!!!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]!)

1700

Four years and eight months. Sunday marked the 1700th day in a row that Hamas has held Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit (click HERE) captive in the Gaza Strip, without access to the International Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, or any other international aid organization. The last time proof of life was established, was on October 2, 2009, when Hamas released a short video. He was captured on June 25, 2006. At the time, he was nineteen years old.

I don't want to offend anyone, but if you would please allow a short prayer for the soldiers of Israel:

כל בית ישראל, הנתונים בצרה ובשבוה, העומדים בין בים וביון ביבשה, המקום ירחם עליהם ויוציאם מצרה לרוחה, ומאפלה לאורה, ומשעבוד לגאלה, השתא בצגלא ובזמן קריב. ונאמר: אמן

"Our brothers, the entire family of Israel, who are delivered into distress and captivity, whether they are on seas or dry land--may the Omnipresent One have mercy on them and remove them from distress to relief, from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption--now, speedily, and soon--and let us say: Amen."

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My last full week at Mikveh Alon. It first started with a trip to a base near Rishon LeTzion, a city just south of Tel Aviv. I've been trying to get my profile raised from a 72 so I can do infantry and that required getting an appointment with an IDF eye doctor. My appointment was for Sunday morning. I was able to get an extra hour of sleep, which is always appreciated, hopped on a bus packed with other soldiers, wandered around the enormous base for a while, trying to locate the right building, and finally had my appointment. I tried to b.s. my way through it, explaining that I only wear glasses at night, intentionally neglecting to tell him that I wear contacts all the time, but he inadvertently called my bluff when he told me to put my glasses on a read an eye chart. I had to say that I currently had contacts on, otherwise my sight would have been blurry out of control. That prompted the doctor to do a full eye examination, and at the end, he concluded that my eyes, in fact, have not dramatically improved over the past two months. Big shocker.

So I'm stuck with a 72. But that's ok, so far. On Monday, I go to the Tzanchanim gibbush (Paratroopers tryout). It's overnight and I won't find out how I did until a week or so later. On Tuesday this past week, officers from the Bakkum (the base where every soldier goes for their Tzav Rishon, then later to decide what units to go into, receive clothing and equipment, etc.) came to Mikveh and each soldier told an officer what units he requests. I put down Nahal, Totchanim, and Givati. Nahal and Givati are both infantry units. Technically I should not be allowed in because of my profile. However, as I am Mahal (volunteer from abroad), generally speaking if I request Nahal I go there (many refer to Mahal as Mahal-Nahal). If not, then hopefully Totchanim, the artillery unit. I threw in Givati just as another infantry unit in case. Still, we'll see how I do at the Tzanchanim gibbush, if I pass, and if I decide to do it, and also if I have to sign on for more time. But one step at a time. I need to complete the gibbush and be accepted.

Also, this week we had our final Hebrew exams. Once again, soldiers (cute girls) from the Bakkum came and tested us on our Ivrit. It was the same thing we all did at our Tzav Rishons. A few things. I have one of the best Hebrew language abilities in my machlekah. Also, I know that they are (most likely/hopefully) not going to make anyone "re-do" Mikveh. So, I wasn't really nervous about the test. It also helped that the girl who administered my first test was assigned to me this time. Being flirty is always a fun relief from army life. Long story short, the test was hard, but I made up for it by throwing in a lot of extraneous talking (in Hebrew). Whatever. I'm done with the Alon.

Later that day, we finished our Tzionut. It culminated in a fun and exhausting race around the base between three teams within the machlekah to find their team's color coordinated question about Israeli history, answer the question and sprint to the next location on base. Conveniently, each successive question was somewhere on the opposite side of the base. At the end, the entire machlekah was allowed to climb to the top of the massive water tower/observation post that is the iconic (or infamous?) symbol of Mikveh Alon. It rises about 150 feet and provides a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains and valleys, cities and towns.

