From beneath the cows to above the clouds

I dropped to the ground, covering my head with my hands as my unit began to count the seconds until the light stick "grenade" would explode. The mefakedets were screaming to get down and lie still. After our counting, the MemMem yelled to start crawling, forward towards the front of the two lines. It was a free-for-all; if you were faster than the guy ahead of you, you tried to maneuver around him without having his boots kick you in the face. You didn't pay attention to what you were crawling over (mud, rocks, cow shit); you just focus on getting to the front as fast as possible, ignoring the pounding of your heart, muscles screaming for relief, and stones cutting into your knees. What were we doing in the middle of the night, slogging through a heavily muddied path, through cow fields, carried people on stretchers? It's called a 'masa', a hike led by a commander intended to practice and simulate patrols, complete with springing into different firing positions, shouting orders, and running. The night was cloudy and I had no idea if I was about to step onto somewhat solid ground or plunge my boot into a foot of water. I had my head down, looking at the guy's boots in front of me. I knew if we were about to sprint based on the sound of the soldiers ahead of me; the quickened pace sounded like an oncoming rush of water. In total, we hiked about six or eight kilometers. That's not significant distance by any stretch of the imagination, but what made it difficult were the conditions. And personally, I had also just completed a two hour shmirah shift.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was going to spend two straight weeks on base. It was time for my plugot to do shmirah, or guard duty. After a month with no guns, we went to the armory on Tuesday to receive our weapons. For the next week, the guns were not to leave our side. What's more, we had to always have our combat vests on, complete with two filled canteens and three magazines, each with twenty-nine rounds. Yes, I was packin' heat all week: eighty-seven 5.56 caliber bullets, ready to be locked and loaded if I noticed something suspicious while on guard duty. Every day, the MemMem spoke to my machlekah about guard duty: protocols, tips, sanctions, etc. In total, I pulled six, two-hour guard shifts. Twice I was the solo guard for the armory, another two times I was by myself at a post overlooking a valley, and another two times I was with another soldier at the "bunker", an isolated location on top of another hill, protecting Mikveh Alon's ammunition cache. Shmirah is good and bad. At some times I feel very proud to be protecting something, even if it is only Mikveh Alon (I swear, if Israel's enemies ever find it necessary to launch an assault on Mikveh, then Israel is already lost). It is also probably the only opportunity to be alone and have time to think. But the bunker is a great place, too. Its isolation makes it easy to see if a commander is coming to check on you, but, as in my case, I was paired with Russians both times and for two hours we spoke Hebrew. Shmirah, in general, is boring. It's also a huge pain in the @$$ getting up at 3:30, after four hours of sleep, to be ready for guard duty from 4-6 in the morning. After one of these shifts, I got back to my room at 6:15, we were to get up at 7:15. I just took off my vest, laid my gun down on my bed, sat down, leaning against the wall, and closed my eyes for an hour.

So what's the protocol if someone suspicious shows up at our guard post? If we don't recognize the person, we first ask, in Hebrew, "who is it?" If there's no response, or the individual appears to be a threat (pulls a weapon, starts running towards you, or, frankly, is Arab), we shout "stop!" in every language we know. They taught us how to stay "Stop or I'll shoot" in Arabic. The next step is to cock our gun twice, although without it loaded. Hopefully, the sound itself will frighten the individual. If that doesn't work, then we can load our guns with a magazine. Then we're allowed to shoot two warning shots into the air. If still that doesn't work, then we can shoot the threat in the legs. Thankfully, I never saw anyone I didn't know and never had to go through those steps.

For the two hour shift, we're only allowed to sit for the last ten minutes of each hour. The rest of the time I either stand in place or pace back and forth, counting the number of tiles on the ground, cows in the fields, or street lights in nearby towns. It is an automatic Shabbat (meaning you stay on base for the weekend) if you're caught sleeping, sitting, smoking, eating, or drinking (anything but water) during your shift. A friend had given me a candy bar before my first shift when I was solo at the armory. After the first hour I was bored of pacing back and forth and was starting to get really tired, so I made it a challenge to secretly open the candy bar with one hand in my pocket and break off small bites. The whole operation took a good twenty-five minutes. Quality use of time.

