Purim within, Purim without

This has been, without a doubt, the most interesting week of my life.  I truly experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.  Yes, even higher than receiving the Tanach at the Western Wall a few weeks ago.  That event was the culmination of something: the conclusion of Mikveh Alon.  Big whoop, right?  True, it was an incredible honor--as a soldier and as a Jew--to stand at that special and holy location and receive Judaism's Written Law.  However, this week brought me even higher because of its potential.  So what the heck am I talking about?  I'm talking about Tzanchanim!  I know, I'm starting to sound redundant starting to sound redundant sorry sorry; "hasn't he already mentioned the Paratroopers like a dozen times in each of his last posts?"  Yes, I think I have, haha.  But this time is so much different.

Before I explain, however, I want to mention a few new things about this blog.  First, I recognize that I use foreign military terms and whether this is your first time reading my blog or you are a faithful follower, it is unlikely you are familiar with all of the lingo.  As per my dad's suggestion, I created a link on the right that translates the terms into English.  In addition, on the left hand side I added ways to make it easier to keep updated on my blog.  The "Search this Blog" is also a way to find specific information in my writing.

Let me start from the beginning, from the hellish depths of the first few days of this week, to the top of the world and beyond (almost literally) at the end.

On Sunday, those of us from Mikveh reported to the Tel Hashomer base for our draft into the regular IDF units.  There are three draft dates in the IDF: March, August and November.  This week, all new soldiers would be sorted and sent to their units; needless to say, the place assumes a zoo-like atmosphere.  As dysfunctional (I say that with all my love) as the IDF is, this week brings it to an entirely new level.  In fact, at one point, my friend Michael commented that the base reminds him of a refugee camp.  You'll soon understand why.

To begin with, as we all sit on benches, waiting to see the ktsin miyun (officer who drafts us), my MemMem pulls me aside and, once again, brings up the issue of my 72 health profile!  He said he doesn't know for sure if I am in Tzanchanim and should prepare myself to join another unit.  What a great way to start the week!  Maybe I'm becoming one of those guys who really wants something once it's no longer available (girls, freedom, Tzanchanim...), because I felt my heart drop.  Suddenly I felt like an outsider looking in.  But when I went to see the officer, our conversation went like this (in Hebrew): "You want Tzanchanim?" "Yes."  "Best of luck."  "Thank you."  Bada bing bada boom.  Done.

But not for long.  That night we slept in tents, the same ones we slept in for the gibbush.  Or rather, I didn't sleep; no sleeping bag, frigid night, terrible.  In the morning, every soldier received a number, which indicated where he would serve.  While all the Tzanchanim guys received 601, I got 660.  They were all called off and I was left standing at the end with a dozen random guys.  No one from Mikveh.  Apparently, we all had profile issues and needed to be checked by a doctor before being sorted.  Not this issue again!  Back to feeling nervous.

Long story short (or rather, I can't exactly divulge all the details of what occurred that day), I went to see a few doctors about my profile and got it raised to an 82!  I can do infantry!  Tzanchanim here I come!  I went to see the ktsin miyun and (I think) he said I was in Tzanchanim, but the next day I needed to come back to see a Mishakit tash.

I returned to base the next day, not quite certain the purpose of needing to see the social worker.  A slightly irrational fear grew inside me that maybe I really wasn't going to Tzanchanim, that they needed someone who would tell me and figured a Mishakit tash could let me down easy.  But let me be clear: the sole purpose for me being on base that day was to see the Mishakit tash.  I sat around for hours in the morning and hours in the afternoon, just to have the Mishakit tash tell me in a ten minute meeting that my request to move to a kibbutz was on hold until I went to a new base.  Thank you very much for wasting my time!

Monday and Tuesday evenings I played the role of poor lone soldier, no one told him he would be on base for more than one night, he has issues to take care of at home, yada yada yada, bs bs bs....and I was able to go to Tel Aviv and sleep in a nice warm bed both nights!  I definitely worked some magic!

Also on Tuesday, the new Chief of Staff Benny Gantz (a Tzanchan) made a visit to Tel Hashomer.  Of all the days!  The few dozen of us still left from the previous day because we had one issue or another were in lockdown and stayed put in one corner of the base for three hours!  It just added to the tension, nerves and uncertainty I was experiencing, not truly knowing if I was going to be a tzanchan, not trusting what anyone said until I signed a contract.  But after the meeting with the Mishakit tash, I sprinted back to see the ktsin miyun, who said that I was for sure going to Tzanchanim!  I started to breathe easy.

Again I went home that night and returned the following morning.  This time, I was 601!  Finally!  But my excitement, once again, was dulled as the two dozen of us going to either Tzanchanim or Nahal were put to doing clean up around the base all morning.  All the other Tzanchanim guys (from Mikveh) had gone to the base on Monday.  We were still left, uncertain of our future, and the last thing we needed were stupid officers not telling us what was going on and making us run in circles around the base doing a lot of nothing.  We know we needed to get our uniforms and gear (I just needed a new uniform top) and wanted to get it as soon as possible so it would be official.  After lunch, I decided to take matters into my own hands.  I stole away from my group and met up with a friend who knew how to get a uniform.

All the soldiers who were waiting for something were penned up in this one area of the base.  There were benches with a tv, but really a lot of people just milled about, waiting, not knowing, frustrated.  There was one window where jobniks handled our cases, and the line took forever.  I went to this window, explained what was going on, and that I needed a uniform, who sent me (mostly lies), etc.  I then waited an hour for my name to be called.  A soldier from Kfir (an infantry unit in the West Bank that specializes in urban combat) told me to sit down, that I had a problem.  Not again!  I'm not sitting down.  Listen buddy, a ktsin miyun had told me three times that I was going to Tzanchanim.  He told me to wait, checked out my profile or whatever, then returned and told me to follow him.

As we walked, I angrily asked him where I was going.  "Golani."  "No.  Hell no, I am not going to Golani."  "Yes you are.  What's wrong with Golani?"  "Nothing's wrong with it, but I want Tzanchanim.  What does that paper say."  "Nothing, it's not for you to see."  "You better show me that paper."  "No, but you're going to Golani."  "You better not be fucking with me.  I swear, you better load some bullets into your gun because if you tell me I'm going to Golani, I'm coming after you."  "Haha, it's all good.  You're going to Givati."  "Still no.  It's Tzanchanim or nothing."

