It's the Jews, stupid

Thank you to the Bill Clinton/James Carver 1992 presidential candidate/campaign strategist combo for helping me to quickly explain why there is no peace between Israel and the Palestinians, the Arabs...the world?  The phrase Clinton used to divert attention from George H.W. Bush's foreign policy successes and focus on the president's neglect of the economy is more than applicable when approaching the Arab-Israeli and Israeli-Palestinian conflicts.  What do I mean and why am I mentioning this here in my blog?

A few reasons.  One is that there has been a lot of political developments in Israel and between Israel and its Arab neighbors and Israel and the US over the past few weeks.  Obama gave a speech about his Middle East foreign policy at the State Department a few days before Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was to travel to Washington to speak before a joint session of Congress and then get some face time with the president.  The Nakba and Naksa day stints/invasions/attacks/protests, call 'em what you want, are something never seen before and potentially a major security concern.  Pressure to seek UN support for a Palestinian state in September is building.  And finally, as I type this, there is another flotilla en route to Gaza.

With all of these developments, a few friends from home have been asking me for what the climate is like in Israel.  What do Israelis think of the Obama/Netanyahu rift and the Congress/Netanyahu understanding? How has the political upheavals in the region affected Israel?  What does it mean for my military service?  And so on.

Also, this past week wasn't too exciting and I can explain it in full in a paragraph or two.  And without any further ado, here it is:

Arrived on base Sunday afternoon and immediately my machlekah (platoon) was assigned to do shmirah (guard) duty.  My assigned times?  9-11 at night, 3-5 in the morning, 9-11 in the morning, then once more 3-5 in the afternoon.  Four times in one day!  Bottom line: not much sleep.  That evening we rotated into kitchen duty.  And by "we" I really mean everyone but me.  I had developed a bad case of, to keep it kosher I'll say, "loose stool."  If that happens, you're not allowed in the kitchen.  Makes sense, right?

The next day was Tuesday and that evening was the holiday of Shavuot (literally "weeks"), which is seven weeks after Pesach.  This is the holiday when the Jews received the Torah at Mt. Sinai.  Anyway, it is common for Jews in the Diaspora (outside Israel) to observe two days of holiday instead of just one. This was the same for Pesach; all the Israelis got a one-day vacation whereas myself and other lone soldiers had a two-day break.  However, the same was not true here; for whatever reason, the MemPay (company commander) had decided to make all of the lone soldiers stay.  Tuesday evening to Wednesday evening was fine, we were with all the Israelis, the base had shut down for the holiday, nothing was out of the ordinary.  But when the Israelis went back to "work" on Wednesday evening, the five of us lone soldiers who observe two days were still in holiday mode.  The next day, we slept a lot and walked around in workout clothes while everyone else was laboring and running around in the hot sun.  It was certainly not the best thing for the Israelis to be seeing, and I think a real fault of the MemPay to keep us for that second day.  The five of us (three from Canada, two from the States) discussed this a lot and while our disgruntled frustration certainly came out at having to stay and scramble to find a minyan for prayer, I certainly think that Tzanchanim has not been the best friend to lone soldiers.

That's a strong statement.  I've talked with buddies in other Tzanchanim units (101 and 890) and in other infantry units (Golani, Nachal, etc.), and despite the gifts we get (which really isn't from Tzanchanim), Tzanchanim doesn't treat its lone soldiers as well as other units.  Leaving early on Friday to take care of issues before Shabbat, getting Yom Siddurims, trying to see family...all of these issues are dealt with with relative easy in other units but in Tzanchanim they always seem to give us trouble.  My friend Gidon was told after our 9-11 shmirah shift on Monday night that he had a Yom Siddurim the next day.  Seriously?!  First off, we generally request a Yom Siddurim because we have personal issues to take care of.  Consequently, it takes time to plan your day, maybe you need to make an appointment with someone...bottom line, and especially since my friend lives in the north in Akko, it is not right to spring a Yom Siddurim on him mere hours before he was to leave.

Anyway, the chag (holiday) ended for us on Thursday evening and immediately after I was to go on a masa.  Right after I broke my nose, everyone had a 10+2 masa.  It's ten kilometers hiking/marching then two more carrying the stretcher.  The "makeup" masa on Thursday evening was for the guys who missed it a few weeks ago.  This masa was not fun.  We didn't go into the shetach (field); instead, we walked around the road that circles the base.  Half of it climbs uphill and then the second half is downhill.  The guy who carried the water pack was struggling the entire time, which made it harder on us because we had to push him and he wouldn't go faster.  We went at a much faster pace than usual.  Not fun.  But it ended, we went to sleep, woke up, and now I'm back at my kibbutz.

So that was my army life this week.  But there has been so much more happening outside my base than in it.  The past few weeks have been very tumultuous within the country and at its borders.  So, what's been going on?  I don't have the time or inclination right now to do the necessary research to provide you with an accurate timeline and explain the cause and effect of each incident.  However, what I can do is give you the major highlights and explain how they fit into each other and relate to the persistent problem of the Jews living in their homeland.

