the TARCHAT התרח''ט

Tuesday, January 17th, 2012 was a historic day in Israel.  No, sorry, no peace treaties were signed with Lebanon or Syria.  No agreement was reached with Mahmoud Abbas and Fatah.  And I regret to inform that Hamas did not rescind the clause in its charter stating that its purpose is to destroy the State of Israel.  None of those things happened.

Instead, the IDF held a brigade-level Paratrooper exercise for the first time in fifteen years!  Historic?  I think so, but then again I am certainly in a bit of a biased position.

At the cost of seven million shekels (which, at today's exchange rate, is about $1.85 million), Tzanchanim put on a two-day display of our prowess and ability to be deployed from airplanes, organize and strike at an enemy in a rural environment and a urban environment, simulating battles in Syria and Gaza, respectively.

This exercise was known as a Tarchat, a Targile Chativah, a Brigade Exercise.  If you recall during my advanced training, each week in the field built upon the previous; we first started exercises as part of our squad, then the platoon, then company, which culminated in War Week.  Soon, we will have a Targad, Targile Gdud, Battalion Exercise, which will consist of just the 202nd battalion.  The Tarchat included my battalion, as well as 101, 890, and Special Forces.  Around 1,000 paratroopers partook in the drill.

And it began for us on Sunday.  We went to Tel Nof, the paratrooping base near Rehovot, for a day retraining on how to jump, land, and set up our equipment.  If I never go to that base again, that will be just fine with me.  At the end of the day, being there means you have a jump coming up.  And that does not always fill me with excitement.

But the five hour drive back to our base in the north was, in a word, glorious.  I suppose that's a perk of having a base way up in Timbuktu: any drive to another place will take hours.  And if it's on the military's time, then that's great, because it's just time to sit, sleep or completely escape.  But if it's on your time, such as returning home on Friday morning, it kinda sucks because it takes a long time to get home.  It's a double-edged sword.

We returned north that evening and did a silly exercise supposed to simulate what it would be like to regroup after the jump.  Hummers drove us out into the wet and muddy field outside our base, dropped people off every couple dozen meters, and we had to rendezvous at a specific location, which for me turned out to be about thirty meters from where I was dropped.  Was a stupid waste of time and we got to sleep really late.

The next morning, my entire base went on a seven kilometer run with our battalion officer.  A Birthright bus passed by us, with all of the tourists gawking at us.  How I would have loved to be on that bus!

Instead, we spent the day preparing our equipment.  The jump instructors from Tel Nof came to our base in the afternoon and helped everyone pack their jump sack.  And this was what made everyone nervous; we were jumping with a lot of weight attached to our legs.  Much more weight than what it was like when we jumped in September.  I was to jump with my machine gun, the MAG, and a vest full of ammunition.  Other guys jumped with hiking packs wrapped in the sack.  Still others had stretchers, light machine guns, or other equipment.  Although my sack, plus the main and reserve parachutes, and harness weighed around seventy percent of my body weight, some other soldiers, smaller and lighter than me, carried around 100% of their body weight.  I had always been nervous to jump with the MAG, and this was to be my first jump with it, but put in perspective, I had it a bit easier than some of my friends.

We left before dawn on Tuesday to drive down to an air force base in the Judean Desert.  We were to land in an area just south of the city of Ramat Hovav.  By midday, all of Tzanchanim had arrived and the commander of Tzanchanim, a colonel, gave a speech to us.  Reporters took photos and video throughout the day.  Around six in the evening, the first units started off towards the planes to jump.  First went the special forces, then 101, then 890, and finally us, 202.  Around nine, we donned our harnesses and waited for the planes to arrive.

Here's a fourteen minute video that reporters took of the jump.  And here's a Jerusalem Post article about it.

