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!

Hello IDF: TZAV RISHON

I crossed another bridge on my path to enlistment: the tzav rishon, or "first notice." It was quite an experience. Over the past forty-eight hours, I have experienced IDF bureaucracy at its best. It's the closest I've been to the IDF thus far. I've also learned a lot about my enlistment, and about myself. So, how did I learn about my tzav rishon, and what exactly happens on the most important day in a soldier-to-be's life?

On Thanksgiving, I received a call from Mahal telling me my tzav rishon was scheduled for Sunday (remember, it's like Monday in Israel). I was to show up at Liskat Hagiyus (Draft Office) in Tel HaShomer at 8:30 am. The soldiers from my Birthright trip had prepared me for a long day, telling me to get a full night's sleep and eat well that morning; the tzav rishon would determine my life for the next eighteen months! Definitely not something to be taken take lightly.

David drove me the forty-five minutes from Tel Aviv to Tel HaShomer. It was great not having to fret over which buses to take and where to go. He had planned on parking and walking in with me but that proved impossible as yesterday (and today) was a 'send-off' date. The courtyard just inside the gate was full of families saying goodbye to their sons and daughters, who would board buses and begin their IDF service.

To begin with, amid the carnival-esque atmosphere (probably most akin to parents dropping their kids off at college for the first time), with lots of people and plenty of loud music, shouting, excitement and cigarette smoke, I was utterly confused on what to do first. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on, and then just thought it best to try and walk into the base itself. There were two soldiers at the door to determine who was allowed in. I first tried to say, "Shalom, ani Mahal, v'ani chayal boded" (Hello, I'm Mahal, and I'm a lone soldier), to which they would reply in perfect and rapid Hebrew. I had no choice then but to respond, "Sleicha, ani lo m'daber ivrit" (Sorry, I don't speak Hebrew). Thankfully, one of them spoke English well enough and directed me back through the crowd to a window at the security entrance. After a little pushing and shoving (aka: the Israeli way of moving forward in a line), I got there and just thought, to hell with it, I'm gonna ask if they speak English right away. The girl (soldier) did and told me to go to modi'in (information) outside the gate. Wonderful, back to square one.

I walked out of the base and waited in line again. When I approached the counter, the girl behind the desk asked me something terrifying: "Where are you papers?" Papers?! Shit, the Mahal guy just said to show up and bring my passport! I suppose I could have brought the Mahal letter I got weeks ago, but I thought that wasn't needed anymore. I've heard about friends, in trying to deal with the Israeli bureaucracy or military, are sent home because they didn't have a form there were never told to bring. Thankfully, she took my passport, looked something up in the computer, and then put a little sticker with some Hebrew words, a barcode, and the date on the back of my passport.

Back in the base, I went quickly through the short line to enter the building, then to the office where they handle Mahal individuals. Another girl took my passport for a few minutes then brought me upstairs to begin my tzav rishon. My first meeting was with a (very cute) soldier who spoke to me in Hebrew, asking simple questions, just to gauge my comprehension. Clearly, it was limited. Then she sent me to another (cute as well) soldier who I sat with for the next hour, half the time with a frozen computer, as she asked me all sorts of questions: what had I done for the past few months; my history as a student, beginning in elementary school; contacts in Israel; and a Hebrew exam, to which I probably failed, although not miserably. And of course, there was the question that 'G-d forbid anything should happen to you during your service,' who do I want to collect the insurance money? Oh, and by the way, it has to be someone living in Israel; translation: not my parents. Freakin' weird. I signed my life's worth over to David. Eery.

Anyway, after this interview, I went up two levels to the medical floor. I provided a urine sample, then flashed the bar code on my passport sticker in a machine in the hall and waited....and waited....and waited. After forty-five minutes, my name was called. A soldier was about to bring me into a room for a physical when, after telling her I didn't speak Hebrew (definitely not well enough for a medical appointment!), she told me to sit back down and wait for her to call me again when they got an English-speaking doctor. That wait turned into an hour. Finally, I stopped the soldier in the hall while she was flying back and forth and asked her about how much longer. The day was getting on and I knew there was still more things I had to do. At my request, she took me into the room and waited for the doctor to get in. Easy, frustrating, Israel.

My exam went smooth enough. It seems that almost everyone who works at the base is female, including the doctor (very nice!). I responded 'no' to all the routine medical questions (allergies, illnesses, surgeries, etc.), had my blood pressure taken, stripped down to check my breathing, you get the drill. The one hiccup (and it's a pretty big one) is that my eyesight is terrible, with a capital T. I estimated it at about minus 7.5 and minus 8. With eyesight that bad, she wants me to see a doctor to verify. Instead, I'm having my optometrist back home fax my records over. Other than that, I got a clean bill of health. Time now for an IQ test.

I went down a floor and scanned my passport again. After a few minutes, another female soldier came out of a room, verified my name, took my passport, and suggested I make sure I was well-fed and drank water; the test would be about an hour, without any breaks and it was very important. I grabbed a candy bar and reported back, was let into the room, sat at a computer, and began the test.

Let me be clear: there's no feasible way for this test to tell anyone their actual IQ. The test was in two sections. The first featured three rows of three figures or shapes. I had to detect a pattern and fill in the bottom right figure (which always had a question mark) with the correct answer from a list of eight choices at the bottom of the screen. Ten minutes to do thirty-one questions. They got progressively more difficult, and, truth be told, I couldn't figure out the pattern on the last one or two. I barely finished with seconds remaining, but still felt confident. The second section (fifteen minutes for thirty questions) was analogies. An example is small triangle is to big triangle as small square is to blank. They too became progressively harder, requiring me to be able to see figures in different angles or reversed. But, this was easier than the first section. All done in twenty-five minutes, thirty with setting up and reading instructions.