 He looked at me and laughed.  We reached a building where I saw a bunch of soldiers from my group that day huddled outside.  We walked in and the Kfir soldier handed the paper to one of the jobniks there: "this guy's going to Tzanchanim."  YES!!!  I shared a quick laugh with the Kfir soldier who I think appreciated the anxiety I felt.  He first said I was in shock--Israeli military slang for someone who, just as in English, is in shock by being in the army and his new life.  I told him I wasn't in shock, I was just angry, frustrated and fed up with being in limbo for the last three days.

Side note: randomly, I thought a lot this week about the Greek myths of Prometheus and Sisyphus.  Prometheus is chained to a mountain and every day an eagle eats his liver, which regrows each night.  Sisyphus is made to roll an immense boulder up a hill, just to have it roll back down, for eternity.  The point here is that they are both in limbo (or maybe their form of a Hell) and destined to do nothing for an unforeseen amount of time.  And now I return to my friend's comment that life was like a refugee camp: uncertainty, frustration, anxiety.  It made me want to pull at my own skin.  What made it worse is that the place has a carnival atmosphere, like Purim, but not in the good way.  There is so much miscommunication.  You go to one place and they send you to another and the next place doesn't know who you are or why you're there.  There is overlapping and underlapping.  Incompetence and incredible incompetence.  I spoke a lot of Hebrew, but also went to English when it became too frustrating.  And that was often the case.

In order to receive anything in the army, you have to return something.  In this case, Paratroopers have a special uniform top, so the guy needed my two Aleph uniforms.  I gave him the one I had on and wove some story about not having a second because I never needed one, knowing the whole time that it sits neatly folded, still in its packaging, in Tel Aviv!  A Paratrooper's uniform is different than the rest of the army's.  The material is slightly thicker and somewhat glossy.  It has four pockets: the breast pockets and one more below each.  In addition, and this makes it awesome, the uniform is fitted, which makes me look extremely sexy and bad@$$ if I may say so myself.  Finally, out of tradition, Tzanchans don't tuck their uniforms into their pants.  Instead, you leave it hanging out and tie the belt around the outside.  The "skirt" is something to be proud of.

And proud I am.  Damn proud!!!  Even more so than on December 15th, I feel like an Israeli soldier.  Although I haven't done anything yet, I feel such a sense of accomplishment.  Just wearing the uniform is intoxicating.  I am so happy to be in Tzanchanim now.  It is the highest I think I have ever felt in my life.  It is because of the potential of what wearing the uniform means that makes it even more fulfilling than receiving the Tanach.  The uncertainty of the past few days made me realize how badly I wanted Tzanchanim.  I would not have been satisfied with any other unit.  I am a Tzanchan!

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To make this week even better, I recently gained additional employment: I am now a blogger for the Jerusalem Post (click)!!!  This occurred only in the last week and is a true testament to how this country functions; people knowing people who are more than willing to help others.  My blog on JPost will focus more on being a lone soldier and less on my daily activities.  I will try to contribute a post about as often as I do here.  But realize that as I am beginning basic training, my postings will become less frequent as I will not be home every weekend.  I have a link on the left for my JPost blog.  Thanks for reading and the comments, emails and Facebook messages I receive.  I'm glad my experiences and writings are helping others find information, comfort, excitement, or simply ways to kill time, haha!

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This weekend is the holiday of Purim, a remembrance when the Jewish people were miraculously saved from liquidation at the hands of the Persian Empire.  It was perhaps even a darker time in Jewish history than the Holocaust; the entirety of the Jewish people were at risk of being massacred by King Ahaseurus's chief advisor, Haman, only to be saved by Queen Esther, a Jew, at the urging of her cousin, Mordechai (for more specifics, see Wikipedia, click here, or type "Purim" into Google).  It is a carnival atmosphere (cruelly akin to Tel Hashomer), and walking around Tel Aviv yesterday reminded me of my college campus on Halloween.  It is the day Israelis dress in costumes and get drunk.  Yes, even religious Jews are actually supposed to drink in excess.

But this holiday, tragically, comes in the wake of two very distressful events in the past week.  First, a Jewish family in the town of Itamar were brutally killed by terrorists (click).  The two parents were slain, as were three of their children, one a three month old girl.  The Fogel family's slaying again brings to the fore for me the tenuous situation that exists between those who wish to live in peace and those who want to prevent it.  (Although I am generally not a fan and can't bring myself to link it here, I do suggest you find Glenn Beck's comments about the Itamar Massacre on YouTube.  His words echo Israeli sentiment.)

The second event was the stopping of the cargo ship the "Victoria" (click).  The IDF peacefully boarded this ship the other day and in the crates protected by a lock unusually strong for the supposedly benign contents of lentils and cotton, found about 50 tons of munitions, including a new missile system that can destroy ships.  It is said that this new weapon, known in Iran as the Nasr-1 and in China as the C-704, has the potential to have the same effect as Surface-to-Air Missiles (SAMs) had when they were first launched forty years ago: they can alter the strategic balance in any conflict.

And then just this morning, Hamas fired forty-nine mortars into Israel.  If Mexico or Canada did that to the US, it would be considered an act of war.  But here, Israel lives with it every day.  Reality bites.

!!!צנחנים

I'm in Tzanchanim!!! Paratroopers, here I come! (victory cigars) Starting tomorrow, Sunday, I report back to Tel Hashomer, that black hole of a base near Tel Aviv where time seems to stand still as getting anything done, from my Tzav Rishon to sitting around for hours on my first day of enlistment on December 15th, eludes everyone there. Once again I go to the Bakkum, the supply base at Tel Hashomer, will be issued (or reissued) military gear and apparel. It will, hopefully, be an opportunity for me to scavenge more things. I hear a major rule of thumb among soldiers in the IDF is that if you have the opportunity to gather extra gear, do it!

