaticah (veteran companies, such as mivtzayit [my company after maslul]).  From here, the IDF wants its commanders to become officers, which requires signing more time in the military.  Israel wants to make each of its soldiers as trained and experienced in leadership as possible.  Soldiers can go to commanders course, be a commander for a few months, and return to their company as a chapash.  That's alright, because that soldier still has skills and experience gained from passing the course and leading soldiers, even if for a short while, that will prove invaluable.  Indeed, these commanders often become officers who will serve for at least five years command a hundred soldiers and become the leaders of Israel.

There are other roles or positions soldiers can advance to, including sergeant's course (which is a very difficult course but the sergeant becomes the backbone of every platoon) snipers course, interrogation course, and many others.

In addition, certain soldiers are selected to be in charge of the kitchen or base maintenance.  These are the worst positions, but always seem to attract the same kind of soldier.  Everyday, soldiers from each machlekah (platoon) are picked to help out in the kitchen or with the maintenance.  Honestly, it is a demeaning and shitty job to do for the day.  Everyone dreads being called for the day.

And this transitions nicely into the differences between kravi and job, combat and non-combat.

Of the 175,000 soldiers I mentioned earlier, most are in a non-combat role.  In the US military, they are known as POGs, Personnel Other than Grunt.  In the IDF, they are known as jobniks, because their service is like a 'job.'  These soldiers often only work during the day, sleep at home, not spend weekends on base, work in air conditioning, are first in line for meals, and, above all, exude a tangible feeling of superiority over us.  I personally would hate my life if I were a jobnik.  But it often sucks to be kravi: because discipline has to be maintained among kravi units, oftentimes jobniks treat us like scum if they are in charge of us when helping them clean a base or work in the kitchens.  For that day, we have to swallow our pride and know that we are the ones truly keeping Israel safe and secure, not some jobnik.

Yet, it is difficult for Israelis to view it this way.  They look at a jobnik and they see an easier life, more trips home, more free time to play on their iPhone, and not doing crap things like waking up in the middle of the night to stand guard for twenty minutes.  Personally, I think there should be a separate jobnik uniform.  There are some guys who go through training, jump out of planes, complete the masa kumtah, maybe even make it all the way through maslul and receive the fighter's pin, then begin to complain about injuries, create problems or excuses, and eventually get sent down to job.  Yes they did all the training we did, but if Israel goes to war, they stay behind at a desk.  We are the ones who go into the field to be shot at.

This is, unfortunately, one of the negatives about the IDF.  Because it is an army full of kids, they feel the incessant immature desire to always prove themselves better than others.  Because they have an incredible lack of experience and knowledge, they take any difference between themselves and another, often younger, soldier, plant dynamite in that difference, and blast it wide open.  No matter how much experience you acquire during your service, you will always be 'tzair', young/rookie, to someone else looking to pull rank.  I don't mind it so much because, being twenty-three or twenty-four, I don't fall for that shit.  But still it leads to other things in daily life that make the service just that much less pleasant and unenjoyable.  A minor one of these is the time-earned ability to say the phrases at the beginning of this post.

At the end of their three years, Israelis prepare for their release.  At the beginning of their thirty-sixth month in service they leave for their chofshash.  It is a vacation before their final release date where they have a weeklong course to learn about their rights (with money, taxes, school) as released soldiers and begin to transition into civilian life.  The Israeli mindset after the army is summed up in one word: travel.  After spending their entire lives cooped up in a tiny country, and the last three of it with no chance of leaving for vacation, Israelis will often work for a few months to a couple years, then travel the world.  My best friend Sam, who I'm going to visit in Eilat, finished his service in the spring of 2010.  He worked at a summer camp in Maryland then returned to Israel and tried out for a security organization that works at Israel's airports.  He passed the grueling physical tests and signed a contract for a year and a half.  He will finish sometime this fall then go to South America, India, Thailand, or elsewhere for at least a year.  Only then will he start school.

One thing I must mention is that the Israel Defense Force, the only military force that is tasked with protecting Jews, is comprised not solely of Israeli Jewish men and women.  In this army, Druze and Circassians are also conscripted (two of my three commanders were Druze, and one of my medics was Circassian).  However, Israel also has a long-standing policy of not forcing certain minority groups to enlist.  Bedouins in particular are under-represented in the IDF.  However, they are often invaluable as trackers along the Lebanese border and in the deserts.