I reported back to the original Mahal office on the main floor. It was just after four, but the base was closing down. I was all done except for an interview, which I had to come back for this morning. Life's a bitch sometimes.

I returned by bus at ten this morning for the interview. I was directed to the top floor and proceeded to wait for the better part of two hours. It went by, though, because I had met another American at the end of yesterday. He's a chayal boded from Baltimore, pretty much the same background as me. We pissed and moaned about how slow everything was going, oggled at some of the female soldiers, talked about Israel, yada yada yada. Actually, waiting turned out to be kinda fun. I met another guy from France, living in Ashdod, who is also Mahal/chayal boded. He speaks French, fair amount of Hebrew and a little English. I haven't spoken French since studying abroad in Geneva junior year of college. But the rust wore off quickly, and between English, French and Hebrew, we were able to have a pleasant, albeit simple, conversation.

Finally, my name was called and I was led into the office of the commander of the base. I expected to be in and out in a few minutes, but ended up talking with the officer for the better part of a half hour. He was excited to hear that I was from Chicago, a political science major, and he had a genuine interest in what compelled me, and other chayalim bodedim, to come and serve. In addition, he asked the required questions: when's my planned enlistment; what unit; etc. He told me that I passed the IQ test, and would have told me my overall score from the two days but health score isn't complete yet; I'm waiting on my eyes. (I'll explain more about scores once I actually get mine.) At the end of the interview, he gave me his card and told me to contact him with any questions or problems. I thanked him for his time and left.

One final, and very, very important task left: registering for lone soldier status. A soldier from the commander's office led me downstairs to another office where two (yes, of course very cute) soldiers asked me questions for lone soldiers: do my parents support me financially; where am I staying; do I want to get an apartment, live on a kibbutz, be semi-adopted by a host family; is my family living back in the States; do my parents have Israeli citizenship; and a host of others. This took fifteen minutes, and then I was finally able to leave Liskat Hagiyus...until December 15.

That date is fast approaching. After speaking with other Mahal guys I've met, looking at other people's blogs, and talking with my soldier friends, I've got lots of anticipation about joining, and also a little trepidation. I am certainly excited--and yes, certainly a little nervous as well. Life is going to be demanding and radically different. Life, as I know it now, will cease to be. It will become long days full of rigorous activity, designed to test each person's physical and mental abilities. Life is going to become an adventure. As Sam, a soldier from Birthright, commented to me once, "there will be times where you will want to give up and give in. To get through these difficult times, you will have to remind myself why you am here."

Why am I here? If this pattern isn't already clear to you, it's because I am Jewish. Consequently, as a Jew, while in Israel, I wear a kippah. I don't wear one in America (except for Shabbat), but feel it important to wear one full-time now. I am in G-d's country, His land that He set aside for the Jewish people, His people that He chose (and that chose Him) out of all the nations to bring His presence into the world. I wore a kippah during my three weeks at yeshiva this summer for that exact reason. I wear it now for that purpose as well. But I also wear it for another reason, more pertinent to my service. Although I love the state and un-like many religious Jews support its creation and existence, I am not serving in the IDF and fighting for Israel as an Israeli. Rather, donning a kippah reminds me that I am part of a larger cause: I am fighting as a Jew for the Jewish people.

Happy Thanksgiving--the view from Israel!

Happy Thanksgiving to all! For the second time in three years I will be out of the country on Turkey Day. Two years ago I was in Ireland, sharing a very pleasant home-cooked meal courtesy of a friend’s friend’s aunt’s friend, complete with a few slices of turkey and the occasional anti-Semitic comment from our elderly Irish host.

Today, I will again have pre-packaged turkey slices, albeit with perhaps the exact opposite of anti-Jewish talk at the dinner table! Instead, dinner discussions don’t question the Jews’ right to exist or have their own state, but instead center on peace prospects, American interests, etc. I terribly hope this post does not seem like a rant. I will try to be as level-headed as possible. At the end, however, I hope you will gain a greater appreciation and deeper understanding of why I am here. Please feel free to leave comments, suggestions, questions, disagreements, etc. at the bottom! Please read and (try to) enjoy!

Where to begin…how about with the current talk of another settlement freeze? Basically, the thinking of each side goes like this: Israel and the Palestinian Authority (PA) were unable to reach an agreement/peace after the previous freeze ended in September; now that construction in East Jerusalem/West Bank has continued, the PA points to it as the primary obstacle to peace; Israel disagrees, contending it honored the previous freeze, and Netanyahu is trying to hold a very shaky and volatile coalition together while toeing the line on whether or not to seek another 90 day freeze; the US has a headache, wants peace, and is willing to provide incentives, namely providing Israel with 20 F-35 fighter planes. There are a lot more specifics and political hurdles (especially in the Knesset, for example, Netanyahu is in such a political bind that he won’t consider accepting until he has written confirmation from Obama about the planes), but for the purpose of this post, the information provided will suffice.

So, now what? Should Bibi (Netanyahu) accept the US offer? Should Israel continue building settlements? If there is another freeze, will there finally, truly be peace?!