And again, I never care to hear the drone of the C-130 Hercules' propellors ever again.  I was very nervous before this jump.  I hadn't jumped in over four months (although for some other guys it had been a year or longer) and this was my first jump with much more weight.  The landing was not a concern; I figured once I get to the ground, I'm golden, even if I do hurt myself.  For me, jumping was what made me nervous.  With the extra weight, I wanted to make sure I jumped far enough from the plane, that my legs would go above my head or I wouldn't lead with my upper body, causing me to flip, and that my parachute would open smoothly and without problems.  I did not look forward to this jump.

The plane eventually landed for us to board.  First though, the doctor who was in our group was called over and we saw a guy being led off on a stretcher from the plane.  An hour earlier, another guy who was carrying his sack collapsed to the ground and was led away.  Welcome to the Tarchat.

I was to be the tenth guy out the door.  (I had a few laughs earlier with Adam, who was initially posted to be the last guy out of the last plane.  In essence, he would have been the absolute last Tzanchan to jump in the entire exercise.  But then he switched with his commander, so he became second to last.)  In this exercise, the plane would make one pass over the drop zone and all twenty-five guys for each door would jump; they wanted to get everyone out in one minute.  I walked onto the plane and sat down on the makeshift seat.  Some guys needed help from the jump instructors to carry their heavy sacks.

After a few minutes in the air, we were told to stand up.  And so began the single most uncomfortable experience of my life.  I couldn't stand straight up for more than a few seconds without straining my lower back.  So I would rest my sack on the floor and lean over, but that meant that I was getting hit in the head by the guy in front of me as he, too, constantly shifted position.  And the guy behind me was the same way.  The jump instructors worked quickly to hook up our yellow cords, but we stood like that for close to ten minutes.  Finally, mercifully even, the two minute warning came.

Then came the green light.  First guy was out.  Then the next.  And the next.  No time to think.  Just get to the door and push your body out.  Don't resist the jump instructors as they literally throw you out to help with the extra weight.  Just go go go.  The noise is deafening.  How can I get in the door and make it through this blustering wind?  Two guys ahead of me.  Now he's gone.  Michael, my MAG partner, in front of me, throws his cord to the end of the line, stands in the door, jumps and disappears.  I throw my cord, turn to the doorway, don't look down don't look down don't look down...and I'm out, twisting and turning as the yellow cord pulls on the parachute and it opens beautifully above my head.

The night sky is dark.  No, it's pitch black.  There is no moon out but I can make out my chute over me and everything looks fine.  I look down and can barely make out the ground over 1,000 feet below me.  I pull on the hinges that hold my sack and let it fall fifteen feet below me, feeling a sharp tug as it runs out its line and pulls me slightly faster towards the ground.

The guy who jumped after me is floating back and forth above.  I'm nervous that his sack will hit my chute or the cords get twisted.  As I near the ground, I start to navigate to where I want to land, but the wind whips me dangerously around and I just let it take me where it wants.  I don't feel comfortable in my harness.  I keep saying out loud, "get me down, get me down, get me down," but with some cuss words thrown in.  Suddenly, the ground seems to light up as my eyes have adjusted and it rushes up towards me.  That's the thing about landing: the ground suddenly seems to run faster towards me the closer I get.  I get in position to land, my sack hits the ground and then a second later so do I.  I fall to my side and throw my legs over, my first time to complete a perfect landing.  The parachute falls behind me and lazily wafts down as it hugs the ground.  All is quiet.  I breathe a very deep and very long sigh of relief.  I'm safe.

Now the fun begins.  I had to pack up my parachute, open my sack, take out my machine gun, put it together, don my combat vest, roll up my sack and make it back to the rendezvous point.  It was a lot of weight to carry.  Awkward weight too.  As soon as I landed, I heard cries of "chovesh! chovesh! medic! medic!"  Michael, my partner, I found lying on his back against a sand dune, draped in his white reserve chute, his main chute strewn twenty meters behind him.  He hurt his back and had been calling for a medic for the past hour.  Other guys were injured as well.  I heard about four were hospitalized with injuries to their back or legs, while others needed medical attention and could not continue the exercise.  In talking with guys later, many pulled their reserve chute, had twisted cords, flipped over when leaving the plane, or other difficulties which made the jump the scariest moment of their lives.  I was so thankful to have made it from the plane to the ground without any problems.