Arabs are the largest minority group in Israel who are not required.  I had an Arab Israeli in my squad and then machlekah during my entire service.  He's from Abu Ghosh, a town on the outskirts of Jerusalem.  During the Mandate Era, the town was on friendly terms with local Jews, and during the War of Independence, it was the only Arab village in the area that stayed neutral, which allowed the Jews to truck supplies through siege lines and sustain Jerusalem.  I asked my friend how feels to serve for a country with a Jewish Star on its flag, which talks about the Jewish hope in its national anthem, and has Judaism as its official religion.  He responded that this is his home, too.  He wants to fight Israel's enemies as much as his Jewish friends.

The last under-represented group of Israeli society are the haredim.  Haredim are ultra-orthodox Jews.  If you come to Israel (or New York and parts of Chicago) and see Jews in black suits, white shirts, and wide brimmed black hats, those are haredim.  The haredim in Israel have a very particular, complicated and vexing relationship with the government and the state.  The bottom line is that most do not serve in the army.  They have exemptions to study in yeshivah instead.  Or, they can do a two year National Service program where they volunteer around the country.  This angers many Israelis and there has been a lot of nation-wide discussion on how to address the growing number of haredim who do not serve.

One thing I neglected to mention during the past year and a half are the Banishim.  Banish is a Hebrew word that stands for Bnei Yeshiva, a program whereby religious Israelis commit five years to both the army and yeshiva.  They start at yeshivah, serve sixteen months in the army, then return to yeshiva.  Yes, they only serve sixteen months, less than the amount of time I served.  Many of my friends, American and Israelis, don't like the Banishim.  They don't think its fair for them, being Israeli, to not serve the required three years.  Personally, I'm going to stay out of this one.  But let me quickly relate a story I may have told once before.  A few days before I left home in 2010, as I stayed Shabbat with Rabbi Alter, my religious guide in Chicago, he introduced me to his father, who told me of how after leaving Egypt, as the Israelites believed in G-d, Moses would raise his hands and the Israelites would be safe from their enemies.  But when they lost faith in Hashem, Moses' hands would drop and the wandering Israelites would be attacked. Studying Torah in yeshivah is very important.  But is it the same as standing between Hezbollah and Israel?  Just food for thought.

The New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestseller Start-Up Nation: The Story of Israel's Economic Miracle makes a lot of the IDF.  The experience that Israel's youth gain from the military prepares them in a uniquely different way than other nations' young generations for work in business, politics, medicine, etc.  Israel wants all of its soldiers to become commanders so they can translate that experience of responsibility and leadership into careers to benefit the state.  They want those commanders to sign on just a couple extra years, be put in command of one hundred soldiers, achieve a comparable rank and position that would take years in the US military, and then discharge with an entire world of training and experience more than veteran young adults in the US and Europe.

Perhaps the most acute description of the IDF that Start-Up Nation provides is that it creates and defines Israel and Israeli culture.  What these kids do now during their two or three year service will resonate with them for the rest of their lives.  My cousin David is constantly telling me stories from his years in the navy. Schools and employers will look at what these Israelis did during their service.

Every Israeli feels a part of the history of Israel.  Every person knows someone who fought, was wounded, or died fighting for Israel.  Children grow up in this country understanding that they, too, will serve two or three years in the IDF.  They learn to respect and honor, not worship, Israel's warriors.  They are not thirsty for Arab blood or just want to shoot guns; instead, many of the kids who become the centerpiece of Israel's military want to serve to defend their homes.

Honorable Discharge

Adam, we be done!

And just like that, I am now, and forever will be: Sergeant Daniel Flesch (Ret.).

My Israel Defense Force service is complete.  What I set out to do a year and a half ago is over.

I joined the IDF, went through the mandatory ulpan to learn Hebrew, tried out for and joined Tzanchanim (Paratroopers), worked hard, pushed myself beyond limits I didn't even dream of, jumped out of a plane six times, completed tours in the West Bank and the Lebanese border, and finished strongly and with pride.

From the beginning of a soldier's service, he knows exactly the date of his eventual release.  For my brothers-in-arms who drafted with me on December 15th, 2010 starting a year and a half service, we finished on June 14th, 2012.

The night of the 12th I took a train north to meet Adam and his girlfriend, Steph, at their kibbutz outside of Acko.  On the 13th, we had to be back at our base on the Lebanese border.  Why the 13th and not the 14th?  Because June 14th was a Thursday, and all the jobnikim we are dependent upon to be released leave base.  Thus, we released a day early from the IDF.

It's a much shorter trip from their kibbutz as opposed to leaving from Jerusalem or Tel Aviv.  We got up at a decent hour in the morning, hopped on a couple buses, and made it to base by noon.