Thursday morning we had our "sport test." In true IDF style, it was at 5:15 in the morning. What a great time to see how physically fit our bodies are, especially after having cold muscles and tight limbs from, I don't know, sleeping! Remember we had one at the beginning of tironut? Same thing here. I honestly don't know how I didn't do less pushups or sit-ups than last time (87 and 70, respectively). I also ran a good 2k, about 8:05, which gives me confidence for the 2k I'll run at the gibbush. Afterwards, everyone changed into their Bet uniforms, except for me! I had a doctor's appointment to get to in Nahariyya. Afterwards, I was told to go home! Sweet! Home on Thursday! The best part, aside from not being on base, is that the next morning I wouldn't have to wake up at 3:30. Sometimes, life just works out.

This upcoming week is going to be busy, but also go by fast. I return to base on Sunday, as usual. However, on Monday, me and a bunch of other guys are going to the Tzanchanim gibbush. I'll return to Mikveh on Tuesday. On Wednesday is our "graduation" or "culmination" ceremony of officially completing Mikveh Alon. Then I return home on Thursday. Technically, Mikveh owns the soldiers going into kravi units until the following week, so I'm have to return the following week to Mikveh simply for shmirah duty. It kinda sucks, but won't be that big of a deal. The following Sunday or Monday, I go to wherever it is I will spend the rest of my time in the IDF.

On Wednesday, my machlekah gathered in a classroom for our weekly sum up of the week with our commanders. Michael, one of my friends in my tzevet, commented that Mikveh sapped him of his motivation to go into a kravi unit. Truth be told, I definitely agree with him. I am certainly pumped to finally go into the "real" army, to be with Israelis and become a legit soldier. But the past month and a half at Mikveh has lulled me into a sense of complacency about military life. I don't really consider my base to be actual military life for a number of reasons. First, the commanders are all girls. Hold on, I'm not sexist! The commanders in the army are all guys, even though I hear that girls teach soldiers specialties. Also, there are no Israelis (apart from the commanders/officers). Everyone is like me: a foreigner. Even if someone is legally Israeli, it's because he made aliyah recently. In addition, those of us at Mikveh Alon are at the bottom of the IDF barrel. Our time there certainly counts for my overall service time, but, for example, it doesn't count towards promotion time or being considered a "veteran" soldier. Bottom line, I am a soldier in the IDF, but don't feel like I'm in the IDF.

In addition, even after almost four months in Israel, and not for sight-seeing or some tourist program, but for joining its freakin' military, I definitely don't feel like an Israeli. But I'm also not expecting to feel like someone who's lived here for their whole life. I only bring it up because, for one reason or another, the topic of feeling like an Israeli has been discussed multiple time in different settings over the past week. My Mefakedet brought it up, as did my HaSammelot, and also a few friends. The army is perhaps the strongest influence in creating the Israeli identity and ethos. Everyone serves, everyone has stories, and everyone knows someone who's seen combat. In the IDF, teenagers grow up to become young men and women. While the same generation is going to college in America, Israelis are serving in the military. How can it not have anything but the strongest influence on a young Israeli's psyche? For better or for worse, the IDF shapes Israelis' mindset and consequently Israeli culture. This includes a great appreciation of time and learning to live for today (especially now that Iran is working towards a nuclear bomb, because tomorrow might not be here); impatience; respect for authority, but not blind respect like we often find around the world; and other traits which I will certainly discover over the next year.

(Last night, as I was talking with Kimberly, I finally watched "Don't Mess With the Zohan" on my computer. While it is certainly not one of the best movies ever made, I did laugh a lot because it definitely hit on a lot of stereotypes and comical things about Israel and Israeli culture. Kimberly couldn't believe that I didn't think it was the stupidest thing ever. Maybe I would have if I wasn't so "in tune" with Israeli life.)

What else shapes the Israeli mentality? How about rockets being fired from the Gaza Strip into Beersheva, a city in southern Israel? Yeah, I think that helps, too. On Wednesday, the Islamic Jihad, a terrorist group that operates in Gaza, fired two rockets into Israel. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, rightly, ordered the IDF to conduct a counter-strike and publicly stated that Israel will not stand for this, just like any other nation would never stand for the unprovoked attack on its cities. It is likely that Egypt's current political (and national) instability is opening the way for more arms to be smuggled into Gaza. In addition, in a show of force, Iran just sent two warships through the Suez Canal, the first time since the Islamic Republic took power in 1979, en route to Lebanon. The more instability in the Arab world, the greater influence Iran will wield across the region, or at least make a play for regional supremacy.