I made it to the gathering point around midnight and a few hours later, while most of us had met up, we set out through the night.  We had been told that once seventy percent of each battalion had met up, they would start off.  I think all of my company was there when we set off, but one guy needed help with his equipment bag so my platoon got separated from the rest of the unit...and that would have dire consequences.  As it was, we were supposed to walk throughout the entire night to the location of the first drill.  My group ended up walking an extra two and a half hours!  And all our walking, while it was supposed to be only ten kilometers, turned into fifteen, and the sand made it that much more difficult.  In fact, compared to other hikes, fifteen is nothing.  But it was through deep sand, the kind you find at the beach.  My legs got quite the workout.  And I really realized some of the incompetency of my officers.  They had no clue where we were going and wouldn't listen to any suggestions on paths to follow.  Frustrating.

But we finally met up with the rest of 202.  I went ahead with my Sammal (sergeant), the other MAGist, and the communications guy to a forward point to shoot up a hill.  I lay down in prone position, put a belt in my gun, and let it rip.  All told, I shot around 400 bullets.  My strap happened to be resting on the barrel and it melted in half.  I had to makeshift a knot so it would still work.  I shot all the ammo in my vest, and the rest of the exercise was a little easier because I carried less weight.

The drill ended a couple hours later and we rested and ate lunch.  Then we started off on another hike.  We hadn't slept the night before and weren't sleeping now.  Our sleeping came every hour or two when we would stop for some reason or another, sit down, konk out for ten or fifteen minutes, then the order would come down the line to get back up on our feet and we would start off again.  And it continued like this for two days.

We ate "dinner" at 7:30 and then started off again at 8.  Earlier in the day, my commander said, "you see that really tall building off in the distance?  That's where we're headed."  Now, at this hour, the sun had already set and that building was a series of green lights.  Between us and our destination were kilometers and kilometers of open sand.  And we started off.

The day was hot and the night was frigid.  We wore thermal tops and bottoms under our uniforms, but that was it.  If we kept moving we would be warm enough.  I also had a hat, neck warmer and gloves that I rotated wearing.  Eventually those green lights turned out to be minarets, mosque towers that broadcast prayers five times a day.  We were walking to a city the US had built for the IDF to train in urban warfare. As we got closer, around four in the morning, rockets were fired from city as if to warn the "inhabitants" of our presence; flares filled the night sky.  We heard the rattle of small arms fire as one battalion started to take the city. My company set off towards the buildings as my platoon, the ones in charge of covering fire, stayed back.  I lay down with my MAG in prone position, and lowered my head, and fell asleep.

It started to rain when I awoke and we put on rain gear under our combat vests.  We received orders to move indoors and made our way across the city outskirts to a nearby building, moved into a room, lay down, and passed out.

And that was my Tarchat.

Around noon, the drill had ended and the entire Tzanchanim brigade gathered on a clearing outside the city.  There had been a lot of action in the urban "battle", but I missed all of it.  I would have anyway even if I stayed awake.  My unit would not have been involved.  But I was able to sleep for a few hours, which was a blessing.

We were served a nice lunch with great food and then had a tekkes, a ceremony.  The head officer of Tzanchanim again spoke to us.  There we all were in a giant chet formation, combat vests and painted faces, sleep-deprived and foot sore, our red berets on our heads, and it was a great sight.

After every week or few days in the shetach, the field, I always had a feeling of great accomplishment and satisfaction.  Unfortunately, it wasn't so with this exercise.  I felt like shit most of the time.  I tried to put in perspective that we were simulating a war, with little sleep and great distances to cross, that I was a small part in a big machine...but that only went so far.  Our officers couldn't navigate, I never saw the rest of the machine, and it seemed like a waste and an unnecessarily drill.  But I'm no general.