Throughout the day we had our normal Hebrew classes. Soldiers would leave in the middle of the day to report for shmirah duty. That's why we had to have our vests on at all times. One afternoon, after our MemMem gave us our daily shmirah briefing, the siren sounded. If that happens, we have exactly seven minutes to get from wherever we are (even if we're sleeping) to a predesignated spot and form a chet with the machlekah. After the formation, with our helmets on and canteens filled, we were told to run to the perimeter of the base. We spring to our designated spot, shouting war cries and running over people who are too slow; our excitement in pretending to be doing something important is evident. I run to some brush and lay down in prone position, aiming my gun at some random things in the distance. The drill was fun, if pointless. We were told we did a good job, and that was it.

The day after our nighttime masa, we had a competition between the nine tzevets in the plugot. This was one of the highlights of the week. First we had a "jeep" run: one soldier wrapped his arms around two others and draped his legs over the shoulders of a third. We sprinted about fifty meters, then had to answer a question in Hebrew from a mefakedet. Then we were to run to the next location around a bend. We started at a full on sprint, then realized it was a good quarter mile away. Most of us made it huffing and puffing. After another question, we had to crawl fifty meters over hard pavement, littered with rocks. I still have scabs on my hands, two weeks later, from the cuts. People's knees were bruised for days. Crawling isn't supposed to be as "bloody" as it was for us, but because we have no training, we just do whatever it takes to get to the finish line. Then we had to consume a can of beans, write "tzevet 3" with sticks, and spring to the flag for the final leg. In total, the competition was about twelve minutes, but it was fun. I always enjoy getting my blood pumping with competition and sport. We haven't had much of it over the past two months, so this was really enjoyable.

Finally, on Tuesday morning of the second week, we woke up at 2:30 AM for the masa of the MemPay, the officer in charge of the whole plugot. This turned out to be the easiest thing. We were bused about forty-five minutes to a random spot in the road, formed our two lines, and starting marching....on the road. In total, we walked about two kilometers, sometimes running, but never dropping down to a firing position and never crawling. At the end, we finished on top of a mountain overlooking the Kinneret, a lake in the north and Israel's main source of freshwater. The MemPay talked about the area, we grabbed some photos, then had a ceremony in the parking lot with the higher ups of the base present. It was nice, but unnecessary to wake up that early just to see the sunrise.

At the beginning of the two weeks, I was excited to do shmirah and spend my first Shabbat on base. A lot of guys were apprehensive about the two weeks without a break. The truth is, during kravi service, it is common to spend two to three weeks at a time on base. And Shabbat was fun. We had a great Friday night meal, and Saturday (aside from waking up at four for shmirah) was a lazy day. No one could order us to do anything. If we wanted to sleep, we could. If we wanted to exercise, it was no problem. Some people watched movies on their iPods, I read a book ("Brotherhood of Warriors" by Aaron Cohen, it's about Cohen's experience as an American in the IDF [sound familiar] in the mid-90s when he was a part of Duvdevan, an elite unit charged with infiltrating the West Bank), or we just talked about nothing. When Sunday and Monday rolled around, I felt completely at ease on base, as if we had not already spent seven or eight days there. It became routine. So long as you're with your friends, life becomes a whole lot easier.

Finally, after our week of shmirah ended, we left our base to go to Jerusalem. On Wednesday, we boarded a bus and drove to Har Hertzl, Israel's Arlington Cemetery. I was there a year ago on Birthright, but this time was completely different for me. I looked at the graves and the most off-putting thing about the place, is that most of the soldiers who lay forever on that hillside were between 18 and 23 years of age. When I say most, I mean if there's a row of ten graves, seven will be in their late teens or early twenties. One guy was born three weeks before me and was killed in action in 2006 in Lebanon. I remember a year ago thinking about the young age of the soldiers. I now thought....well, I'll keep that to myself.

Next we went to Yad Vashem, Israel's Holocaust museum. Again, this was my third time within a year. But it's always an important place to go to if in Israel. If you haven't been to a Holocaust museum, please find one to visit. There's a great one in Washington, DC, and one recently opened near my town in northern Chicago. Yad Vashem, and my tour guide, really hammered home the point that the Nazis made the Jews out to be non-human, something aside from humanity. I could talk for hours about the museum and the Holocaust, but suffice it to say, as I've mentioned before, it reinvigorates me with a renewed sense of purpose in my service.