This was a short, final week at Mikveh. After our tekkes last Wednesday, we all left on Thursday, but the kravi (combat) soldiers had to report back on Sunday. Why? For forty-eight hours of shmirah, guard duty. Probably one of the stupidest uses of our time. Because Mikveh legally owned us for the entire week, they decided to stick us on guard duty, to protect the extremely secretive and strategically important goings-on at Mikveh Alon.

For me, my week started off with a visit to a moshav in the north. A moshav is like a more privatized kibbutz. If you want a full history on the socio-political workings of a kibbutz or a moshav, just go to Wikipedia. As I mentioned in my last post, I've been wanting to get out of Tel Aviv to live on my own for some time now, but the process can take a long time. The first thing to do is broach the idea of moving to your Mishakit Tash. What's that? The Mishakit Tash is essentially the social worker of the military. She's generally a young, very cute girl, assigned to a machlekah, whose job it is to make sure each soldier's needs are met...I'm talking about living arrangements, financial issues, personal things, etc. So I told my Mishakit Tash that I want to move to a kibbutz, and I mentioned a few specific places to her where some of my friends are staying. She got back to me at the end of the week and told me that the following Sunday, instead of returning to base, I would meet another Mishakit Tash at Afula bus station. That morning, we met in the bus station and waited for a man named Tsvika to pick us up and take us to the moshav. If you're a lone soldier coming to Israel, get to know Tsvika. He is unofficially the official "father" of lone soldiers. This man has so many connections throughout the country that it is often faster to get things done through him rather than the military (but no big surprise there, right?).

We went to a moshav, looked around, and met some of the people who make that place happen. I would be given my own apartment, with one bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. The moshav is located in a quiet low-lying area of the Galilee with a beautiful view of the surrounding hills and mountains. At the end of the visit, however, I decided the place wasn't for me. It was far removed from traffic hubs, which make it difficult to travel to Tel Aviv (where I still have lots of friends) or elsewhere. I went back to the Mishakit Tash that night and told her my thoughts. An hour before we left Mikveh for good on Tuesday, she came to me and said that I have the next available spot at one of two kibbutzim. Now I'm just waiting.

On the way back to base, the Mishakit Tash and I were waiting by the bus stop at Summit Golani when a car pulled up alongside us. The passenger window rolled down and who was the driver? The head of the entire freakin' base! He asked us if we wanted a lift back to Mikveh! We're always told before we leave for the weekends that we are not allowed to hitchhike (called tramping, in Israel). But I figured it was safe getting into his car, haha. It was nice to ride in a car and not an overcrowded bus. What a great (interesting) way to start the week!

I got back to base that afternoon and met up with the rest of my tzevet. The atmosphere was really relaxed for the two days we were there. Distance was broken between us and our commanders, we didn't have to run around places, we just had to go to our guard duty and report to different "classes" or for sports. For example, one day the MemMem of another machlekah taught our plugat how to read a map. The next day we watched an Israeli movie. Another time we had a few hours of Hebrew "class" where we just sat around and talked, in Hebrew, in English, it didn't really matter.

Monday night was a treat. I was one of a few English-speaking soldiers (but the only American) who were asked to say a few words before a group from Cleveland who came to Mikveh as they were interested in doing some English-tutoring volunteer work in the future. It was funny to hear everyone else introduce themselves in their heavily-accented English, say they're from this or that place in Israel, yada yada yada. "Hi, my name's Daniel, and I'm from Chicago." A few laughs followed as clearly they were not expecting an American, and we made short small talk about the Cubs, the snow, etc. It was fun. And it was funny that at the end my Hebrew learning, I spoke in English to a visiting group. Back in December, I did a similar thing, where I explained who I am, where I'm from, what I'm doing here, etc., but in Hebrew. Ironic. This also followed another "speaking appearance" I made a day before my tekkes to a group of Israeli boys studying in a yeshiva (a Jewish religious school). I was asked to say a few words about being religious in the army. It was fun and a great way for me to practice my Hebrew.

Sunday afternoon, before dinner, we were allowed to use the workout room! About time! It is a privilege reserved just for the commanders and officers. It felt real good to get back into a weight room; I haven't been in one since I left the US, instead I had been using the resistance bands I brought, doing pushups, sit-ups, and when in Tel Aviv, making use of their outdoor exercise areas along running paths. Monday afternoon we played soccer on one of the courts. Life was good.

It was during one of these Hebrew classes that my Mefakedet came up to me and told me to meet her outside for a minute. I had actually just discovered perhaps the most complex pen in the world. I was using my time to disassemble it, understand why it needed so many parts, and then reassemble it. I felt my time on this project was limited and extremely valuable, so I asked her if it could wait. 'No, come outside.' Of course, the pen then exploded and I, with ink all over my fingertips, went outside.

Now I'm not gonna lie: even after a few months of Hebrew, I really had no idea what my Mefakedet said. This could have been because I am nowhere near proficient, or it could have been that I stopped paying attention after she said that I passed Tzanchanim gibbush, and they want me in Paratroopers. B'hatzlachah! Hell YES! I didn't really know how to respond I was so pumped! She gave me an awkward high five and then told me who else got in. Of the eight guys in my machlekah who tried out, only four made it, all from my tzevet. In total, eleven soldiers from my plugat are invited into Tzanchanim. About eight guys from the other plugat (which speaks better Hebrew) passed the gibbush as well. I think about a third of those who tried out were invited into Tzanchanim.

So where did this desire to do Tzanchanim come from? I think it started last year on Birthright, when Ben, a former soldier and one of my friends here, told me that if I were to join the IDF, I should do Paratroopers. But that's probably not the serious beginning. When I signed with Mahal back in November, I was told that Tzanchanim is available for soldiers in Mahal, but that we'd have to sign on for more time than the eighteen month commitment I have right now. I was told I'd need to serve for two years. That time restraint dissuaded me from Paratroopers. During the last few months, both in and out of the army, I've thought about what life will be like for me if I do or don't join Tzanchanim. I initially signed up for the gibbush as a way to challenge myself. After completing the gibbush, and all the hurdles that came before it, becoming a part of Tzanchanim became much more real. In addition, a soldier in my tzevet commented that he had a buddy in Tzanchanim who was committed to only eighteen months. With that possibility now open, I went into the gibbush thinking that if I passed, then joining the unit would become a much more real possibility.

