High Holidays in the Holy Land

The backdrop to everything I write here is a feeling of excitement throughout Israel.  The words that I type to narrate and explain the past two weeks of my life are meaningless compared to what is currently taking place in this country.  My own attempt to masquerade as an Israeli soldier is put to shame by the reality and truth of what is about to occur: Gilad Shalit, held captive by Hamas in the Gaza Strip for five years, without a visit from any aid organization, is finally coming home!  Why must I mention the "truth"?  Because of the cost to bring home one Jewish soldier: 1,027 terrorists.  Not soldiers.  Terrorists, a third of whom are serving one or more life sentences.  And this has been the policy of the Israeli government since its independence over sixty years ago; Israel will go to whatever length it needs to bring its soldiers, dead or alive, back home (the only exception is Ron Arad, a pilot shot down in the 1980s, whose whereabouts are unknown).  Both Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Hamas leader Khaled Meshaal have made it clear that one Jewish life is worth more than a thousand Palestinians lives.  Gilad will return home and never don the Tzahal uniform ever again.  The Palestinian terrorists will undoubtedly take violent action against Israel.  In no way is this trade "fair" or "just."  But it is the way it is.  It is the policy of Israel, as a Jewish state.  It's a, pardon my language, shitty calculus.  But this is what must be done.  Because we're Jews.

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Last time I wrote an entry, I was on a yom siddurim.  That notwithstanding, I just finished closing twenty-four days on base.  Three straight weekends.  Two high holidays.  It should be twenty-eight days but thankfully Sukkot fell in the middle of this week and they let everyone go home.  No one else in the entire base for all of my training closed as much in one stretch.  Such is the army at times.

The day after the yom siddurim, Jesse, Shmuel and myself met up with my citah at a tiny reserve base in the middle of the West Bank.  We were located just outside Hebron to guard settlements for Rosh Hashanah.  Yes, settlements.  That dark, combative word.  The supposed obstacle to any peace between Israel and the Palestinians.  I was there, front row, between the Jews living their, practicing their faith and celebrating the new year, and the ring of Arab villages around us.

Ok, so it really wasn't as glorified as that may sound.  The first yishuv (settlement) I guarded had literally twenty-five families.  The "town" consisted of a dozen or so houses that would not have looked out of place in any American trailer park.  Each yishuv certainly has a synagogue.  And what surprised me, was that every yishuv I guarded had a very nice park for children.  I've learned that in Jewish law and history, if you are going to build a town, you must build a school.  If not, then the town is forsaken and should be destroyed.  This is the kind of emphasis Judaism places on education.  And for the even younger individuals of the town, they build a beautiful park.

That same night, I also guarded at a second yishuv, this one even smaller with just eleven families.  Eleven!  They barely have enough individuals to make a minyon (quorum) for prayer.  And when the families come to the temple for services, the men are all packing.  They'll have a rifle slung over their shoulder or a pistol under their shirt.  These people live in the reality that what they are doing is dangerous.  It's an incredibly sad thing: to live on land that is yours and yet fear for your life and the life of your family.  The amount of firepower that was in this village surprised me and made me think that the patrols that me, my commander and a few other soldiers were conducting were a frivolous waste of time.  But still, aside from the cold, the boredom, and the desire to be in Jerusalem for Rosh Hashanah, it was fulfilling to be protecting Jews on our land.

The weekend was uneventful and passed quickly enough.  Then we returned to base on Sunday.  Monday, however, was a great day to be a lone soldier; we had a yom kef, a fun day.  We had a similar one a few months ago, but this time it was for all of the lone soldiers in all of Tzahal, as opposed to just an alternative for lone soldiers who had no parents to come to the base for parents day.  This time, there were hundred of soldiers, we were on a beach, I got a couple massages, played some football in the water, ate great food.  It was a great day.

We returned that night and had a physical test: pushups, sit-ups and running two kilometers.  Did the max in both and ran a decent 7:57 2k.  The next day or two was spent cleaning up our living quarters and returning equipment.  Nothing special.  We had an inspection by an officer on base of our rooms and then on Wednesday evening, had a masa, our last one before the final one in a few days.