My answer: ABSOLUTELY NOT. Why? To borrow a phrase from George Lakoff, “Don’t Think of Settlements!” Israeli construction in East Jerusalem and the West Bank is NOT what is preventing peace. In fact, there is something far more sinister preventing Israelis and Palestinians from signing accords. Unfortunately, what I am about to suggest is virtually taboo in the politically-correct, overly-apologetic, afraid-to-offend Western political culture. The main impediment to peace, the reason there will be no peace, is because the Arabs and Palestinians refuse to accept the right of Jews to live in Israel and would rather die than recognize Israel as a Jewish state.

Sounds extreme, no? But, I assure you, history and the facts add up to this horrific conclusion. In response to Mahmoud Abbas’ call for a new freeze, Bibi, in a politically savvy and promising move, said that he would support a freeze in the Knesset and agree to talks without preconditions if the PA would only recognize the State of Israel; Abbas would get what he wants and Israel would be seen as a legitimate state, nothing more nothing less. Apparently, since making such a claim is anathema to everything that is the Palestinian identity (or at least the PA), Abbas outright rejected the overture. This really made me wonder: if all the core issues ( settlements, Jerusalem, security, refugees) were hammered out, would the Palestinians still refuse to recognize Israel? What the hell does it take for peace?

What peace needs are open-minded people living in a liberal society. Unfortunately, the Palestinian people, courtesy of their leadership, are robbed of both. Take, for example, the case of Walid Husayin, a Palestinian living in the West Bank. His story is currently attracting a lot of attention on Facebook. Why? Because he is suspected of posting an essay called “Why I Left Islam” on an atheist website. The PA has him detained, without seeing visitors of lawyers, since late October (“Free Palestine!” Bret Stephens, Wall Street Journal, November 23, 2010; Stephens also talks more generally about illiberalism in the PA). If the lack of free expression didn’t make you question the Fatah leadership, if the detaining without outside visitors didn’t make you questions the Fatah leadership, consider this: on June 25, 2006, Hamas captured an Israeli soldier named Gilad Shalit. In the 1600 days since, NOT ONE person has been allowed to visit him. I don’t mean family or friends; I mean the Red Cross, UN, Doctors Without Borders…no one! And Hamas is recognized as a terrorist organization.

(In fact, one interesting contrast is how Hamas and Israel view their civilians. One scenario, two different solutions: bombs and rockets are raining down on your city. In Sderot, Israel, children, with less than a minute of warning, are sent to the nearest bomb shelter for protection from Hamas’ rockets. In Gaza, after the Israeli Air Force drops leaflets warning civilians of the buildings that will be attacked, Hamas orders these innocent individuals up to the roofs to become martyrs. One side tries to save lives, the other tries to gain international public relations points. What country has ever done that? What its enemy’s civilian population ahead of time? Israel is indeed a rogue state! Please read: “When Gabriel Latner turned tables on the Israel-bashers,” Jonny Paul, The Jerusalem Post, November 17, 2010)

But, there are plenty of countries that don’t have liberal and law-abiding societies (Iran, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Burma…clearly your class acts!). Understand that the Palestinian people live in a world where they are fed information and are led to believe realities that are—to be blunt—lies. Take, for example, when the chief Islamic judge of the Palestinian Authority made perhaps the most outrageous and incorrect statements ever uttered: the Jews have no connection to Jerusalem (“Palestinian Leaders Deny Jerusalem’s Past,” Bari Weiss, Wall Street Journal, September 25, 2009). With statements like these coming from the leadership, no wonder no one is jumping to recognize Israel. Please look at Palestinian Media Watch’s (PMW) website and see how young children are led to believe that Jews do not belong in Israel, that martyrdom is the desired path for any Muslim, and a host of other things that, if taught in America’s schools and broadcast on children’s television programs, would receive the biggest outcry. Suddenly, the anger and hostility that culminated in the two intifadahs begin to make sense.

“Hold on a second. I know Palestinians who are good people!” And I do too. I know plenty of Palestinians, Arabs and Muslims who do not wish ill towards anyone, even Jews and Israelis. I honestly believe that most people in the world just want to make a living, keep a roof over their head, bread on the table, and provide for their family. For most of the world, politics is an impediment, not an expedient. But most of the world is not like the free societies of America, Israel and the West. Instead, most people still live under the rule of a regime that is not beholden to its subjects (note I did not say ‘citizens’).

(For a great, albeit brief, analysis of this, please see Lawrence Wright’s My Trip to Al-Qaeda. It is his incredible story getting to know al-Qaeda. I’d like to share one small part here: he likens Saudi Arabia to a hypnotized chicken, a reference to his experience as child when he swung chickens in a circle and they stayed frozen for a few minutes. In Saudi Arabia, you feel like a “guest, not a citizen.” There is no nightlife, no free press, no movies, nothing outside of Islam and the ruling family. By any social scientists standard, Saudi Arabian society is ripe for revolution. But, incredibly enough, the people continue to live their lives…frozen. Why? They stay obedient subjects, not out of love of their dictatorial regime, but rather they look around the region and are afraid of the consequence of rebellion, namely Iraq, Afghanistan, Lebanon.)

But returning to the issue at hand…the man who gave me a tour through East Jerusalem this past weekend commented that settlements account for a quarter of the jobs in the Palestinian territories. True? I haven’t looked into it yet. However, what’s more, in the spring of 2010, PMW’s director Itamar Marcus came to my campus and showed us a few slides about Palestinians’ views of Israeli human rights treatment pre- and post-Oslo. Although I cannot relocate the exact numbers, I recall that upwards of 95% viewed Israeli treatment positively, compared to low 90s or high 80s of the US and France. That number dropped significantly following the Oslo Accords, when the PA began to govern itself. Conclusion? The decreased interaction with Israel/Israelis led to a decreased favorable opinion. Meaning? The PA leadership, especially if its current actions are any indication, likely began disseminating false information about Israel and Jews.