All we had to do was this: turn in our Aleph equipment, collect a few signatures, and cut our choger.  This whole process could take literally thirty or forty minutes.  But, like all things in the army, nothing is ever easy.

We searched for the first office to obtain a signature, found out they had left for lunch, and then waited the next hour and a half until all the jobnikim got back from the lunch room and into their air conditioned offices.  We went to the medic's office for them to sign off on our health records, had the social worker soldier sign our paper, had her translate a few words from our officer for a quick and meaningless interview to review our service, and a few other places.  The hardest thing was turning in our equipment.

The day we went on chofshash, Adam, Gidon, Matthew and myself turned in our combat (Bet) equipment.  Now we had to turn in our Aleph equipment.  These items were given to us on the very first day in the military.  Now simply two uniform tops and bottoms, belt, jacket, beret and duffel bag needed to be returned.  Well, I wanted to keep the only Aleph uniform I had worn since the day I was accepted into Tzanchanim.  The one I would come to put on my confats for being an accomplished paratrooper, put on my seicat lochem for being an accomplished fighter, and put on my dargot for being promoted to sergeant.  And my red beret?  The one I earned after I worked harder than ever before, sweated, bled, broke bones, jumped out planes and received after completing a seventy kilometer, fifteen hour hike to Jerusalem carrying a heavy machine gun and nearly fifty percent of my body weight?  Yeah, sorry Mr. Jobnik, but you can go &%@$ yourself, I am not turning that in!

Well, unfortunately, as Adam pointed out, these guys have all the power and they just want us to recognize that.  So instead of having me yell at them, Adam quietly and kindly apologized for us "losing" our uniforms and not having our berets.  This whole charade took most of the afternoon, but at the end, the guy in charge of logistics relented and we got his signature.  Finally, around 3:30, we returned to the first office, ready for the final moments.

I have been issued three different identification cards while in the military.  The first I received on my first day in the army.  It's called a "choger," and identifies me as an enlisted soldier.  The second identity card I received is called a "teudat lochem."  After two years in the army, all combat soldier receive this card.  As I do not do three years, I and my other volunteering friends received ours in the mail about a month ago...after months and months of requests and haggling.  This card identifies me as a combat soldier.  For those who stay in Israel, I hear it is beneficial to have for applying to jobs.  But really, for me, the main perk is now I can travel on buses and trains for free when not in uniform.  Finally, on my last day in the army, every soldier receives a "teudat shichrur," a fighter's identity card.  It is a yellow/golden card with השחחרר משירות חובה בכבוד, or "released from compulsory military service with honor."  AKA: honorable discharge.

Upon receiving my teudat shichrur, I had to cut up my choger.  It was an incredible feeling.  My ties to the IDF were symbolically, as well as officially, cut.  I was awarded my teudat shichrur.  I received two documents, one recognizing the end of my service, the second exempting me from reserve duty for the rest of my life.

Adam and I could not have been happier.  We were on Cloud 9 walking out of that base.  We hugged and made it straight for the exit.  We walked out the shin gimmel (gate) and, like always leaving a base, waited for the bus.

And waited.....and waited....and waited....

Turns out the bus didn't come until after six.  But that gave me some time to call my parents and tell them the great news.  Gave me some time to hear from my brother as he called me from his work.  Gave me some time to exchange texts with my sister from her work.  Gave me some time to sweat outside in the heat of the Israeli summer sun.  Gave me some time to have a celebratory cigarette (sorry Mom).  Eventually, Gidon and Matthew met up with us as they also finished the release process.

Signatures? Check!

On the bus, Adam and I were surprised by how incredible the day felt.  For one thing, we were completely wiped out.  It sounds silly, and definitely is, but so true that even such simple and quick tasks with the military can completely drain you.  We just kicked back in the cool air conditioned bus and reminisced for a few minutes.  We thought back to a year and a half ago, to Mikveh Alon.  We thought back to over a year ago, the Tzanchanim gibbush, drafting into the Paratroopers, the first times we started to hang out.  We talked about War Week and the final hike for the beret.  Then Shechem and going home over New Years for a month on our meuchedet.  Then coming back and jumping out of a plane again for the Tarchat and then the hardest four days of our lives in the Targad.  Adam recalled seeing me one day (really the whole thing was like one very long day), laying on the ground, my back propped up against my heavy machine gun, eyelids closing, trying to catch a few minutes of elusive, heavenly sleep, and suddenly being ordered back on our feet to continue moving.  According to Adam, I looked around me, not believing the order to be true and in that moment completely hating everyone and everything, for they prevented me from a quick few minutes nap.  These things will never leave us.