We went back to base that afternoon, sleeping on the bus most of the way.  We cleaned our guns and turned in our equipment, then left the next morning.  I went to Tel Aviv and did laundry at David and Amy's.  Then I came to my apartment in Jerusalem and spent a nice Shabbat, the first time all five roommates are together.  We ate last night at the Jerusalem Great Synagogue at a free meal offered to lone soldiers by the Lone Soldier Center.  It was great.  My first one.  Once a month, the Lone Soldier Center hosts a free meal for lone soldiers.  I am so thankful to everyone who donates to this organization and allows us to eat a nice warm meal.  Thank you.

Today I met up with Shai, the babysitter for David and Amy's kids, at a hotel in Jerusalem as she was on a Birthright trip.  I talked to a few of the guys and girls on the trip and some seemed interested in joining the IDF.  But it could just be because they are on Birthright.

Then this evening after Shabbat, Caroline Glick, a columnist for the Jerusalem Post, gave a lecture at the Jerusalem Great Synagogue about Israel, the US, and the Arab Spring.  It was interesting and informative.  And, of course, I asked a question.

Tomorrow I return to base for two weeks.  See y'all later!

Arrested

View of an intersection leading to Shchem.  The small
red sign is in Hebrew and warns Israelis that
they are officially leaving Israeli jurisdiction.

Do not worry!  Yours truly is not in jail!

Instead, this was a week of arrests, physical and emotional.  It was my first week back in Israel, and consequently back in the IDF.  And it all started within minutes of arriving at Ben-Gurion Airport.

I was standing in line at customs, waiting for my turn to present my passport to the lady behind the glass and be allowed into the country.  I turned on my Blackberry and saw a WhatsApp message from Adam, lone soldier from New Jersey, who returned from his month break a few days before me: "Dude don't come back here.  Stay in chi town."  Ummm, too late.  But that's what greeted me as I touched down.

And what's more, as I waited among the throngs of people, I noticed that most of the arrivals were from various Birthright groups.  Their eager, uncertain chatter as they made new friends and discussed what little they knew about Israel and the adventure that awaited them was in stark contrast to my mood.  I remember feeling as they did on my Birthright trip two years ago, and again on my three week program at a yeshivah two summers ago, and again arriving last November for the adventure of a lifetime.  But now, my fourth time arriving in Israel, I wasn't filled with so much anticipation and excitement.  I missed home.

I was actually quite taken aback by how I felt at the airport.  Israel is a land where any Jew is greeted with a "welcome home."  But I already sorely missed my home in Chicago.  And going back that Sunday to the army didn't make things easier.  Adam and I immediately started commiserating together.  We caught up, swapped stories about our amazing times with our friends, bemoaned the upcoming move to winter quarters, and looked forward to finishing our service, which for me, is coming sooner than I anticipated...

When I left Israel in December, I had told my commander that I wanted to go to Snipers Course and would be willing to sign more service time.  Honestly, I wasn't sure if I wanted to take the leap and extend my service.  I had a rough last few weeks before going home and knew I needed to take the much-needed time off and think about my options.  Over the month, I thought long and hard and decided that I would be willing to sign up to six more months if it meant I could become a sniper.  Lo and behold, I arrived on base on Sunday and discovered, for reasons unknown, that the IDF or the Snipers Course decided to change how they select soldiers to become snipers and, for now, no one is being sent to the course.  End of discussion.  My grandmother is very happy.  I had gotten excited about the prospect of becoming a sniper, doing something significant on our next operational posting at the Lebanese border, and being able to do it all for just six more months of service.  But alas, 'twas not to be.  Now that means that I truly do, almost, not quite, just yet, barely see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Looks like I will still be done in mid-June.