So…to wrap this up…THE SETTLEMENTS CONTROVERSY WILL NOT RESOLVE ANYTHING. What’s at stake here is a fundamental, deep-seated inability and hatred for the Palestinian leadership to live with the reality and existence of a Jewish state. So, what does that mean for me?

It’s like one of the t-shirts here that tourists often buy. It’s black with white writing on the front that lists civilizations with their “status.” It lists Ancient Egypt, Philistines, Assyrian Empire, Babylonian Empire, Persian Empire, Greek Empire, Roman Empire, Byzantine Empire, Crusaders, Spanish Empire, Nazi Germany and Soviet Union…all with “Status: X-Gone.” The only question mark is Iran. Where are the great empires and civilizations of history? They are just that: history. The Jewish civilization remains and thrives!

This new understanding, combined with the incredible Shabbat I had in Jerusalem, simply re-emphasized for me the fact that I am here as a Jew, not an Israeli. I am here because there are people in this world who say I should not be here. I am here to fight against those who say because my mother was Jewish, I am the cause of the world’s evils. I am here to fight, right or wrong, to stay in this land. I am here to fight to exist as a human being—which is never wrong. I am a Jew—and proud of it!

Shabbat Shalom!

What a week this has been! Both for Israel and myself, this past week was filled with activity and tumult. In this post, I will first go over the past week of my life, then I will delve into current events a little, and perhaps unavoidably explain my own perspectives on politics in the country and region. Sound like a plan? Great! Hope you enjoy the following…

My first order of “IDF enlistment business” after procuring a visa was to fax it to the Mahal office. This was done simply enough last Wednesday. Now, the information sheet I received after signing my life over states that I will have to wait two to three weeks before Mahal notifies me of my tzav rishon date. Tzav Rishon is a “day of tests” I must undergo so the IDF knows my physical ability, mental acuity, intentions, etc. (I will explain more about it after the fact.) What’s noteworthy for me is that I called Mahal a few hours after faxing my visa to verify they received it (you never really know here), and the soldier who answered the phone confirmed its receipt and said they would contact me next week! So I am expecting a phone call anytime this week. While I am not too optimistic that it will come, I was still shocked to hear of the potentially quick turnaround. There are no further enlistment hurdles to go through after the tzav rishon, so the supposedly lengthy and headache-filled process has turned out to be…shall I say…doable? But, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over…hopefully I didn’t speak too soon.

Anyway, I have had a lot of time on my hands with nothing pressing to do. I contacted a few friends of mine at Ohr Somayach yeshiva (where I was on a three week program this summer) about staying with them for Shabbat. It took me sixteen days after arriving in Israel to finally make it to Jerusalem! But I made the most of it. With my two friends, Ami and Elliot, we walked from the yeshiva to the Old City, via Damascus Gate. Jerusalem’s Old City has about a half dozen gates, really just entrances. Named for cities they face, Damascus gate faces northeast toward the Syrian capital, thus it is in East Jerusalem. Oh my! Not quite. The three of us walked down a major road toward the city. As we neared the medieval walls, we veered toward the gate and passed Arab grocers and vendors, trucks and vans unloading food, and other like-minded Jews preparing to welcome the Sabbath in the Old City.

Crossing a final street, and dodging cabs and motorbikes in the process, we walked down a flight of stairs and joined the Jewish flood through the gate, hearing Arabic and keeping an eye out for trouble all the while. However, Jews are probably safest at that hour; the entrance to Damascus Gate, and the path towards the Western Wall for that matter, is littered with Israeli soldiers and policeman donning bullet proof vests, with M4 rifles at the ready, and eyeing all suspiciously—Jew and Arab. Still, it is difficult to feel safer than that, or more proud for that matter. I know these soldiers are there to keep the peace. In reality, they are likely the only reason that Jews are able, week after week, to pass safely through Arab controlled streets to pray at our holiest sight.

And pray we did! Perhaps the one word to describe Friday night at the Kotel (Western Wall) is “electrifying!” I remember the first time I was there on Birthright last year. I have davened (prayed) there multiple times since, and twice more on Shabbat. I still think the same thing I did that first time in January: what an incredible and humbling feeling to be able to stand in front of Judaism’s holiest site, a place our people have been trying to return to for literally thousands of years, facing persecution, expulsion, and death, the world over, in the process. On Friday night, the entire plaza before the Wall is completely packed with black hats and suits. As we were not with a group, we found a rabbi we knew, assembled a minyan (ten adult men), and began Shabbat with my favorite song: Yedid Nefesh. It’s tune carries such a yearning in it that, at the Kotel, I am able to transport myself through centuries of Jewish struggle and hope. Even before I learned the meaning of the song, I connected to its melody of hope and remembrance. As the sky above the Wall begins to darken, something comes over Jerusalem and the entire notion of Judaism and the purpose behind hundreds of seemingly different people coming to one specific location for their faith becomes…overwhelmingly real.