Afterwards, we went to Gush Etzion, an area in the Judean hills in the West Bank. The story behind Gush Etzion, briefly, is this: during the aliyahs of the early 20th century, many Jews wanted to settle this land that is believed to have been a passageway for Abraham and Isaac before they reached Mt. Moriah for the binding; King David slew Goliath in these hills; and other biblical stories. The climate was difficult, the soil rocky, and the surrounding people hostile. During the War of Independence, one day before the State of Israel was created, all the defenders of Gush Etzion were massacred by the Jordanian legions. The children of these Jews, having been evacuated weeks earlier, grew up and vowed to one day resettle the land. That opportunity came in 1967 when Israel reclaimed control of Judea and Samaria. Now, there are a few thriving communities in the area and a yeshiva for the study of Torah. It is a great testament to the will of the Jewish people to reclaim their land, a story of yearning and a hope fulfilled.

The next day, we were given a "tour" of Jerusalem's Old City, courtesy of our mefakedets. Hardy the best tour of anything I've ever received. I've lost a lot of respect for my mefakedet. At the yeshiva, my tzevet sat in a chet and our mefakedet asked us about our day, what we thought of Har Hertzl, Yad Vashem, Gush Etzion, etc. I told them, point-blank, "I feel like I'm on Birthright" not in the freakin' IDF. I'm sorry, but I don't really care to talk about what it was like to see twenty year olds buried in the ground with an eighteen year old girl who doesn't know anything about me, what I'm thinking, or who I am. What a load of crap this place and these people can be at times.

But on a high note, we were given time to ourselves at the Kotel, the Western Wall. And as the sun was setting, my entire plugot formed a big chet on the plaza in front of the Wall. We're about 100 soldiers, plus thirty or so commanders; needless to say, we took up a considerable area. We're standing with our berets on, at attention in formation, tourists stopping to take pictures or video, wondering what was going on. We all shout responsively in unison at the appropriate times, creating a small, thunderous echo off the surrounding buildings. The MemPay spoke some words, which I couldn't hear, but at the end of the ceremony, we were each given a military-issued Tanach, a book of the Torah, Prophets and Writings, essentially Judaism's entire Written Law. And its pretty awesome because it has the IDF insignia on its cover. This is just another example how I can be face-down, crawling through cow droppings one day, and standing in formation, in front of the eyes of Jerusalem, receiving an IDF edition Tanach.

Finally, that night, I ate dinner with another soldier with a family who lived in the area. Before we left base, the HaSammelot asked us who would want to eat dinner with a family who wants to get to know lone soldiers for Thursday night. I volunteered, and it was great. I got a great meal, spoke Hebrew the whole time, and now have some people who were genuinely interested in helping make my life here easier. Israelis can be incredible people.

A lot happened over the past two weeks. I'll leave the heavy thoughts, feelings, and emotions for next week. I'll just say that now it's getting to crunch time to deciding whether I want to go to the Tzanchanim gibbush, try to get into Nahal with my medical profile, or go to Totchanim (Artillery). The HaSammelot gave us a presentation about each of these units before we went to Jerusalem. I think we're going to learn more this week, but that is still to be determined. And I feel completely out of world events. Apparently the Arab world is on fire. We'll see what that means for Israel in the comings weeks. 'Til next time, you stay classy!

PS- if you want to get a quick look into what my life is like, check this out:http://www.jpost.com/VideoArticles/Video/Article.aspx?id=207527

Life speeds up; Life slows down

I've taken the train from Tel Aviv, on the coast in the center of the country, north to Acko a dozen times over the past month. I travel from the middle to the northern part of the country in less than an hour and a half. I've always noticed the remarkable smallness of Israel, but for whatever reason, it became more than apparent this weekend. In the same time it takes to cover half the length of the country (and virtually the entire length of habitable Israel, considering half of the country's land is uninhabitable desert), I could hop on a train from my home in suburban Chicago to the center of the city; barely any measurable distance when compared to the entirety of the length of the United States. From the relative plains of warm, coastal Tel Aviv, to the cooler temperatures of the elevated Galilee valleys in the foothills of the Golan, Israel has perhaps the most diverse topography of any country in world, especially given its size.

Every Friday morning, I wake up at 3:30 am to come home and every Sunday morning I return to my base in the north. I join the throngs of Israelis traveling to work. I join the hundreds of soldiers who pack the trains to continue their military service. Nothing unusual about seeing soldiers milling about the cities. Any other place in the world, and you would think the country is at war. But not in Israel. Everyone is, was, or will be a soldier.

