This has been, without a doubt, the most interesting week of my life. I truly experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Yes, even higher than receiving the Tanach at the Western Wall a few weeks ago. That event was the culmination of something: the conclusion of Mikveh Alon. Big whoop, right? True, it was an incredible honor--as a soldier and as a Jew--to stand at that special and holy location and receive Judaism's Written Law. However, this week brought me even higher because of its potential. So what the heck am I talking about? I'm talking about Tzanchanim! I know, I'm starting to sound redundant starting to sound redundant sorry sorry; "hasn't he already mentioned the Paratroopers like a dozen times in each of his last posts?" Yes, I think I have, haha. But this time is so much different.
Before I explain, however, I want to mention a few new things about this blog. First, I recognize that I use foreign military terms and whether this is your first time reading my blog or you are a faithful follower, it is unlikely you are familiar with all of the lingo. As per my dad's suggestion, I created a link on the right that translates the terms into English. In addition, on the left hand side I added ways to make it easier to keep updated on my blog. The "Search this Blog" is also a way to find specific information in my writing.
Let me start from the beginning, from the hellish depths of the first few days of this week, to the top of the world and beyond (almost literally) at the end.
On Sunday, those of us from Mikveh reported to the Tel Hashomer base for our draft into the regular IDF units. There are three draft dates in the IDF: March, August and November. This week, all new soldiers would be sorted and sent to their units; needless to say, the place assumes a zoo-like atmosphere. As dysfunctional (I say that with all my love) as the IDF is, this week brings it to an entirely new level. In fact, at one point, my friend Michael commented that the base reminds him of a refugee camp. You'll soon understand why.
To begin with, as we all sit on benches, waiting to see the ktsin miyun (officer who drafts us), my MemMem pulls me aside and, once again, brings up the issue of my 72 health profile! He said he doesn't know for sure if I am in Tzanchanim and should prepare myself to join another unit. What a great way to start the week! Maybe I'm becoming one of those guys who really wants something once it's no longer available (girls, freedom, Tzanchanim...), because I felt my heart drop. Suddenly I felt like an outsider looking in. But when I went to see the officer, our conversation went like this (in Hebrew): "You want Tzanchanim?" "Yes." "Best of luck." "Thank you." Bada bing bada boom. Done.
But not for long. That night we slept in tents, the same ones we slept in for the gibbush. Or rather, I didn't sleep; no sleeping bag, frigid night, terrible. In the morning, every soldier received a number, which indicated where he would serve. While all the Tzanchanim guys received 601, I got 660. They were all called off and I was left standing at the end with a dozen random guys. No one from Mikveh. Apparently, we all had profile issues and needed to be checked by a doctor before being sorted. Not this issue again! Back to feeling nervous.
Long story short (or rather, I can't exactly divulge all the details of what occurred that day), I went to see a few doctors about my profile and got it raised to an 82! I can do infantry! Tzanchanim here I come! I went to see the ktsin miyun and (I think) he said I was in Tzanchanim, but the next day I needed to come back to see a Mishakit tash.
I returned to base the next day, not quite certain the purpose of needing to see the social worker. A slightly irrational fear grew inside me that maybe I really wasn't going to Tzanchanim, that they needed someone who would tell me and figured a Mishakit tash could let me down easy. But let me be clear: the sole purpose for me being on base that day was to see the Mishakit tash. I sat around for hours in the morning and hours in the afternoon, just to have the Mishakit tash tell me in a ten minute meeting that my request to move to a kibbutz was on hold until I went to a new base. Thank you very much for wasting my time!
Monday and Tuesday evenings I played the role of poor lone soldier, no one told him he would be on base for more than one night, he has issues to take care of at home, yada yada yada, bs bs bs....and I was able to go to Tel Aviv and sleep in a nice warm bed both nights! I definitely worked some magic!
Also on Tuesday, the new Chief of Staff Benny Gantz (a Tzanchan) made a visit to Tel Hashomer. Of all the days! The few dozen of us still left from the previous day because we had one issue or another were in lockdown and stayed put in one corner of the base for three hours! It just added to the tension, nerves and uncertainty I was experiencing, not truly knowing if I was going to be a tzanchan, not trusting what anyone said until I signed a contract. But after the meeting with the Mishakit tash, I sprinted back to see the ktsin miyun, who said that I was for sure going to Tzanchanim! I started to breathe easy.
Again I went home that night and returned the following morning. This time, I was 601! Finally! But my excitement, once again, was dulled as the two dozen of us going to either Tzanchanim or Nahal were put to doing clean up around the base all morning. All the other Tzanchanim guys (from Mikveh) had gone to the base on Monday. We were still left, uncertain of our future, and the last thing we needed were stupid officers not telling us what was going on and making us run in circles around the base doing a lot of nothing. We know we needed to get our uniforms and gear (I just needed a new uniform top) and wanted to get it as soon as possible so it would be official. After lunch, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I stole away from my group and met up with a friend who knew how to get a uniform.
All the soldiers who were waiting for something were penned up in this one area of the base. There were benches with a tv, but really a lot of people just milled about, waiting, not knowing, frustrated. There was one window where jobniks handled our cases, and the line took forever. I went to this window, explained what was going on, and that I needed a uniform, who sent me (mostly lies), etc. I then waited an hour for my name to be called. A soldier from Kfir (an infantry unit in the West Bank that specializes in urban combat) told me to sit down, that I had a problem. Not again! I'm not sitting down. Listen buddy, a ktsin miyun had told me three times that I was going to Tzanchanim. He told me to wait, checked out my profile or whatever, then returned and told me to follow him.