A brief note about people.  It seems that anything to do with Israel can bring out the best (and maybe the worst) in interactions between people.  When I was in Las Vegas, I thought I overheard Hebrew, but it sounded like the girls were speaking in a French accent, and I wasn't in the best shape (thanks to the previous evening) to discern exactly what language was being spoken.  I went up to them and asked, in English, what language they were speaking.  "Hebrew."  And from that, I struck up a conversation with them, in Hebrew, about me joining the army, what they are doing at the Flamingo Hotel, and life.  It was great meeting them.

On the bus ride towards Shechem, an elderly couple needed help getting some luggage onto their seats.  They spoke English, were from Texas, and are now living in Israel.  They offered to host me for Shabbat whenever I want.

Then when I was doing guard duty down the road from a checkpoint leading into Shchem, I heard on the radio a command to stop two bikers who were coming down the road towards me.  I immediately saw them and ordered in Hebrew to stop.  They responded in English that they have no idea what I'm saying.  Ultimately, they were two guys from Italy doing a bike tour from Nazareth to Cairo, and the soldiers at the checkpoint saw them taking pictures of the checkpoint itself, which is not allowed.  The border police were called over and I served as a translator between the English and Hebrew.  The guys were innocent, we deleted the couple photos, and had a pleasant conversation about bicycling, hockey and why an American is in the IDF.

Now, there was still work to be done.  And part of that work included an arrest.  Finally!

To begin with, when I arrived back at base, I needed to sign for all new equipment: gun, vest, gear, everything.  And after months of delay, I finally received an M-4 rifle.  Typically, Tzanchanim uses M-16s for training and soldiers always switch to the M-4 after their masa kumtah.  It wasn't so for my draft.  Slowly, soldiers had received the new weapons, but I left for the States still with an M-16.  On Sunday, I signed out an M-4 and the next day went to the range to line up the sights.  And what a joy it is to shoot this gun!  There are many advantages of the M-4 over the M-16: its muzzle is specially designed to suppress flashes from the bullet; its barrel has a cooling mechanism to keep it from overheating; its better suited for weapons attachments such as grenade launcher and special sights; and other perks.  But, most noticeably, was how smooth the rifle shot, with such little recoil.  And it was even better that my sights were completely not aligned when I received the gun, so I ended up popping off about forty or fifty rounds to line them up.  It was good ol' fashion fun.

But back to the arrest.

We were to leave Shchem for good on Wednesday, and early Tuesday I found out I was part of a group that would carry out an arrest that evening.  I come back from the States and literally within the last few hours of my time at Shchem, I finally do something I feel is somewhat significant.  The hours of guarding were certainly important, but not exactly proactive.  This was to be different.

Me and two other soldiers were to be in a unit with our MemMem, one of four that would carry out the arrest.  Much to my amazement and surprise, it was to be our unit that would actually enter the house and arrest the suspects: two young adults from a village just outside Shchem.  We spent the morning being briefed on the mission, its objective, logistics, and protocol.  Then we dressed in our gear for a practice drill on how to surround and enter the house.  Then the MemPay, the company commander and mission leader, stopped us halfway and informed my unit that in fact we would not be entering the house.  That privilege was given to another unit.  You gotta be sh***ing me!  He gave some crap reason as to why, but the truth is that he doesn't trust my platoon commander.  And for that, us soldiers get screwed as well.

But the mission was still a-go.  It was scheduled for midnight, but that hour came and went.  Finally at 1:30 in the morning, we were told to be ready to go by two.  I was dressed in my combat vest, helmet, the works, including body armor and a bullet loaded in our guns.  We drove in an armored truck out to the village, parked a few hundred meters from the house, stealthily made our way to the target and set ourselves up at different intersections and entrance points.  It was quiet.  Very quiet.  Nothing stirred on the streets; not even a cat, which are as prevalent in Israel as squirrels are in the States, was around.