This week was the first full week of "course Ivrit," aka ulpan. We are now completely into learning Hebrew mode and out of basic training. So what does that mean for us on a daily and weekly basis? Well, we no longer run everywhere, we are "supposed" to get longer hours to sleep, and there's certainly an overall sense of ease and comfort; dare I even say "relaxation"? In addition, on Sunday evening, our machlekah gathered in a classroom, as we often do, and our sammelot told us about some policy changes that are now in effect: improved privileges and harsher sanctions. One on the one hand we are allowed to visit the "shekem" on certain breaks, a store where guys buy mainly cigarettes, but also candy, drinks, etc.; we can run around the base at night for exercise, and most recently, we no longer have to clean our rooms in the morning in four, five or six minute sets. However, on the other hand, if we are late to reporting to base on Sunday, we stay two hours on Friday plus the time you were late; if you're late to chet for more than 30 seconds throughout the week, you stay extra on Friday; ultimately, getting a "shabbat" has now become easier. I honestly never thought the word "shabbat" would ever fill me with such dread and unease. But the army can chalk that one up as a success.

This was a fun week, although it began with a feeling of trepidation. To begin with, it rained all Sunday afternoon and evening. What a way to begin the week. Then I started to get into it with some of the Russians. I don't want to get into scuffles with these guys, but we clearly don't like each other. It's no big deal, sometime just some pushing, a couple stare downs, but then life goes on. It's not worth getting into a fight with them: a) this is Mikveh Alon, hardly the real army; and b) I'm here to learn Hebrew, not focus on petty, immature bullshit, especially in a language I can't understand, and especially especially after being recognized by the Mem Mem as the leading soldier of the unit. Bottom line, it's clear that our tzevet is divided by the Iron Curtain.

But then an amazingly odd and wonderful thing began to take shape. Come Friday morning, the English speakers and Russian speakers in our machlekah began gelling as never before. Things aren't great, but it's certainly a turn-around from where I thought we were heading just a few days before. How'd this miracle happen? From perhaps the stupidest game every invented, one that I had played when I was in elementary school. You make a circle with your finger and thumb and try to get someone to look at it. If they do, you get to punch them in the arm. This silly, immature game has helped the soldiers begin to actualize Reagan's plea: "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" We'll see how this next week begins.

The tension within my tsevet made certain periods of the day seem to drag on. But overall, the day moves pretty quickly. We get up, clean our rooms for over an hour, eat breakfast, have Hebrew class, sometimes other activities for the entire machlekah, lunch, more Hebrew, Tzironut (learning about Zionism), dinner, time to work on "homework", free time, bed. Sun comes up (after already being up for over an hour) and the sun goes down (then we go to sleep three to four hours later). Somehow, the day begins and is over before I realize it.

Also each day we have, what the commanders call, "sport." Basically, it's exercise. One day, it's a 2 km run at five in the morning followed by pushups and situps; another day, it's three or four stations involving lunges, various pushups, wall sits, etc.; and one evening we learned Krav Maga. Hell yes! What is krav maga? It's the IDF's martial art; it literally means "fight" and "touch," sort of like hand-to-hand combat. No joke, the hour krav maga session we had was the hardest workout I've had in the army yet, but that's honestly not saying much. A madrich (leader) from the Golani base where we had our shetach was our instructor. To begin with, he spoke (in Hebrew) about the basics and the purpose behind krav maga. From the little I learned the other night (and I will learn a lot more once I join a unit in March), this fighting technique is intended solely to disarm and end your opponent, eliminate him as a threat, not merely to end the fight and leave, as is the focus of some martial arts techniques.

We all sat in a semi-circle around him and he pointed at me to stand up beside him and be his victim as he demonstrated the basics. Let me tell you, this fighting style works. The first thing he mentioned was why our hair is kept short: so you're enemy can't grab your hair and control your head and hence your body. The next critical spot on the head is the eyes: poke them, pry at them, anything. Then your nose. While a blow to the nose won't cripple your enemy, it will certainly disorient them. In addition, he placed his index finger on my upper lip and told me to walk forward. I tried, as hard as I could, but couldn't budge. Pretty effective. Then he focused on my throat. Knock it, punch it, grab it, rip it out; any of those are effective. Next was the back of my head, just above my brain stem. If you knock someone back there, it's surprisingly effective at making them disoriented. Finally, you can always go for the family jewels.