Here's the email I sent my family from my Blackberry after the masa:

"Its 7 in the morning on thursday.  Yesterday, I had a pretty normal day: a small shooting test, a run through of my ceremony in two weeks, and preparation for a masa, the last one before the masa kumta for the red beret (kumta) of tzanchanim.


The masa started at 730 in the evening...and we just got back a little while ago, at 6.  Count it: 10.5 hours, 48 kilometers.  How long is a marathon in kilometers?  About 42?  Yeah, that's what I thought.


The last 6 was carrying a heavy guy, weight 110kilograms.  Yeah, that's 242 pounds.  We're warriors.


We got back to the plugah and the mem pay (company commander, top dog in the unit) said a few words and then called on me to stand before all 100 or so soldiers for the honor of rallying them up and lifting the stretchers over their heads.


I think we're going to bed in half an hour.


All in a days work!


Love all!


Daniel"


After the masa, we received company gun straps.  It has our logo, gdud number and name, and our draft date.  One of the final pieces to becoming an IDF soldier.

It hurt to walk the next day.  But you recover and staying another weekend for Yom Kippur on base also helps cut down on the amount of walking needed.  This time, just my citah closed for the holiest day in the Jewish year.  It was an easy fast, probably considering how used I am to having an irregular eating schedule from so many days in the shetach.

On Sunday, all three plugahs went to a different training base to get prepared for our upcoming operational deployments.  We had a few hours of lessons and a morning training in the shetach.  Then life sucked for a bit.  While my entire plugah went back to base on Monday evening for a barbecue and sport day on Tuesday and then leaving in the afternoon, me and six others went to jump a fifth time.  Remember how I got split up last month at jump school?  Came back to bite me in the you know what.

We went to Tel Nof on Monday evening and spent the next morning running through training exercises again, things I wouldn't care to do ever again in my life.  Then that afternoon, we set off for the last jump, one that is different than all the others.

This final jump was in a different location.  We weren't to jump on the soft sandy dunes near the Mediterranean; instead, we drove two hours south to the Judean or northern Negev desert.  We had our equipment already prepared in the sack we would dangle from our harness.  We arrived at the base and the first thing I noticed was the wind.  It wasn't just a breeze, it was windy, which makes it much worse when you're in the air.  But nothing to do about it, although one Israeli did ask if we were going to still jump despite the conditions.

On the plane, I was nervous.  I had lost the groove and rhythm of the four previous jumps because now there was a month gap between them and this last one.  The plane also noticeably rocked back and forth as we neared the jump zone.  I was to be the last guy in the first jump group, but then a commander joined the twelve of us and I was pushed to thirteen...but still in the first group.  I did not like this.  I did not want to be about to jump and then the light turn back to red and be pulled in.  But there was nothing for me to do.  I said a quiet prayer and tried not to think about jumping into the blustery wind that filled the cabin.

We all stood up as the plane approached the site.  Commanders checked our equipment, the lights in the cabin went from yellow to red, and the red door light turned on.  Less than a minute.  Then green.  Jump jump jump jump jump...it continued as the guys were sucked out the door.  I stayed as close to the guy in front of me as I could, hoping to just get it over with.  I was still freaking out a bit.  But then I saw the outside and suddenly all of my nerves left me and I was pumped to jump.  And then I'm in the door.  My left leg forward.  My right leg is swinging forward, literally outside the plane, and from the corner of my eye I see the green door light turn back red.  I look forward, pretending not to notice, hoping against hope that the commanders didn't notice and could just let me jump....but no!  My right leg is literally outside the airplane when I feel hands tug me back inside, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Thus I was destined to be first in the next group.  That was ok.  It wasn't ideal--my nerves started to come back--but before I knew it I was back in the door, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, seeing the ground below and the lights in the distance.  But mainly, despite the full moon, from the perspective of the open doorway of a plane, things were black and indistinguishable.  My left hand was outside the plane, rubbing against the cold metal and my right gripped my equipment bag.  The light turned green and I was ready to jump.  But nothing.  Literally three or four seconds passed before I felt a hand hit me on the shoulder and push me out the door.  And I was gone, being whipped behind the plane.