I finally arrived back in Tel Aviv at midnight.  The day was over.  From the tzav rishon to the draft to the Paratroopers and the training and kav and training and kav, and then the release.  The sun had set on my service in the IDF.

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The guys: posin' before kayakin'

I traveled to Jerusalem the day after I left base on chofshash.  Spent a few days there then met up with Shmaya to spend Shabbat with Eliyahu and Jesse at Jesse's house in Rana'ana.  Since being released, Jesse has worked as a waiter at a restaurant on the beach in Herziliya.  I hadn't seen him in a few weeks and Eliyahu even longer than that.  Well, Eliyahu had returned to our unit from Commanders Course a few weeks before.  But I hadn't seen him in close to six months, so his presence still felt very fresh to us.  After the Shabbat, I bounced back and forth between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

The great thing about having the teudat lochem was being able to travel in civilian clothes.  I definitely took advantage of that.  One day, a bunch of us decided to go kayaking on the Jordan River up near Kiryat Shemonah.  During winter training, I had to reconnect with my unit on Sunday mornings in Kiryat Shemonah.  It felt weird and amazingly awesome to take the same bus north and walk into the same beit hachayal (soldier's house) as I did just a few months before.  But this time, I was in shorts and flip-flops and not dreading freezing on guard duty or in the shetach for the week.  It was an awesome day, hung out with some guys I again hadn't seen in a long time, and truly relaxed and enjoyed being free from the army.

The next day I went north again to a kibbutz near Tiberias to spend the evening with Sam at his kibbutz.  This Sam is from Oregon and drafted a few months before me.  He's part of a program called Garin Tzabar in which the group made aliyah, came to live with a group of individuals, received ulpan Hebrew lessons, drafted into the army together, and serve for two years.  The kibbutz was alright; the view of the Kinneret was incredible (much different than in the winter, now it is brown), and they had a pool, which was fun to go in with some girls when not exactly sober.

The next day, he came down to Tel Aviv to stay with a friend, and we partied it up for the next three nights.  Finally being able to go out and drink, dance, talk with girls without having the army in the back of your head every waking second was liberating.  Staying up until six in the morning was no problem because I got nothin' to do!

Until I called the army the previous Monday to ask when we were supposed to come and go through the release process.  On Wednesday, we came, we saw, we released.

Tomer and I chillin' on the beach

Now I've just been chilling with David, Amy and the girls in Tel Aviv.  My service has come full circle.  I still have my apartment in Jerusalem, but enjoy being in Tel Aviv.  There's the beach, night life, family, beach, girls, beach, girls...you get the idea.  Yesterday I spent the day at the beach with Tomer, one of my favorite Israelis from my unit.  I spoke Hebrew consistently for the first time in a while.  Now I've been working on putting my resume together.  Boy do I have some interesting things to add!  The vacation continues as my life after the army looms ahead.  For now, I'm enjoying the sun and sand.  And "How I Met Your Mother."  I'm already on season four...after starting it less than a week ago.

I need something to do.

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Adam and I had thought that the day we chofshashed would have been the most exciting because we were actually leaving our base.  We thought that the vacation we've been on the past couple weeks would have lessened the excitement of returning to base in our civilian clothes only to turn in a last few pieces of equipment.  But that wasn't the case.  We felt incredible.  A weight and burden and responsibility has been lifted from our shoulders.  It was an incredible thing to be able to call myself a soldier, a fighter and a paratrooper for Israel.  And I will always be that.  It may not be with a gun anymore.  But it will be with some new weapons.  I exchanged the assault rifle and machine gun for words and pens.  I will continue this fight.



Just as I will continue this blog.....

CHOFSHASH!!!

Me, Adam, Gidon and Matthew: first tastes of freedom!

חופש''ש!!!!!!!  Ok, let me try that one again: chofshash!!!!!  Alright, maybe one more time: release vacation!!!!!

One week ago yesterday (Monday, May 28th), Adam, Matthew, Gidon and myself turned in all of our combat equipment to the battalion, hopped on a bus, and left to begin the transition to civilian life.  This was a time I had been looking forward to for a long...loooong time.  Remember when I took a month vacation at home, had the time of my life, and returned in early January to begin winter training?  Yeah, it was about then that me, Adam and the others started to think about getting through the final months and making it to our chofshash.

And finally, it has come!