After this exciting demonstration (maybe not necessarily so for me), we were instructed to run in a ten meter by ten meter square. Upon his command, we would either jump to the ground and do a pushup or a situp or jump in the air. It gets tiring pretty quickly. Then we did שש ושש six and six: sprint to a line and back three times. Then again, and again. Then we did pushups, but ones where he would count "one" and we would lower ourselves as close to the ground as possible, and hold it until he said "two," then raise back up. Pain and exhaustion, he told us, is all mental. Finally, we hit something. Ok, it was a sleeping bag, not too exhilarating, but still something. He showed us how to punch, kick, and smash your enemy's head on your knee. Not bad for a short krav maga introduction!

One day, during one of our "sport" workouts, we saw (and heard) a pair of jet fighters practicing air sorties and dog fights in the area. Now I don't mean off in the distance, over unpopulated open areas. Not a chance. Instead, these guys flew low and they flew fast, darting between hillsides and villages, soaring straight up into the sky, twisting and turning, inverting their planes in large majestic loops, inspiring awe in each of us, and making us completely ignorant of our commanders' orders to continue our workouts. Right then and there I was ready to say goodbye to Mikveh Alon and sign up for the Israeli Air Force!

It might seem that the days are exactly the same. While this is true compared to tironut, where we never really knew what we were doing at any moment on any given day, each day has not been the same. One day I was pulled from my tsevet in the morning and handed over to a commander in charge of cleaning the base. Glorious work. For the next nine hours, four of us picked up trash, swept leaves and replaced garbage bags. The work frustrated me. Most of the time we had breaks. In total, I worked less than two hours, but it took me the entire day and into the evening. During tironut I would have been thrilled to do this work; but during Hebrew learning, I would much rather be in the classroom. I wish I could have been told at the beginning all of the work I would have to do for the day, complete it, then return to class. But no such luck; unfortunately, the army isn't always interested in efficiency and how to put its soldiers to the best use.

Thursday was the Jewish holiday of Tu Bishvat. It's a lesser known but very important day in the Jewish calendar. In short, it's a festival for the trees and to begin the planting season. It's a day when Israelis go out of their homes and into nature, to help plant trees and preserve the environment. Especially in light of the Carmel fire just a few months ago, this holiday was very important for rebuilding the forests, towns, and lives destroyed by the flames. (Quick and fun Jewish fact: in Jewish law, it is forbidden to unnecessarily destroy trees during war.) That morning, the entire base gathered in the center of the complex in observation of the holiday and to hear a few words from the base's commander. After an hour of not understanding what was said, we went back to our classrooms to learn Hebrew.

But I am learning Hebrew. My comprehension of orders and conversation I overhear is noticeable better than even a few weeks ago. While I am not always able to speak fluidly and maintain a conversation, I can understand the gist of what is said. The Hebrew course will certainly not make me fluent in about five weeks. I have no doubt that I will be able to understand orders and commands. What I still am not sure of is my ability to have a meaningful conversation with my fellow Israeli soldiers. However, I just recently found out that it is common for non-Hebrew speakers to continue learning well into their tironut. That's certainly promising for my language skills.

Finally, one last, and BIG, bit of information: I am strongly considering trying out for צנחנים "Tzanchanim," or Paratroopers. Yes, paratroopers. Where did this come from?! Well, in short, it's something that I've known is an option for Mahal soldiers. To begin with, I've known that Mahal can go into Nahal (which most often the case), Golani, Givati and Tzanchanim, although to do the paratroopers requires a commitment of two years. On Monday, my mefakedet asked our tsevet who was interested in gibbush (tryout) for Tzanchanim. They are not going to be held for a couple months, but I raised my hand and have thought about it for the past week. I found out that I may be able to serve only the eighteen months even in Tzanchanim. It's also an all-volunteer, more elite unit. Do they jump out of planes? Well, yes and no. "Yes" because they wouldn't be called paratroopers if they didn't paratroop. And "No" because from all I hear, the only jumping they do is a few ceremonial ones during training; parachuting isn't necessarily needed or used in the Israeli military arsenal. I've read online from other guys' blogs who have done the gibbush what it is like. It seems real intense, though not impossible. There are a handful of us who are interested in Tzanchanim. Together, we've started to train to get back into shape. Yes, get "back" into shape. But it's the army! Shouldn't they be sculpting my body? Yes, but not now. I was working out consistently before December 15th, and now especially that tironut is over, we're not running as much or being punished with pushups as often. We do more "sports", and the krav maga was intense, but with all the food we can eat at meals and the lack of constant physical exercise, my strength has definitely diminished from what it was just over a month ago. I need to again bust my ass to get prepared and ready for an extended, intense tironut. And this would be even longer and more challenging and demanding if I did Tzanchanim. One of the things I need to consider over the next month is if I am ready and willing to do a service that is more intense than the norm.