But at Mikveh, the world does not exist to us. Our Mefakedets still have us by the balls, but their grip is certainly loosening, both by their own accord and ours. We expect them to "break distance" with us in the next few days. They'll cut the commander-soldier relationship and re-assume their normal teenage girl personas when in uniform as they do, I'm sure, when out of uniform. They'll start treating us like equals. And I'm kinda curious to find out why my Mefakedet's Facebook network (yes, we found her on Facebook, as we found all our commanders) is from the high school twenty minutes from me back home.

But it already feels as distance has been broken, at least on our end. On Tuesday, my mefakedet left the base for whatever reason (as she has done often) and we had a replacement, the machlekah's MaMach (ממח). (I still haven't figured out what that position is exactly, but it's common for MaMach's to fill in for Mefakedets.) We've had this girl as a stand-in before. It is almost excruciating how painfully clear it is that she is green. She does not know how to properly command a tzevet, especially mine, with all of its difficult personalities. By "properly" I mean that she does not know/follow the method of ordering us everywhere. For example, our commanders tell us, in Hebrew of course, "You have seven minutes to go clean your room. Seven minutes, seven minutes, move!" Then we respond, "Yes, Mefakedet, seven minutes!" But this new girl, she'll just say, "You have seven minutes to clean." And we're left standing there, waiting for her to finish her command. At first, her "style" was off-putting. At this point, as we now expect this method, it's quite comical. And that obviously does not help her attempt to command our respect.

In addition, the MaMach decided to do something new with our tzevet. We gathered, as usual, before the flag in preparation for singing Hatikvah with the entire plugot. However, my tzevet showed up a good twenty minutes in advance. Why? Because, in her infinite wisdom (and experience) the MaMach ordered us to run into our rooms, put on our combat vests, and report back outside. She then proceeded to show us how to shoot our guns in the schiva (prone) position. What the &$%@! Seriously?! First off, we're done with tironut. We've BEEN done with tironut. Second, our Mefakedet showed us, seemingly to no end, how to fire in the three different positions. We don't need someone new to try to teach us. Also, the MaMach's teaching did not help her; she had nothing of the confidence required to show soldiers how to use their firearms. She was uncertain of proper positioning, stumbling over her words, not commanding our attention, etc. What's more, she decided to make us go through this pointless exercise on the day we were to have our Hebrew tests. At this point I was getting fed up with the MaMach's incompetence. I said to her how it was wrong for us to go through this worthless exercise, especially on the day of our exams, that our time would be better served practicing our Hebrew. It wasn't going to change anything, just to let her know what I thought of her decisions.

To end this on a positive note, we finally had another krav maga session! That's why we had our guns. And this is also stupid: we picked up our guns from the armory on Monday for a single session of krav maga on Tuesday and had the M-16s for the rest of the week. We needed our guns because we learned how to use them for krav maga. There might be times when we can't fire our guns. For example, we may be in a crowded place and Israeli soldiers don't fire indiscriminately into crowds; or we may be too close to the enemy to get off a shot; or there may be the risk that the 5.56 caliber round, if fired too close, could pass through the enemy, and, because of its rounded tip (as opposed to the bluntness of a handgun's bullet), be redirected and hit a civilian; or any other reason. We did some difficult and exhausting exercises, as is the custom at the beginning of krav maga, then learned the reasoning behind and practiced a few different moves; how to hold the gun properly and stabilize it with your arm, use a quick, snapping motion, and always be ready to advance for another blow or aim your gun if the enemy falls to the ground. I thoroughly enjoyed the session, but don't think it was worth getting our guns for the entire week. Anyway, that's army life.

I was on the bus today and behind me was a guy rocking out to Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" on his iPod, singing along and everything. Classic. Israeli.

Shabbat shalom.