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.