Briefly, what makes the Kotel so holy and special? It is the western wall of the Temple Mount, upon which once stood בית המקדש Beit Hamikdash: the Holy Temple. The site for the Temple was not random: it is on Mount Moriah, the location of the binding of Isaac, when Abraham was commanded by G-d to sacrifice his son as a test. The site is also the location of אבנ השתייה Even haShetiya, the Foundation Stone, from which the world was created. It is over this exact location that the Jewish people had two temples: King Solomon built the first in 957 BCE and was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE; the second temple was completed in 515 BCE after twenty-three years of construction, only to fall to the Romans in 70 CE. G-d’s presence, שכינה shechinah, was ever-present during most of this time period. Fast forward two thousand years, and the great walls of the Temple Mount are virtually destroyed (save for the western one) and instead, a golden dome rises above the Temple Mount: the Muslims built the Dome of the Rock in 691 CE. This shrine, to me, is a constant reminder of what we, the Jewish people, lost and have never reclaimed. However, we still believe that G-d’s presence resides on the Western Wall, and thus it maintains its holiness, and is a place where people, religious and secular, from around the world travel to become witness and leave notes of hope between its stones.

For dinner, we were to meet up with a rabbi somewhere on the plaza. Like finding a needle in a haystack, it’s near impossible to pick out one individual from the masses. And, no, you can’t use a cell-phone. Thankfully, we were able to find our host, who led us on a short walk from the Wall to his home—yes, he lives in the Old City. Incredible. After dinner, he brought us to his roof and we could see the entire Old City, including the golden dome, which seemed close enough to touch. The view was unbelievable.

We walked out of the Old City via the Jaffa Gate, in the Jewish side of the city. It’s eerily pleasant walking the streets of Jerusalem on Friday night. There are only a few cars out on the streets and people walk everywhere: to dinner, evening lectures, celebrations, etc. It’s a great feeling to be surrounded by your own people in their rightful place.

The rest of Shabbat was a spiritual journey that I need not describe in detail. There was morning prayer, including reading from the Torah, a festive lunch, afternoon nap, afternoon prayer followed by a third meal and inspirational lecture, then evening prayer after sundown. Ami, Elliot and I had a few beers before I returned to Tel-Aviv. One last great thing about the weekend: a bus ride from my apartment to the center of Tel-Aviv, then a sheyrut (large taxi or van) to Jerusalem, then bus to Ohr Somayach, and back again cost me about $20.

I actually returned to Jerusalem yesterday with Kathryn, a friend from school who’s now living in Israel. We left in the morning and aside from a meeting I had set up with a rabbi at another yeshivah, Aish HaTorah, we had no plan. On the bus to the Old City we actually ran into a guy a few years older from Skokie. Small world. But in Jerusalem, you meet people from all over the world, all concentrated in a small locale, all searching for something.

The meeting at Aish was suggested by one of my mentors from back home, Rabbi Shalom Garfinkle. He commented to me that I may enjoy going there for Shabbat or learning while in the military. Conveniently, actually, while Kathryn and I were there for a half hour, I met a few guys who were joining Mahal as well. I definitely plan on going back for classes or Shabbat before my enlistment. For the rest of the day, we spent some time at the Kotel, enjoyed watching the Sephardi Bar Mitzvah from afar (the whole city could tell there was a Sephardic celebration because of the shrieking women!), ran into one of Kathryn’s many random friends and got a short tour of the Arab quarter, including a visit up to the exit of the Temple Mount (beyond which only Muslims are allowed), got intentionally lost in the Christian quarter, walked to a populated street in the “new” city, meandered our way over to the government buildings, and finally settled at a bar for some beer and hookah. Ami met us, and then an Israeli sat at the table next to us. We introduced ourselves and naturally engaged in friendly conversation. He had just finished his military service that very day. Everywhere I go, people often ask where I’m from and what I’m doing here. He was very excited to hear of my plans and offered a few pieces of advice. If I’m ever in Haifa, he told me, don’t hesitate to call. That’s becoming a common theme among Israelis.

Today, I decided to finally visit some of Tel Aviv’s tourist sites. I first went to David Ben-Gurion’s house. It is a quiet home on Rothschild street; the rooms are adorned with pictures of Ben-Gurion and other heads of states, his expansive library and numerous, insightful quotes. I then biked over to ההגנה, the Haganah Museum. The Haganah was the military organization that protected the Jewish immigrants and settlers before the establishment of the state. After, I went to the Ze’ev Jabotinsky Museum, a few rooms dedicated to one of the early visionaries of Zionism. He was instrumental in helping thousands of Jews escape pre-war Europe on clandestine ships to Palestine. Finally, I went to a diamond museum in Tel Aviv’s diamond district. Israel is a world leader in diamond trading. Blood diamonds? Not at all! Israel was an early signatory, and 2010 chair, to the 2003 Kimberley Process, which seeks to end the use of conflict/blood diamonds.

So, that has been the past week or so. In the coming few days I will make good on my plan to talk about Israeli politics and probably a little more about Israelis and being in Tel Aviv.

One Month!!!

Count it: 30 days until I am finally in uniform for Israel! I am still very excited, and also a bit apprehensive. There are times when I want to be in basic training already and other times when I just want to live the leisure lifestyle I've, unfortunately, become accustomed to over the past six months.

I've settled into life here in Tel Aviv. Every day I like the city more and more. It's very secular but there are still people who wear a kippah/yalmuke. I can't believe that I've been here for almost two weeks and have not even been to Yerushalayim. But my wait will be over soon as I plan to spend this upcoming Shabbat at Ohr Somayach yeshivah, the same place I stayed for my three week trip this summer.