I returned to Nahariyya with the rest of my unit two weeks ago Sunday.  On the bus ride to base, I sat with one of my commanders from basic and advanced training, Chen.  He was one of the guys who punished me to no end when I would speak in English.  Well, he hasn't been my commander in a long time, and was just on a Birthright trip.  On the ride, he told me all about it.  I asked a lot of questions as it was really interesting to hear about the trip from an Israeli soldier's perspective.  His trip comprised of twenty-two to twenty-six year old, secular Canadians.  Things he took for granted as a Jew, even a non-religious one, living in Israel suddenly became extraordinary.  For example, he never thought of it as a choice whether or not to marry a Jewish girl.  But suddenly, he said, many of the participants had a Gentile for a significant others.  In Israel, I've come to realize, even secular (what we would call "cultural") Jews are more observant, or at least sensitive, than those in the States.  They do fast on Yom Kippur, spend Friday night meals with the family, keep kosher, maybe even occasionally wrap tefillin.  We talked some more.  And then got to base.

The last week on base went by like the previous two months.  I did mainly patrols of the border.  Sitting in the hummer for eight hours is never fun.  Sitting in it for twelve hours is definitely never fun.  From Wednesday to Sunday, like every weekend when the other platoons cycle to their weekend off base, I was in a hummer for half a day.  This time it was from noon to midnight.  The other time is better because you can drift off to sleep at any moment, wake up, and three hours have passed.  During the day, you feel every second of every minute of those twelve hours.  But it's nice to be able to take in the beautiful view as the sun sets.

For the last week of our service, the four of us knew that the Israelis would try to put us to work at kitchen duty or with the sarsap, pretty much the janitor of the base.  One day Matthew was at kitchen, another day it was Gidon.  For an afternoon I saw Adam there.  At the end of it all, I escaped unscathed.  On Sunday, I was done with patrols and had woken up early to guard from six to nine.  Instead of going back to sleep, I decided to work out with the few dumbbells we have on base.  Then I chatted with my brother and sister on Viber (thank you free technology!).  The minute I hung up the call, my commander saw me and told me I was in the kitchen.  Now, I love the kid.  He's a good commander and a great guy.  But I told him that I'm not gonna be stuck in the kitchen on my last day.  "Sorry, but that's not how I'm spending my last day in the IDF."  Ok then, he said, and went and found another American to throw in there.

Shmuel and Effy, rockin' out at Avicii

But earlier in the week, before the long patrols, I was scooped up to be the guy in the radio room's partner.  That shift was from midnight to six.  Wonderful.

No matter what I did that week, I did it with a smile on my face.  I went from counting down the months to the weeks to the days and finally to the hours.

D-Day for us came quickly on Monday.  Saturday evening to Sunday evening was the holiday of Shavuot.  That meant that the platoons that were home and usually return on Sunday didn't come until Monday.  That also meant that everyone who went home didn't get back until after lunch on Monday.  Which includes the jobniks who need to take in our equipment.

The night before, I guarded then had gathered together the last of my equipment.  The next morning I guarded again at six, Adam relieved me at nine, but I stayed a chilled with him for a couple hours.  We took off all the tape, cloths, bands, everything that we had put on our equipment to make it combat ready.  I traded my good equipment with guys for their bad equipment.  I gave them extra warm clothing and hand warmers that I would not need again.  A few of the guys gave me the traditional punch under the arm, then a big warm hug.

After lunch, the four of us made our way down to the battalion's base.  There, I turned in my bet/combat equipment: four uniform pants and four uniform tops, bet hat, two canteens, flashlight, gun strap, two long underwear tops and two long underwear bottoms, helmet and camouflouge cover, sleeping bag, knee pads, jacket, and the military bag.  Then we had to get signatures by the doctor, social worker, and a few other individuals.  Finally, we needed to turn in our guns.


I hate writing about this because it gets me angry even now.  The scenario was this: we all had M-4 rifles to turn in.  I also had my MAG heavy machine gun to sign over responsibility of it to another soldier in my platoon.  Well, the jerk-off 30 year old Russian dipshit who has no life and loves it when the eighteen year old girl soldiers give him the time of day is the only one in charge of the armory and would not let me turn in my M-4 until another soldier came to sign on the MAG.

Everyone else was waiting on me.  It was after five.  The bus left the base at quarter to six.  The next one: 8:30.  This guy was closing the armory at six for dinner and not opening it back up until the next day.  Basically, not until one of my Russian officers came over did anything get done.  Just the sheer frustration of the army threatened to keep me there for another day, screwing me out of my well-deserved chofshash time.

A beautiful day like this....?