I tried to look up at my parachute but couldn't lift my head.  My rope was tangled!  I prepared to pull my reserve chute but felt myself spinning around as the cords untangled themselves.  And I was smooth sailing (or falling) the rest of the way.  Until the ground came upon me faster than before, and I hit it hard.  My left leg is still a bit sore.  After that, I gathered my chute, put on my combat vest, and trekked off to the rendezvous point.  When the entire jump group had gathered, we set off across the vast jump zone and to a waiting bus, five kilometers.  It was a hard walk.  But it was over.

Went to bed late, woke up early and left for Tel Aviv.

1700

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom.

אני צה''ל I am IDF

"I hereby commit myself to remain loyal to the State of Israel, its constitution and official government and to accept unconditionally and unhesitantly the weight of responsibility of the Israeli Defense Forces, and to obey orders and commands given by my official commanders and to devote all my strength and even sacrifice my life in the defense of my homeland and the freedom of Israel."

I squint into the bright January sun. The cloudless blue sky over Acko is witness to an important day in the lives of two hundred young men and women. The oath is told over a loudspeaker and the new Israeli soldiers repeat each phrase at the top of their lungs. I do not understand all of the Hebrew, but had reviewed their meaning the day before and was prepared for this moment. After nearly a month in uniform, training with a gun, learning commands and how to obey orders, and living the life of a soldier, I finally committed myself to the defense of Israel. At the bakkum on my first day, I signed a paper that officially made me property of the Israeli government. Now, more importantly, I committed myself to the defense and security of the State of Israel.

The swearing-in ceremony signified a landmark in my IDF career: the conclusion of tironut, basic training. (Check last week's post for more information about tironut.) I have learned the bare-boned basics about how to be a soldier. Its culmination was the ceremony on Tuesday in Acko. Sunday was a day off for lone soldiers to clear up personal errands, such as bank accounts, apartment contracts, etc. It was great to have a four day week...although in many respects it still felt like a long week. But anyway, we arrived on base by eleven-thirty on Monday. The sleeping quarters were closed so each tzevet formed a chet outside. We welcomed our mefakedet, she said a few things, then gave us ten minutes to change into our Bet uniforms. While that is often more than enough time to change, we took our time and a few people ended up being late to report back to chet. Maybe they didn't have their shoe laces tied or forgot to change their shoulder tags to the new uniform. Consequently, our mefakedet was extremely displeased, to put it politely. She shouted and yelled, and gave us seven minutes to change BACK into our Aleph uniforms. Then again we had to change into our Bets, in seven minutes. What a way to start a week.

The rest of the day was uneventful (code for I can't really remember what we did) but that evening both plugots (remember: three tzevets (about 12-15 soldiers) in a machlekah, two machlekahs for a plugot) had tests on everything we learned during tironut. I forgot to mention last week, but right before we left early for the weekend, the mefakedets gave us written tests about the M-16, the radio, first aid, and the gas mask. By written, I mean my mefakedet asked me the questions and if I didn't exactly know the answer, she would help me out and mark it down as correct. But again, all this was in Hebrew. So, Monday night, we had to demonstrate that we knew how to handle each of the four equipment. I had to put the M-16 together after a previous soldier had taken it apart; I had to assume the amidah (standing) firing position and then crawl a few yards with the weapon; I had to put the radio together after changing a battery; I had to properly and quickly put on the gas mask and take it off; and I had to wrap my friend's arm with a field bandage. I passed the tests. Well done, soldier!

The next day we dressed in our Aleph uniforms because we were to leave the base that afternoon. However, before we left, the מ.מ. (Mem Mem [Mefaked HaMachlekah: head of the machlekah]- one above the HaSamelot, who is one above the mefakedet) gathered the machlekah in a classroom as we have done numerous times when he spoke to us about the shetach, the M-16, and other things. He spoke for a few minutes, clearing up some last items about our impending ceremony. Then he talked about something he, the HaSamelot, and the mefakedots had decided over the past few weeks: leading soldiers in each tzevet.