But, back to Tel Aviv. I haven't done the same thing twice; each day is different. My first agenda item after signing my Mahal papers was to go to the Jewish Agency and have them sign off on the letter a rabbi signed for me confirming that I'm Jewish. I was told to come back in two days after they had confirmed that Rabbi Zev Alter is...well, legit (thank you, Zev!). I returned to the Agency, and there had been no progress on my letter. Psh, wonderful. The woman who helped me, knowing the hassle this process takes (and after succumbing to my charm and seduction), signed off on the letter and I was on my way; although not after getting into a short, but heated discussion about how awesome America is. She was Canadian...no comment necessary, enough said.

My next stop was the Ministry of Interior. After going through a few meager security points, I walked into the visa section and was in the DMV from hell. It's actually worse than the DMV because everything is in a language I don't fully understand and Israelis, well, let's just say they are passionate about everything. Amid the shouting and arguing (all from people who want to become a part of, in some fashion, this incredible country), I could decipher a few words here and there, ie my Hebrew's improving. Conveniently, I was called up to the window 5 minutes before they closed. How did I know it was 5 minutes before? Because the man asked if I had filled out a sheet I had never seen and if I had passport photos I didn't know I needed. Oy vey. He said I could come back at 2:30 with my materials. After biking home for lunch and to fill out the form and pick up photos I had brought with me, I returned to the Ministry at 2:00, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally around 3:00 I asked one of the guards if the window would open. "Nope. Come back Sunday morning." W T F! That was obnoxious for the guy to tell me to come back that afternoon. Whatever, you can't get caught up in that crap, because it'll just give you headaches. I went back this morning at 8:00 am, waited for an hour, dropped off the materials. And had to come back a few hours later to pick up my visa. I am now legally able to stay here until November 15, 2012!!

Later today I am going to fax the visa to Mahal, and am supposed to wait 2-3 weeks until I hear back about my tzav rishon "day of tests". I've got lots of time on my hands right now. But I've been keeping busy, too. Just this weekend, David, Amy, the girls and myself went to Mini Israel, a park that displays models of every city and sight in Israel, on a scale of 1:25. I've never been to Haifi, but now I don't need to go because I saw it all...small! Cheesy, but that's what they say.

Also, we went to the Yad Lashiryon Memorial at Latrun, a memorial for Israel's Armored Corps. It was awesome. They have over 200 tanks on display, from the 1940s to the present day. The memorial also lists the names of the 5,000 armored corps soldiers who died defending Israel over the past sixty years. Two incredible things about the museum. First, Israel builds a military museum to honor and remember the fallen, with no mention of foreign armies. In contrast, Hezbollah in Lebanon recently opened its own 'amusement' park, a place dedicated to it's 'victorious' wars against Israel. (Don't believe me? Just go search on YouTube.)

And second, and perhaps most stunning of all, as evidence by my current picture, Israel proudly flew an American flag alongside its own flag. And that is something that I've seen all over this country: the Israeli flag. Sounds like an odd statement, right? It should be completely natural to fly your country's flag. However, last week, an elementary school boy was told to take the American flag off his bike when he rode to school because he may offend someone. You gotta be kidding me! I see Israeli flags everywhere. Come to think of it, in the US, you really only see American flags in government buildings, and a few other locations.

Let me get off my soap box and onto my high horse...literally. Yesterday, I went horseback riding for a few hours with Amy, Lina and Shai, their babysitter and adopted fourth daughter who's going to the Air Force on Tuesday. It was a fun, and at times painful, experience. I don't really feel a need to saddle up again.

Thanks for reading to the end. I'm probably gonna go to the beach now, maybe go in the water, listen to music, learn some Hebrew, and have a beer. Shalom!

the First Step

Time for another post. I plan to write every Sunday, even though Sunday in Israel is like Monday in America. Israelis, religious and secular, take time off of work to observe Shabbat from Friday night to Saturday night. People may work for a few hours Friday morning, but most are at outdoor farmers markets or grocery stores, preparing for Shabbat meals. Children have school the morning before Shabbat; the only day off they have is Saturday. Even though schools are open six days a week, they don't have a full day like in the US; children will come home in the early afternoon every day.

Anyway, how am I living in Israel? Where and with whom am I staying? David and Amy Warshawsky have been kind enough to take me in and treat me as family. That has a lot to do with them actually being my family! Technically, David is my second cousin once removed...I think. Our relation is this: my great-grandmother (my mom's mother's mother) and his grandfather (his father's father) were siblings. They lived in Poland before the war. My great-grandmother emigrated to America in the 1930s and David's grandfather was sent to Siberia after Poland was invaded. As a community leader, businessman and former soldier, the Red Army considered him a potential threat. He was the only one in his village to be sent away; the others were not so fortunate. My great-grandmother and David's grandfather were the only ones of six children to survive the war. My grandmother grew up in America, and David's grandfather moved to Palestine after the war and his side of the family became Israeli.

The last time I saw David and Amy was back in Chicago probably when I was six or seven. There has been virtually no contact since then, until I called David this summer, explained my plans, and immediately he said I was more than welcome to live with them and their three daughters: Lina (12), Kaya (9), and Shia (3). Amy reached out to me a few weeks before my flight and said she hopes I consider their home my home and use them as a base for my time here. I have never had to think about living arrangements for months; I can not imagine what I would have done if I did not have this family here. Would I have figured something out? Certainly, I'm not the first chayal boded. Would it have been difficult? Probably. And having something as strong as a family bond between me and my hosts is irreplaceable. David and Amy have truly made their home and family a home away from home.