But get off I did!  I turned in my M-4, collected my last signature on the document, ran back to the first office, turned it in, "so I'm on chofshash now?!  Whoohooooo!!!!"

The four of us took the bus back to Nahariyya...without our guns.  We had time to kill before the train going south, so we went to a nearby cafe and ordered a beer.  No one cared that we were in our uniforms.  We were done.  It was one of the best beers of my life.

Over the past week, I've split time between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.  Traveling is always free in a uniform with a military ID.  Now, I have an ID called a "teudat lochem," a fighter's ID.  It allows me to travel free in civilian clothes.  Israelis receive it after two years of service.  Us lone soldiers in Machal received ours a few weeks ago.  Mine was mailed to David and Amy's apartment in Tel Aviv.

I returned to my apartment in Jerusalem for the next day.  I met with a friend from a program to Israel I had gone on the summer before the I joined the army.  That evening was a small engagement party for one of my roommates.  The next day, I didn't get off the couch until five in the afternoon.  Not hungover, just no need to move.

On Thursday, I arrived in Tel Aviv to prepare for an incredible night.  A bunch of us had bought tickets to the Avicii concert as a celebration of ending our service.  He's a new dj with an awesome setlist.  The concert was near Tel Aviv University, a twenty minute walk from David and Amy's apartment.  It was a great show!  The sun was coming up as I walked home after.

For Shabbat, Eliyahu, Shmaya and myself went to Jesse's place in Rana'ana.  We stayed there until Sunday.  It was relaxing and refreshing, great to see Jesse and Eliyahu outside of the army, and was a new part of the country I had yet to visit.  There are many Americans and Canadians who live in this small city and is definitely one of the nicer parts of the county.  Sunday was spent traveling to Jerusalem and back to Tel Aviv.  Today I finally went to the beach for the afternoon.  I'll probably pay for my red skin tomorrow.

But what do I care?  It's not like I have to go back to the army anytime!!!

...obviously Shmaya and I are gonna take advantage!!

the end is nigh

Overlooking the border, with the sea to my right.

It's been a number of weeks since I last wrote about my life in the army.  This post will cover the previous four weeks.  But the beauty of being active on the Lebanese border is that I cannot disclose everything that I do.  I can paint broad brushstrokes of my work but am forbidden to go into specifics due to the sensitive nature of what I am describing.  Before every time we leave base for the weekend, our officers remind us to be careful what we say and where say it.  It's a bit of a "loose lips sink ships" situation.  They caution us to not talk on busses or trains about our base and the border.

Four weeks ago I took a train north from Tel Aviv to Nahariyya, a medium-sized city on the Mediterranean coast and a few miles south of Lebanon.  Like Beersheva for my training base, Ariel for Shechem, and Kiryat Shemonah for winter training, this was our meeting point for a bus to take us to our base.  I sewed on my sergeant's stripes and, with Adam, we got some japes about being sergeants and wearing the rank on our sleeves.  (Clarification required: clearly by "I" I mean my wonderful cousin Amy sewed them on.  Thanks so much!)  But it's all good, because it's just another marker towards the end of my service.

On Tuesday of that first week, we learned that our company had been assigned an extra section of fence to our west.  With this new section of the border came a small base to man.  My squad was assigned there for a full week.  It was the chillest time I've ever had in my service while in the army.  For one week, it was me and between seven and nine other guys.  We were there to protect the hummer border patrols as they came through our area.  It was almost no work at all.  My commander is a great kid; he speaks very good English, like all Ethiopans thinks he is a black gangster, and didn't really care what we did on that base when we weren't doing the necessary guard duty.  I read a full thousand-ish page book (thank you, Game of Thrones series), watched movies (thank you, iPhone) and worked out (thank you....me).

This tiny base was an, in some ways, an escape from the normal dealings of the IDF.  For example, I never shined my shoes or made my bed in the morning.  Ok, that may seem silly and trivial, but it has been such a normal and mandatory part of my mornings for the past year, that not doing it feels so good.  In addition, there was no logistical or kitchen work that we had to do.  We made our own food with supplies brought to us from the battalion's base, but we were on our own for what to cook, what to do and when, etc.

During that week, Israel observed and celebrated Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut, Day of Remembrance and Independence Day, respectively.  Last year, I was off base in Tel Aviv for the back-to-back holidays.  You can read (or maybe re-read) what I wrote about the days last year.  For this year, I was on base, but we stood and bowed our heads in a respectful manner for when the siren sounded in the evening and the following morning of Yom Hazikaron.