Dmitri, from Tzevet Echad. Congratulations. Moses, from Tzevet Echad. Aaaand, from my unit, Tzevet Sholosh: Sam! Congratulations. As each soldier's name was mentioned, he walked to the front of the room, saluted the Mem Mem, and their mefakedet would say a few words about why each soldier earned the recognition. After Sam sat down, the Mem Mem spoke one last time, about one final recognition: the מצטיין מחלקה- "Daniel Flesch." WOW! I stood up, said "קנ, הממ", walked to the front of the room and saluted. Then my mefakedot stood up and explained why I had been chosen. All of this was in Hebrew, so I didn't exactly understand all of it. The gist I got was that I was quiet when necessary, led by example, helped translate commands to English when my fellow soldiers didn't understand everything, and so on. For those who read this and are going to Mikveh Alon, I just say this: follow orders, keep time, and stay positive.

With the recognition, I received a letter with my name and ID number on it, and the statement stating that this award is given to a soldier who demonstrates heart and a willingness to help fellow soldiers without being asked, etc. Also, that evening, my mefakedet, who had taken my dog tags that morning, returned them to me, wrapped in interlacing black threads, designating me (and Sam, who received the same cover) as recognized leading soldiers. We also got one more recognition, to be mentioned shortly.

After the awards, we boarded buses to Acko. We stopped at the Acko Prison, where a famous prison break took place in the 1930s. A tour guide led us around the prison, everything in Hebrew, and we prepared for our ceremony. It was very exciting. First, we had received flaps to hang on our left shoulder epaulet that designate your place in the army. Ours is a white and blue flames on a green background: it denotes a position of education. An hour before our ceremony, we were all arranged in perfect rows according to our machlekah and we rehearsed the order of the ceremony. Before our ceremony, we had a half hour break. But first, we had to give our guns to the HaSammelot to put on a table in front of the machlekah. During the ceremony, we would "officially" receive our guns. We walked to the front and the HaSammelot spoke to us for a few minutes. I, conveniently, was the last person in my machlekah to receive my gun. The Sammelot talked about how I should not rest on my laurels; I need to become an even greater soldier. I responded with an affirmative, and walked to the other side of the table where the Mem Mem was waiting for me. And this was the final special item I received that day: the Mem Mem's gun. Incredible. But not for keeps. He had replaced my gun with his; as I had won the Mem Mem's award for the machlekah, I was given his gun (the tzevet winners were given their mefakedet's gun for the ceremony).

I stood at attention before him as he handed me the gun, which I snapped to my right shoulder. I then took the Tanach he offered and held it against the gun, holding it proudly as a sign of my belief in its word and value, willing to defend it with my weapon. He congratulated me profusely on earning the recognition and said some other things I didn't understand. Then I kissed the book, set it back on the table, and returned to my spot in line. Then we sang Hatikvah, Israel's national anthem and one of the most beautiful and meaningful songs I know.

After the ceremony, soldiers met up with their friends and families who had traveled to Acko to see them be sworn in. For perhaps the first time, I truly felt like a lone soldier. No one waiting for me, no one to take my picture, no one to congratulate me on realizing a dream that has dramatically changed my life. It's incredible having David and Amy here for me in Tel Aviv. But Acko wasn't the same without my parents, my sister, and my brother. After tironut for whichever unit I join after Mikveh, David/Amy will come to my swearing-in; it'll be a much bigger ceremony, and maybe my family?

But it's always good to come back to Tel Aviv and be able to hear English all weekend. It's a great relief to chill with Ben, my best friend from home, and just have a few beers and watch West Wing. (He also wants it known that he is a frequent editor and often the first one to read each new post.) Having a little bit of home with me provides some normalcy to my dramatically altered lifestyle.

That evening, we returned to base in a joyous mood. We had dinner and were ordered into sport clothes; no rest, even for the victorious. Back to business.

The next day, we started our ulpan, or course Ivrit. It was rough. Not in the difficult sense; we started with learning the bare boned basics: the letters of the Aleph-Bet. Somebody shoot me. On Thursday we started to learn some words, conjugation, etc. I know all this stuff, so it's kinda hard to pay attention and take it seriously. But I hear the pace will pick up. We're in class at least seven hours. The day is somewhat easier. We get a ten minute break every forty to fifty minutes. We still run everywhere, but now we're supposed to get at least seven hours of sleep at night, as opposed to six. In reality, we get much less.