So why do I want Tzanchanim over the other options: Nahal, Givati or Golani? I'll first just say that I want it over Totchanim because I've always wanted to be in infantry. But I prefer it over the other three infantry divisions, and may be willing to spend more time in the IDF, because of Tzanchanim's history and prestige, even to this day. It is true that all four divisions pretty much do the same thing, just in different parts of the country (and they rotate territory every few years). The main differences between Paratroopers and the rest is that they have a gibbush (tryout) and they jump out of planes. Personally, I really want to join Tzanchanim for the masa koompta, literally "beret hike." At the end of the their training, every infantry division has a hike as a sort of culmination of their months of hard work. At the end, they are given their berets and have a tekkes as a formal acceptance into that particular infantry unit. For Tzanchanim, their masa koompta is well-known throughout the country. Because they were the ones who recaptured Jerusalem and the Old City from the Jordanians in 1967, Tzanchanim hike 75km (by far longer than any other unit's masa) and end up at the Western Wall, with all of the city out to welcome the conquering heroes.

There are other fashionable differences between Tzanchanim and other units, but I'll save that for later. One last thing that I want to mention is the photo of the Paratroopers at the Western Wall in 1967. For Israel, it is like the photo of the Marines hoisting the American flag over Iwo Jima during World War II. This photo, for me, captures a lot about why I am here. I have to do Tzanchanim.

After leaving Mikveh on Tuesday, I've had a few days off until I need to go to Tel Hashomer tomorrow morning. I've used this time to relax, watch some movies, have drinks with friends, meet up with old buddies. But I am really excited (even more so than in December) to start my service. I'm also excited to be going into Tzanchanim with some good buddies from Mikveh, although it is doubtful they will put English-speakers in the same tzevets. I'll just have to see. The weather was terrible since Tuesday; it was raining, cloud and cold. Today, however, is beautiful. One thing that I miss about this time in America is spring. David scoffed when I mentioned that earlier: "what are you talking about? Of course we get spring here!" To which I replied, "yeah, but with the heat today, for me it's like it's already summer." My point with spring is that after a (long) cold Chicago (or Champaign) winter, that first breeze from the south always brings tidings of good things to come. I would get excited about the possibilities for the summer. After months of applying to internships in Washington, D.C., with the idea of working there being nothing more than an abstract thought, the warmth in the atmosphere that accompanies the arrival of spring turns summer plans into a reality. Life is just better.

While I miss that breeze, I am warmed by finally becoming a (legitimate) part of the force that defends Israel. With Egypt down, Libya in flames, Iran on the rise, Lebanon teetering, and the Palestinian Authority more emboldened, Israel finds itself in a very precarious security situation. Did I come at the right time? I guess that depends on who's asking, haha! But I will say that--especially as a political science major, Arabic speaker, and Israeli advocate--I signed up without any disillusions about what Israel may be forced to do over the next few years. Damn, it feels good to be going to Tzanchanim!

(Some pretty cool news: my blog is now included on the Lone Soldier Center's forum [click]!)

bruised body/broken distance

My muscles burned and my body bruised as I crawled uphill towards the sandbag. My uniform, already smeared with dirt, moisture and foliage, tugged at my upper body as I dragged my legs forward.  I reached with my right hand and tried to grab onto anything to pull myself to a new position.  My hand sank into the dirt and I had to swivel my body to angle my left leg above my hip, anchor it into the soil and extend my body forward.  The Mefaked stood a few meters in front of me, shouting as us to get moving.  I put my head down for a second, gathering strength for a quick burst of energy.  "C'mon!" I yelled to myself, "isn't this why you're here?!  Don't you want to be down in the dirt, with your muscles aching?  Move your ass!"  I looked up and targeted a shallow depression, willing myself to reach it.  I pulled my forearms in close and began to raise my knees off the ground.  Trying my best to work my limbs in unison after crawling for over two hundred meters, I jetted forward, one forearm in front of the other, not looking up, just staring down at the earth, the rocks, the glass, ignoring all of it as I just kept moving, just kept moving, until I reached the Mefaked and shouted "Shteim!  Two!"

This continued for four hours.  From 4:00 to 8:00 in the morning, I put myself through the hardest physical workout of my life.  What was it all for?  To get into Tzanchanim, the Paratroopers.  A special infantry unit with a storied history: they were instrumental in Israel's victorious war against Egypt in 1956, and, most importantly, they were the unit that recaptured Jerusalem from Jordanian control in 1967 Six Day War.  There's an incredibly famous (and moving) photo of three paratroopers at the Western Wall, the first time ever that the State of ISrael had a definitive presence at Judaism's holiest site.  In remembrance of this incredible victory, Tzanchanim soldiers culminate hteir basic trianing in a 74km hike, ending at the Wall, with all of Jerusalem out to see their triumphant entrance after their daylong march.  In addition, Tzanchanim, as paratroopers, learn to jump out of an airplane; they do this five times during their training.  The final thing that distinguished Tzanchanim from the other infantry units is their gibbush, or tryout.  THe only purpose of the gibbush is to keep with the unit's tradition.  I'm certain that at one point they were a specialized or elite unit, but, especially since paratrooping is unlikely to ever be used again in wartime, Tzanchanim is seen as not unlike other infantry units.  For example, even though hundreds of new soldiers attend the gibbush, Tzanchanim is not allowed to take only the best soldiers.  They have to take the best of the best, the best of the middle, and the best of the bottom.  Why?  Because its demographic has to contain a range of soldiers, not simply the best; otherwise, the other units would be stripped of the best, as they would all be in Tzanchanim.  However, there were certainly many soldiers who went through the gibbush simply for the experience, without ever intending to go into Tzanchanim.

Initially, that was my approach.  I had heard that if I wanted Tzanchanim, I would have to extend my service to two full years.  It's a decision I've been wrestling with for some time now. But I'll explain more  about that later.  For now, you don't even know if I survived the gibbush....