So earlier today, David and I went to the Mahal office and I finally, officially signed the papers to join TZAHAL!! My enlistment is for December 15th (not the 21st, that was incorrect), with 3 months Ulpan, followed by 5 or 6 months of basic training. I'm still going into Nahal after the Ulpan, with an option to go into Golani or Givati. As David explained to me, those are "serious combat units." He said that I am joining the Marines of the IDF. This isn't going to be any walk in the park. I will do everything that is expected of Israelis; the only difference between me and them is that my service is for a shorter period. I'm excited. I wish I didn't have to do the ulpan and could go straight into basic training, but obviously I do need to know the language.

A good portion of my day is spent studying Hebrew. I use the RosettaStone program they have in the apartment and have built up my vocabulary and comprehension daily. I spaek as much Ivrit as possible around the city. I am completely butchering the holy tongue, but, hey, we all gotta start somewhere, right?! Earlier today, David, Amy and I went to look at locations for Lina's bar mitzvah party. I asked the woman we met with: "Slicha, at et?" Literally: "excuse me, you are a pen?" All three turned to look at me like I'm nuts. David and Amy chimed in, "Shellach et" "Do you have a pen." Still, sensing my American-ness, the woman understood what I meant and gave me a pen.

Another goal of mine right now is to somehow land a job. It's really more to occupy my time and provide me with some extra spending money. Unfortunately, who's going ot hire me for 5 weeks? (5 weeks!!) The one bar I already stopped in said that I have to be a citizen to work there. Maybe I can find a babysitting job with David and Amy's friends.

The rest of my day is/will be devoted to exercising to get physically prepared. I run a few blocks north to a river, turn west for a couple kilometers until I reach the Mediterranean Sea, then I can go as far south as I want. It's incredible weather; I can exercise outside at all hours of the day, and nighttime is very pleasant: the humidity drops and temperature cools to mid-70s. Also along these running paths are workout stations that seem at once odd and also surprisingly convenient. Every few miles is a little area with simple machines that use body weight as a resistance. They are along running paths, the beach, parks, etc. Very Israeli.

But perhaps the most Israeli thing to happen to me so far was before I even landed in this country. On the plane ride over (Eric: Toy Story 3 and Surrogates), I was seated next to a couple my parents age. We conversed at the beginning and end of the flight and I explained how I was joining Tzahal as a chayal boded. Before we landed, they gave me their contact information, explained how they also had a son who is joining soon, and told me not to hesitate to call if I needed a place to stay or a warm meal. A guy a few years older than me sitting across the aisle gave me his number and said to call if I wanted to know of places to go out at night in Tel-Aviv. A couple a few rows behind me lives in West Rogers park (Jewish neighborhood in Chicago) and the husband gave me his number and told me to call when I'm in the area. Even though I mentioned that it might be a few years, he said no worries, just look him up whenever I get back. Finally, the cab driver who drove me to David and Amy's place, after a long conversation ranging from politics to America to the military to complaining about morning rush hour traffic, gave me his business card as he knows people who help out chayalim bodedim. Where else do you find this kind of support? Generosity? Kinship? Only perhaps in Israel and with the Jewish people. It's incredible.

I've been tagging along with David and Amy the past few days as they run errands. I've gotten to know the city pretty well in just a few days. Wherever we go, they introduce me as their cousin and explain that I am here to join the military. Everyone is impressed and gracious. Truth be told, there was one friend who looked at me in bewilderment, but on the whole, everyone has been appreciative of my desire to enlist.

Anyway, that's my life here for right now. The other day I took David's bike and biked to the coast (not of Lake Michigan, but the Mediterranean!), turned left, and biked along miles of beach front, through Tel-Aviv and into Jaffa/Yafo. The Arab city isn't like East Jerusalem; it's safe to visit, there is Hebrew (and tourists) everywhere. It used to be a major port city, back in the day. Now the two cities are essentially merged, although it is clear where one ends and the other begins. One the way back, I stopped somewhere along the beach and went for a short swim. The lack of swimmers in the area and plethora of surfboards surprised me, but the mystery was made clear after I got out of the water when I saw a couple signs saying no swimming in the area. And by "saying" I really mean there was a picture of a swimmer with a line through it. I have no freakin idea what it said. Then I grabbed a beer at a beach restaurant and headed back home. What a life!

ISRAEL FUN FACT: In addition to having the world's largest reverse osmosis desalination plant (although not as large as Saudi Arabia's thermal-based desalination plants, Israel's Ashkelon's Seawater Reverse Osmosis (SWRO) plant requires less energy and is more environmentally friendly), Israel reuses 70% of its water!

Shalom Aleichem שלום עליכם

Shalom to my family and friends! I see you have found my blog. I will use this page to keep you updated about my life over the next twenty months. Twenty months?! Yes, this journey/experience/life quest/fool's errand will take me nearly two years. This first entry may be a bit lengthy because I will explain everything about my decision to join the IDF.

A quick update: I leave for Israel on NOVEMBER 2ND, at 10:47am and arrive in Tel-Aviv at Ben-Gurion airport at 8:15am on November 3rd. Thus begins the next stage of my life.

How did I get to this point? Why am I, a Latin honors college graduate, going to fight for a foreign country in the world's powder keg? Read on and even if you do not agree with everything I write, hopefully you will understand and respect my decisions.

My path to the Israel Defense Forces began as an interest in the US military. I spent the summers after my freshman and sophomore years living and working in Washington, DC. Already an ardent patriot, living in the capitol of the greatest country in the world (hubris? NO!) had an incredible impression on me. I would walk by the monuments and read the words of our greatest presidents and feel a fire being kindled inside of me to to serve this land. Like my father, I am a huge history and military buff, and one thing I came to realize is that I live in an extraordinary time: even though it is compulsory for me to sign up for the draft, in reality, I will never have to join the military unless I volunteer. It is a luxury virtually unmatched in world history! Joining the military is uncommon for a Jewish boy from the Chicago suburbs in the 21st century, but not unremarkable for millions of young men (and women) across the world and throughout history.