My squad was replaced by a different one a week later.  We returned to our main base where the rest of the company is stationed.  Did some guard duty, a lot of nothing, and some more of I don't remember until Thursday morning.  We awoke at four in the morning.  It was still dark outside when we went for a four kilometer run carrying three stretchers.  We finished, stretched, showered, changed into our Aleph/dress uniforms, and left base around seven.  A bus took us back to Nahariyya, I got on a train to Tel Aviv, stopped at David and Amy's to do laundry, then travelled to my Jerusalem and ended at my apartment.

That evening, the newest draft of Tzanchanim was having their tekkes hashba'ah, swearing-in ceremony at the Western Wall.  These guys drafted just a few months ago, in March.  Sound familiar?  I drafted a year ago in March (to Tzanchanim, not the IDF).  They are exactly where I was one year ago.  I went with some friends to see the ceremony.  Some of the commanders were soldiers in my squad, platoon or company from March until October when they went off to commanders course.  I didn't really care to see the entire ceremony, and arriving late helped that, but it felt good to see a new group of guys go through exactly where I've been.  I'm starting to learn that about life: I'm more aware of the passage of time; I can look back at where I was a month or a year ago.  My blog also helps remind me; I get enjoyment a great sense of accomplishment looking back at what I have done, knowing that other guys are going through the very same thing, but I have done it.

The next day, I went around town for a few hours, bought a nice pair of sunglasses, then returned home and started the best part of my weekend: not leaving the apartment until Sunday morning.  It was a lazy weekend for me.  It was needed and felt great.  Shmaya came by a few times and we chilled.  I downloaded movies, started watching a new tv show (Shark Tank; I am going to start a business at some point in my life), and also thinking about jobs for after the army.

Two weeks ago on Sunday, I got up to leave with Shmuel from our apartment, but on the bus ride to the bus station, I didn't think I could make it.  At a random stop, I spotted a hostel, for some reason thrust my pita, hummus and turkey sandwich into Shmuel's hands, and sprinted off the bus, into the hostel and bee-lined it for the bathroom.  When I finished, I called my commander, told him what happened (but not in too much detail) and said I was gonna stay in Jerusalem for a few hours to make sure I don't have a recurring episode and have to time to feel better.  He was supposed to call our officer and get back to me, but I went to my apartment anyway, watched a few episodes of Shark Tank, and left mid-afternoon for base.  That started a full day trek to base, which I didn't arrive at until late at night.  (*My apologies for this story.  But it's more for me to remember an interesting and comical episode than to enlighten you, the reader, on the life of a lone soldier.  Thanks for bearing with me!)

The first few days on base were really slow.  I went for a run amidst the beautiful hills of northern Israel.  I worked out with a few of the weights my company has.  I had a lot of down time.  Then on Wednesday, half the company went home for the weekend.  That meant more work for the rest of us.

For me and my squad, it meant twelve hour patrols followed by twelve hours of rest then patrol then rest then patrol until Sunday.  For the week and a half, I went on seventy-two hours worth of patrol.  The best part of this schedule was the time: my patrols were from midnight to noon.  The next best part is that on my twelve hours of rest, my unit is the response unit for the base, which means we have to respond to any emergency within minutes.  In order to do that, you can't take off your boots.  So I didn't change my uniform or take off my boots for five days.  It was a great time.  I hated it.

In these hummers, there is almost zero space to fit your legs.  And I'm a tall guy.  Sitting in the back seat reminds me of a time when I was nine and my brother and I played on a traveling baseball team in Chicago.  One evening, my mom, brother and I drove with the team to Milwaukee County Stadium to watch the Brewers play the Seattle Mariners (they were still in the American League at that time).  At the end of the game, another parent drove us around as we tried to find our car.  I sat for nearly an hour in the back seat with my legs crossed indian style.  It was very very uncomfortable.  Sitting in the cramped confines of these hummers reminded me of that.  And now that I think about it, this pointless story actually revealed to me one thing: why did we go to Milwaukee instead of seeing a Cubs or, G-d forbid, a Sox game in Chicago?

In addition to time, sleep has become another thing that interests me.  I've taken a new perspective of it since in the army.  For those five days, I slept on the patrols if we were able to; I slept for an hour here or there in the middle of the afternoon if I could; I slept whenever possible.  I looked forward to the soothing motion of the hummer.  It lulled me to sleep.  I drifted off to thoughts of home, the past, and the future.  Over the past year and a half, I've come to love and hate my thoughts.  They can be my best friends and worst enemies.  Whether drifting off to sleep on a frigid night in the Golan Heights, standing guard duty for eight hours in Hebron, or staring out at Lebanon from inside a hummer, my thoughts are a constant companion.