I arrived at base as usual on Sunday, just before lunch.  That entire afternoon was spent rehearsing for our tekkes, a ceremony to be held that Wednesday as the culmination of our time at MIkveh Alon.  Out marching went on for hours.  Nothing exciting to report.  That evening, after dinner, those who were going ot the gibbush the next day were given instructions on what to bring, when to get up, etc.  We were to awake at 4:00 am, dress in our Bet uniforms, and bring with us our extra Bet uniform, as well as our Aleph uniform.  I was pumped as this was actually happening.  But then, my Mefakedet pulled me aside, away from the group, and sat me down. I knew this wasn't good.  Then she asked me a rhetorical question, "Daniel, what's your profile?"  I say it was rhetorical because they have always known that I'm a 72.  "Why?"  Because of my eyes.  Don't you remember when I was gone for a full day to go see an eye doctor?!  And you also asked me a bunch of questions a few weeks ago as part of the gibbush application and I specifically asked you about my profile, if it would be a problem!  "Well, as of right now, I don't know if you can go."  WHAT?!  Hell no!  I've always wondered how I can go; I've been told that a 72 cannot do infantry.  "I want you to be able to go.  I'll talk to my commander and then I'll wake you up and let you know."  Wonderful.  I love the last-minute ambiguity of the entire situation.  The gibbush guys went to bed around 8:00 at night.  As I was getting into my room, my Mefakedet told me to dress in my Aleph uniform to see the eye doctor the following morning.  I really don't know what exactly I was expected to do, because I knew there was no way any doctor would be on base at four in the morning, and I also knew that if they looked at my eyes, they would definitely tell me I couldn't go.  So I awoke with the rest of the guys and dressed in my Aleph.  Essentially, I eventually made my way onto the bus, although my name wasn't on the list.  I've ben told time and again, if you want something in the army, it's all a matter of getting on or staying off the bus.  In this case, I wanted to go, so I just got on the bus.

We drove to Tel Hashomer, the same base where I had my Tzav Rishon and reported for my first day back in December.  After arriving, we grabbed our Bet bags and sleeping bags, arranged them into pyramids, and formed a large chet in the center of the pavilion's basketball court.  There was already a sizeable crowd sitting on the bleachers, mainly Israelis in civilian clothes.  I have to admit, I gained quite a bit of confidence after showing up in my uniform.   One of the good things about Mikveh is that I am a soldier, and I know how to act accordingly, what to expect, etc.  Seeing the wide-eyed eighteen year old Israelis, with absolutely no military experience, staring at us in our perfect chet, shouting in unison, I got excited and pumped to begin the gibbush.

Unfortunately, things again took a turn for the worse.  The Tzanchanim officers formed everyone into groups of twenty or thirty.  Initially, all the Mikveh guys were put together--except a few others and me. I was eventually put with another group from Mikveh, but seeing all my friends together made me feel lost in the wind, to an extent.  I was already in a different environment, one where if you didn't know the Hebrew it was kinda tough luck.  Next, we went to see the medical team.  They took my temperature and pulse.  One of my friends, Mike, unfortunately, was sent home because he had a high temperature.  Then the doctor fo the gibbush had to clear us.  We had each previously been given our medical form, which the doctor had to sign off on.  (A quick backstory is required here: my mom has developed a potential hereditary heart condition and I needed to got o a doctor for a test to see if I was at risk.  I left base the previous Thursday, went to the hospital, got the test, and was cleared.  However, my medical form still said I was going to a cardiologist for my heart.)  When she looked at my form, she asked for the results of the test, which I didn't have.  "Can't let you do the gibbush until I see the results."  Not again!  Long story short, I called the hospital, they faxed the papers to Mikveh, who then faxed it to Tel Hashomer.  At this point, my unit had gone to eat and I was thrown into another group, this time with all Israelis.  Talk about feeling like a fish out of water.  And speaking of water, throughout the day, our Mefakeds ordered us to fill our canteens, drink the entirety, and hold it over our heads to prove it was empty.  These canteens are .75 liters.  I first thought it was one of the challenges of the gibbush, like they were going to make us run after, but the next day proved how thankful I was that we drank all that water the night before.

A few hours later, all 262 of us gathered on a basketball court, preparing to run the 2k.  They read the first forty names in alphabetical order, and continued until everyone's name had been called--once again, everyone but me and a few others.  Even though my last name begins with an "F", it is really a "פ, Pay" in Hebrew, the 18th letter.  Still, they didn't call me.  I think this all stemmed from me not really supposed to be on that bus.  But anyway, I ended up being number 252, and ran an 8:21.  The course was harder than the paved surface of Mikveh Alon when I ran an 8:07 the previous week.  It was on soft dirt (it had rained for a few hours in the morning) and the trail rose and fell a significant amount.  Regardless, I was pleased with my time.  Everyone was to change back into their uniforms (we ran in sport clothes) and go to dinner.

The next morning, we were to report in a chet at 3:30, wearing nothing but our Bet uniforms.  When I say nothing, I mean no undershirts or long johns.  Needless to say, it was frigid when we woke up at 3:00.  We were herded into an area where everyone at the gibbush stood in chet.  They began reading off names, forming new units.  Thankfully, I was in a group of 20 with some of my best friends from Mikveh.  Finally, I felt my spirits lift after thinking for hours that I would only be with Israelis.  We were given tags with numbers on them to hang on our shoulder epaulettes.  I was number "two."  The Mefaked in charge of our unit gathered us in a chet and we began.

Throughout the four hours, the Mefakeds would ask us our numbers.  If you did something really good or failed, they wanted to know our numbers.  They told us to each grab a sandbag from a pile.  I picked one up and returned to the chet.  The Mefaked looked at what I had grabbed, commented that it wasn't big enough, and then asked for my number.  What a great way to start.

We then carried the stretcher, two jerry cnas, and our sandbags and headed off into the field.  We stopped at a stretch of dirt road, tossed our sandbags into the grass and formed lines of there.  There was one bag placed uphill on the road about forty meters away.  "Spring there and back, form lines of three, fourteen seconds.  Tze!"  The road was too small for all of us to fit.  If you were at the front of the line, you could make it first.  Other times, I just sucked up the burn in my legs, and sprinted there and back, pushing past people as best I could.  If you were first or last, the Mefakeds asked for our numbers.  Then they wanted to know the top three people.  Next, we sprinted there and back twice, with the first four people back carrying the stretcher for the second time back.  This lasted a good forty-five minutes, sprinting there and abck thirty or forty times.  If you drank from your canteen, the Mefaked asked what you were doing and took your number.  You couldn't even piss without being given permission.