So life on a daily basis has slowed down. Routine has set in. The pace is steady and the day plods along. But it goes relatively smoothly and the days, at least this past week, advanced steadily and in quick secession. We'll see about this week.

I think there was something else I wanted to discuss in this post, but can't recall right now. I'm tired, and it's only 9:30 on Saturday night. I need to catch an early train back north to go back to base. Let Operation Look Forward to the Weekend begin!

Oh, and the picture: it's me burning my beret. All new recruits take their berets, burn off the fuzz, shave the excess, tri-fold it and place it in water over night, then unfold it and keep it under a heavy object for a day to give it the proper look and shape.

The Final Countdown

Winter is here! What a change of weather since the photo I posted on my last entry. The rain that Israel so desperately needs has finally come...in droves! It first started with cooler temperatures ("cooler" being in low 60s or upper 50s, although some parts of the north reported snowfall), then came darkening skies and lightning, quickly followed by deafening thunder claps. I'm tellin' you, G-d sure knows how to put on a show in His house! That was Friday morning and early afternoon. The day then turned bright, the sun came out, and David, Amy, the kids and I went to the boardwalk on the beach to watch the sunset. To our north, we could see occasional lightning bolts cut across the sky, providing a dull purple glow to the dark and menacing storm clouds.

Yesterday morning, the storm kicked into high gear. Gusting winds knocked over trees and power lines all over Tel Aviv. Our apartment building lost power for an hour. Today was no better. The rain comes in fits and starts, powerful and overwhelming one minute, gone the next. This has been Israel's driest year since records were first kept in 1927, and this rain spell probably won't be enough to provide for the country's needs. The Kinneret's water level, the largest body of freshwater and beginnings of the Jordan River, is at the black line, past the red line. Translation: that ain't good.

I battled the elements today when I returned to Tel Hashomer to pick up my tzav hagiyus (draft form). Three days before the date I've been planning for months to enlist, it is finally official. I also picked up two forms that confirm my status as a chayal boded.

What's left to do before Wednesday? After Tel Hashomer, I went to a mall in Tel Aviv and finally bought my own cell phone. Why didn't I do this weeks ago when I first got here? Every cell phone company has a special plan or rates for soldiers. Naturally, I sought out these plans. However, a subscription requires two things: an Israeli bank account and an IDF letter confirming my draft date. I got the former weeks ago, the latter just today. And David and Amy were kind enough to let me borrow one of their phones for the past month.

Over the past few days, I've been preparing a mental list about what to bring to Mikveh Alon. I'm fortunate to have two good Israeli friends who, while serving in the IDF, were on my Birthright trip last winter, Sam and Ben. Their suggestions and advice have helped me prepare, know what to expect, what to bring and what to leave behind, how I should conduct myself, etc. For the most part, the IDF supplies everything for me. They suggest I bring a stopwatch, knife, flashlight, etc., not all of it necessary but suggested nonetheless. In addition, being winter and moving north to a colder climate and higher altitude, Ben gave me warm socks, thermals, and other warm gear. He also threw in some tips on how to clean my canteen, stay awake during lessons, and other useful information. Sam told me that he has a couple locks I can use.

Both these guys are great friends and a primary support system I will constantly turn to throughout my service. I have my family (David and Amy and co.) but I'm sure I will want to talk with guys my age who have done the whole song and dance. This past Friday, Sam invited me over for Shabbat dinner. His family and some of their friends all sat down to a wonderful home-cooked meal. Everyone in Israel comes home for Shabbat dinner, he commented. Even if they're not religious, Friday night is a time for family. Unfortunately, I don't believe the same can be said for families in the States. Be that as it may, I want to point out the amount of care and compassion people in Israel have for one another. I've alluded to this in previous posts, but want to emphasize it here. When I left Sam's, his mother and father each impressed upon me how welcome I am to stay for a meal or a weekend during my service. It was a gracious overture on their part, and on the drive back to Tel Aviv, Sam made sure I understood that their offers are sincere.