When everyone was set up, the order to enter the home was given.  I heard banging on the door and "Jeish!  Jeish!" Army! Army! in Arabic.  The door opened and the two units, including the company commander and a soldier from my kitah (squad) who speaks fluent Arabic, entered.  We stayed crouched at the intersection; my rifle was pointed down the street away from the house, protecting our rear flank if anyone were to come into view.  Fifteen minutes later, out came the two suspects, hands zip-tied behind them.  We made our way quickly back to the vehicle, the two suspects were handed over to Shabak, Israel's FBI, and we went back to base.  We were de-briefed, then went to bed at 3:30.  Job well done.

Snow in Israel?

Only to wake up at 5:00 to prepare to leave Shchem with the rest of the 202 battalion.  I was on a bus that left around 8:00 and we arrived close to noon.  That's how far north we are.  Yes we made a couple stops along the way, but basically, we are minutes from the Lebanese border in the north, right by kibbutz Shamir, overlooking the northernmost city in Israel, Kiryat Shmonah.  This base is out in the boondocks.  Even in such a small country, we are in the middle of nowhere.  Off to one side and down in a valley we see Kiryat Shmonah, off to another side is Mt. Hermon, the tallest mountain in Israel, and off to another are cows and pastures.  I learned on my Birthright trip two years ago that the Golan is divided in thirds: residential, wildlife/forest preserve, and military.  A lot of the Golan is pockmarked with barb-wired sections that warn of mines, remnants of Israel's two wars with Syria in 1967 and 1973.  And on the other side of the wires are cows munching on grass.

Needless to say, the location of this new base arrested me psychologically.  My company left base at 7:00 on Friday.  I was there for roughly forty hours.  It was cloudy for thirty-eight of those hours and rained for thirty-five.  The rain is terrible.  I am certainly used to rainy conditions from living in Chicago, but have always hated it because I played baseball.  I always enjoy watching a good thunderstorm from the comfort of a nice, warm room.  However, when we need to set up and organize our equipment, stand guard without shelter, and be constantly shuffling back and forth between buildings, the rain does not create the most hospitable conditions.  In addition, once we start doing our training and exercises in the field, rain will make equipment much heavier and terrain difficult to traverse.

Shalom, Tomer.

These are not the conditions I needed coming back from the States.  While the base itself is small and compact, with nice heated rooms, it has been difficult to adjust to the sense of being at the end of the country, in miserable conditions, with nothing ahead of us except for hard, long weeks of training to get through before the weather warms and life becomes....possible again.

One really good piece of news is that it appears I will be off base almost every weekend, similar to my schedule when I was at Mikveh Alon for the first three months of my service.  But also like Mikveh Alon, it appears I will not leave base until Friday morning.  And we are even further north than Mikveh.

We awoke yesterday morning at 5:30 to a sound I dreaded hearing: the plat plat-plat of rain falling heavily on the roof of our sleeping quarters.  Ugh!  Just what I did not want to have to deal with as we prepared to leave base.  I groggily crawled out of bed and dressed in chetzi Aleph, half my Aleph uniform, not putting on the uniform top until we were ready for the buses after cleaning.

I dressed, shaved, and hadn't noticed but the dreaded noise had ceased.  I opened the door and was shocked by what I saw.  A quiet peacefulness had descended upon our base.  What had been heavy, ugly raindrops had transformed into snowflakes, falling lazily from the heavens.  It was the most incredible sight I had seen in my week back.  I was immediately out in the walkway between the buildings, gazing upward, ecstatic at this winter spectacle.  Snowfall in January.  A pleasant and friendly reminder of Chicago and home.  I stayed out under the snowflakes.  The Israelis were shocked and bewildered; many knew of snow but few had actually seen it.  They gingerly gazed out of the doorways, cameras and iPhones out, taking pictures and video as if we had landed on an alien planet.  And there was that crazy American, shouting his head off, smiling, ecstatic to be in this strange new world.

Yes, snow in Israel.  (Notice the mezuzah on the left
doorframe?  Each door on every base has one.
Welcome to the Jewish army.)