Next we were told to grab our sandbags and hold them over our heads.  Just stand there and hold them.  If you drop your bag or it falls below your head, they ask for your number and make you stand in the middle of the chet.  This went on for five minutes.  Then we threw them down, jogged back about twenty meters, and were ordered to crawl to the sandbag in the middle of hte path and back...go!  At this point, I was thankful we didn't have any clothing on underneath our uniforms.  I began to rethink this as I started to cut up and bruise my body with the crawling.  In total, we crawled over two hundred meters throughout the morning.  For the next couple of days, it hurt to rest my elbows on a table; I'm still finding scrapes on my body.

After a few rounds of crawling, we picked up all our materials and followed the Mefaked as he marched off into the bushes.  When we arrived at some location, we were given five minutes to make a three meter by three meter Star of David out of branches, brush, anything we could find.  Then we had to make the Tzanchanim logo.  This was to see how we interacted in a group.  Although almost all of us spoke English, we had to use Hebrew.  During the day we also had to decide as a group three pros and cons of women serving in the military, money in professional sports, speak about any topic for twenty seconds, and other conversational segments.  In addition, we had a challenge to complete: get everyone over a wall ten meters away, using only a wooden light post, an oil drum and a tire.  It was impossible to accomplish in the allotted time, but, once again, the exercise was designed to see our interaction.

Finally, we were led to a location with a square pull up bar.  Everyone was ordered up, eyes closed, and hold on as long as possible.  You could hear thuds as people jumped down, although it was often the Mefakeds trying to make us think that people were falling.  After a few rounds of this, we gathered our supplies and went on a last hike back to the entrance.  Our physical tests were done.

Next was the interview.  This was simple enough; for me, my interviewers said that they want to know all about me, my history, family, why I'm here, etc.  I started to speak in Hebrew.  They stopped me and said if I don't have the conversational ability to explain all that, then I should speak in English, and it wouldn't affect my score.  Well, I trusted them and spoke in English.  They were good guys who seemed genuinely interested in why someone from college would to Israel to fight.  They asked interesting, exploring questions.  They even seemed interested about this blog!  What up, guys!! Let me in to Tzanchanim!

Then that was it for the gibbush.  At the end of it, I was tired, bruised and dirty.  But I honestly felt that, perhaps except for the crawling, I could do the whole thing over again, no problem.  It was hard, but not really difficult.  The main purpose of the gibbush is for the Mefakeds to test our mental toughness.  I heard accounts of them kicking soldiers our of certain exercises, only to see if the individual would fight to get back in.  That didn't happen with my group.  Only one guy dropped, and I think it was because he was sick at the beginning.  In other groups, up to half of the soldiers didn't make it to the end.

If you're reading this and are planning on taking the gibbush, let me say this: never quit, never give up!  At the very least, don't give them the satisfaction.  Also, it isn't overly difficult.  Remember: the pain you feel is only temporary, literally only for those few minutes.  Don't regret not giving it your all just to get back into your comfort zone.  You're in the military now: you will never be comfortable.  Just keep on trucking.  And anything you try your best at, you feel great about later.  A little pain now can pay dividends later.  For me, even if I don't make Tzanchanim, I am proud of my performance.  I tried hard and I think I stood out.  Hopefully I'll find out in the next couple days.

We left a few hours later and returned to base.  That entire afternoon we worked on marching for our tekkes.  That evening was a fun event: soldiers from each country at Mikveh had come up with a few minute presentation about their country.  The Americans had some dance moves, others just showed YouTube videos about their country, etc.  It was a fun event.

The next morning, again we rehearsed.  Finally, our tekkes was in the afternoon, and we were done with Mikveh!!  That evening, we broke distance with our commanders.  They told us their names, and we could ask them personal questions, talk candidly about the past few months, and more.  It was fun to see the Russians' expressions when they found out that my Mefakedet understands Russian; they swore at her every day.  My Mefakedet also said that she had worked for eight months in the States, even living for a few weeks in a town twenty minutes from me!  With breaking distance came a relaxing of formalities.  The HaSammelot and MemMem also talked about themselves for a bit.  They're still our officers, but the atmosphere for that evening and the next morning was certainly more relaxed; we all felt at ease, filled with a sense of accomplishment.

We left on Thursday but are returning tomorrow for a few days of shmirah (guard duty).  The following Sunday is supposed to be my first day in my new unit.  I still don't know if it's Tzanchanim, Nahal, or Totchanim.  There are a lot of things still up in the air.  But I'm feeling good about the future.  Our Mefakedet asked us last Sunday if we were excited to be leaving Mikveh.  I answered with a resounding "yes!"  However, as the last week went by, I started to think about not living with English speakers, not seeing the friends I've made over the past three months, and just being thrown into an entirely new environment.  It's certainly going to be a challenge.  And I welcome it!  It's the ISRAELI DEFENSE FORCE!

the Israel Defense Force

My IDF service officially began!! It's been two weeks since my last post; I don't have my computer with me while on base. I get the weekends off (Friday morning to Sunday morning). This post will include what I started to write last week but didn't finish.

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I am currently in Tel Aviv. No, I am not done with the army. I was given the weekend off. I got up at 3:45am on Friday and need to report back at 10:15am on Sunday. Some weekend. The bus ride north from Tel Aviv to Carmiel will take about three hours. So tomorrow I will be getting up around 6:00, at the latest. The days are getting much longer.

On Wednesday, David drove me to the Lishgat Hagiyus in Tel Hashomer. I've been there so many times, I know the route by heart. We arrived at 8:00am, and by 9:00 my name was called over the loudspeaker, I boarded a bus with about twenty other guys, and we drove away...about three blocks to another location on the base. There we dropped off our bags, and were escorted into a building where we underwent a number of procedures. We had, essentially, mugshots taken, photos of our teeth and dental x-rays taken, blood drawn for DNA, and four vaccination shots. Next I met with two people, first to find out personal information such as bank account information, living conditions, etc., then another soldier to gauge my Hebrew level. Finally, we received our equipment. And wow, is it pretty awesome.