Let me start with something that got America all abuzz: Netanyahu's trip to Congress.  This trip had been planned months in advance; it was the prime minister's second time addressing a joint session of Congress, something that few foreign leaders have ever done.  Days before his address, Obama delivered a foundational foreign policy speech at the State Department.  It discussed many things, but focused on Israel and the Palestinians.  It was essentially a sucker punch to Netanyahu as our president outlined a plan for two states based on the 1967 borders.  Doesn't sound too radical, right?  In reality, it's not.  But the kicker is two-fold: first, although this negotiation point has often been the starter for peace talks, it has never before been publicly endorsed by an American president; second, the time is nothing short of impeccable.  A few days later, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu stood before the House and Senate and gave one of the best speeches of his career, of a foreign dignitary addressing the American government, as the leader of a nation.  It was truly inspirational for Israelis across this country to see their leader travel to America and make the greatest case for their country to their greatest ally.  And I don't mean the American government; I think at this point, it's pretty clear that the Executive Branch's ties to Israel, while never exuberant, have certainly cooled as of late.

If you want to see the speech, I highly recommend it.  Netanyahu speaks perfect English, is engaging, humorous, insightful and strong:

Israelis really wonder what has happened to their ally across the world.  The past few weeks highlighted for them the close ties they have with the Legislative Branch and the fraying ties with the Oval Office.  The sheer number of times that both sides of the aisle stood to applaud Netanyahu is remarkable.  There is even one time a woman heckled the prime minister from the balcony.  He paused to let her finish her rant and, amid a chorus of boos directed at the woman, actually enthusiastically added that the house and the country should be grateful that dissent such as that woman's can take place.  That it is only in Israel that similar sentiment can be displayed.  If you travel outside the region's only democracy, you know how they handle dissent?  The governments call in the soldiers, the tear gas, the bullets, the tanks.

Now, why is it that the Jews, and not simply Israel, is the problem in the Middle East?  And before you scoff and exclaim that if I were to just read the news I would know that Israel is the issue and not the Jews, I challenge you to look past the headlines and understand the meaning behind the rhetoric and actions.

What would compel hundreds of Syrians to try and physically cross into Israel?  Is it because they are truly at odds with a democratic state?  I think not, considering thousands are protesting and dozens dying in Damascus against authoritarian rule.  Then it must be something that goes much deeper, that is much more engrained in their psyche that there is something fundamentally wrong about Israel's existence.  What's wrong, I believe, is that Israel is a country for Jews.

There are still many more who make vicious and slanderous claims against Israel.  Even Mahmoud Abbas claimed earlier this year that there is no Jewish connection to Israel, Jerusalem and the Western Wall.  For years, critics and opponents of Israel have waged a campaign to delegitimize the state.  That begins with calling into question its history, its place as the homeland for the Jewish people and the only safe place in the world for Jews, and its continued existence as a legitimate country.  The terrorists/fanatics, both Muslims and non-Muslims, who were on the flotilla last year shouted for the Jews to go back to Auschwitz.  Helen Thomas demanded the Jews "get the hell out of Palestine" and go back to Poland and Germany.

There are many more examples and I could easily write dozens of pages about this, but that is not my purpose or intent here.  Instead, I'll just end with a positive thought.  Read the book "Start-Up Nation".  Watch some videos on YouTube or some of the links I have posted on the right hand side.  If you do a little research, you'll realize that there are whole classes of people out there who support Israel.  I'm not just talking about people crazy enough to leave their family and their country, travel halfway around the world and join Israel's army.  Nor am I talking about Jews, Zionists, or other affiliates.  I'm talking about the people who give others an opportunity to improve their lives.  I'm talking about businesses and entrepreneurs.  The people who create jobs, ideas, and technologies.  The ones who are beholden to nothing but their innovation--and maybe shareholders.  Politicians are always at the whim of their constituents, their voters, special interests.  Somehow Abbas is considered a moderate in the West; I think his actions (forming an agreement with Hamas, which has as its sworn purpose the destruction of Israel) and words (in addition to denying the Jewish connection to Israel, he wrote a thesis denying the Holocaust) speak otherwise.  But that isn't the point.  There are thousands of people across the world who continue to invest in Israel, despite the anti-Semitism, the anti-Israel, and the wars. People like the employers who provide jobs for you to put food on your table see the merits of Israel and don't care if its a Jewish, Muslim or Zoroastrianism state.  They see a successful product when they see it.  Why can't the rest of the world?  Perhaps because there is something that is festering beneath the surface of newspaper headlines.  Perhaps people don't want to accept Israel because that would mean accepting the Jews.  Perhaps.

Like I said: "it's the Jews, stupid!"

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I planned this past week on writing a lot more and making a stronger case.  However, right now, I don't have the will to do so.  I need to get things in order for spending the next two weeks on base.  If you have any comments, questions or other arguments, please continue this in the comment box below and I'll do my best to respond.

bruised body/broken distance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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