LA to Vegas to Chicago to Israel

The Flesch siblings, pre-Vegas

Ohhh man has my body never felt this way before!  Forget a year in the IDF!   Forget weeks in the field running around with a machine gun; forget fifteen hour, sixty kilometer hikes; forget crawling hundreds of meters up thorny hills for a meal; forget all of it!  My body never felt as it did after ten days with my brother and sister in Los Angeles and Las Vegas.  We wanted to have the best trip--epic, if you will--siblings could have, and boy did we succeed!

Ever since my sister moved out to LA after she graduated from college three years ago, my brother and I have been fortunate enough to visit her about once a year.  I last saw Kimberly the October before I left for Israel, about fourteen months ago.  Now, Eric and I flew to LA two days before Christmas to spend some quality bonding time with her before the three of us drove to Vegas.  As we had been to LA numerous times, we didn't need to see all the sights LA has to offer.  We made sure to spend a few hours on Venice Beach; we stopped at a bar and enjoyed a few pitchers even while still nursing a hangover.  It's always fun to people-watch there.  We walked around, enjoyed the sunset, and had a time of good 'ol fashion fun! We spent Christmas at the movies, enjoying a couple of flicks, including "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo."  The next day, we left for Vegas.

Now allow me to pause a moment and insert a qualifying statement: I think I am a good-guy, lead a healthy and sensible lifestyle, and am a law-abiding individual, or at least to the extent that a young twenty-something year-old can be.  Therefore, it is with great concern for my and my siblings' reputations that I must say, truly, what happened in Vegas will stay in Vegas.  There was also plenty of good, clean fun to be had in Sin City: we went on a roller coaster, walked into shops, toured the Strip, etc.  Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to divulge anything further.  I apologize and hopefully have not lost your trust forever.

The Flesch siblings, Vegas

But we must press on...

Eric and I arrived back in Chicago on Monday and I was to fly out again on early Thursday.  The last seventy-two hours went by fast, although I accomplished much.  I went to the city Tuesday evening and had dinner with Kaitlin, then met up with some drinks with my college roommate Shane, and lifelong buddies Eric and Brian.  The next day, my brother Eric and I met up with our grandmother for lunch, then went back to her condo and she invited over some of her girlfriends who have been reading this blog.  My own private fan club.  I know you're reading this, so, hello ladies!

We then picked up some last-minute clothing items I needed, went back home and I packed my suitcases.  I spent an enjoyable dinner at home, had some beers with my brother in the evening then went to bed.  Only to wake up a the five o'clock hour, be at O'Hare for an 8:30 flight to Toronto, lay over for six hours, then a 6pm flight to Tel Aviv.  I took a cab to David and Amy's apartment, which is where I am now, sitting at their kitchen table, typing this post.

When I was in the States, it was a great relief to be able to speak in English all the time.  But there were definitely times when I would accidentally drop into Hebrew.  For simple phrases, such as "please" and "thank you," I would bust out the Hebrew words, catch myself, then try and say the English before the moment passed.  The final result was the person I was addressing thinking I was a stammering idiot.

Also, I wish I had a few more days at home after returning from out west.  The hours flew by and I rarely had a chance to catch a breath and take it all in.  As it turns out, I never had a day to myself where I would just sit on the couch and watch television and movies all day as I had hoped.  I spent a lot of time before LA/Vegas shopping around, enjoying being out among people, and kicking it with my brother and friends. But I should have set aside at least six hours to do nothing but sit and stare.

I already talked to Adam, lone soldier from New Jersey, on the phone yesterday.  He arrived in Israel a couple of days ago and said that we are leaving Shchem on Wednesday.  A lot will be happening in the next week or two.  The entire Tzanchanim brigade is starting winter training.  I may be going to Sniper Course.  I'm trying to readjust to being here.  This evening, after Shabbat, I'm going to go to my apartment in Jerusalem to unpack everything, then get ready for the last stretch of my service.

(A "The Flesch siblings, post-Vegas" picture is unavailable.)