During these past two weeks, I worked on figuring on when my chofshash starts.  Chofshash is a period at the end of a soldier's service that he spends at home.  A course is provided to him to learn about transitioning back into civilian life, educational opportunities, financial situations, etc.  Israelis receive month-long chofshash before their final release date.  My friends in Nahal, Golani, Givati and Kfir, all of whom have done a year and a half like myself are receiving three weeks, four weeks, or a full month.  My friends in the other two Tzanchanim battalions, 101 and 890, are receiving three weeks, four weeks, or a full month.  My buddies and I in 202 are getting two weeks.  Welcome to 202.

Tuesday was Nakba Day.  It is becoming an Arab tradition to disregard Israel's political sovereignty and right to exist, and deciding to walk from Lebanon and Syria to the border with Israel, protest, throw rocks and try to tear down the fence.  It is because of this day that the head commander of Tzanchanim wanted to be at the Lebanese border for six months.  We were supposed to be at Gaza.  At that kav assignment, there is action.  There is activity.  Things happen.  At Lebanon: nothing.  And this was supposed to be the day for something to happen.  And where was I?  Kitchen duty.  FML.  But, as it turned out, nothing ended up happening at our fence assignment.

I had been constantly asking my platoon officer about my chofshash.  He eventually got back to me on Wednesday evening with the final date: MAY 28th!!  A week from Monday!  That will be the last time I will be on base.  The two weeks are actually two weeks' worth of army days (weekends don't count).  Today is nine days.  Single digits!  SINGLE!  Down to nine.  The last nine days.  On Wednesday I had my last seicat machlekah, platoon discussion.  Later in the evening I had my last misdar men pay, an equipment presentation for my company commander.  On Thursday morning, I had my last night of three hours sleep before going home, waking up at three in the morning to guard, then go for the same four kilometer run at four in the morning, followed by a shower, change and bus to Nahariyya.

Thursday evening, after sleeping six hours for the previous two nights, Shmuel and I went to see the Avengers.  It was awesome, even though I definitely fell asleep for fifteen minutes or so in the middle.  Friday night I went to the monthly lone soldier meal provided by the Lone Soldier Center at the Jerusalem Great Synagogue.  Today was a lazy day and returning to base tomorrow.  This will be the last night I ever go to sleep dreading waking up the next morning.  It will be the last time I feel the terrible feeling in my stomach Sunday morning, hating waking up and having to go to base.

Finally, my parents have their say

We were apprehensive when Daniel told us he planned to join the IDF. Was he thinking clearly? After all, he graduated near the top of his class, interned in Washington, D.C., passed the Foreign Service exam, and enjoyed writing cogently about politics and current affairs. We suggested that he explore the opportunities open to him in the safety of the United States.

Daniel did not ask for our advice, and even if he had, there was not much we could give; neither of us knew anything about serving in the IDF, let alone as a lone soldier. Of course, as parents, we knew we had to do what we could to make sure that his decision was, at least, thoughtful. We advised him to consider not only the positives of IDF service, but also the negatives. We don’t know if he ever took our advice to heart.

Although our son would now likely be in harms way, our greatest concern when he left, was that shortly after enlisting, he would regret his decision. Perhaps somewhat oddly, we felt like parents who had sent our child to overnight camp, and were afraid that he might call in the middle of the night wanting to come home. Only the “camp director” in Israel would obviously have the authority to say “no.”

We are very proud of our paratrooper, and upon reflection, not at all surprised that he joined Tzanchanim. As a child, when our family visited amusement and water parks, Daniel was the one who rushed to the tallest rides and the fastest roller coasters. We chose to take pictures of him from ground level.

Daniel’s 1^st jump was a bit disconcerting for us. What if he got to the open door and decided it was something he couldn’t do, or what if, having jumped, his parachute failed to open? Daniel told us that if he hesitated, he would be pushed out of the plane; somehow that didn’t reassure us! Again trying to be helpful, we told him to make sure that he knew how to use his backup chute, and to remain calm throughout the jump. We were greatly relieved when he called the next day to say that the jump went fine and that he enjoyed the experience.

Our passion is long distance cycling on our tandem, and often, after being in the saddles all day, and with many miles still left to ride, we draw inspiration from our son, who has endured difficulties in order to pursue his passion. 

Daniel’s service ends in June.  We very much look forward to having our son home and sharing time together. Daniel left home a young man and he will return a proud soldier. We are very proud of him.