As we walked, I angrily asked him where I was going. "Golani." "No. Hell no, I am not going to Golani." "Yes you are. What's wrong with Golani?" "Nothing's wrong with it, but I want Tzanchanim. What does that paper say." "Nothing, it's not for you to see." "You better show me that paper." "No, but you're going to Golani." "You better not be fucking with me. I swear, you better load some bullets into your gun because if you tell me I'm going to Golani, I'm coming after you." "Haha, it's all good. You're going to Givati." "Still no. It's Tzanchanim or nothing."
He looked at me and laughed. We reached a building where I saw a bunch of soldiers from my group that day huddled outside. We walked in and the Kfir soldier handed the paper to one of the jobniks there: "this guy's going to Tzanchanim." YES!!! I shared a quick laugh with the Kfir soldier who I think appreciated the anxiety I felt. He first said I was in shock--Israeli military slang for someone who, just as in English, is in shock by being in the army and his new life. I told him I wasn't in shock, I was just angry, frustrated and fed up with being in limbo for the last three days.
Side note: randomly, I thought a lot this week about the Greek myths of Prometheus and Sisyphus. Prometheus is chained to a mountain and every day an eagle eats his liver, which regrows each night. Sisyphus is made to roll an immense boulder up a hill, just to have it roll back down, for eternity. The point here is that they are both in limbo (or maybe their form of a Hell) and destined to do nothing for an unforeseen amount of time. And now I return to my friend's comment that life was like a refugee camp: uncertainty, frustration, anxiety. It made me want to pull at my own skin. What made it worse is that the place has a carnival atmosphere, like Purim, but not in the good way. There is so much miscommunication. You go to one place and they send you to another and the next place doesn't know who you are or why you're there. There is overlapping and underlapping. Incompetence and incredible incompetence. I spoke a lot of Hebrew, but also went to English when it became too frustrating. And that was often the case.
In order to receive anything in the army, you have to return something. In this case, Paratroopers have a special uniform top, so the guy needed my two Aleph uniforms. I gave him the one I had on and wove some story about not having a second because I never needed one, knowing the whole time that it sits neatly folded, still in its packaging, in Tel Aviv! A Paratrooper's uniform is different than the rest of the army's. The material is slightly thicker and somewhat glossy. It has four pockets: the breast pockets and one more below each. In addition, and this makes it awesome, the uniform is fitted, which makes me look extremely sexy and bad@$$ if I may say so myself. Finally, out of tradition, Tzanchans don't tuck their uniforms into their pants. Instead, you leave it hanging out and tie the belt around the outside. The "skirt" is something to be proud of.
And proud I am. Damn proud!!! Even more so than on December 15th, I feel like an Israeli soldier. Although I haven't done anything yet, I feel such a sense of accomplishment. Just wearing the uniform is intoxicating. I am so happy to be in Tzanchanim now. It is the highest I think I have ever felt in my life. It is because of the potential of what wearing the uniform means that makes it even more fulfilling than receiving the Tanach. The uncertainty of the past few days made me realize how badly I wanted Tzanchanim. I would not have been satisfied with any other unit. I am a Tzanchan!
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To make this week even better, I recently gained additional employment: I am now a blogger for the Jerusalem Post (click)!!! This occurred only in the last week and is a true testament to how this country functions; people knowing people who are more than willing to help others. My blog on JPost will focus more on being a lone soldier and less on my daily activities. I will try to contribute a post about as often as I do here. But realize that as I am beginning basic training, my postings will become less frequent as I will not be home every weekend. I have a link on the left for my JPost blog. Thanks for reading and the comments, emails and Facebook messages I receive. I'm glad my experiences and writings are helping others find information, comfort, excitement, or simply ways to kill time, haha!
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This weekend is the holiday of Purim, a remembrance when the Jewish people were miraculously saved from liquidation at the hands of the Persian Empire. It was perhaps even a darker time in Jewish history than the Holocaust; the entirety of the Jewish people were at risk of being massacred by King Ahaseurus's chief advisor, Haman, only to be saved by Queen Esther, a Jew, at the urging of her cousin, Mordechai (for more specifics, see Wikipedia, click here, or type "Purim" into Google). It is a carnival atmosphere (cruelly akin to Tel Hashomer), and walking around Tel Aviv yesterday reminded me of my college campus on Halloween. It is the day Israelis dress in costumes and get drunk. Yes, even religious Jews are actually supposed to drink in excess.
But this holiday, tragically, comes in the wake of two very distressful events in the past week. First, a Jewish family in the town of Itamar were brutally killed by terrorists (click). The two parents were slain, as were three of their children, one a three month old girl. The Fogel family's slaying again brings to the fore for me the tenuous situation that exists between those who wish to live in peace and those who want to prevent it. (Although I am generally not a fan and can't bring myself to link it here, I do suggest you find Glenn Beck's comments about the Itamar Massacre on YouTube. His words echo Israeli sentiment.)
The second event was the stopping of the cargo ship the "Victoria" (click). The IDF peacefully boarded this ship the other day and in the crates protected by a lock unusually strong for the supposedly benign contents of lentils and cotton, found about 50 tons of munitions, including a new missile system that can destroy ships. It is said that this new weapon, known in Iran as the Nasr-1 and in China as the C-704, has the potential to have the same effect as Surface-to-Air Missiles (SAMs) had when they were first launched forty years ago: they can alter the strategic balance in any conflict.
And then just this morning, Hamas fired forty-nine mortars into Israel. If Mexico or Canada did that to the US, it would be considered an act of war. But here, Israel lives with it every day. Reality bites.
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