Friday was going home day. We were told not to hitch-hike and not to drink and drive. If there's a war, we have to report to Mikveh Alon right away. I had never really thought about being a soldier off base before. The first time we got released for the weekend and I traveled home on the train then the walk back to my apartment in my uniform, I realized that I am a potential terrorist target. Obviously, what the hell do I know about anything in the IDF? Nothing. I can't do shit. But still, as Gilad Shalit's tragic and terrible situation demonstrates, IDF soldiers are targeted by terrorists. But I think I'm pretty safe in Tel Aviv.

So, if you read last week, you're probably wondering why I'm not on base this weekend. And you've probably been wondering why I didn't address this right away. Never mind the latter, but the former's reason is because I think my machlekah doesn't do guard duty until February. Sweet! I'll still be coming home for the weekends for the rest of the month.

And speaking of "month," check back on my blog entry list to November 15th. The title of that entry is "One Month!!!" Well, folks, it's been ONE MONTH SINCE I ENLISTED!!! One down, seventeen to go!!

In other matters: I want to thank everyone for reading this. And I'm not just talking about my friends and family (that means you Mom, Dad, Kimberly and Eric!!). I've received a few emails and there have been comments posted by complete strangers, which is wonderful. I'm glad that my writing has attracted so much interest and reached people who share an interest in my experiences. Many of these people have sons interested in joining the IDF, or already in the service. PLEASE: pass along my blog to your friends and families. I am encouraged by the responses I have received and will continue to try my hardest, both on my base and on my blog!

A final few words about Israel. What's going on in this country? Well for those of you who don't read the Jerusalem Post every day, and that includes me now, too, there are two things I want to point out. First, the government is currently deciding whether or not it wants to begin an investigation into Israeli human rights organizations. What's the big deal? In a nutshell: a report has recently surfaced that many of these organizations receive a large percentage (meaning over half) of their funding from European or Arab sources. So? Well, on a basic level, it indicates the leaning these groups take when evaluating Israel's treatment of Palestinians, human rights record, democracy, etc. No longer can many of these organizations (including B'Tselem) be considered "Israeli." With money flowing in from anti-Israel and anti-Semitic donors, the non-biased stance these organizations proclaim to take is clearly compromised. I used to laud Israel for having non-governmental groups that took a hard-line stance on many of the government's policies: it is a strong indicator of a free society, the only one in the Middle East. While on the outside my praise still remains true, it is clear that these organizations do not simply operate to keep the government in check; rather, they operate to delegitimize Israel's actions, and therefore compromise its security and standing in the world. (See: Caroline Glick's editorials in the Jerusalem Post.)

Finally, not all is peachy on Israel's borders. In fact, I mentioned that my officers told us what to do in case of war for a reason. First off, they mentioned the procedure for the first time since our first weekend off. Why? It's probably because the IDF is on alert in the north. What's going on there? Well, the UN is set to release its findings of an investigation into the 2005 assassination of Lebanon's prime minister. It is a well-known secret that Hezbollah murdered the popular leader. Now his son is prime minister and Hezbollah has warned him not to cooperate with the UN. That's the gist. Look online for more. My point here is that Hezbollah, who is already operating as a state-within-a-state in southern Lebanon, is a terrorist organization holding a legitimate government hostage. Hariri's coalition has disbanded. The future of Lebanon's freedom appears to be at risk. And the results could spill over into Israel.

So that's it for this week's post. Back to base tomorrow to learn more Hebrew. I'm starting to miss home a bit. Life's much different here, even outside of the military. It's sometimes hard to watch tv shows or movies; reminds me of home and makes me feel anxious. I'm really starting to enjoy myself at the base, though. The recognition/award was incredible; a real, definite high. Of course, there are times, like I've mentioned before, where we get knocked down a peg or two. Then we rebound later. I'm gelling with the guys real well. We enjoy our times on breaks, even if it's for ten minutes here or fifteen minutes there. Life is picking up now that we're going to learn Hebrew. It's fun, and also a little frustrating, learning Hebrew. I just have to make sure that I'm as proficient as possible by March 3rd. I have no doubt that I will be able to understand commands and survive in the IDF. But I want to be able to converse with the Israeli soldiers and have a good time with them, in Hebrew. Thinking about that sometimes gets me anxious to learn everything and I think we don't have enough time, that a month and a half isn't enough. But hopefully it is.

Until next week, thanks for reading!!