Perhaps the one word I would use to describe Israelis (despite the plethora of different people and backgrounds that comprise this tiny state's citizenry) is "passionate." You're not partaking in a true Israeli conversation unless one or both of you starts to shout. Let me explain. Driving here, I will admit, at first seemed downright dangerous. Especially coming from America, with big lanes, big cars and lots of cops around, Tel Aviv's narrow, curving roads, bustling with small cars and more Vespas and motorbikes than you can count, and of course, the seeming lack of a police force make this transportation's wild west. Although I have not driven yet, riding a bike on the sidewalk is a risk all by itself. The Vespas are allowed to go on the sidewalks and people rarely care to abide by the designated bike lanes on certain streets. The stoplights are something different altogether. Before the light turns green, the orange light turns on with the red light, then to green. Why? Well, I think it was originally because most cars were manual, so it allowed the drivers to shift into gear before the light turned green. (Now, most cars are automatic.) This led to a mentality that expected the car at the head of the lane to be halfway into the intersection by time the light changes. If not, expect to hear a chorus of honking. People shout out windows all the time, swerve between lanes, Vespas dart between cars and trucks, buses randomly stop to pick up passengers, delivery trucks block entire lanes for unload their goods...all kosher in Israel. Nobody is mad at one another; they're just annoyed by the current situation and are not afraid to express their opinion.

The newspapers are abuzz with controversial policies and questionable actions. What should the IDF's policy be on conversions? Should Jews not sell or rent homes to Arabs or Druze? What to make on the recent wave of Latin American countries recognizing a Palestinian state? Hamas recently launched a series of mortar attacks into Israel: what should the response be? How do we properly thank the international community for its outpouring of support in the wake of the Carmel fire? Can we trust Obama or is it time to recognize him as the spineless, anti-Israel leader that he is? Ok, perhaps that last one was slightly, but not entirely, off-base.

Israelis care. Life here is constantly moving forward. TIME magazine's September cover story was about the peace process and how supposedly "Israel don't care about making peace." Bullshit. Israelis care. It's innate in the Jewish soul to care about another human being. In today's Jerusalem Post, op-ed contributor Katie Green shares a personal story about her son serving on the Egyptian border ("The gloves are off," Jerusalem Post, Dec 13, 2010). One of Israel's most pressing problems is the influx of refugees from Africa who cross inhospitable terrain, hostile governments, and come to Israel hoping for a chance at...money to send back to their families? No. Fame? Absolutely not. A chance to live? Yes. The Darfur refugee who risks everything crossing the Sinai peninsula, evading Egyptian troops who are likely to use these refugees for target practice, doesn't care what slurs the world hurls at Israel. He wraps his arms around Green's son, thankful to be out of reach of any Arab government. In the Jewish state, he will be taken in, processed, given a warm bed and a hot meal, and released into the only free society in the region. To say Israelis don't care about Palestinians is just wrong. Israelis care about peace because conflict isn't the answer, but sometimes the necessary route.

If conflict comes, then so be it. Israel knows how to defend itself. It also knows how to go on the offensive and try its hardest to prevent civilian casualties...even among the enemy's population! (What I am referring to here is the historically unprecedented actions Israel took during Operation Cast Lead to warn Gazans of its impending operation. This included: dropping leaflets from planes, specifically stating which buildings were going to be attacked; calling and text messaging Gazans warning of attacks; dropping fake bombs on roofs to disperse people who were sent up by Hamas to become 'martyrs'.) And if Israel goes to battle, then I shall go with her. As it looks right now, not as a foot soldier. My health profile does not allow me to be in infantry. Instead, my options are tanks, armored corps, artillery, or army engineers. None of this is certain. In three months, after Mikveh Alon, I will know where I will serve.

I have my supplies ready to report on Wednesday morning at 8:00 AM. I'm excited. It is certainly a new adventure, unlike anything I have done and will likely never do again. I will learn things that only soldiers will know. Not necessarily how to fight or shoot, but rather what serving in a military means. I will be able to add my name to the historical annals of those who have ever served in a military (see my first blog entry). The military will test me physically, emotionally, and mentally. It will be an incredible challenge. I will be given a number, become a statistic; my entire existence will be stamped on a small metal square to hang around my neck. But I will be proud of my uniform. Proud of what it stands for. Proud to serve a people, and not some dictator. Proud to serve in one of the world's finest and most elite militaries. Proud to be in the world's only Jewish army.