At Mikveh Alon, there are soldiers like me (Mahal) and those who made aliyah (Olim- Immigrants). Most are "jobniks"; they will serve the IDF in some clerical or menial position, like being a driver. Then there are others, like myself, who are "kravi"- combat. Both kinds of soldiers receive the same equipment except for a few items. We all get a uniform, with beret, belt, undershirts (white for jobniks, green for kravi), socks, dogtags, towel, shaving kit (a Gillette Mach 3, pretty awesome), and other smaller items. Kravi soldiers receive a nice large duffel bag, and jobniks get a smaller, tube-shaped one. Finally, and this is badass, kravi get heavy-duty red/brown boots that have previously only been given to elite units, namely the paratroopers. Jobniks get smaller black boots. The uniforms are simple, but sharp-looking. I'll post some pictures in the coming weeks.

After receiving our goods and dressing in our uniforms, we sat around for an hour, ate lunch, sat around some more, then finally boarded a bus to take us to Mikveh Alon. We arrived around nine at night, and were not done for the day. The next few hours was spent telling more soldiers the same information that we had already told so many people before; from the Tzav Rishon, to earlier in the day, to Mahal, etc. But now, they also asked different questions, such as "are you religious", "do you have any dietary restrictions", and others. The whole show is some big song and dance and would be much easier if they would put the information in the computer and one time and always be able to refer to it later. But then I guess many jobniks would be out of a job.

We were also organized into units, called tzevets. I am in tzeva shesh, unit six. We have a mefakedet, a commander. Most of the commanders are girls. Each unit is about fourteen soldiers; no differentiation between jobniks and kravi at Mikveh Alon, we're all in the same boat for now. Our basic order is called "chet," like the Hebrew letter. It is three sides of a rectangle, with three soldiers on either end and the rest in the middle. We also often have to form two perfect lines before moving locations. Regardless of our formation, we always stand at the same attention. Our legs together, toes pointed outward, forming about a 45 degree angle, hands overlapped on the middle of our backs. We are to be spaced one arm's distance from each other. There is virtually no saluting; when we want to get a commander's attention, we stop a few feet from them, stand at attention, and shout "Acshev, mefakadat!"

We didn't do much the first couple days. Mainly learning how to stand in line and walking all over base. We had to get up at 3:45 Friday morning to go home. But we didn't leave the base until close to 8. Why? Because we had to clean our rooms, leave it spotless, and keep our beds in perfect condition. I'll explain more later. That's about it for now. I had the weekend off, spent it with Ben in Rishon LeTziyon. Time for the first full week.

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What a grind this week was. First thing after getting back to the base (for which I had to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to get on multiple buses), was we were arranged in new tzevets, according to our Hebrew level, at least partially. I am now in Tzevet Sholosh, Unit Three. There are eleven people, four Americans, two British and five Russians. Russians are at Mikveh Alon largely against their will; their families emigrated from Russia or the Former Soviet Union to find a better life in Israel and their kids, as citizens, have to serve in the military like any Israeli. They don't like being there, and, to be honest, it shows. There's currently a big rift in our unit between the English speakers and the Russian speakers. It's mainly due to the language barrier. I hope it eases, because we have been doing a lot of running and pushups due to lack of coordination when forming into chets or lines.

The organization at Mikveh Alon is also starting to become clear. Each tzevet has between twelve and fifteen soldiers. Three tzevets make up a plugot, like three platoons making a company. There are six plugots at MA. The commander of each plugot is called the HaSamelot. She's a real ball-buster. Hard as rocks and completely unforgiving. Everything has to be perfect. When we form into a "chet gadol/big chet" for the plugot, she addresses us to tell us about something important or allow us to go to a meal. If someone moves without permission or talks without being spoken to, or even forgets to say "ken, HaSamelot/Yes, commander" then he is told to do ten or twenty pushups. If he says the wrong thing when trying to get back into formation, because he has to ask permission to get back in, he's sent to do another set of pushups.

Each day starts at about 4:30 or 5 in the morning. We wake up, change, organize our beds, put our bags and sleeping bag perfectly on the mattress, report outside at a specific time, and then the next hour is spent with our mefakedet giving us 5 minutes to run back inside, shave and shine our boots (which most have already done), then run back outside, then inside for another few minutes to mop the floor and dust the room, then inspection by the HaSamelot, who often undoes our folded sheets just because she can.

Throughout the day we run everywhere: "See that lightpost 30 yards away? 20 seconds, run to it, get into two perfect lines. MOVE!" We always have to count backwards from 10 (in Hebrew) whenever our allotted time is up. Or: "30 seconds to run to that space just past the dumpster, form a chet (ח, our basic formation), MOVE!" If we're not perfect, we often have to run back to the previous spot. Or we may get 10 seconds to get ourselves perfectly spaced. Other times, like Thursday, when the mefakedet was upset with our unit, we ran all over the base for over an hour. We would be in chet, then have to run and touch a building with our canteens and get back into formation in 20 seconds. If people don't make it, we would do it again. I'm one of the guys in the best shape, too. We had a test the other day: situps, pushups, running. I think I did 86, 60 and was 19th in running. 19th because i stayed back with some people to encourage other guys in our unit. The test didnt really count; I'll 'place' in top 5 when it actually does.

We also got guns....but no ammunition. We're given the M-16A1 assault rifle, made in the USA. We have to carry it everywhere: eating meals, running places, taking a shit, going to the shower, everywhere. I know the parts of the gun in Hebrew (at least working on it) and how to clean and disassemble the firing pin/mechanism. I know the positions to shoot (like standing, crouching, prone, or amidah, kria, and shivat in Hebrew) and the commands. They are very strict with gun safety: no pointing it at anyone, never raise the barrel, always keep it pointed at hte ground.