These thoughts were all fine and good (noble and idealistic) until I told my parents, who responded with skepticism and concern. I think Eric (my brother) even laughed, thinking it would be another thing I would eventually lose interest in, like the guitar, biking...and break dancing. (I recently showed Kimberly, my sister, the "I Am Israel" link on the right, and after watching it, she said she began to understand why.)

Anyway, I forged ahead with my new life choice and started researching options for the Army. I wanted to join the Reserves, which had a minimal two year commitment or the full six years if I wanted them to pay for Law or Graduate school. I did a lot of research online about enlistment options (whether to go to OCS [Officer Candidate School] or enlist as a private, etc) and even spoke to a recruiter. I began my senior year intending to join the US Army upon graduation.

In August, I started to take Arabic, as it is beneficial for a career in international relations. In class, surrounded by Muslims and Arabs, I felt self-conscious about being Jewish. As a blessing in disguise, Arabic pushed me back to Judaism. I began to attend events at Hillel and learn with rabbis about Judaism. Save for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, lighting Hanukkah candles, or Pesach sedars, I had not done anything "Jewish" since my Bar Mitzvah, ten years ago. I read vigorously about Israel and the conflicts, but that never compelled me to understand the religious identity of Israel and myself.

My learning that fall semester rekindled my love of Judaism and I began to think about joining the IDF. However, my initial enthusiasm was cut short when a professor mentioned that I may as well kiss my State Department aspirations goodbye. I then pushed the IDF out of my mind.

Over New Years, Eric and I went on Birthright. This was a transition point for me because I was now able to see, smell and touch religious and historical Israel. I went to the Golan Heights and viewed the border with Syria, went to the Dead Sea and was a stone's throw from Jordan, climbed Masada, prayed at the kotel (Western Wall) in Jerusalem, and cried at Yad Vashem. This grounded my learning of a far-off place and abstract ideas into a reality I now feel is imperative to defend to the last. I strongly reconsidered the IDF.

The spring semester witnessed a lot of political turbulence regarding Israel. On campus, there were numerous rallies and demonstrations in which students and professors alike decried Israel's "apartheid" society, "genocidal" policies, and "human rights violations." I was active on the front lines against these slanderous accusations. On my own, I was still wrestling with joining the IDF. Over spring break, I flew to DC to interview for jobs after graduation. At some point after the break and before graduation, I knew that I would be joining the IDF.

So, WHY am I joining? Here is a list of my reasons (not in any particular order):
• I want to fight for the Jewish people. One thing my time at U of I taught me was that there are plenty of people out there who not only do not like Jews, but deny them the right to exist. I take great exception to anyone who says that because of my religion, I have no right to breath the same air as anyone else. I want to fight back against those individuals.
• I may make aliyah (literally 'ascent', immigration) one day and every Israeli man and woman has to serve. I do not want to be in the class of society (cough Americans cough) that enjoy the privileges and honor of citizenship without paying their dues and fighting for the country.
• I will regret not joining for the rest of my life. My parents and sister pleaded with my to use my talents and knowledge to fight for Israel and the Jewish people in another capacity, such as diplomacy. Well, I will, just not right now. Now I can serve using my body, later I will serve using my mind.
• Many of the positions I looked for in DC listed military experience as a qualification. It certainly gives me a first hand view of the conflict, as opposed to an observer sitting 6,000 miles away.
• And also, when I was sitting at a desk in DC, I realized how much I did not want to be doing that while I’m still young.

I went back to Israel for three weeks during this summer on a religious trip. One day, I went to the IDF office in Tel Aviv and talked with them about joining. Finally (I know!), here are the logistics of my service:

I am joining the Israel Defense Forces as a Mahal recruit, with chayal boded status. MAHAL is an acronym that means 'overseas volunteer.' The concentration camp inmates who first came to Palestine and were immediately sent to the front lines to fight for the creation of a Jewish state were the initial MAHAL. Chayal boded means 'lone soldier.' I am lone because my immediate family resides outside of Israel. The primary requirements to join the IDF as a non-Israeli is to be Jewish and between 18 and 24. Israel is perhaps the only country in the world that allows non-citizens to fight in its military.

My service is for 18 months, beginning on December 21st. Do I (need to) speak Hebrew? In reality, English is the unofficial official third language of the country (after Hebrew and Arabic). Still, as Hebrew is necessary to know in the military, the first three and a half months of my service is Ulpan (Hebrew language learning). I report (so far as I know) to Carmiel base in the north, where I receive a uniform and am considered an enlisted soldier. Not until after the Ulpan, however, do I begin basic training.

After basic training, most Mahal soldiers are sent to Nahal. There are units I can 'try out' for, such as Givati and Golani Brigade. If I want to try for other elite units, I would have to extend my service. You can find more information about these units with the links at the side of the page.

I leave on Nov 2nd because the IDF requires me to start the enlistment process very early. This includes signing papers, getting medical clearance, obtaining a visa, registering as a lone soldier, etc. Seven weeks plus eighteen months. However, as a lone soldier, the IDF does give me a full month leave to come home. I won't know when that will be until well into my service.

Well, if you made it this far, I appreciate it. Hopefully you now have a much better understanding of what I am doing and why. Feel free to leave any comments or questions and I will do my best to respond.