Most of the day is spent...I dont even know how. We learn about the gun, have done some Hebrew lessons, like learning Hatikvah, the national anthem, nothing too serious yet, and was introduced to the higher ranking commanders. Most of the time I guess is spent running around, almost for no reason. For example, there are about 200 guys here for the ulpan. So we're all brought into this auditorium to hear from the base's psychologist, or a commanding officer or something. Then my company is given 3 minutes to run outside and form a chet. That's for 40 guys, half of whom are Russian with limited English and us with no Russian comprehension. We often don't make it, so we do pushups. Then we run back inside to hear from another commander. No point to it. We could've just stayed in our seats.

The other night, after our hour break, we had to report back outside with the entire company for the commander to say a few things, but basically give us our 5 minute warning before lights out. We can show up in pj's outside. Well, this night, people were talking or late to formation, so we all had to get back into our uniforms (and I and others had already showered) to do running and pushups for a half hour.

Anyway, this experience right now certainly is interesting. Do I like it? Let's just say 'like' is not in the vocabulary right now. It's different. It's what I signed up for; the running/pushups we are doing are not strenuous, just tiring. One of my toes started to bleed the other day from chafing. Its rough. But its kinda fun. 'Playing' soldier. Walking around with a gun. The first week (really less than two days), was a lot of sitting around. I said to David that I kinda wanted to start doing things and was anxious. He told me that I would soon learn to relish our breaks...and I am. Any few minutes we have to just not do anything is wonderful.

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.

Fire and Rain

It's been another week in Israel. The impending date of my enlistment quickly approaches. Well, that isn't really correct. "Impending"? Hell no! My enlistment approaches and I welcome it with, to be honest, a bit of apprehension and nervousness, but also plenty of excitement. Part of the uncertainty comes from the ample time I've had to consider what I'm doing with my life for the next eighteen months.

After last week's tzav rishon I've had nothing to do, save wait for my appointment today to get an eye exam. Seem random? Not quite. I guess the IDF doctor at lishgat hagiyus didn't trust my optometrist's records, so I had to return to Tel Hashomer this morning for an eye exam. In short, by the end of the day I had completed my tzav rishon and received my medical form. A friend told me earlier that my account of last week's experience helped him out, so I will quickly recount the following experience.

When I walked into the doctor's office, I told him I was wearing contacts. He gave me an incredulous look and exclaimed, "you need to have your contacts out for twenty hours before this test!" My heart dropped. No way was I gonna be turned away and required to return tomorrow, after not wearing my contacts or glasses all day and then be required to navigate the bus system without my sight. Unbelievable. Pretty much, I acted like an Israeli and pushed until I got what I wanted. He used drops to dilate my eyes and I took the tests. Bottom line, they were the exact same tests my optometrist performed earlier this summer and the doctor here got the same results.

When it was all said and done, another doctor told me my health profile score is a 72. What does that mean? The highest health score is a 97. The next highest is an 82. After that is 72. According to the doc, I cannot score higher than 72 with a prescription below a -6.00 (my eyes are worse than that). She said that I am still kravi (combat). What can and can't I do? Don't know yet. I'll find out in the coming days and weeks and will fill you in.

But, today I did not want to talk too much about myself. My life outside of army stuff hasn't been too exciting the past week. My best friend from home, Ben, is here; he made aaliyah (despite already being Israeli) and is joining the IDF as well. Outside of our experiences, Israel is undergoing quite a lot these days: Chanukah and fires.

Chanukah is a time for a great celebration in Israel. As opposed to Christmas and New Year's break, students here have the week off for Chanukah. So what is Chanukah? Lighting candles and giving presents? Yes and...well, kinda. Chanukah is a remembrance of the Jewish experience in the second century BCE. After Alexander the Great conquered Judea, he allowed his subjects to freely practice their religion, customs, etc. This benevolent rule led to rampant assimilation among the Jewish population. A century later, Antiochus IV began oppressing and massacring Jews. Judah Maccabee led a revolt against the Greeks' oppression and assimilation. This culminated in the rededication of the Temple. So, where's the miracle? While a small force standing up to the largest empire the world had ever seen is no small feat, the miracle was when the Greeks left only a small amount of oil for the menorah, which is required to burn every night, but miraculously burned for eight straight nights. (Jews don't commemorate military victories. And as for presents? It's just a tradition started by Jews who lived near people celebrating Christmas. Here we go again with the assimilation...)

Unfortunately, Israel has had to cope with an extremely inordinate amount of fire and light. I am talking, if you don't already know, about the fire in Carmel, northern Israel. On Thursday, a fire was started in Carmel (near Haifa) that quickly grew out of control. When it threatened a prison, a bus full of extra security guards was brought in to help evacuate the prisoners, but the fire quickly spread 1500 meters in 3 minutes to engulf the bus, killing all forty onboard. The fire is a national emergency; experts say it will take forty years for the over 10,000 acres destroyed to regrow. The fire also exposed some serious flaws in Israel's fire and emergency management services.

Despite the devastation and horror, there are some bright spots to emerge from this disaster. For one thing, the international response has been extremely positive. As hoped, the United States, Britain, France and Russia have been forthcoming with supplies. An incredible, welcome surprise is the aid provided by Turkey, Egypt, Jordan, and even the PA. Of course there have been calls on Arab websites for Syria and Hamas to fire rockets, have the fires spread, and even incidents of Arabs in Israel throwing Molotov cocktails to spread the flames. But for some states--especially Turkey--to offer aid is a big positive step, especially after the flotilla this summer.

As of right now, the fire has been contained. Tel Aviv was never threatened; I was never in any danger, never even saw any smoke. Now Israel will work to recover from the damage and pay tribute to the brave men and women who fell trying to fight the flames. There is a lot of work to do to rebuild homes and lives.

So, there is quite a lot going on in Israel right now. In the world, as you know: Wikileaks. Great news for Israel: the entire Arab world's leaders want Iran stopped. Now the American public knows what America's leaders (should) know. Julian Assange, you are destroying the very thing you are trying to enhance: information. Stay in that bunker you've scurried to.

My next step is to wait to hear about my enlistment date being finalized. Until then, shalom and chag sameach!

Oh, and it rained today!